Alternate Smaugs

A/N
These are just some whimsical looks at how Smaug's attack on the Dwarves of Erebor might have gone in an alternate universe.

Alternate Smaug #1:

When the dwarven lookouts saw the nearby trees going up in flames, they didn't hesitate to sound the alarm. In moments, the entire Lonely Mountain was stirring itself for action. Warriors girded on their armor and grabbed their most trusted weapons; women and older children ran around closing the iron covers of windows and doorways; the elderly took the very small children down to the safety of the lower caverns; all of Erebor braced itself for an attack. Who or what was attacking? Whatever it was, it seemed to be flying and it wielded gouts of flame. That narrowed it down to a question of which dragon was approaching.

Now they could see it, and it looked like a big one. It spread its wings wide and landed well out of bowshot. This gave the dwarves a chance to organize their defenses. They put their most heavily-armored and shielded warriors in the front ranks, with archers and crossbowmen just behind them. After the first volley was released, the archers and crossbowmen would fall back and make room for the dwarves who specialized in hand-to-hand combat with axes, hammers, swords, and spears. They edged toward their fearsome enemy, with King Thrór in the lead. But just before they got into arrow range, the dragon spoke.

"Good evening," it said in a powerful masculine voice.

"Begone, monster," Thrór shouted back, "or you'll find us a prickly mouthful!"

"I am not here to fight you," the dragon answered. "I am Smaug, the Great and Powerful, and I came here to meet a female dragon named Galligan. She promised to meet me at Erebor under the next full moon. This is Erebor, the moon is full, and here I am. Have any of you seen a lovely green female dragon in this neighborhood?"

Thrór quickly conferred with his kinsmen, then shouted, "No! There are no dragons here except you, and that's one too many!"

"Oh." The dragon looked crestfallen. "But she promised! Did she lie to me?"

"She must have ghosted you," Thrór bellowed. He nearly added, "Not that I blame her," but the dragon's pitiable countenance made him hold back.

Smaug shook his head. "I can't believe this! I've been looking forward to this night for weeks! I thought we had some chemistry together, too." He sighed deeply, letting twin wisps of smoke escape his nostrils. "Oh, well. My problem is not your problem. I won't keep you from your labors any longer." He turned, leaped into the sky, and flapped away to the north, leaving the dwarves greatly relieved and not a little confused.

Alternate Smaug #2:

The dwarves saw the nearby trees bursting into flame, and they realized that a dragon was closing in on them. Rather than rush out to the attack, they retreated inside the Lonely Mountain and closed every door and window. Then they waited.

After a few minutes, there was a heavy knock on the main gate. King Thrór cautiously slid open a nearby viewing slit, keeping his face away from it in case the dragon flamed it. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"We just want a moment of your time," came a draconic voice from outside. The dwarven king risked a look through the viewing slit. He was not prepared for what he saw. True, it was a dragon, and it was a big one. But it was wearing a huge white shirt labeled ELDER SMAUG above the pocket, with a colorful strip of fabric knotted around its neck, and it was clutching a bound book in its huge claws. A smaller dragon beside him wore a white shirt labeled ELDER DRACO.

"We want to ask you," the bigger dragon said politely, "if you've ever considered the claims of the Book of Morgoth? It offers a wonderful plan for life and for eternity."

King Thrór slammed the viewing slit shut. "It's just another pair of Morgoth missionaries going door to door," he muttered to the dwarves nearby. "How many times do we have to tell them 'We're not interested' before they get the message?"

Alternate Smaug #3:

There were once three communities of intelligent beings who lived near the Lonely Mountain. The Men of Dale built houses of straw at the foot of the Lonely Mountain. The Elves made their houses of wood on the outskirts of the Mirkwood Forest. And the Dwarves of Erebor hewed their home out of solid rock. They all traded together and enjoyed peaceful relations with each other.

Then, one day, a great dragon named Smaug flew down from the northern lands. He first landed near the town of Dale. The people saw him coming and hid inside their straw houses. The dragon was amused.

He chanted, "Little men, little men, let me in!"

"Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin!" the men of Dale shouted back.

"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house down!" the dragon thundered, and he breathed out a blast of his fiery breath. The houses of straw went up in flames, as did most of their occupants. Only a handful escaped to the south. The dragon gleefully collected their money and jewelry, then turned to the wooden homes of the Elves. Those Elves took one look at him and barricaded themselves into their houses of wood. The dragon chuckled deep in his throat.

He chanted, "Little elf, little elf, let me in!"

"Not by our hairless chinny-chin-chin!" the Elves shouted back.

"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house down!" the dragon thundered, and he breathed out a blast of his fiery breath. The houses of wood went up in flames, as did most of their occupants. The few survivors retreated into the depths of Mirkwood Forest. The dragon greedily collected their money and jewelry, then turned to the stony home of the Dwarves.

He chanted, "Little dwarf, little dwarf, let me in!"

"Not by the beard of my chinny-chin-chin!" the Dwarves shouted back. "And don't call me 'little!'"

"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house down!" the dragon thundered, and he breathed out a blast of his fiery breath. The home cut out of the stone easily withstood the fire, and the dwarves inside were unharmed. They cheered, danced, and sang,

"Who's afraid of the Big Bad Smaug? Big Bad Smaug? Big Bad Smaug?
"Who's afraid of the Big Bad Smaug? Tra la la la la!"

Nothing made the dragon angrier than hearing dwarves singing "Tra la la" like elves, but with barely a fraction of the elves' musical talent. He flew up to the ledge where the river poured out of Erebor, entered the halls of the Lonely Mountain by that path, and slew every one of the dwarves. Then he spread out his stolen treasures in their Great Hall, muttered "YOU should be afraid of the Big Bad Smaug" to no one in particular, and fell fast asleep.

Were you expecting a happy ending?

Alternate Smaug #4:

The dwarves formed up on the battlefield, ready to meet their fearsome foe. Their shields were up; whether those shields could withstand dragon fire was an unknown question. The dragon slowly stalked toward them, its huge head weaving back and forth on its long, snake-like neck, apparently looking for weaknesses in the dwarves' formation.

Then it stopped and spoke. "I have come to speak to Thrór, King Under the Mountain."

After a moment, Thrór answered, "I am Thrór, King Under the Mountain, and I have nothing to say to you except 'Begone!'"

"Do not be so hasty, King Under the Mountain," the dragon answered. "I am Smaug, the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities, and I wish to make you a business proposition."

"I do not entertain business propositions from dragons," the Dwarven King shouted. "My only counter-offer to you is your own demise!"

"You speak bravely for one in a losing position," Smaug retorted. "If you will spare me five minutes of your precious time, I think you will agree that I have something worth saying."

"Enough talk," Thrór exclaimed. "Archers, fire!" Bowstrings twanged. Hundreds of arrows streaked through the night, struck the dragon, and bounced off without doing him a bit of harm.

The dragon sighed. "Why do they always want to do it the hard way?" He took a deep breath and blasted out a sheet of flame. It struck the extreme right edge of the dwarven line, and every dwarf who was hit by that blast either broke and ran, trying to put out the fires on the leather parts of his clothing, or died where he stood. The dwarf captain who was in charge of that part of the line did a quick head count and found that less than forty warriors had fallen or run. Why so few? The dragon was certainly capable of doing much more harm than that!

"First round goes to the dragon," Smaug said with satisfaction. "I limited that strike to just a handful of you because I want to prove a point. My point is that you cannot defeat me! Your weapons can't harm me, and my fires can decimate you if I wish. Only my own desire for peaceful coexistence is holding me back. Now, will you hear me out?"

Thrór had a quick conference with his closest kinsmen. "Do we have any hope of killing him?" the King asked.

"Not without a fantastic stroke of luck," his brother Frór replied. "His armor has grown thick over the years, and his fire is hotter than I remember. We can defeat elves and humans, and we can definitely defeat orcs and goblins, but this enemy may be too much for us."

"If we surrender," his son Thráin retorted, "it will probably kill us anyway. I say we fight, and go out in a blaze of glory!"

"We'll get the blaze, all right," Frór answered him. "Whether or not it is glorious won't matter to the dead."

Grór, the king's other brother, hesitated. "Perhaps we should hear what he wants to tell us before we commit to a losing battle."

Thrór spat on the ground. "No king of the Dwarves was ever disgraced like this!" He turned back to face the dragon. "What do you want of us, Smaug?"

"I'd like to propose a deal," the dragon said amiably. "You are wealthy and famous here in your mountain. You are also isolated and relatively small in numbers. Surely you must realize that your success has made you some bitter enemies?"

"Like yourself?" young Thorin shouted.

"Oh, no, not I," Smaug said; he sounded offended. "If I counted myself as your enemy, then most of you would already be dead by now. I wish to make a deal with you. You have wealth, which the goblins and the orcs greatly desire. It is merely a matter of time before they raise an army to try conclusions with you. If he had the chance, I'm sure that King Thranduil of the Elves of Mirkwood would also be happy to relieve you of some of your treasures. Surely you admit the truth of this?"

"We will guard and keep our own treasure, thank you very much," Thrór retorted.

"But at what price?" the dragon asked. "If the goblins arrived tomorrow in their uncounted thousands, you might fight them off, but how many of you would fall? How many would be left, fit and healthy for the next battle? If you were visited by a dragon less scrupulous than I am, would you have any hope at all? I could take it myself, were I so inclined, but I would like to avoid armed struggle if I can."

"Enough of your threats, dragon! What do you want?"

"A simple arrangement for our mutual benefit," Smaug said. "You will provide me with a hall large enough for me to sleep, and a reasonable annual payment in treasure of various kinds. In return, I will guarantee the safety of your kingdom and your people against any foe short of a Balrog."

"And what do you get out of this... this arrangement, dragon? If you are so powerful, then why do you not simply take what you want?"

"I long for a life of comfort, stretched out and sound asleep upon a vast bed of gold," the dragon replied. "If I go to war with you, then even if I wipe you out, it is certain that some of your relatives will try to avenge your deaths at my expense someday. I could probably defeat them, just as I can probably defeat you, but I would rather not be disturbed every hundred years or so by vengeful dwarves. If we do it this way, we preserve the peace and I make no hereditary enemies."

The dwarven leaders huddled together to discuss his offer. "This is nothing but a shakedown!" Thrór said to the dwarves. "It's blackmail! The dragon wants us to pay him protection money!"

"It would be better to die fighting than endure such humiliation," Thráin answered.

Grór shook his head, which set his beard a-wagging. "You may very well get your wish, Thráin."

"Our cousins from the Iron Hills will help us!" Thráin cut in.

"They will not get here in time, if we go to battle tonight," Grór disagreed. "They are many days away. I doubt that the dragon will wait that long for our convenience, no matter how mild-mannered he appears to be at the moment."

"The question," Frór said, "is how high a price we are willing to pay for our continued existence, for if we do not accept the dragon's terms, he will surely kill us all before the sun rises."

Thráin was shocked. "Have you no pride at all? We are Dwarves! We do not surrender and we do not yield to threats."

"And we do not survive the fire of large dragons," Grór shot back. "Look at the right wing of our army! Did you lose any kinsmen there when the dragon flamed them? I know of at least two relatives of mine who were set alight. I have no desire to join them if it won't contribute to the death of our enemy."

"Death before dishonor!" Thráin shouted.

Thrór raised his hands for silence. "Let the dishonor fall on me," he said heavily. "I have worked too hard to build up this glorious kingdom; I will not see it eradicated in blasts of dragon fire. Anyone who is unwilling to live with my decision is free to leave and go to the Iron Hills, where there are no dragons and precious little gold." He paused. "Perhaps the goblins will attack us someday. In that case, it might be very useful to be allied with a dragon."

He stepped out in front of his army. "What did you have in mind in terms of an annual payment?"

They worked out a mutually agreeable compromise before sunrise. Thrór promised by the honor of his ancestry to keep their agreement, and Smaug swore by his own eyes. It was done. The Kingdom Under the Mountain had added a new resident.

It also lost many residents. Fully a quarter of the Dwarves were unwilling to share their kingdom with a dragon, and they left Erebor in protest. Some went to the Iron Hills; others scattered to other places far and wide. Thorin, grandson of Thrór, was one of them, and he took most of his own kinsmen with him. He harbored an endless grudge against the dragon, but without Thrór's support, there was no chance of him taking any vengeance. He and twelve relatives ultimately set out on an ill-fated attempt to reclaim Moria for the dwarves. He knew that thirteen was an unlucky number, but his attempts to recruit a hobbit to join them utterly failed. None of them was ever seen again.

Smaug moved into the main hall of Erebor, which was the only space big enough for him. The dwarves brought him his first year's payment there, and he spread it around so he could see it all. It didn't look like much when it was spread so thinly. But as the years went by, and he kept receiving his annual fee without spending any of it, his hoard grew until it formed the vast bed of gold that he had always dreamed of. This brought him great pleasure.

He never lifted a claw to defend the Lonely Mountain against attackers. That was no dereliction of his duty; it was because, once the word went out that Smaug the Great and Terrible was living there, no one dared to attack it. His mere presence protected the Kingdom Under the Mountain as surely as claws, teeth, and dragon fire would have done. He had no problem with this. As far as he was concerned, he had successfully held up his half of the deal.

For the remainder of the Third Age, dwarves and dragon lived together in an uneasy but uneventful peace. The humans in the village of Dale, at the foot of Mount Erebor, had to keep a close watch over their livestock; the dragon considered anything that wandered away from the herd to be fair game. But Dale lacked the strength to try conclusions with Smaug, so they endured his occasional predations with grumbles and curses, but no overt action. The dwarves scrupulously paid him his fee at the start of each year, and then did their best to pretend he wasn't there as they went about their profitable business. The dragon lived in solitary comfort, content in the knowledge that he had acquired a world-class golden bed without earning the undying hatred of an entire race.

And, far to the west in a place called the Shire, a hobbit named Bilbo Baggins lived an equally peaceful life, and never knew what adventures might have befallen him had things turned out differently at the Lonely Mountain.

The End