They say there hasn't been a dragon in the Shire for a thousand years.
And they are right.
Or, in fact, wrong.
For the story about the last dragon ever to be seen by the Shirefolk began long before the first Thain was elected, with the arrival of a cold, malicious drake from the southern wastelands, searching for a new, wealthier territory which he could claim as his own.
He landed on the highest hill overlooking the Shire and gazed upon the green fields and the lively streams, the merry farms and cosy cottages – for hobbits, at the very beginnings of their little realm's history, founded their settlements with the help and the blessings of the Men of the North, adapting their skills and knowledge for their own needs.
"I see a lot of sheep, and cows, and pigs, and goats, and some well-fed ponies" said the Dragon to himself. "And what are these?" he hissed in amazement, watching the hobbits feeding their animals, watering their gardens and sweeping their doorsteps. "Could it be? Could it be that this tasty meal is guarded by nothing more than the children of Men, so small, so innocent, so… defenseless!"
He unfurled his wings and swooped towards the low lands.
"Is this a storm cloud?" cried the hobbits, when they noticed an enormous dark shadow sailing towards them, veiled by the winds as strong as a hurricane. But as the Dragon drew near, they saw his wings, his claws and his red, glowing eyes and ran for their households, knowing not that neither wood, nor stone could shield them from the Dragon's wrath.
"Run, little ones, run!" laughed the Dragon. "You're smaller than the animals you care for, why would I want to eat you when I can devour them instead!"
And so the Dragon flew over the farms, snatching sheep, and cows, and pigs, and goats, meeting no resistance other than the barking of one terrified dog.
"What a feast!" said the Dragon, as he lay on the High Hill some time later, watching the agitated hobbits from the distance, well-fed with their well-fed ponies. "But as much as I would enjoy such exquisite banquet every night, these children possess neither gold, nor jewels. I won't find any treasures for my hoard in their silly little cottages."
And that is when, as the sun was setting, a glimpse of gold caught his eye and attention.
A group of dwarf traders, lead by a merchant with a magnificent golden chain, was traveling on the main road crossing the Shire, carrying objects of great beauty made out of diamond, emerald, ruby and sapphire.
"What luck!" laughed the Dragon as he unfurled his wings once more. "This must be a trade route from the East to the West! Meals and treasures costing nothing more than a plunge from the sky? It's decided! This land shall become mine forever!"
Days passed by, and weeks, and months...
The hobbits, bearing no arms, stood no chance against the fearsome invader and the heavily-armed dwarven wanderers died one by one on the Great East Road, for the Dragon would not spare the lives of those who once fought against his evil ancestors, just as the dwarves would not choose to stand aside and be robbed of their possessions without a fight.
The Men of the North would send their most valiant warriors to help the Little Folk in slaying the beast, but the Dragon was old and cunning – he established his lair on the High Hill surrounded with a gorge, with steep and slippery walls, that no man, or hobbit, or dwarf could climb. The stolen treasures piled on top of the Hill glistened in the sun like a magnificent crown and the hobbits would wail: "We swore allegiance to the King of Arnor, not to the King of the Hill!"
A year had passed and another spring had begun.
Some of the hobbits, tired of their scaled tyrant, decided to leave their homeland and there was less and less laughter to be heard over the green fields and the lively streams…
And then came a morning when no more sheep, or cows, or pigs could be found (yes, the Dragon had eaten all of the well-fed ponies at the very beginning). All that remained was a single old goat standing in the middle of a flowery field, indifferent to all but the grass it was chewing.
"Should I go and hunt for some deer in the forest?" wondered the Dragon as the villages emptied and no barking dogs were there to mark his arrival. "No, no, too much effort in that! I shall satisfy my hunger with the goat for now and start devouring the children of Men tomorrow."
And so he swooped down and snatched the goat in his claws, unaware of an unwanted passenger - a sleeping hobbit who was resting with his back against the chewing goat, as ignorant of the imminent attack as his furry little friend.
The Dragon landed on the High Hill and opened his claws.
"What is this?" he hissed as he discovered the hobbit clutching the old goat in utter terror. "A dessert, I see."
"You can speak?" asked the hobbit in bewilderment.
"Of course I can speak" said the Dragon as he lowered his head and squinted to look at the visitor. "Why wouldn't I?"
"I've never heard you say anything before" replied the hobbit.
"And whom should I talk to? Your sheep? Or your goat perhaps?" sneered the Dragon.
"You could talk with me" said the hobbit, playing for time to postpone his death.
"You? And what could I possibly discuss with you?"
"I don't know, your highness" answered the hobbit and felt his spirits rise as the Dragon narrowed his eyes, immensely pleased by hearing such royal title. "What do dragons like to talk about?"
"Riddles" said the Dragon. "Do you know any riddles, my mouth-watering Dessert?"
"Yes, I know one riddle, your highness. But I'd be wasting your time if I were to share it with you, so you'd better eat me right away."
"Why would you waste my time?" asked the Dragon curiously. "Tell me! I can devour you later."
"That's good to hear" thought the hobbit, but out loud he said nothing more than: "You'd be wasting your time, your highness, because no one has succeeded in solving my riddle and there were many who tried."
"But you know the answer?" inquired the Dragon.
"Yes."
"Tell me the riddle!" he said. "Tell me the riddle or I'll swallow you!"
"If you swallow me, you shall not know the answer."
"Hmm. That's true..." the Dragon agreed. "Tell me the riddle and I shall eat you after solving it."
"You're very generous, your highness" bowed the hobbit.
"The riddle is this..."
It strikes unexpectedly with a voice like a thunder,
It's the downfall of kings and a reason to wonder -
For once you defeat it, it shall always come back
With the kind invitation of your own pantry rack.
"Hmm..."
The Dragon swiveled his head right and left, back and forth, but could not think of an answer.
"I need some time to ponder this" he said and sat down next to the hobbit. Hours passed and the day turned into night. The Dragon lay down but did not close his eyes or stop thinking about the riddle.
"Time's up" said the hobbit as the sun finally rose above the horizon.
"What do you mean: time's up?" said the Dragon. "You're at my mercy, Mr. Dessert, and I'm telling you: I have all the time in the world for your silly little riddle!"
"Your highness may be timeless, but my stomach isn't. I'm hungry, o mighty king, and if you don't hurry up I shall die of starvation and the answer shall be forever lost."
"No, you won't!" growled the Dragon. "I will bring you enough food to keep you alive for when I'm done with your riddle" and he flew away. He returned carrying a deer, wearied by the hunt. "You can drink from the lake on the other side of my Hill" said the Dragon. "Now - eat, be silent and let me think."
Three days went by and the hobbit addressed the Dragon again.
"You haven't eaten for three days, your highness, doing nothing but pondering my riddle. I've run out of food and I'm hungry again. It is only fair that you eat me right now."
"No! I shall solve this riddle!" screamed the Dragon. He went away once more and brought the hobbit enough food for an entire month. "Eat," he repeated, "be silent and let me think."
Another month had passed as the Dragon lay there, getting thinner and thinner with no food, nor sleep, obsessed with solving the unsolvable riddle.
"Your highness…" the hobbit approached him one day, when no food was left once again.
"Be silent!" growled the Dragon and went away for the third time. He returned again and again that day, bringing whole carts of stolen goods – wines and cheeses, salted pork and malted beer, spices and fruits, and fish.
There was even some pipe-weed and a couple of pipes hidden in one of the chests!
"This will keep you occupied until the end of winter, o fat one!" said the Dragon, for the hobbit had indeed put on some weight under the rule of his generous landlord.
"No, it won't, for I shall die in the cold with the first falling snow" answered the hobbit.
"Then I shall make you a burrow to shield you from the frost" said the Dragon and started digging into the green hill.
"There" he panted once he finally finished. "Now… eat… be silent… and let me... think."
The hobbit went into the burrow, carrying the wines and cheeses, the salted pork and the malted beer, the spices, the fruits and the fish. Then he sat on one of the barrels, lit his pipe and – making sure the Dragon would not hear him – he laughed and laughed!
Days went by ...
... and weeks ...
... and months ...
And the seasons changed.
The Dragon lay outside the burrow, ignoring his hunger, sleepless and unmoving, as the hobbit carefully arranged his little hole (with a very large pantry!), decorating it with the Dragon's treasures, whistling and smoking his pipe cheerfully.
Colorful leaves fell on the King of the Hill as autumn came.
Snowflakes engulfed him from his snout to his tail as winter passed.
And then – when spring came along - moss and lichen covered his scales, turning them as green as the tree saplings which sprouted on his back.
"Have you solved the riddle, your highness?" asked the hobbit as the first summer sunrise swept over the Hill.
But the Green Dragon did not answer.
He was dead.
"And to think I gave you the answer at the very beginning!" the hobbit laughed out loud. "The answer, your highness, is hunger!"
And so he went back to his hole to fetch his tools and he built a large ladder out of wood planks from the now empty barrels of wine and mead, and fish and three days later he descended from the Hill and went back to his kin to tell them the story how he defeated the Dragon.
Centuries passed and the High Hill's slopes softened with the calm winds and gentle rains. The Dragon's bones turned into chalk and an enormous tree had grown where his head was once pointing towards the hobbit's burrow. Some say you can still see it - the tree and the lake, and the remnants of the High Hill overlooking the Shire. Perhaps one of the hobbit holes still hides some of the Dragon's treasure!
Men of the North made up their own ending to our story - claiming that the Shirefolk fell in love with the magnificent burrow founded upon the High Hill and started building their own cozy little holes to match the one from our legend. The dwarves will likely say that the hobbits were impressed by the stolen treasures, but if this story is indeed true, I'd be guessing it wasn't the gold or the jewels which they desired to see while stepping over the doorstep.
What was it then?
It was, of course, the very large pantry!
And if you find yourself travelling through Hobbiton, you are bound to hear their friendly advice:
"The finest food and the greatest brew comes from The Green Dragon!"
Would they be referring to the inn by the lake or to the story of the last Dragon ever to be seen in the Shire?
Here is a riddle I leave for you to ponder!