Just thought I should let you guys know that I'm going away for nearly three weeks, however if I do some typing on my phone I could possibly get another chapter uploaded while I am away, I might get some ideas while I'm gone, who knows?

Chapter 36: The Black Arrow Flies

The King beneath the Mountain, the Lord of Silver Fountains

The King of Carven Stone shall come into his own

And the bells shall ring in gladness at the Mountain King's return

But all shall fail in sadness

And the Lake will shine and burn

The people of Lake Town had felt the tremors in the earth caused by Smaug's movements. At first they had blamed it on the natural world, but when they increased in strength, heads turned to the Lonely Mountain.

Husbands clutched wives, mothers clutched children, siblings clutched each other, fear spreading through Lake Town like a horrible plague, petrifying people in their place. When the first roars began, screams echoed through the town, and the people fled in terror, taking shelter wherever they could, desperate to escape the horrors that were about to come.

Smaug descended upon the lake in a fiery blaze of rage, wings beating and fire spewing from his terrible jaws. The houses, being made of nothing but simple wood, instantly went up in flame, and the horrible, drawn out screaming from within the houses were terrifying to hear as the unfortunate and helpless souls trapped inside burned to death, perishing in dragon fire.

Bard, who had been caught up in a furious shouting match with the Master up until this point, was to be seen sprinting across the walkways back to his own house, which, upon arrival, had fortunately been so far untouched by the fires.

He charged through the front door of his house, not even caring that the door actually came off its hinges and leaned unsteadily against the wall. After checking that his son was unharmed, he next went to the kitchen and yanked at one of the poles that served as a hanging spot for the pots and pans that were used occasionally during meal times. It was then that his son Bain peeked out from his hiding spot, however his eyes fell straight upon the 'pole' in his father's hand.

It was a Black Arrow, a powerful weapon that could possibly be the only thing that could slay Smaug. Girion, Bard's ancestor, had, according to the stories, used the town's entire stock of Black Arrows trying to kill Smaug, however each arrow had missed its mark. Because Girion had not slain Smaug, he had brought great shame upon himself and his family, and Bard had been paying for his ancestor's failure with whispers behind his back and loathing glances.

"You told me that Girion had used them all! Why didn't you tell me you had a Black Arrow?" Bain said, doing his best to hide the accusing tone in his voice.

"Because you did not need to know," Bard replied firmly. "Stay where you are, do not go outside! I will return!"

There was no time for a proper farewell, and a lump rose in his throat as he closed his house door and realised that if things went horribly wrong he would never see his beloved again. As he ran, he took it upon himself to raise his gaze to the skies above and he sent a quick prayer to his wife, who had been taken by a terrible fever many years ago.

It was towards the city hall that Bard was running to. It was here where the tallest tower in the whole town had been built. Atop this tower was a giant mounted windlass crossbow, forged by the dwarves of Erebor some time ago. It was this weapon and this weapon alone that carried the strength to shoot a Black Arrow, and Bard intended to use it for that very same purpose. And he would not miss if he could help it.

Barging past the Master, who was standing in the doorway of the city hall gawking at the destruction before his eyes, he stomped up the stairs towards the second landing of the city hall. It took a moment for the Master to regain his wits before waddling after Bard, shouting and shaking his fist, oblivious to Bard's intentions and blinded by his own.

Bard climbed the staircase that led to the roof of the tower, and he did his best to barricade the trapdoor he had just come through with a small stack of spare crates, hoping that he would have enough time to shoot before the Master barged in and ruined his one chance to regain his family honour and save the town.

With great effort and strength, he loaded the arrow into the crossbow and stood at the trigger, aiming, watching as the great Smaug swooped down again and again, flames spewing from his jaws and his sharp claws raking at whatever they could reach.

The crates did not do much to impede the Master of Lake Town, and the portly man squeezed through the trapdoor and grabbed at Bard's shoulders, tugging him away from the crossbow.

"What do you think you're doing?!" The Master cried as he pulled Bard away. Strength was not his forte, and Bard was quick to free himself, sending the Master packing with a sharp punch in the jaw. He tumbled to the floor, clutching his jaw and moaning like a perpetulant child.

"Stay down," Bard commanded in a dangerously low voice. He turned back to the crossbow and manned it once more, regaining his aim in seconds.

A gentle twittering sound reached his ears, and he watched in disbelief as a thrush landed on the crossbow, right on the shaft of the arrow, hopping madly on its little feet.

"Soft spot, soft spot!" The thrush cried, its voice high pitched and crackly. Bard had not forgot that thrushes had been once upon a time trained to speak and carry messages, so he was not all that surprised that it had spoken.

From the bird's mad chattering and repeating of the same two words, the Man of Lake Town deduced with renewed hope that the thrush was informing him of a potential weak spot on Smaug.

"Where is his weak spot?" Bard addressed the thrush. "Tell me, make haste!"

"Left side of chest, left side of chest!" The thrush said excitedly, chirruping once more and flying away in a hurry. It's task had been carried out, now it wished to be well clear of the wrath of Smaug just as much as anyone else, perhaps even more.

Bard took aim once more, manoeuvring the crossbow and searching for the right moment to shoot. The task was proving difficult, as Smaug was incredibly cunning, ducking this way and that, his great wings sending harsh winds over the town.

"OVER HERE, YOU STUPID WORM!" Bard shouted with all his might in an attempt to draw the beast near. "OVER HERE, YOU USELESS CREATURE!"

His plan worked, and the dragon's terrible head turned, fiery eyes locking onto him. If there was something that Smaug hated, it was being insulted. He was, after all, superior to all, and those who dared to call him names or insult his name would be forced to endure a painful death. The great dragon roared and turned away, circling the town once before speeding forward, tasting the flames in his mouth that would soon engulf the one who had insulted him, and the city hall with it.

Bard took a deep breath to steady his aim, waited a few seconds, and he pulled the trigger of the Dwarvish crossbow with both hands, stumbling back and falling on his back as the crossbow kicked back at the force of its projectile. The Black Arrow, free of the clutches of the windlass crossbow, soared through the sky faster than any normal arrow in the world, appearing to be somewhat hawklike.

The arrow, rather than bouncing harmlessly off Smaug's armoured scales like it had been expected to do for a mere few sickening moments, seemed to almost disappear altogether, a meaty smack sounding out. For a sick moment it seemed as if the Black Arrow had not done its job, but then Smaug bellowed a great roar, a roar that could only be interpreted as one of great pain.

The Black Arrow had indeed found its mark.

Smaug had indeed thought for a moment that his impenetrable armour had saved him from certain death, but then he began to feel his strength draining all of a sudden, and his wings felt as heavy as lead, and the white hot pain that had flowered in his chest suddenly increased, feeling hotter than dragon fire. Pain, disbelief and cold, bone chilling fear rose inside him, rearing their ugly heads like some strange monster inside him.

Smaug took his time to release one last roar of defeat before his strength faded entirely and he let himself sink lower towards the ground until the dragon collided with the lake, his massive body crashing into the lake with a huge, drawn-out bang.

The screams of terror that had been filling the air had gone in an instant. Silence surrounded Lake Town, and people came out from hiding, realising that the dragon was no longer unleashing its anger upon them. When they saw the great scaly body amongst ruins of once sturdy houses, it took minutes for the townspeople to realise that the dragon was not breathing.

The only thing that could be heard through the shocked silence – perhaps only heard with keen ears – was the gentle beating of the wings of a thrush as it flew to the Lonely Mountain, now free of the clutches of the dragon Smaug.

For Bard the Bowman, descendant of Girion of Dale, had slain the dragon Smaug.

The noise that had erupted the moment Smaug's body had collided with both the lake and a few houses had been loud enough to reach the ears of the company, still inside the Lonely Mountain amongst the hoards of treasure.

"Was that an earthquake?" Dori asked, turning worriedly around as if to locate the source of the noise.

Balin turned to him. "That was a dragon, my lad,"

However, rather than a great dragon bursting into their view, they only heard the gentle fluttering of wings, echoing loudly in the hallowed halls. The thrush had returned, but it was not alone, for with it flew a very decrepit looking raven. Despite its ragged look, it was still a handsome bird with glossy black feathers tinged with streaks of grey just like Thorin's hair.

The thrush landed atop a small wooden chest, as did the raven. Evelyn was genuinely shocked as the raven opened its beak and began to speak in a hoarse voice.

"Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. We bring a message," The raven cawed, ruffling its feathers and pausing for a quick preen.

Thorin stepped forward immediately. "What message do you bring, friend?" He asked the bird. Evelyn thought she would never see the day that Thorin would be talking to a bird, especially one that could talk back.

The thrush tweeted excitedly. The raven shook its feathers once more before answering.

"The dragon Smaug is dead, shot out of the sky. His body lies broken in Lake Town," The raven spoke in a solemn voice. As soon as the last word was out, both it and the thrush took off, disappearing from sight.

You could have heard a feather fall to the floor in the utter silence that followed. But the cheering that came after that was unlike any other cheering you could have heard before. It was greater than an army, for it was a joyful cheer.

"THE MOUNTAIN IS OURS! EREBOR IS OURS!" The dwarves cried, embracing one another like a true family.

It was upon that very day that Erebor was reclaimed.

And it was also upon that day that Evelyn Lieflin saw, for the first time, Thorin Oakenshield shedding a tear.

No this is most definitely not the end, there's still heaps more to go! I thought I would upload this chapter before I go away.