A/N: This is the first part of a (very late) birthday fic for a close friend. HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEARIE! Anyway, each short oneshot will explore slight alterations/additions to the canon of The Hobbit: BotFA where characters get better endings or storylines are resolved better. This first one is the one I feel most strongly about.
Short stories like this one will probably first be posted on my Tumblr, the link to which is on my profile.
Alfrid's Last Goodbye
Alfrid stumbled away from Dale, the cold coins down the front of his dress clinking uncomfortably against his chest. Occasionally one would slip lower and he would have to claw at his skirts until it dropped out between his legs like some kind of shimmering flat egg.
His stringy hair was clinging to his face by the time he reached the outskirts of the ruined Laketown. When was the last time he had washed? Never mind that now. All that mattered was the gold.
Throwing himself into a splintered boat which rocked and shuddered under the weight of his bounty, Alfrid snatched up the remains of an oar and frantically began shoving himself across the lake. If he could reach the other shore, he was sure, he could make his way up the river and trade for provisions with a ferryman or wandering ranger.
The black water around the vessel began churning. It was a languid sort of disturbance, the kind which might be mistaken for a shoal of fish in motion or a log passing beneath him, except for the eye. Alfrid saw the huge golden sphere through a crack in the wood, rising towards him through the ash-choked water, and paddled faster.
A long nose broke the water. Huge nostrils flared, sending spray high into the air.
"Not possible!" Alfrid squealed, resisting the urge to look behind him. "Not possible! Bard shot the blasted beast!"
"Beast?" a low voice growled, sending ripples through the choppy water, but it was rather less menacing than it had been. Alfrid shrieked and whipped around, spilling coins into the boat and the lake with a series of tiny splashes. Two eyes, their lids drooping and looking like dying embers, stared into his own. Sodden wings stretched along the top of the water at odd angles. "You are the one carrying away my gold, thief."
"I'm not the thief!" Alfrid cried, his voice high and breaking. "It was that hobbit. And—and if you want to eat someone, eat Bard. He shot you with the black arrow. He was the one to—"
Smaug snorted again, drenching Alfrid. "I am dying, tiny thief. I have no time for seeking vengeance." Suddenly rows of long teeth faced the greasy man, stained with blood and smoke. "Except from one who steals my gold under my very nose."
Alfrid's scream was cut short by the splintering of the boat and the burbling sucking noise of something great sinking beneath the surface of the lake. Eventually, the water stilled, disturbed only by the warm wind blowing from the remnants of the burning city.