Avaritia
It was wonderful, it was worth everything they had ever endured, every hardship and every death. It was beautiful, more so than anything else in this world, it's tantalizing haunting quality such an intoxicating sight. He couldn't get enough of it, oh how he loved it, all of it.
Every coin, every little jewel, every pearl, every bejeweled chalice. It was his, it was a part of his soul, watching it grow year by year was more heady than any mead, it brought such joy. It brought a joy he never had felt otherwise, a joy his wife nor his son could ever compare with. It was indeed a part of his divine right to rule, and he wanted to stay there, to never leave it behind. His duties as a king were not as important as the golden sheen of gold, as the twinkling light of jewels. And yes, he knew that the others envied him but it meant nothing, for it was his. It was a part of his very being, his identity, and yet it called out to him, softly and longingly and he couldn't stay away from it, not even in his sleep.
He coveted more, more, oh so much more. They dug deep, they dug night and day, brought more and more up from the bowels of the earth and for every gleaming piece of gold his hunger grew. It made him shiver, made him tremble, made him desire it to a degree that lead him to forsake other pleasures. He ate and drank but only because he had to, every waking hour he was spending with the treasure, every thought he had circled around it, its safety, its growth. Oh they were all wealthy, they all wore the best cloth, the best jewelry. The beards of their daughter's and wives decorated with rubies and emeralds. Indeed his kingdom was grand, indeed it was blessed, it was shadowing the other realms, even the darn thin blooded lanky elves bowed to his might.
They bowed to Thror, king under the mountain, the lord of Erebor. He smiled and caressed a golden statue, his eyes gleaming with a burning desire, a yearning for more gold, it filled the lower halls, but it could never be enough, he would ensure that it would keep growing. He lifted his head, what was that racket? His grand treasure shouldn't be disturbed? He frowned, screams? Were perhaps the elves attacking, that ghost of an ellon Thranduil wasn't trying to reclaim those bright jewels of his now was he? Thror heard more screams, a thundering sound, then the words reached him. " Dragon, a dragon has come."
He felt the gush of heated air, felt his stomach drop. So this was the end, and they had been right. His mind reeled, could it be saved, could the dragon be vanquished? As his grandson dragged him away his only relief was that none other would be able to claim the treasure, it would forever be guarded by a dragons flames and claws and teeth.