It began on a cloudless, frigid night. The lake was merely a sheet of ice, as far as the eye could see, and one tiny blot of black traveled over it. The blot was a young girl, her breath forming clouds of mist that traveled up into the night sky before dissipating. She was bundled up in a measly cloak with only a frock, thick stockings, and fur-lined boots shielding her from the wintry weather. The hood of the cloak dimmed her dark eyes and the purple circles that shadowed them.
She travels with no where to go, but she knows she must make her preposition. Quickly.
They're hunting. They have her scent. They'll find her.
She notices that she is within a hundred yards of the shore, the rocky terrain ahead of her jostling due to her running. The howls of dogs echoed throughout the emptiness.
Running now, the girl doesn't pause to observe where she heading, but she remembers the basic attributes of the terrain to lead her there. And another thing was that she was away from a cage, away from the slaughter, and closer to a shimmer of freedom. Her feet pound the ground, legs quivering like saplings in a hurricane. Her breathing quickened, the fog that formed from her chapped lips flew into her eyes and blinded her, but the child pushed on to save her life.
She did not recall scraping her knees from falling or slashing her cheek on a petrified tree limb. Or the sound of her soles slapping against chiseled rock, not even the feeling of cloth brush her neck.
She stopped running when the howls ceased and dared not to come closer. Only then did she find herself in the ruins of the dwarf city Erebor. She knew she was close to safety.
With wide eyes she glanced left and right, heart trembling in her small chest. A noise startled her, sending her deeper in to the city, threatening to drive all of her senses away and make her run forever. She almost did.
She came to a grand gate of iron, wrought into beautiful designs and swirling emblems, rain-worn and most of it gnarled by some great body. It looked exactly as it was told to her. With air caught in her throat, the girl noticed the passage beyond the gate was blocked by boulders the size of castles, whatever beyond that point unreachable. Unless you were a tiny child.
The girl wriggled and wormed her way between the rocks, searching for the greedy beast that slumbered in the mountain. Once through, she was met with rock halls of impeccable craftsmanship. Dusted jade stones crowded the shelves on both sides, piles of opal for decoration.
Walking onward, driven by hope, the girl glanced down to see that the floor morphed into solid gold. No... It wasn't solid... Gold coins littered the ground, and when she gazed up, found that it was not only littered, it was heaped onto the ground. Not merely heaps but a mountain of gold glimmered in her eyes.
The girl took a timid step forward.
"I've seen grown men with hair on their chins turn and scream at the sight of this lonely mountain." A deep, rumbling voice said. The clatter of shifting coins and goblets could be heard. "But a single child finds themselves in the heart of it."
The child stood still at the sight of the slopes of gold collapse and slide, giving way to rounded spikes and lustrous scales. A deep purr filled the hall, a pillar of dark smoke wafting up to the rafted ceiling. The girl looked in horror at the beaming eye only feet away from her suface. It was a slit of black embedded in a sea of orange rippled with red and yellow. Slowly, the massive head of a scaly dragon rose from the mountain of gold, the loud plink! of falling medallions reverberating throughout the room. With a gentle shake, a shower of gold fell from the shoulders of the dragon, landing on its golden brethren.
"What courage you must possess... or lack thereof." The dragon said, blinking slowly. "What is your name, girl-child?"
The girl pulled the cloak around her closer, her fright aimed towards the scaled beast causing cold shivers to run down her spine. She was colder than ever before.
"My name is Xanthe. And if m-my iron-hided host would be so kind, may I-I implore him of sh-shelter?" The girl shook furiously, her cheeks no longer flushed, but pale from the extreme cold. She wondered if this was the creature from her grandmother's stories.
"Ah... so Xanthe shakes from the cold and not the terrible monster in her midst? Humans... so fragile and awfully painful to take care of... to keep alive. It would be in my best interest to kill you off and save myself the trouble... Unless you have something to offer in return?"
The girl child could only nod as she snaked her hands from her long sleeves to grip the hem of her hood. Suddenly, she paused.
"But may I ask the name of my fire-breathing master first?" She asked innocently, her brown eyes almost mocking.
The dragon scoffed. "You think your offering is of enough worth to toy with me? Either you do possess something of great praise or you wish for death!"
The child hid her smile. "I am confident of its quality, master dragon. May I know your name to properly admire you?"
The thick neck of the dragon rippled with aggravation, his fire-rimmed eyes narrowed. His curiosity waxed as he weighed his options. He nodded his great head as one of his claws wrapped around a stone pillar nearby. He forced his body further out of the mountain of gold trinkets and coins that clinked together as they fell. Now free, he stretched his massive wings, dark curtains that obscured the scene behind him. Xanthe watched with awe, truly amazed by his mass, his wingspan, his sheer frightful beauty. What looked like a smirk twisted his fang-bared mouth.
"I am Smaug, Scaled King of the Lonely Mountain, Winged Lord of Erebor!" The dragon roared, shaking the whole room, the mountain. "Smaug, Magnificent Ruler of Fire! Smaug, and death glides off my teeth like water! Smaug, and your price to live is something so rare that kings clamor like beggars to it, so precious that legions of men slaughter and die alike for it! Something so pure, angels weep for not being so clean, and elves offer their immortality for the thing you exchange to keep your pitiful life intact with that worthless body!"
Xanthe was shaken by the bone-rattling cries the reptile gave off, but her will and courage did not tremble. She knew she was safe with the dragon and her curse was now a gift. Without a huff, she threw back her hood as soon as Smaug was done speaking, his words still echoing throughout the hall. Stunned silence swallowed it.
From the darkness of her hood fell five golden braids, thumping to the stone ground. Xanthe's hair shone in the ruddy light like the coins at her feet, although much more brighter. Her hair was seven feet long, braided with the most expert care, plaited with crimson ribbons, and was not blonde nor pale, but exacted the color of gold. Smaug's eyes widened at the young girl's yellow locks.
Desire crept into his heart, as it always did when he sighted gold or pretty things. He tenderly recalled the day storming into the mountain and basking in the heaps of gold treasure and gems, of defending it from that day forth. Now he craved to add this girl to his collection, for the sake of her golden hair.
A plume of black smoke curled from his nostrils. "Your offering does pleases me indeed, Xanthe. Your hair shines like my dearest golden goblets and swords. Your life will be spared, Golden Haired. I entreat you to stay here with my horde of treasure and sit like the pretty golden rarity you are. You are not allowed to leave my sight unless permitted to, and you will sleep by my side every night. Am I clear? I now desire your hair, and I will have it. It is no use to run."
Xanthe nodded, understanding completely, not bothered at all by the fact she had practically sold herself off to a greedy dragon, but as long as she was safe and warm, she was happy for her curse.
"Master Smaug, as part of your treasure and humble servant, may I can near and warm my feet upon your belly? My toes are frozen stiff. They've been this way since early noon."
Without a word but a curt nod, the dragon bent his stocky yet agile legs and gracefully rolled his mass to the side. Xanthe rushed up to the peak of the pile of treasure, discarding her cloak as she did. She approached and without hesitation, untied her boots and pressed her cold stocking-bound feet to Smaug's underbelly. Smaug gave a hiss of surprise by how cold her feet really were, aware that he'd never felt the sensation of such a wintry touch. It was almost painful for a brimstone-powered beast such as him. But, for Xanthe, she sighed as her stiff toes started to curl around the jewels that crusted his underside. A hum rose from her. After a moment of silence, Smaug gently laid his head to rest beside the girl, an eye steady on her.
"Little one, may I ask where you came from? I sensed an urgent aura of you when I first noticed you approaching. I planned to kill you, but you did not search houses to loot forgotten heirlooms. You were running for you life. Who searches for my dear Golden Haired?"
Xanthe, despite her youth, was aware of the dread that laid in the dragon's voice, the thought of losing his treasure sending chills down his scales. She cocked to the side in wonder.
"I'm being hunted, Master Smaug. They prize my hair for money, not adoration. They... they planned to scalp me and sell me to the highest bidding merchant tomorrow, but I... got away."
A deep rumble echoed from Smaug's hot chest, sending vibrations into Xanthe's legs. She rose her dark eyes to the great dragon.
"Men do not care for the lives of others, and I show the same to all. I had others like me, you know. A mother, father... a betrothed. But hunters searching for money stole them away from me, living nothing but their tough meat and innards. They took them from me... and I took their gold."
Xanthe said nothing, but she nodded in understanding. Maybe her life here with Smaug wouldn't be so bad. Maybe when she died he would keep strands of her hair in remembrance of the times they shared, of the mutual understanding of loss. Xanthe started to accept that while her life here may not be exactly what she hoped, but that she was safe. She silently sent up a quiet prayer to her grandmother for telling her the stories of a gold-hoarding dragon when she was young.
Now properly introduced and even with a mutual friendship, Xanthe drew closer to the warm body of Smaug, a terrible, greedy dragon, happy that she was alive and treasured.
It was ten years later that Smaug realized he was truly left alone in this world.
But in between the time he met Xanthe and that horrifying day, he had grown fond of the golden-haired child. She was much more than a spectacle of beauty and fine genetics, she was smart and excellent at playing the golden-stringed harp Smaug had.
She was six when she began part of his treasure hoard, and at the age of fifteen, Smaug was slightly sad that such a beautiful maiden such as her had to go unmarried and left without kin to carry her ancestry. He recalled the day when Xanthe asked him where babies came from. What an ordeal.
Xanthe loved Smaug. He was the only one in the world to her, quite literally. He was protective of his treasure that was Xanthe, the Golden Haired, but it was deeper than that. He loved Xanthe for her soul. He loved the talks they had and how she adored to slide coins of silver and gold between his scales in patterns, while he claimed it made him feel like a true king. She became like his daughter.
She became more precious than gold.
But there is a time when all gold must pass from the those who it comes to. But Smaug never thought of letting go of Xanthe.
Then the thief came.
Smaug the dragon and Xanthe were fast asleep, the latter curled up in her usual place by his diamond encrusted breast, lying on layers of cloth she had found years ago in the abandoned houses of Erebor, wearing a white nightgown that was made for a lady dwarf, but tailored to fit her. Xanthe's gold hair was always styled by intricate ribbons that Smaug found for her, but she preferred to let her thirteen feet of golden locks down from braids while she slept. A deep snore from Smaug filled the chamber, masking the noise of the light breathing of Xanthe.
Smaug woke her and told her of an intruder. She was frightened. Xanthe's thoughts immediately flew to those who wished to capture her ten years ago, and when asking him this, he grumbled and was upset to tell her no, it was worse. He bade her to climb in her hiding spot on his back; a gap that was between a scale and a spike. Her lithe body fit in there easily, her arms wrapped around her legs, her eyes shut and breath held in. She couldn't hear anything past the shell of iron strong scales.
She could only feel the deep hatred of Smaug's words that rumbled in her bones, the shift in his soft hide beneath her as he moved. She felt the trembl of the earth as he clawed at pillars and screamed in anger, defending their home.
After a while, she felt the air around her warm up, an indication that he ready to breath fire and smote the intruders. Sweat beaded on her hairline.
Then she heard him howl like an injured dog.
She quickly crawled out of her hiding place, met by a splash of molten gold. A spot landed on her cheek. She bellowed out in pain.
"No! No! It burns! BURNSSSS!" Smaug roared, wings flapping wildly, claws grabbing at his eyes.
"Smaug!" Xanthe cried, pulling herself all of the way out.
Suddenly, he rolled in his blind effort to be rid of the pain, sending Xanthe into the air, and down into the river of melted gold. Smaug caught her in his arms at the last moment as the were hurdled into the sea of hot metal.
Shielding her and howling in pain, Smaug cried out Xanthe's name, clutching her close, refusing to let his treasure to go and leave him alone in this world. She didn't deserve to die in gold, the yellow river around them was undeserving to swallow up her precious body.
But Xanthe could see the pain Smaug was in. He couldn't claw his way out with her in them, and soon the gold would harden and kill them both.
"Let go." She said, a tear forming in her eye.
"No!" Smaug cried, clinging closer.
To his horror, Smaug felt her wiggle between his black talon, the gold liquid searing her flesh and causing her blood to boil. He saw her at the last moment, her long golden hair becoming one with the gold, a smile on her face as her soulful brown eyes piercing his red ones.
"Xanthe!" Smaug wailed.
"I'm one with the gold, Smaug..." Xanthe breathed before he body was completely ignited and her body was consumed.
She was gone...
No...
No...
"NOOO!"
His wings shot out, his body convulsing upward, craving for the taste of blood. The taste of revenge. They had stolen everything. They killed his Xanthe. His happiness. And that was much more than any gold. He swore to the gods that the dwarves and that blasted theif would die by his flame, and the town by the lake that tried to kill her when she was younger would be slain by his teeth. He swore to it. The image of gold disgusted him. The image of revenge screamed to be achieved.
"I am fire! I am... death!"