Chapter 3: Sometimes It Takes a Tantrum

Doĵa reclined in her chair, the book in her lap lay open, but ignored for the moment. She was terribly bored, and reading wasn't helping. Carefully shutting the ancient volume with a sigh and setting it on the table at her side, she stood and walked to the open gate of her cell. Smaug, the lazy worm, was buried under his gold, napping.

He had taken to leaving the gate to her cell open after the first month of her imprisonment; the smooth wall under the ledge being more than effective at preventing her from escaping. She even had a chair on the ledge for her use while singing or talking to him. Well, not exactly a chair; it was the throne of the dwarf kings that had ruled this kingdom before Smaug. Made of intricately carved stone, the dragon had ripped it off its pedestal almost intact and deposited it on the ledge. The legs were uneven from the assault, but Doĵa had stacked rubble under them until the throne no longer rocked under her. Then she had padded the hard stone with tapestries torn from the walls of the hall that had survived dragon fire from Smaug's attack years ago.

Over the last ten years, Doĵa had collected other items that survived the attack. At first, Smaug had refused to let her have anything that hadn't come from the wagon. But she had worn him down, reasoning that she, too, was part of his hoard so anything in her cell was still his.

Holding up an ornate crown, she had asked, "does this crown own the jewels set into it?"

Under his careful watch, she had explored the areas surrounding the great hall, discovering books, art works of elvish origin, a cache of ornate weapons and armor, and supplies for a court scribe. Now, her cell furnished with a small cook stove that served as a heater during the winter, a table with two chairs, a desk, a wardrobe, and a bronze tub. The books were mostly in dwarven, but she had taught herself to read them with a little help from Smaug. Her desk was scattered with scrolls and parchment where she wrote poetry and songs she made up, sometimes taking inspiration from the books. Once, she had attempted to keep a record of her captivity but recording the monotony of her days depressed her to the point of wanting to throw herself over the ledge

In addition to items she scavenged from the ruins, Smaug occasionally brought back a wagon or a boat that he had captured. He only cared about any valuables and left the rest for her. Over the years, she had acquired dinnerware, cutlery, glass wear, pots, pans, and other kitchen ware as well as a variety of dried goods and spices. Once, she scored an entire cured ham!

She learned not ask about the previous owners.

Another concession she had won from the dragon was privacy. The front of the cell was open to the chamber, giving her none. She had started changing her clothes and washing off with the water from the barrel whenever he was sleeping until one day, when she turned around, she found him watching her. After that, she had demanded he allow her to cover part of the bars with a tapestry. Just part of them, not all. Smaug had steadfastly refused until she quit changing clothes and bathing. After nearly a month, she almost couldn't stand the smell herself and his sensitive sense of smell was grossly offended, saying she was too foul to even eat. He had finally relented, allowing her to cover the last third of the bars farthest away from the gate. Over the years, Doĵa had slowly increased their coverage until half of the cell was hidden from his prying eyes. If he noticed, he never said anything.

Shortly after the incident, she had found the tub and could take real baths.

Sighing, she wandered back into her cell, going to her cluttered desk. In addition to the scrolls and parchments littering the surface, she had three or four projects in progress. The books she had found were more often than not histories of the various dwarven kingdoms and their kings, but she had also found several books on smelting, weapon smithing, gold smithing, silver smithing, gemstone setting and other crafts the dwarves valued. During her forays, she had found the work rooms of some of these craftsmen (crafts-dwarves?). With Smaug's permission, she played around with some of the smaller, less precious gems, creating her own jewelry, preferring more simple pieces rather than the ornate designs of the dwarves. Her braids were adorned with her creations: delicate mithril chains with gems that she chose for their color instead of their value. Rare blue diamonds hung beside pink quartz crystals, red carnelian beads, and even a green chip of tile that matched her eyes.

Around the cell, more of her designs hung; dragonflies with delicate wings made from the finest mithril wire, butterflies made from colored glass inset with gems to catch the light, birds with wings spread in flight as if they could escape the confines of the cell.

She pulled one of her projects to the front of the desk, an armband fashioned in the shape of a phoenix in flight. She couldn't quite get the wings right after weeks of working on it. She sat, staring at it for a while, before sighing and shoving it to the side. Going over to the area that served as her kitchen, she listlessly picked through her larder, but since she wasn't hungry, she put everything back, sighing once again.

An irritated sigh echoed through the hall. Gold coins clinked and tinkled as Smaug roused himself from his slumber.

Pushing her long, curly hair with its bejeweled braids over her shoulder, Doĵa walked out to the ledge to watch as the dragon rose from the lake of gold.

"That was a short nap," she observed.

"Short because you won't stop moping around," he grumbled.

While they had not become friends during their decade together, they relied upon one another in a quasi-symbiotic manner. Doĵa sang, recited poetry, and told stories to entertain the dragon, stopping him from slipping into a dormant state under the piles of his gold. Were this to happen, Smaug could conceivably sleep away the rest of his long life. Hundreds of years from now, his bones would be discovered amongst the gold. An even worse scenario, perhaps the one that prompted him to keep Doĵa as his captive, was that the dwarves would return and find Smaug asleep and his hoard unprotected. In return, he provided her with companionship during his waking hours and provided her with everything she requested, within reason of course.

"I'm bored. All you ever do is sleep, leaving me alone for most of the day," she complained.

"You have books."

"I've read all of them."

"You have your writing supplies."

"I have nothing to write. I never go anywhere, do anything."

"You have your smithing."

"I don't want to smith," she sniffed.

"What do you want then?" he huffed in frustration.

"I want out of here."

He snorted before reaching up to grasp her, but she dodged his claws.

"Out of this mountain," she clarified. "I want to go Lake Town and talk to people."

"NO!" his voice echoed through the hall.

"Please!" she pleaded.

"Out of the question. You'd never come back. Then I'd have to burn Lake Town down to the water."

"I promise I'll come back."

"You say that now, but when the time comes, will you?"

"Of course!"

"No," he said with an air of finality. "I will not take that chance."

"Then you'll just have to eat me," Doĵa planted her hands on her hips and glared at him defiantly. "I'm not singing another song for you until I get to talk to someone besides you!"

Smaug lowered his head until his snout was less than an arm's length from her. "Don't test me, little morsel."

"Eat me, you asshole!" she yelled, swinging her fists at his nose, ignoring the pain of their impact on the hard scales.

He nudged her with his snout, knocking her back onto her butt. Scrambling to her feet, she retreated to her cell, flopping down on the bed with her back to him.

Two days later, the only time she had risen from her bed was to relieve herself and get a drink of water from the barrel. She refused to respond to Smaug when he cajoled her, threatened to roast her alive, or brought her gifts to entice her out. Angry, he lashed out, knocking everything off the ledge only to carefully replace every item later, hoping she would be curious enough to investigate.

On the morning of the third day, Smaug lay in his favorite place, staring at Doĵa's cell. It wasn't worry for the halfling that intruded into his naps, he told himself, despite waking in panic during the night after dreaming she was dead. He had risen from his nest in the gold and checked to ensure she was still breathing. Even after that, returning to his slumber did not come easily.

No, she was part of his hoard and as such needed to be protected and taken care of. No matter how irritating she could be. That was his story and he was sticking to it.

Now, he found himself wondering how he could give her what she wanted without giving her what she asked for.

"Look," Gomi pointed, "we made it."

"Erebor," Nor breathed with reverence.

"Finally," Frerin grunted. "Now we can go home."

"We are home," Nor told him.

"No, that's not home. Not anymore. That mountain belongs to the dragon Smaug now," Frerin argued. "I mean go back to our families. We have a wedding to attend," he gave the fourth member of their group a meaningful look.

"Yes, Frerin, everyone knows I'm to wed your sister when we return from this trip," Vili sighed with resignation.

"Why so glum?" Frerin asked, slapping him on the back. "Your children will be princes and princesses of Durin's folk."

"Yeah, princes of nothing," Vili responded. "We have no home now. No kingdom to call our own, no matter what your brother says."

"Watch your words," Frerin warned, "Thorin's your king and your future brother-in-law."

"Hey," Gomi pushed between them to break the tension, "what now?"

"What do you mean?" Frerin snorted. "We go home. We've delivered the dispatch from my brother to Dáin Ironfoot. It's bad enough I allowed you to convince me to come this far out of our way, but enough is enough. I'm putting an end to this."

"You can do what you want," Vili told him, marching down the hill they had just crested. "I'm going to step foot on the mountain where I was born."

"You're going to do no such thing," Frerin called after him. "I forbid it!"

Vili ignored his command. For the entire journey to the Iron Hills and back, he had been forced to listen to his future brother-in-law. You would think he was the king of Durin's folk, not Thorin. What was he thinking, agreeing to marry Dis? She was a fine figure of a dwarf, to be sure, and not lacking for suiters, but the trade-off for the beautiful bride was Thorin Oakenshield and Frerin. One focused on regaining the lost kingdom under the mountain at any cost, and the other a pompous windbag that didn't know the pointy end of a sword from a tankard of ale.

"Vili, wait," Gomi called, hurrying after him. "Are ye sure ye want to do this?"

Vili stopped to wait for his closest friend to catch up. "Yes, I'm sure. I never got to say goodbye to my father and brothers that died that day. Who knows when I'll ever be back this way? I'm doing this."

"Aye, I understand. Come, let's get this over with then," Gomi started back down the hill. "If we hurry, we can catch those two before after they stop for the night."

"Thank you, my friend," Vili said, following him.

"What are they thinking?" Frerin asked Nor with a snort. "Well, I'm not going to wait for them. Let's go." He turned to continue past the mountain.

Nor watched the two friends start up the next rise, then with a grunt, followed them instead of Frerin.

"Not you too?" Frerin called after him. "You're old enough to know better than this nonsense."

"Go ahead," Nor called over his shoulder. "We'll catch up with you after you stop for the night."

Angry at their disregard for his authority, Frerin stood on the hill and watched Nor call out to the others. They waited for him to catch up, then the three continued.

Shaking his head, he started down the hill. "Wait for me!"

When Doĵa woke on the third day of her rebellion, she admitted to herself that Smaug would never give in to her demands. Hungry and malodorous, she was hurting nobody but herself. The dragon could easily wait her out. Eventually, she would have to give in.

Throwing her blankets aside, she rose from her bed and padded to the ledge to voice her surrender. Only to find Smaug gone from the chamber.

"Of course," she muttered, then looked at the offerings he had placed on the ledge: a book she hadn't read, written in elvish; a bolt of fine green silk; and a strange stringed instrument. Gathering her new possessions, she returned to her cell to bath. As she scrubbed herself clean, she started planning what she would make from the silk.

Smaug flew above the clouds, out of the sight of anybody below, as if anyone would dare approach his domain. He circled the mountain, absently looking for quarry close by. He didn't want to go to Lake Town, though it was amusing to watch the inhabitants run in terror. Their screams were music to his ears. But taking one from their midst? That would create more problems than it was worth. In the 76 years since he had sacked Erebor, despite his destruction of Dale and continued harassment Lake Town, the towns folk had not mounted an attack against him. Not that he was afraid of the puny humans, he just liked his peace and quiet.

However, except for Lake Town, there were no other settlements around, unless he counted the elves strong hold in the forest, and he doubted an elf would prove to be suitable companionship for his Doĵa.

His Doĵa. He snorted. He would have been better off if he had just eaten her when he first encountered her in the lake all those years ago. But he had recognized her as the little singer of the song that had made him laugh for the first time since he took the mountain from the dwarves. Something about the halfling intrigued him. Over the years, she had worked her way under his scales and the thought of losing her made him cranky to no end. So here he was, looking for an appropriate companion to snatch up for his little songbird instead of napping amid his treasure.

His keen eyes caught movement at the base of his mountain, and he circled behind the mountain to come up behind his quarry. As he emerged behind them, fury gripped him. Dwarves! On his mountain. They were here for his treasure. He would lay waste to them for daring to trespass. Filthy, greedy dwarves. The furnace in his chest roared to life as, with three strong downward thrusts of his mighty wings, he rose into the sky behind them.

"This is close enough," Frerin whined, wheezing from the exertion. "We are on the mountain. Now can we just get out of here?"

Vili stopped on the small rise and craned his neck looking up at the peak high above them.

"This is it," he said, solemnly. "This is the first time one of Durin's folk have set foot in Erebor in 76 years."

"Aye, lad," Nor said from behind him. "The kingdom of our fathers and forefathers."

"I was just a wee lad when we fled," Gomi said quietly. "I barely remember it at all. But I grew into my whiskers on stories of this place."

"Well, I remember it clearly," Frerin snorted. "It was a disaster. And it will be more of one if Smaug discovers us here."

"This is our home," Vili told them, "our kingdom, and one day we will avenge ourselves on the foul beast that stole it from us."

The wind suddenly buffeted them, and the smell of sulfur filled the air.

"Then today is your chance, greedy dwarves!" a voice boomed above them. "Turn and face your doom!"

The four dwarves turned to stare in horror at the dragon swooping down upon them.

"Run!" Nor yelled.

They bolted in four different directions. Nor, Gomi, and Frerin took paths that led down the mountain towards the protection of the woodlands below. Vili dashed down the rise towards the mountain and ducked behind a boulder just in time for it to block the white-hot flames spewing from the enraged dragon. The boulder cracked under the heat but held together, still protecting the dwarf despite the heat it was absorbing.

After a bit, the flames ceased.

"Foolish dwarf," the dragon taunted, "that insignificant pebble will not protect you from my wrath."

"Vile worm," Vili yelled back, "that was not my intent."

"Your intent matters not, only your end," Smaug hissed.

"Oh, I intend to matter in the end," Vili countered.

"What trickery is this" the dragon rumbled.

Vili laughed, "it is too late now, repulsive slug."

The dragon's intake of breath was all the warning Vili had before another blast of Smaug's breath blistered the ground surrounding him. With a tremendous crack, the bolder split asunder, exposing the dwarf to the dragon.

"Now, impudent dwarf," Smaug gloated, "you have nowhere left to hide."

"Ah, but I have succeeded," Vili announce proudly, refusing to cower from the dragon.

"No, you have failed," Smaug corrected him.

This dwarf and his banter reminded him of his Doĵa in their early days together. She was witty and quick, though she never insulted him directly. Instead, she put all her taunts into songs and poems, many of which left him speechless, torn between anger and laughter.

"My friends have reached the safety of the forest below, which was my only intent. Therefore, I have succeeded in outwitting you, putrid maggot."

"Enough with the insults!" he roared.

Drawing a great breath, he prepared to roast the trespassing dwarf, then stopped before releasing the inferno.

Perhaps this was the solution to his problem.