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(June 2019 added note - I'm going to be doing some major editing to this story. The biggest thing is going to be re-writing all of the first-person scenes into my preferred and usual third-person style).

*** Note I - (June 2018. Just a little warning because I've received comments in the past from trolls who, for some unknown reasons, do not understand fanfiction especially of the clearly AU variety): See my indication that this story will be an AU in the summary? Well, I really mean it. LOTS of AU elements - especially where the dragons are concerned due to the stark fact that J.R.R. Tolkien himself barely wrote much about his dragons in the first place; ergo, forcing me to utilize most of my creativity for their portrayal within this story (not that I'm complaining; it's all so very funses). xD I also explore the dragons-are-Maiar theory in this. ***

*** Note II – Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the too-awesome-for-words Tolkien Universe. I own my OCs and my imagination~ :3 ***

*** Note III – This fanfic: Just 'cause I have yet to see a fic where a modern person ends up in Middle-Earth as a DRAGON. If there are others lurking about where he/she ends up as a dragon, please do tell me~ \(^0^)/ Hope thou, my lovely future readers, enjoy! Also, I don't usually write in first person present tense - my most preferred writing style is in the third person past tense style. Any first person mistakes? Please don't hesitate; I listen well~ :D ***

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~ 000 – To Dragon Or Not To Dragon ~

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"They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to Middle-Earth."

~ George R.R. Martin

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"Smaug is an ass," I mumble as I plop The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug DVD in its corresponding case. After placing it in the DVD rack next to the living room's large flat-screen TV, I turn to my awesome friend, who hogs the black leather couch with the entirety of her body.

"He's a handsome dragon, though," my friend, Vanessa, speaks with a snicker – who coincidently just inhaled the last of her snickers bar.

Well I cannot deny that. The people who were hired did do a phenomenal job on that red dragon. And Benedict Cumberbatch does have a perfect dragon voice. Although . . . I am a tad bit annoyed that they had given Smaug a wyvern appearance when he is described many times to be a dragon. Like, come on people! I'm not a dragon-nerd, albeit some accuracy would have been much appreciated. "A handsome ass. Oh my goodness, if Smaug had an elven form –"

"– He'd be drop-dead sexy. Sex material right there," finishes my friend with a day-dreamy look in her eyes. Hey, is that drool . . . ? Her next question breaks me out of my thoughts. "Shall we continue our Tolkien-based movie marathon?"

"After we get Starbucks. I'm craving a frappuccino."

As soon as I had mentioned 'Starbucks' the first time, Vanessa leaps up off of the couch. She almost tripped too, the clumsy girl. She's obsessed with Starbucks. I love it too, I'm just not that intensely passionate about the brand . . . If truth be told, I actually prefer the edibles at Tim Hortons'.

Anyways, we grab our purses that had been lying about on the glass coffee table, and we run to the front door. She dons her feet in her three-inch black and white floral sandal wedges as I shove mine into my low-cut baby pink converse. We then stroll out of my mothers' house and I lock the door.

Yes: My mother's house. My father died when I was younger; literally one month after I had turned five years old, and completely devastating my usually-strong mother. At least our economic status is pretty good because Mom is an ambitious, intelligent, well-respected and fiery businesswoman, and no one would dare oppose her. That being said, she is rather busy . . . I don't see her as much as I would like too . . . Whenever she decides to take a vacation, she does spend the majority of her time with me – and we do travel out of the country at times as long as the traveling doesn't conflict with my school year scheduling – but I tend to get lonely a lot.

Anyways, I digress.

Damn, today's a hot day . . .

"Felicity! Where are you going?" I hear my friend call out my name. I turn to her to find that I had just walked past the entrance to Starbucks.

I briefly flush with slight embarrassment, and I hiss a "Shut it," before she could make a snarky comment.

We enter the café and – oh goody, a short line! And fabulous cool air. Praise the air-conditioning!

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Vanessa and I slowly saunter through the somewhat busy streets of Toronto. It's too hot to move any faster . . .

I sipped my large green tea Starbucks frappuccino, savoring its' heavenly taste. Oh my God, it's so beautiful . . . And cold . . . Ahhhhhhh.

"Ladies and gentlemen," my friend speaks up from her large vanilla bean frappuccino, pretending she has an audience, and gestures to me. "This is what sex sound like."

My lips instantly detach from the black straw. "Go away!"

"You were moaning," Vanessa laughs, her forest green eyes full of the desire to tease. "And your face looked like it was in utmost ecstasy."

"Okay. Alright. I don't care. This tastes amazing; so of course I'll behave like that!"

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Dying is not very fun. Especially when it isn't swift.

Vanessa and I both swore that the crossing lane was completely pedestrian-ready. However, some dude riding a black and silver-grey motorbike just happened to zoom by, crashing into me. It did not quite effect that bastard, as he keeps on zooming by. In a hurry much? Ugh, some people . . .

Anyways, I fly some feet into the air; my half-drank green tea frap falling out of my hand. My friend screams as I plop onto the hot and hard blackish-grey pavement. Head first. I hear bones cracking, too. The pain is immense and I feel warm liquid around my head, seeping into my black hair.

I could not move, and my vision gradually darkens. I cannot make out anything Vanessa's saying to me. My hearing's going out, too. She cries as she tries talking to me; something along the lines of "already called 911."

Some time passes, I am not sure in regards to how many seconds or minutes. I can barely hear the emergency sirens as my eyelids close halfway.

And then I see nothing. My ears hear nothing. My mind is instantly severed from the connection between the spirit and the corporeal body.

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Some people say that when you die, you die. It is the end. Such morbid thinkers . . . Ah, who am I to judge anyways?

Others say that you would have moved on, so to speak. Like heaven, or its' damned opposite, or other forms of heaven. Or even having being reincarnated.

And then there are some who say "Death is but the next great adventure." That it is unexpected where you will end up. And that no one really knows what happens next.

Well, let us just say that my situation is the very latter.

I feel light and airy as my spirit travels through translucent clouds, extremely bright golden light, and black space that is covered in colourful gasses and bright and shiny stars.

As soon as I reach the centre of a completely white light, everything becomes a pure black.

And then I feel a hard, organic surface. I blink and hiss quietly at the bright sunlight. The air smells so much fresher! It is cool and a little chilly, but it is not unbearable. My eyes finally adjust to the sunlight, and my vision is graced with mountainous rock. I conclude that I am in the mountains as I look to my surroundings. The mountains are greyish, and are kind of a sandy-brown, too. There are also darker brown and more blackish areas as the mountain extends upwards.

I feel no pain, but my body feels weird. Unnatural. And heavy, in a way. This whole situation feels unnatural. I could be in another world. That is not quite believable, but this all seems so real!

I immediately freeze as I stand to my feet. Four feet are connected to the firm stone-like ground, not two. I slowly look down and cry out at the sight of scaly lavender hands . . . Feet . . . Claws . . . Whatever!

What the hell did I just turn into? I hope not a lizard.

I take hurried and panicked steps along the mountain terrain, avoiding the sharper and jagged rocks protruding from the mountain's floors and walls. I need to find something in which to view my reflection in.

After ten minutes of searching, I find a medium-sized pond. The fuck? A pond in the mountains? Well, I guess it can happen.

I run to the pond and gasp in utter shock at my reflection, for I am speechless.

I am a dragon. A dragon of all things!

A young and small dragon, though. I wager that I'm roughly the size of a horse or something. My lavender skin-stretched wings are also small, and not quite fully developed. Damn it. I have to wait to fly.

My scales are also a lavender colour. It is a lovely tone; however, I had black hair. So shouldn't my scales be black? Ah well . . . My scales are also soft; and are not yet to that stronger-than-any-type-of-metal kind of level. Oh, I rhymed!

My eyes were more of a grey as a human, albeit now they are a shining silver. I release a sigh of mixed emotions – Oh my Lord, those are some sharp teeth . . .

So, where exactly am I?

The wind picks up its' pace as I hear the beat of wings. Three sets of wings, actually. I cease my moping and haul my dragon-ass towards some rocks, hiding in between their crevices. Thank you, small dragon body. And thank you, rocks, for being big yet discrete enough.

Three enormous dragons land within that spacious, pond-like area. Two of them – a chocolate-scaled dragon and a pale green-scaled dragon – help themselves to some water.

My gaze, however, is drawn to the gargantuan black-scaled dragon; who seems to be dwarfing the other two. They may be large, but they only come up to half of his height.

The colossal, proud-looking dragon scans the area around him. Seriously, that dragon is a freaking beauty! His scales are the loveliest and shiniest of black I had ever seen. His eyes are a stunning ruby-red. One could get lost in them, although I am not planning to.

And it is not until I hear the chocolate-scaled dragon addressing his name that I realize that I am in Tolkien's Middle-Earth.

"Lord Ancalagon. Was there not movement here?"

The pale green-scaled dragon sniffs at the air and gives a low growl. "I smell you, spy! Come out!"

Oh shit.

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*** After Note I – Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think~! :D Future chapters will be longer. This is just a prologue~ (OxO) ***

*** After Note II – Canonically, Tolkien wrote that the winged dragons did not make their appearance until near the end of the War of Wrath. Obviously in this fanfiction, that is not the case. I mean seriously. The winged dragons are way too epic to be kept hidden away for that long. xD ***

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