Chapter 1: Do Not Wake the Dragon

Doĵa sighed with boredom, unable to concentrate on her mending on such a beautiful day. Sitting in the back of the slowly rocking wagon as it rolled steadily along the shore of the lake, her attention wandered as she listened to the birds in the brush to her left scolded the travelers angrily for disturbing their domain. Through the leaves of the closest bushes, she caught flashes of the bright blues and golds of the males adorned in their finery to impress the females. One particularly flashy little male was brave enough to strut out on a branch openly, as if his bravado would be enough to catch him a mate. He reminded her of her uncle Afeló, with his favorite holiday vest and britches. He, too, liked to strut in front of the ladies and brag about his deeds, both real and imagined.

"Doĵa! Quit daydreaming and finish your mending!"

"But, Gamma," she protested, "even if I finish these today, there will just be more tomorrow, so I'll never actually be able to finish no matter how long I sit here. So, if you let me go play now, and I finish it tomorrow, it will be an even bigger accomplishment to be proud of." It seemed like solid reasoning to her sixteen-year-old mind.

Her grandmother scowled at her from her seat on the bench at the front of the wagon and Doĵa gave her the most earnest look she could muster. They sat frozen in silent combat for long seconds, before Doĵa saw the corner of her grandmother's lip twitch. Doĵa's smile almost split my face as the old woman chuckled.

"I swear, Child, you have more of your father in you every day." She pointed to the side of the wagon with her bony chin. "Leave it and go play with the others."

"I love you, Gamma," she blew a kiss as she threw her brother's torn shirt back into the basket and jumped down from the wagon.

"Stay in sight of the wagons," her grandmother called as she scampered away. "And don't make too much noise. There's a dragon in that mountain."

Doĵa found her siblings and cousins splashing in the cold water of the lake. Dena and Domi, twins three years younger than her, came running as she approached. Domi was holding something in his wet hands.

"Look what we found," he grinned up at her.

She looked down at the treasure he held up. It was a shell, perfectly shaped and almost the size of his palm. The outside was ribbed and as white as the clouds that floated lazily above their heads in the clear blue sky. The concaved inside was a glistening pink with hints of blue and purple.

"That is beautiful, Domi. It will look lovely hung on a string," she smiled slyly at him. "Maybe you can give it to some girl at the festival."

Domi's face turned as pink as the shell and Dena poked him in the ribs.

"Maybe it will convince a girl to kiss someone as ugly as you," she taunted him.

Her brother turned and grabbed her braid, giving it a hard yank.

"If I'm ugly, so are you, Dinky."

Dena's face grew thunderous at his use of her childhood nickname and she shoved him hard. Soon the two of them were rolling and screeching in the sand and gravel, while their sister and cousins looked on in amusement. The twins fought almost as often as they played together, so this was nothing new. In fact, the others took great delight in instigating the scuffles.

"Enough!" roared Uncle Afeló, striding into their midst and grabbing the twins to pull them apart. "Why can't you two be civil and not act like a couple of wargs with toothaches? You are going to embarrass the entire family at the festival if this is how you're going to behave while we are there. How are we going to find a respectable family for Doĵa to marry into if everyone thinks we raise our children to be feral?"

He punctuated each sentence by shaking the children, then them back on their feet and pushed them towards the lumbering wagons.

"All of you get back in the wagons before you wake the dragon and it comes flying down here to gobble you up."

The smallest of her cousins, Peep and Pip, squeaked in alarm and dashed away to find their parents. Macki, Uncle Afeló's son, mumbled "yes, papa," and hurried away. Doĵa grasped her brother and sister's hands and tugged them back to their wagon.

Domi, drug his feet and looked dejected.

"It's okay, Domi," Doĵa hugged him around the shoulders with one arm. "I don't think there's a real dragon in the mountain. It's just a story the adults tell to scare us."

Domi sniffled and shook his head. "I'm not scared of a stupid dragon," he huffed. After a breath, he continued, "I'm sorry if I ruined the chance for you to get a good husband."

She laughed at his apology. "Little brother, if any fellow doesn't like you, then he isn't going to be a good husband anyway."

He looked up and handed over the shell that he somehow managed to hang on to during the scuffle, "here, maybe this will help."

Then he grinned and added, "anyway, Dena's ugly face will scare him off first." Then he dashed off towards the wagon with Dena hot on his heals. Still laughing, Doĵa put the shell in her skirt pocket and followed.

As the sun dropped behind the forest behind them, Uncle Afeló called a halt for the night. Some of the adults grumbled, saying it wasn't safe to stop so close to the mountain, but Doĵa was happy to stop. She didn't want to hurry up and get to the festival. She didn't want to find a good family to marry into, she just wanted to stay with my family. Once she left to live with her husband's family, there would only be Gamma and the twins left. It didn't seem fair. Gamma was getting old and her joints ached more nights than not. Dena didn't know how to make the sweet salve to rub into her skin that took away some of the ache.

Doĵa had tried to convince Gamma that she needed to stay with her until the next festival, but the matriarch had just shushed her.

"Don't be silly, Child. That would be five years off. You don't want to wait that long to start your own family and drive your own wagon."

To her, the argument was over, Doĵa's duty was to find a husband and leave her family. That was how it has always been. It was tradition.

"Tradition stinks," she mumbled to myself and kicked a rock with my bare feet.

Besides prolonging the journey, stopping for the night meant stories and songs. Doĵa's large family loved telling stories and singing. She especially loved singing. Her pappa had often told her that when she sang even the wind fell quiet to listen. Doĵa wasn't sure that he wasn't pulling her toe, but that didn't dampen her enthusiasm in the least. Gamma didn't praise her voice, though. She always said that a lass had to be of more use than a songbird. Still, Doĵa often caught her listening with a proud gleam in her eyes.

As the adults prepared the camp, the children scattered into the brush to find firewood. By now, the trees of the western forest was far behind and there was nothing but scrub reaching from the shores of the lake up the slopes of the mountain, gradually giving up the effort and giving way to a landscape that was nothing but boulders dusted with lichen. Even though dried lichen was ideal for starting fires, the children had been warned not to go too far from camp.

Still, Doĵa was curious. Like all the children of her generation, she had grown up hearing the stories about the great and terrible dragon, Smaug, that had stolen a kingdom from the dwarfs. Most of the stories were lessons about the dangers of greed and the dragon had come to teach the dwarfs a lesson. Almost the hero of the stories. Or at the least, personification of cosmic karma.

As a people that traveled constantly, Doĵa's family didn't accumulate measurable amounts of wealth. Yes, they had bits of jewelry made from precious metals, adorned with precious stones, clothes for special occasions made from fine cloth, and small caches of coin from the various realms they had visited. But more often than not, their treasures consisted of odd bits and pieces with special meaning to the individual, not holding any real value. A hand-sewn vest made by a departed loved one, a child's first tooth strung on a bit of ribbon, or a toy made by a favorite family member; those were the things they valued the most, not the gold and jewels favored by the other races. And they counted themselves much better off and happier for it.

Doĵa climbed further up the mountain, leaving the bustle of the small caravan behind. Barefooted as always, her feet found purchase on the loose rocks and shale littering the side of the mountain. Like their halfling cousins, the Hobbits, her people never wore shoes, not even in the coldest of winters. Their feet were wide and tough, with a tuft of hair on top that matched that on their heads. Doĵa had a length of ribbon tied around her ankle that matched the one holding her wild, curly hair out of my face.

The higher she went, the sparser the trees grew, until she came to an open area with a clear view of the mountain top in the fading light of the afternoon. It rose like a skeletal finger pointing towards the sky, dark and foreboding, even as the rays of the setting sun shone upon it. It sucked in the light like the darkest of pits deep in the Murkwoods.

Shuddering involuntarily, she felt a moment of pity for the dwarfs who had faced the darkness head on and lost. Captivated by the sight, she didn't hear her oldest cousin, Gefry, approach.

"They say the dragon's fire was so hot it melted the stones of the mountain," his voice, though soft, made her jump in alarm.

"Do you really think there's a dragon in there?" she asked after swatting him for sneaking up on her. "Or is it just a story they tell to scare us, like orcs and wargs?"

He shrugged, "who knows? But this place gives me the creepy crawlies." He turned to return to camp. "Come on," he said over his shoulder. "We better head back, or we'll get in trouble."

Together, they raced back down the mountain, making a race out of it. Gefry may have been older and bigger, but Doĵa was fast and nimble. The race wasn't even close. She reached the rest of the children long before he came lumbering down the hill, red faced and huffing. Quickly, the two grabbed fallen branches and broke off dead limbs along with the others and hurried back to camp.

After dinner, lounging around the fire with our bellies full, the children cajoled Gamma into telling the story about the dragon and raptly listened as her voice rose and fell in the rhythmic style of their stories; half poetry, half prose. She added gestures and different voices for the actions and people. They shook their heads in wonder at the greed of the dwarfs and flinched in horror at the wanton violence of Smaug. When she finished the story, all around the fire remained silent for a long moment.

"Gamma?" asked little Bitta, one of the youngest cousins, her eyes round as saucers. "What happened to the dwarfs? Did they find a new home?"

"No, child," Gamma gathered the little one onto her lap and looked out at all of the children. "They are still wandering to this day."

"Like us?" Bitta asked, brightening at the thought.

"No, not like us," Gamma told her sadly. "They still long for their gold and jewels in the mountain and are not happy with their lives like us."

Bitta's little brow furrowed, then she smiled and twisted to look up at our grandmother. "We can ask them to join us and show them how to be happy," she announced brightly.

Everyone around the fire laughed. All knew that dwarfs are stubborn and obsessed with wealth. There would be no teaching them to be happy with the simple things in life. But like Bitta, the pity Doĵa had felt for them earlier grew when she thought about them wandering the world in misery.

After the story, the mood grew lighter as one of Doĵa's uncles brought out his drum and began to tap out a light rhythm on it. Together the family sang about traveling and exploring; meeting up with old friends; holidays with family; and other light songs about life traveling from place to place. After one song such song ended, the twins asked Doĵa to sing and the others joined in. Truth be told, she didn't have to be persuaded, but she was just vain enough to protest a bit to drag out the flattery.

Pretending to give in reluctantly, she raised her voice in a song her mother had taught her before passing on to travel the sky. Her clear voice rose into the dark night sky as she sang about a foolish girl who looked for a husband among the families at a festival in years long past, failing repeatedly. Too fat, too tall, too loud, too bald; the list went on. When her mother asked what she was looking for, she described her perfect man with all the traits she desired. Then her mother pointed out a still figure sitting out by himself away from the evening fires and the girl found that he had all the traits that she desired. Throughout the night, the girl tried to get the attention of this perfect husband of hers, but to no avail. He paid not the slightest heed to her, instead he stared off into the distance. The more he ignored her, the more perfect he became in her eyes and the harder she tried. But alas, nothing worked. Dejected, the girl returned to her wagon and cried herself to sleep, swearing that she would perish without this perfect man. The next morning, she got up, determined to succeed, but when she went outside to find him, she discovered in his place a gnarled stump. She had been courting a stump all night!

Everyone laughed merrily at the end of the song and Doĵa stood up and made a dramatic, sweeping bow. From the brush behind the wagons came a deep, sibilant chuckle that raised the hairs on my arms.

Everyone froze at the fire and grew silent in fear.

"Oh, don't let me interrupt this lively gathering. Sing another one," the deep voice commanded. "Perhaps you know one about a dragon?"

A massive shape rose above the group, blocking out the stars in the sky. A head dwarfing the largest of the wagons looked down at them with glowing embers for eyes. A puff of breath from its nostrils blew Doĵa's hair with a hot wind that smelled like a blacksmith's forge.

Then one of her cousins screamed, breaking the trance and everyone scrambled at once in all directions. Doĵa dodged behind a wagon out of the dragon's sight, then ran back up the side of the mountain where she had wandered earlier. Behind her, she heard a great intake of breath from the monstrous beast, then the night lit up as it unleashed its fire with a roar. Even from her distance she could feel the heat as it blistered the night air. Crouching behind one of the larger bushes, she made myself as small as she could.

Long seconds passed, then she heard the snapping of twigs and tumbling of rocks as someone ran up the mountain, taking the same path she had just traveled. She held her breath and peaked out from between her hands just as Gefry burst into view. At first, Doĵa thought he had a torch with him and wondered why he would use one when the dragon could easily see it. Then, to her horror, she realized he carried no torch. His overcoat was on fire, leaving a trail of embers in his path. As he passed her hiding spot, she jumped up and grabbed his arm that wasn't burning.

Eyes glazed with terror refused to see her, he tried to shake her off, but she hung on to him and hissed his name over and over while trying to rip the burning coat off his back. A bit of understanding came back to him finally and he helped pull it off and toss it to the side where tumbled down the slope before tangling in a bush and setting it on fire.

Another roar came from the lakeside and goaded them into action. Together they raced further up the mountainside, away from the destruction behind them. Reaching a group of boulders too large to climb over, they circled to put the rock between them and the dragon. Leaning back on the cool stone, they fought to catch their breaths.

The boulders blocked most of the glow from the fires below, but Doĵa could still see passably well as she looked at Gefry. Most of his hair on the back of his head had been singed off and blisters were starting to form along his neck. His pointed ears were the color of burnt bread around the edges.

"Gefry?" she whispered.

Instead of answering, he slumped forward and sobbed. Doĵa wanted to hug him but couldn't think of how to do so without causing him any more pain, so she patted his thigh lightly.

"Gefry?" she tried again. "What happened? Did everyone get away?"

Slowly, he raised his head to look at her. "It destroyed the wagons," his lip quivered, and he closed his eyes tightly against the memory. "I was hiding under Gamma's wagon with her and Bitta."

Doĵa dug her thin fingers into his leg when he stopped, "Did they get away?"

His look was distraught as he shook his head, "I don't know." He paused and took a deep breath and looked blindly up the mountain. "I left them, Doĵa. I panicked and ran. I left them. Left them," his voice faded as he repeated his actions.

She pushed away from him and took a deep breath, "Gefry, we have to go back and help them."

Gefry, the oldest of all the cousins, who once dove into to a swift river to rescue Dena when she got swept away by the current, looked at her in fear and shook his head slowly.

"I can't go back down there, Doĵa."

"Then stay here and rest," she told him as she backed away. "We might need you later."

Then she crept around the side of the boulders and started cautiously back down the mountain to help her family.

Going as quietly as she could meant going slowly and it seemed to take forever to get back down to the lakeside. She veered away from the blaze coming from the wagons and crept from the bushes out of sight around a bend in the shoreline. Dashing across the faint wagon trail, she splashed into the lake. The water should have been chilly on her bare feet and legs, but it was almost warm as bath water. Choosing not to consider the implications of the warmth, Doĵa waded deeper into the lake until only her head and shoulders were above the water. Only then did she turn to paddle towards the camp.

This far out from the shore, the water was cooler, but it warmed once more as she approached the camp. Once around the bend, she could see the flames reaching for the sky as the wagons burned. She didn't see any movement in the camp and, most importantly, she didn't see the dragon. Maybe he had left after destroying their homes and livelihood? Maybe, but she wasn't so sure.

As she drew near the shore, the water continued to grow warmer. A panicked thought crossed her mind: what if the water boiled? Was she going to be like the frog, put into cold water and never jumping out until it was boiled to death? She pushed down the panic and kept paddling. Her family needed her.

The temperature of the water didn't grow uncomfortable before her feet once more touched the bottom and she floundered out of the water and ducked behind a nearby stone that was taller than her head. Peeking around it, she surveyed the camp. Every wagon near the center of the camp was burning brightly by this time, and three had collapsed as the axles burn thorough and the wheels had fallen off. Thankfully, none of these were Gefry's wagon. She spotted his wagon on the east side of the camp and started towards it.

The heat was intense and Doĵa had to cover her mouth and nose with the edge of her wet skirt to keep from coughing on the smoke. By the time she made it halfway around the camp, her hair and clothes were baked almost dry by the fires. Getting as close as she dared, she looked under the burning wagon, but nobody was under it. Weak with relief and realizing that there was no one left in the camp, she retraced my steps to the water's edge and waded back in. It seemed the safest way to escape notice if the dragon was still near, she reasoned. Paddling out a little way until the water cooled around her, she turned back to look at the shore.

Which way should she go? Would her family have gone east or west? Were they even together or did they scatter to the four directions? Doĵa thought about going back and getting Gefry before looking for them but decided to leave him be until she found them. Then she would go and get him. He should be safe where he was.

As she treaded water trying to decide which way to go, a gentle swell lifted her and pushed her back towards the shore. The wave was followed by a warm puff of air that smelled of sulfur and ash. Swallowing, Doĵa propelled herself around in the water to look out over the surface of the lake.

Closer to her than the shoreline, two large nostrils at the end of a long snout floated in the water, like a half-submerged log. Two great amber eyes with cat-like pupils stared at her. They held her in place with their intensity for a long moment then blinked and began to rise, up and up and up. Water poured off the head of the dragon as it left the water, a clump of water moss hung from one of the spines at the back of its jaw.

"Well," he breathed its hot breath down on her, "aren't you the brave one? All the others are still running, I'm sure. But you came back." His long neck flexed as the dragon lowered his head closer to her.

"Why?"

Why what? Her mind thought numbly. She tried to answer, but her teeth chattered in her jaw, partly from the cool water around her leaching her body heat and partly due to shock.

"What? No answer, little morsel?"

Doĵa shook her head as an answer to the question and the dragon blinked again as he drew nearer until the tip of his snout was close enough for her to reach out and touch it. The scales lining the nostrils and lips were darker than the rest, almost black, and as large as her hand. The dragon inhaled and she closed her eyes waiting for the flames to end her short life. Her only consolation, she thought, was that she wouldn't make it to the festival and be forced to choose a husband.

Her eyes shot open as the dragon surged up out of the lake and. with a powerful stroke of his wings, and she was jolted violently as a huge clawed foot wrapped around her and lifted her from the water in a bony cage. Her shriek was ripped from her throat and carried away by the wind whipping past as the dragon climbed into the night sky. Wrapping her arms around one of the armored toes, she fought off panic. Not only was she a prisoner of the terrible Smaug, but she was also afraid of heights. Whenever her family traveled through the Misty Mountains, she had always cowered inside the wagon, not even coming out for dinner. Closing her eyes tightly, she hoped it would end soon.

She thought she heard another chuckle from the foul beast, but all thoughts fled as he dove towards the ground and her stomach flipped alarmingly. Doĵa was gripped by pure terror as a roaring filled her ears, then she passed out.