Disalcimer: The Hobbit and its characters belong to J. R. R. Tolkien.
"True courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but to spare one." ~ Gandalf
Chapter#1: To Spare A Life
A crack of thunder ripped through the thick grey clouds, a flash of lightning following and briefly illuminating the blackened sky. Just as the echo of the previous grumble of thunder passed, another would take its place, vibrating the land below it. The rain poured down like metal spears, clashing with the landscape like a million tiny bullets. All living creatures had taken shelter from the storm, even those who preferred the damper weather. Large puddles had begun to form in the muddy ground, the rivers, lakes, and ponds rapidly filling to the point of overflow. Night had fallen not too long ago, and with the moonlight being shrouded by the thick clouds, seeing was close to impossible through the bucketing rain. Not a single sign of life could be seen for miles.
All but one.
He soared through the pouring rain and harsh winds, staying low in case anyone had their eyes out for the skies. Thunder rolled above him, and every now and then a flash of lightning would cast ominous shadows over the land, silhouetting his body in the sky. Every so often he would give a couple flaps of his powerful wings to gain some altitude when he descended too close to the ground, but other than that he stuck to soaring, avoiding too much movement if he could help it. And he had his reasons. The deadly black arrow that jutted haphazardly from his left breast was explanation enough for anything that may have spotted him flying passed.
Smaug fought to maintain his breathing as he soared through the drenched air, but the pain flaring in his chest was making that task difficult. His breaths had gradually turned into nearly ragged heaving as his huge wings carried him farther and farther from Lake Town, where he had been struck with what should have been an instantly fatal blow to the heart by a black arrow, which had been fired by a man he now wished to kill in the most creative of ways. But there had been no time for that. After he had destroyed nearly the entire inner and outer walls of Lake Town, he had suddenly felt an explosive agony as the arrow pierced him, and the next thing he had been toppling into the buildings. The pain had been, and still was, like nothing he had ever felt in his life. He did not know how he wasn't dead right that very moment, but he knew that would soon change.
He had remained still for a few minutes or so, having been immobilized by the pure agony of the arrow, but when the townsfolk had begun to cautiously gather he knew he must force himself up, or else one or more of them would have finished the job. He wouldn't have put it passed the Dwarves that had remained in the town, and a select other few, to run forth and drive the arrow the rest of the way into his chest once they saw he was still alive. So, he had gathered his strength, and a chorus of horrified screams and exclamations had rung throughout the surviving townsfolk when he had suddenly sprung to life. Clumsily, he had climbed to the top of one of the walls, letting out a roar of pain when he had jostled the arrow, and he had spread wing. It had been over an hour since then, and he had nearly reached his limit, his breaths having grown ragged. That wasn't the only source of pain. Somehow, his left wing had been torn during the fall, and the skin was bleeding, but it wouldn't bleed him out. The arrow would do that on its own.
By the time he had been flying a little passed an hour, he was fighting to remain conscious. His head bowed in the air, facial features wincing as he felt the arrow deep in his body. He decided to land, finally satisfied with the distance he had put between himself and Lake Town. Even if they dared to hunt him down, they wouldn't find him probably for weeks. It wasn't five minutes later he spotted a large rock formation below, and he realized it was a cave. It would have to do.
He landed carefully in the open, grassy area, which was surrounded by thick trees. His feet sunk into the ground under his weight, the soil having softened from the merciless onslaught of rain, and it took all he had in him not to collapse right there. His steps were heavy as he entered the empty cave. Finally out of the harsh weather outside, he turned around to face the cave's mouth before he practically collapsed against the wall, careful to lay partially on his side so the arrow wouldn't be driven in by the ground. His chest heaved with every ragged gulp of air, each breath feeling like his body was being torn apart from the inside out. Damn those Dwarves. Damn that lying thief of a Hobbit. Damn Lake Town. Damn them all!
Feeling as if his entire being was made of lead, he managed to lift his head long enough to look back at his body, where the arrow jutted from his breast. Panting, he fell back to the ground soon after, exhausted and quite utterly spent. There was no denying it. Even he couldn't lie to himself about his chances of surviving. He could feel it—like a parasite eating away at his heart. The arrow's head had tore through the very outer walls of his heart, if not further in. It was a wondrous miracle he wasn't dead yet. Despite himself, his dismay overwhelmed his desire to feel rage and seek revenge, and he closed his eyes, a sense of defeat washing over him.
It was only a matter of time.
Unbeknownst to Smaug, if he had flown just a couple miles further, he would have come across a home. Said farm's owner had been on her way home from a hunt. She rode atop a stunning white horse with a silver mane and tail, her dark green hood shielding her head from the downpour. The weather had been less than kind that day, and both she and her horse were soaked to the bone. Her dark hair stuck to her porcelain face where it had gotten wet, her hood clinging to her figure from being wet. She had taken her usual path home, crossing over the bridge and following the stream to the cave, which marked the two mile mark to her home. However, that say she was destined for a startling surprise.
A short, startled sound escaped her lips when her horse suddenly jerked to a stop in the middle of the clearing before the cave, digging the heels of his hooves into the muddy ground. She held on fast, pulling back on the rains as the animal clotted about, seeming restless.
"What is it, Altivo?" she said.
She held onto the rains and shushed the horse as it reared in the air, releasing a shrill whinny.
"Easy! What is it, boy?" Lifting her head, she looked towards the cave, which seemed to be the source of the animal's alarm. Her eyebrows creased together slightly when she saw something strange leading into the cave's mouth.
Having decided to investigate, she had tied her horse to a tree growing outside the cave, and she walked towards the odd indentations she had spotted in the mud. Once she was close enough, she looked down, and her eyes widened. Footprints. Large footprints. She stared at them for what seemed like an hour, before her head finally lifted very slowly towards the cave, her lips having parted a small fraction. No existing force in the world could have explained her actions to her, as she found herself walking towards the cave.
Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw when she reached the cavern's mouth, even though she had known what she would find. She had merely been hoping the creature had left by now, even though there were no tracks leading out. The moment she had cautiously peeked her head around the corner, she had merely caught a glimpse of the head before withdrawing quick as the lightning that flashed in the sky. All it took was a second's glance for her to know that she was not only looking at a dragon, but Smaug.
Suddenly, the large golden eyes opened, and she nearly choked on her own spit.
Turning, she made a mad dash back to her horse, but a sudden noise from the cave caused her to stop dead in her tracks. A low, hollow moan had emitted from the dragon, but it was not one of awakening. What had stopped her was the almost wounded way it sounded. It was then a thousand questioned sprung into her head. Smaug had not left Erebor since he had claimed it as his—what seemed like a millennium ago. Why had he left, and what was he doing a mere two miles from her home? Dragons did not commonly leave their treasure hordes except to hunt, but he had traveled a far too long of a distance just to be hunting.
Her mind traveled back to the moan, which had made him sound much like a wounded animal. The pieces then began to slowly put themselves together. If he was going to kill her, he would have been out and after her by now. Turning back, she looked towards the cave with narrowed eyes.
Once again, she approached the cave, and when she peeked in for a second time she saw the dragon had not moved an inch. His eyes were closed again. But that was strange. She was certain he had seen her. The narrow pupil had looked directly at her. Since his guard appeared to be off, she took the chance to look him over and slowly stepped a little further into the cave, ready to bolt if the need be. He was utterly massive. His hide was covered in the strong scaled of a dragon, dark red in color with a lighter underbelly. Wedged into his skin, she realized there were small gemstones and diamonds embedded into the softer flesh. So the rumors were true. Her eyes traveled up his tail, over the muscular back legs, and over his sleek back, before she came to a stop on his right wing when she saw the blood. It wasn't gushing, but it had dripped from a painful-looking tear in the canvas-like skin. Only briefly did she wonder what had caused the injury, before her eyes landed on the arrow that was sticking out from his left breast.
She drew in a quick breath. Just the sight of it was enough to freeze her breath in her throat. A moment later, she realized it was a black arrow. What on Earth... Then it all began to piece together. Something must have happened to make him leave the mountain and attack the humble Lake Town. Only a few black arrows had ever been made, but one of them must have ended up in the quaint little town after Smaug had wasted the city of Dale. Lake Town was the only place left she knew of that wielded the bow used to shoot the black arrows.
A sudden, low rumble made her freeze where she stood. Slowly, she turned her body to look back towards his head, and her blood ran cold when she saw his eyes were opened, and they were focused directly on her. They practically glowed in the dim moonlight, piercing straight through her soul with a golden fire. However, after a moment of staring back at him she could tell he was weakened from his wounds, for his stare was not as fierce as it could have been. She was not presented with the haughty, sadistic grin she had expected, like a cat eyeing its prey. Rather, he seemed almost confused in a sense, like he was trying to figure out where she came from. Then he flinched suddenly and seemed to shift ever so slightly, like a sharp pain had just coursed through him. This caused her eyes to once again shift back towards the arrow. Just looking at it made her own heart clench with a dull pain.
He was wounded—badly—and it showed clearly in his stare. The Smaug she knew would have been taunting her and getting ready to lunge, but he hadn't even so much as lifted his head off the cave floor. It occurred to her he was very weakened—possibly even dying. That didn't sit well with her. Tyrant or not, it physically pained her to see any living creature suffer. She knew she should leave while she had the chance, but instead she once again found herself walking straight towards the danger, as she took a slow step towards his head. This earned her a sharp look and a low, guttural sound, which clearly served as a warning. She held her hands up as a sign of peace.
"Steady… steady…" she soothed, hands held up before her in a calming manner as she slowly approached him. "I'm not going to hurt you." Slowly reaching back, she pulled down her hood, and he was met with a pair of kind green eyes. Her eyes watched his closely, as he gave her a distrusting, less-than-forthcoming stare. On a normal day, she knew he would have rolled his eyes at her words—it would have been ridiculous she thought herself a threat—but he was weak and couldn't risk jostling the spear in his chest, so she knew he was wary of her. "How long has that spear been in?" she asked softly, surprising him at how calm and quiet her voice was.
He eyed her carefully for a long moment, not answering her right away. He was precautious of this woman. One glance at her ears told him she was elvish—or at least partially so, and elves were not particularly fond of his kind. In all honesty, he was not particularly fond of their kind either, but he was in no position to fight. Even a simple snap of the jaws would send ripples of pain throughout his entire body, and he knew the spear had penetrated his heart by just the tip. He had made it worse by flying, but he had been left with no choice. Now, even the slightest error in movement could mean instantaneous death, a thought that terrified him to no end. He did not want to die, but he did not see any way to avoid it. He was growing weaker by the minute. Without some sort of miracle, he knew he wouldn't make it through the night.
"Smaug."
His eyes shifted back to her, faintly surprised at hearing her speak his name. It didn't surprise him, really, that she knew who he was. Few didn't. Her eyes were stern, but they held no threat.
"How long has the arrow been in place?" she asked him once more. "Tell me."
He blew a puff of air from his nostrils. "Why should I answer to you, red meat," was his answer, and she knew that was all she would get.
"What, pray tell, did you do to get yourself in this situation?" she asked. Her tone was not accusing or sarcastic in any way, her green eyes solid and serious. "I know who you are," she said, voice low. "And I know where this arrow came from. What did you do to make them launch it?"
Smaug eyed her for a moment, before he shifted his eyes away, silent. He did not have to answer to this spit of a creature. If it had been a different day, he would have engulfed her in flames by now and be done with her, but his wounded heart would not allow such an action at the moment. Attempting to breathe fire was a guaranteed way to commit suicide. He was tired and in pain, and the last thing on his mind was explaining himself to some mere, insignificant She-Elf. However, his fading attention abruptly shifted back to the small female when he felt her presence near his chest. In a flash, his head was lifting towards her, and before he thought about it he went to swipe her away, but he hadn't planned his movements wisely. His hand hit the spear by accident. He released a roar of pain, the woman having recoiled violently when his body gave a harsh jerk.
"Damn it, be still!" she snapped, alarm in her voice and eyes as she watched the arrow jostle dangerously.
He was panting hard, ripples of pain heating his entire body. Nothing else around him mattered at that moment other than keeping still as stone and riding out the pain. He hadn't even realized the woman had left the cave until he heard the sound of a horse's hooves thundering against the wet ground outside. For a moment she remained in his mind, her kind, strangely unafraid eyes looking at him in faint awe. If it were a regular day, he would have found her fascinating, but his mind was trapped in a painful haze. So, he allowed his eyes to drift shut once again, allowing his mind to drift off into the tempting darkness. He wasn't sure how long he lay there, listening to the raindrops assaulting the ground, and the thunder rumbling overhead, as he slipped further and further into the darkness. Yet, he fought the oh-so-tempting urge to allow his body to give into the exhaustion wearing at his beat system. Death was not something he had ever been well prepared for, and it was only when he was presented with it he realized how terrified he was of the thought, but it was unavoidable at this point. He would die there in that cave, but even that was better than falling where those damned Dwarves could see. At the very least, he had escaped so he could pass in peace.
Or so he thought. His departing mind was aroused when he became vaguely aware of something moving under his chin, where the armor was softer. The sensation was faint, but it caught his attention when a soft voice spoke. At first he thought he was dreaming, but when the voice continued to gently coax him to open his eyes, he finally did.
It was the She-Elf.
For the first moment or so all he did was stare at her in blank disbelief. She had returned. Why? A short glance behind her revealed to him that she had brought back a wagon of supplies, and it registered in his mind that she must live somewhere nearby. She couldn't have been gone for more than an hour. The Shire draft horse that pulled the wagon whinnied and pawed at the ground nervously at being so close to the massive dragon, but a few kind, gentle reassurances from the She-Elf put the animal at ease.
The woman turned her head back to the ever weakening dragon, her eyes moving over his huge frame once more. His ribcage rose and lowered with each shallow, painful breath, and other than that the rest of his body was completely still. She had been gone for less than an hour, forty minutes tops, and he already looked weaker, eyes barely half open as he stared at the pouring rain outside. She'd heard many stories about him, many holding details of his superiority complex. Smaug the Magnificent, the Golden, the Impenetrable, the Tremendous, the Stupendous…. His greed and arrogance were hardly in small amount, but tonight she was presented with a different creature. This dragon was weakened, tired, and in pain—drawn into himself as he struggled to keep his golden eyes open. Poor beast. Despite his record, she felt sympathy for him, and she had found herself galloping hurriedly back to her farm where she had rushed to pack various supplies into a wagon. Her mind had been split two ways as she rode back towards the cave, one urging her to help him, while the other screamed at her to leave him be. It was half expected he would be dead when she returned, but when she discovered he was still clinging to life she had made the final decision.
Smaug didn't move as he listened to her rustle about in the wagon, throwing down wood for a fire and taking out a large bucket filled with some type of leaves. He grew only slightly curious when he saw her remove a bundle of something wrapped in a cloth, but he did not comment on it. It wasn't worth wasting what energy he had left. His half opened eyes watched her suspiciously when she turned to face him, and she walked up to his head. It amazed him how fearless she seemed to be of him. How he wished he could change that right then.
What she did next, however, took him completely off guard, as she lifted her hands and placed one on his snout while the other stroked a smooth trail up the bridge of his face, much like the affectionate way a rider would pet his horse. Her eyes didn't meet his, instead having trained themselves on studying her hands as they gently stroked his skin as if to comfort him. It shocked him into stillness. Her face was soft and kind, green eyes holding not a speck of disdain or maliciousness, which is what he would have expected from anyone who caught him in such a vulnerable position. If he hadn't been so confused, he would have snapped his jaws at her for laying a hand on him, and he had a feeling she knew he would.
It was then he decided he couldn't hold back the urge to ask her any longer. His eyes studied her face closely, when finally he opened his mouth to speak.
"What are you doing?"
Her eyes lifted to his at last, and after a moment the smallest and gentlest of smiles slowly spread across her full lips.
"I'm going to save you."