Clink—clatter—crash!
The broad, leathery soles of the hobbit's feet pressed softly onto a floor blanketed with gold. Coins slid beneath his step, scattering like raindrops across the ancient stone, their clear chime echoing through the hollow stillness of the vast hall.
Bilbo Baggins tiptoed gingerly atop the golden hoard, his eyes flicking about the treasure-laden chamber in search of the Arkenstone.
Though he had never seen it with his own eyes, the Dwarves had described it to him in reverent tones before they entered Erebor—a gem beyond compare, flawless and pure, like a piece of the night sky filled with starlight, glimmering with a light soft and silvery as moonmist.
Yet amid these endless mounds of gold and jewels, Bilbo felt terribly small. The wealth of mountains lay before him, a sea of treasure, and to seek out a single gem within it was like fishing for a needle in a flood.
The little hobbit sifted through the coins with care, every motion deliberate, every breath light, fearful that the smallest sound might awaken the beast—though where precisely the beast lay hidden, he did not know.
Clink—clatter—
Suddenly, from the gleaming slope of a nearby golden hill, a cascade of coins came tumbling down like a sudden stream.
From beneath the shifting pile emerged a monstrous head—scaled, fanged, and crowned with horns.
Bilbo's heart seized. In the blink of an eye, he drew forth the One Ring and slipped it onto his finger. His form shimmered and vanished, as if he had never been.
Yet Kaen, watching through the veil of his power, had sensed the stirring of the slumbering terror.
Clank! Clank! Clank!
Gold spilled like thunder, and from beneath that golden tide, the dragon came forth.
A colossus of crimson, its serpentine body stretched nearly a hundred and fifty meters, each scale glinting with metallic sheen. Coins were lodged in the gaps between its armor-like plating, falling like rain as it moved.
Smaug the Terrible, dormant since ages past, had awakened.
His vast slit-pupiled eyes swept across the vaulted chamber. His voice, like molten rock cracking through ice, rumbled forth:
"Thief…"
"I smell you. I hear the beating of your little heart. I feel the warmth of your breath."
"Where are you? Where do you hide?"
There stood the smallest of Middle-earth's free folk, dwarfed before the greatest of its winged terrors.
Bilbo dared not move a muscle.
Smaug's enormous body coiled and crept, circling the treasure. Bilbo's breath caught, but instinct urged him to flee.
As he dashed away, the whisper of coins betrayed him—clink, clatter, crash—and the dragon's head turned.
Smaug surged forward in pursuit.
And just as those massive jaws were about to snap shut upon him—
A shout split the air like a warhorn blast.
"Smaug!"
The dragon skidded, claws scraping against the coin-covered stone, his massive form swerving toward the voice.
There, upon a high dais, stood Thorin Oakenshield, proud and unyielding, eyes locked in fury upon the beast.
Smaug's mouth curled in a jagged grin, teeth like jagged obsidian blades.
"Thorin Oakenshield. Prince of the Dwarves. Defeated whelp. Craven deserter. And yet—you return."
Thorin drew his sword in one smooth motion and leveled it at the dragon, voice thunderous with righteous wrath.
"You vile creature. Bastard spawn of lizard and bat. Thief of hearth and home! This day, our feud shall end!"
"End?" Smaug chuckled. He lowered his head, bringing his monstrous gaze level with Thorin. "You stand before a mountain made flesh. My teeth are swords. My claws—spears. No blade may pierce me. No man may fell me."
"Is that so?" Thorin sneered coldly and glanced at the dragon's belly. "And yet, didn't the black arrow of Girion once find a chink in your armor? A missing scale, a weakness. You are not invincible."
At those words, Smaug's pupils narrowed. His fanged jaw tensed. A glow, deep and crimson, stirred in his belly.
Thorin did not flinch. He sneered all the more.
"What's wrong, beast? Have your lies been stripped away? Must you kill to silence the truth?"
"I shall burn you to ash!" roared Smaug, his fury mounting with every breath.
But before the dragon could unleash his flame—
CRACK!
Four colossal stone pillars, ancient supports of the dwarven hall, shuddered and collapsed with a terrible roar, crashing down upon Smaug's flanks.
He roared, his great body struck and driven to the ground, scattering piles of gold like leaves in a storm.
On the surrounding platforms stood the other Dwarves, their weapons drawn, their voices raised.
"Hey, worm! Do you feel the weight of the mountain? It'll snap your spine in two!"
"Face your reckoning, you scaly fiend!"
Smaug snarled, pushing himself upright, and with a thunderous bellow, spewed forth a jet of searing flame.
"Vermin! Dwarves! I shall burn you all to cinders!"
As the Dwarves fled, they shouted aloud, their voices echoing like war drums through the stone chamber:
"Call the armies of Lake-town! Bring them into the mountain! Slay the dragon!"
"Smaug, your end has come! An army marches against you!"
"You shall fall at Lake-town! That shall be your tomb!"
Their cries rose from every corner of the chamber, confusing the dragon, who could no longer tell where his enemies fled.
The Dwarves finally retreated toward a cluster of massive furnaces, surrounded by thick pillars too dense for even Smaug to breach.
Thorin stood defiantly within.
"Where is your fire now?" he shouted mockingly. "A girl's torch? Come then! Burn us if you dare!"
"I will burn all to nothing!" came Smaug's reply, and with a thunderous cry, he unleashed his flame.
Furnaces roared to life, blue fire igniting with a whoosh, and the gold within began to melt at terrifying speed.
Molten streams flowed through ancient channels, pouring into a great unfinished mold—a statue, hundreds of feet high, wrought in the image of a Dwarven King.
Thirteen dwarves, hero units of old, defied the dragon's wrath within that forge-turned-battlefield.
They ascended the scaffolds and stood upon the rising statue, face to face with death incarnate.
Thorin's voice rang out like steel on steel.
"Repent for your wickedness, dragon. Let your death be a tribute to the souls you've slain!"
With a cry, he yanked upon iron chains. Pins burst free with deafening cracks, and the massive stone mold split open—
Revealing a golden colossus, resplendent and divine.
Its radiant sheen drew Smaug's greedy eyes, entranced by its luster—
Until—
SPLASH!
The statue cracked.
Scalding liquid gold erupted, pouring upon the unsuspecting dragon in a golden flood.
Smaug thrashed, buried beneath the molten torrent, his writhing form sinking beneath the earth, until all fell still.
But the Dwarves did not cheer.
They knew.
This was not enough to slay such a creature.
Clink—crack—BOOM!
The floor exploded as a gilded behemoth burst forth. Gold clung to his scales like cursed armor.
Smaug roared, a howl of fury and fire.
"Dwarves! You thought this would kill me? Fools!"
"You say you have an army? Is that all that remains of your kind? Then I shall destroy them. Burn them. Shatter your last hope!"
"I will drown your race in despair!"
With a cry that split the heavens, Smaug shattered the gates of Erebor and took flight.
"I am death! I am ruin! I am flame!"
Back in the treasure hall—
Bilbo parted the coins and beheld a gem of brilliant light, glowing like a star born of flame and water.
"The Arkenstone…" he whispered.
And then—
A voice whispered at his ear.
"Do not give the gem to Thorin. Leave Erebor with it."
Bilbo froze. It was Kaen's voice.
He hesitated, the weight of the moment heavy in his heart. He trusted Kaen. Yet he knew Thorin's soul had long been ensnared by this gem.
"Your Majesty Kaen… Are you certain? Not even Thorin?"
"No. The Arkenstone corrupts the hearts of men and dwarves alike. It must not fall into Thorin's hands—not now. Take it to the forest. Give it to Kíli. Let him keep it—for now."
Bilbo's expression steeled. He drew a breath, clutching the Arkenstone tight.
"I understand, Your Majesty Kaen."