T.A. 2793

Smaug's eye shot open, his pupil adjusting to the dim light. He felt as if something, some connection to him, had just been broken. It had been twenty-three years since he had seen Raug. A deep and burning hatred for Sauron rose in his chest. Smaug had acquired a much fouler mood over the years away from Raug. Suddenly, the low whisper echoed through his mind. He was extremely tired of talking to Sauron and being under his control. He snorted several coins out of his nose.

"Raug…is dead," Sauron told him. Smaug's heart stopped.

"What? No!" Smaug yelled.

"He was killed in Mount Gundabad," Sauron said, sympathizing with Smaug. The Dragon could not see him, but he was smirking demonically as he told the beast the news.

"Who killed him?" Smaug asked immediately. Sauron knew his plan was going perfectly.

"Thorin Oakenshield," he said. Smaug rose up on his back feet and grabbed a Dwarvish pillar. He wrapped his claws around it and tore with all his might. The pillar cracked and fell from its place in between the ceiling and the gold. He stood, panting angrily. "Smaug, one day, Thorin will attempt to reclaim this kingdom. You know this. It would be the perfect opportunity to pay your revenge."

"That nasty, short, putrid brigand!" Smaug roared, the gold tinkling from the massive vibrations. "It is all because of you, Sauron! You tortured us!" Smaug began to scream. Suddenly, Sauron put him into a deep sleep and he fell into the gold. Then, Sauron left his mind.

…

Calen awoke. His head spun for a moment and he felt nauseous. A low torch light flickered on the dark walls. He could hear something popping and bubbling. A constant, obnoxious creaking and a deep rolling sound reverberated off of the wooden walls. He sat up, realizing that his tunic was gone from his body. He looked down and saw a large band of cloth wrapped around his stomach. There was dried blood in one spot.

Calen looked forward at the source of the noise. His heart skipped a beat and he reached for a weapon that was not there. In a low chair sat the hooded figure he had seen earlier. The hood was back, revealing bright, golden hair and a gorgeous face. Her blue eyes were focused on the grinding wheel before her. It rolled in place and orange sparks shot off of the large blade she was holding. Calen realized that it was his sword. She lifted the sword into the air and gazed at it, feeling its sharpness with her long, soft fingers. She turned the blade swiftly, showing her skill in swordsmanship. She placed the tip of her finger at the top of the blade. A small trickle of blood slid down. She rested the blade on the floor and wiped her finger on her brown cloak. The wheel gradually began to slow down. Calen was amazed at the beautiful brightness of her curled hair. She gave off a kindly air. Calen knew that she had to be an Elf.

"Who are you?" Calen asked. He was answered with the bubbling of a pot in a small fireplace. After some time, the Elf began to smile happily, and raised her head. Calen could not believe how beautiful she was. Something pulled him to her.

"I see you do not remember. But I would not expect you to," she smiled at him. Then, she stood up and strode towards him on the bed. She rested the back of her warm hand on Calen's cheek. "I am your mother," she said quietly, her voice breaking. Calen looked into her eyes in shock.

"I thought they killed you!" he said. She shook her head and took her hand from his face.

"I have lived in Gundabad ever since your father was killed. Long have I worn this cloak and this hood, but now, I can finally reveal myself to the one I love most. My dear son," she pulled off the cloak, revealing a dirty and ragged blue Elvish dress. Calen could tell from the look of the bottom, which was just above the knee, that she had cut the length long ago. He looked suspiciously at red stains on her legs. She was barefoot, and her feet were very dingy and gray. She gestured to Calen's tunic, which was hanging over the small fire. The hut was very small, maybe only big enough for two. Calen's mother turned and grabbed his sword while he dressed. His old outfit felt new and very clean. His mother carried his sword and scabbard to him. He sat in a chair and rested it against his leg.

"Why did you allow the Dwarves to reclaim this mountain?" she asked, her tone much harsher as she poured her son a bowl of broth. Calen froze, remembering everything that had happened.

"I can't really explain it…" Calen said softly as he lifted the wooden spoon to his lips.

"Explain it," his mother said, staring intensely at him. Calen rested his spoon in the bowl and slowly wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"I went with a scouting party to Dol Guldur, not two months ago," Calen began. His mother looked very wary of him. "We stayed there for several days, and then left. But when we returned to the camp, I kept hearing these strange whispers in my mind. It was as if someone was trying to speak to me. I ignored it, but one day, they broke through. They had a nice voice. It was very pleasant and smooth. I listened to what they said, and I followed what they said. They told me about a Dragon, one of the only ones still alive today. I took a party with me, but on the way, the voice told me to turn on Gundabad. I was confused and doubted the voice, but it told me that I would be rewarded greatly if I did. I befriended the Dragon and brought him here. He is dead because of me," Calen began to sob at the end of his monologue. He expected his mother to soothe him, but she stood up and was staring into space, deep in thought.

"Tell me, did this Dragon hear the voices too?" she asked. Calen shrugged. "He would not be ready to reveal himself. It would be too great of a risk to open Mordor," his mother said to herself. Then, she whipped towards her son. Calen flinched. "Are there any soldiers left in Gundabad?" she asked quickly and sharply.

"I believe the last of them left yesterday," Calen said. His mother slowly shook her head.

"So, he has an army now. Big enough to conquer a great portion of the world. I assume Moria is being emptied as well. And, if the Dragon was in league with him…" she continued to talk to herself. "Calen, you listen to me. You listen very carefully. An ancient evil is gathering a power so terrible that the world we know will be destroyed. Do not listen to that voice anymore. We need to leave," she grabbed Calen's shoulders tightly.

"Mother! You do not understand! I cannot fight it!" he stood up and yelled. His mother suddenly looked depressed and melancholy.

"I fell in love with your father. An Orc. The polar opposite of my race. But he was pure. The Shadow of the Past did not live within him. Yet somehow, it passed to you, even though you are not a complete Orc. You were made to serve him. I am sorry," she said, a tear falling from her eyes.

"Who is 'he'?" Calen looked at his mother suspiciously.

"Sauron, the Dark Lord. Master of the One Ring to rule them all. Lord of Mordor. I have no time to explain. You need to leave this area. It is too close to Angmar and the Dwarves will soon find you. I have already packed your things," she handed him his sack and hooked his scabbard around his waist. "If…if the Dwarves find me…I may never see you again." Calen hugged his mother and she kissed his forehead. "Remember, ignore the voice. He is trying to control you," she said as he opened the squeaky wooden door. He closed it behind him.

His mother's house was surrounded in pitch darkness. Calen looked straight up and saw glimmering lights get brighter and brighter as they climbed the cavern walls. He could hear Dwarves talking and yelling at each other. Calen could almost make out a stone stairway a little bit away from him. He started walking in the darkness.

Soon, he came across a massive rock. It was too dark to see details, only its basic shape. Calen walked around it until it grunted and winced. A low growl echoed through the darkness. Calen stopped dead in his tracks and turned. He quickly pulled his torch out of his sack and lit it. The light grew and illuminated the boulder. It took a red and gold hue, the scales beginning to shine in the light. Calen looked at the bottom of his boots. They were stained dark red with blood. A huge and rapidly growing pool came from under the wounded Dragon's body. His wings were tightly hugging his body as he groaned in pain. The black arrow stuck out of his back like a flagpole on a stone. Calen ran up to his friend. Raug's eyes were fluttering open and closed. Calen did not have any healing skill at all. He decided to run back to his mother's hut for help. Maybe she could heal him.

…

Eleluin had found the Dragon on her way down the stairs with Calen in her arms. Her son was sick, and he needed help. She quickly carried him to the hut and stripped him of his clothes. She hastily put his tunic through a bucket of warm water and hung it to dry. Calen had a minor sword wound on his stomach that was bleeding. She pulled bandage cloth from a bag and wrapped it around him. Eleluin tucked her son in with covers and ran out the door again, making her way to the Dragon. She knew that she could not help it with magic, for Dragons, like Orcs, were creations of the Enemy. She knelt in the blood of the Dragon and stroked its scaly snout. Then, she remembered someone she had met long ago.

"Vakha en' i' kelvar, tua sina onna, tua ho," she closed her eyes and chanted. Her mind went white, and she saw the Protector of the Forest.

"Amin lema a' ho rato," he told her, her mind fading back to normal. Eleluin caught her breath and touched Raug's snout once more. Then, she turned around and went back to her home.

…

Calen opened the door in a rush and flew inside.

"Moth-," he said to an empty room. The fire had been out for a long time and the soup was cold. All light was gone from the tiny hut. She must have left. Calen immediately remembered his dying friend and dashed back through the darkness, his torch dimming.

Calen saw someone kneeling in Raug's blood. They had a very large sack that they were continually pulling items from, such as bottles of strange liquid, pipes that blew smoke, glittering gems, and other novelties. Calen peeked over a small rock at the person. The person was apparently male, for a long, blonde beard hung down to his stomach. He was very short and stout and wore a filthy overcoat and a lopsided hat, covered in bird feces. His stringy blonde hair was wrapped around his shoulders. He held a great wooden staff. At the top was a dark blue crystal that gave off an eerie and mysterious light. He muttered words and talked to himself as Raug winced and growled.

Then, he plucked the crystal from his staff. He whispered to Raug and held the gem over his head. Nothing happened. The strange wizard put the gem back into its place and slumped over, frustrated.

"Raug? Can you hear me?" Radagast asked the Dragon.

"How…do you know my…name?" Raug asked, in and out of consciousness. Radagast stroked the massive snout before him.

"Be not afraid," he told Raug. "I am here to help you."

"I…do not want to…live anymore. Long have I been plagued by the ancient evil…that has returned," Raug winced. Radagast eyed him suspiciously, his bushy eyebrows twitching. Raug was in pain, slowly being tortured to death by his bodily functions shutting down. "You must…kill me. I must be put out of my misery," he grunted. Radagast sobbed and whined. "Please…" Raug begged, the blood spreading further. Radagast began digging in his sack once more, looking for some sort of cure. "Now!" Raug screamed deafeningly. Radagast jumped and gazed at him. He knew that there was nothing to help the poor beast. He had to be killed. Radagast hated doing this most of all. He cared deeply for life, no matter what form it took.

"I understand Raug," he said as he stood up, grabbing his staff. He held his hand on the Dragon's snout and placed the crystal next to it.

"Goodbye…father…" Raug whispered, tears flowing from his amber eyes. "I…only wanted to live…in peace with you. Maybe one day…I can fly with you…"

"Ile ier ondo," Radagast said. A bright, blue light flashed. Radagast lowered his staff. Where once was a huge Dragon, there was now a statue. Raug was dead. Calen wept profusely behind the rock. Radagast heard him sniffle and whipped around, peering into the darkness with a crazed countenance. He lifted his sack and waddled quickly up the stairway, the low blue light following him. Calen leapt over the rock and walked up to Raug.

His head was rested on his front feet, and his eyes were sad. A tear was frozen in gray on his cheek. Calen looked up at his body. Even dead, and preserved in stone, Raug was incredibly large and fearsome. Calen cried and touched his cold, shingly form. The Dwarves would soon find him. Calen touched his friend for the last time and ran up the old Dwarvish staircase. For eternity Raug would rest at the base of the mountain.

…

The shadow shifted sideways in thought. It hovered in the silver moonlight and turned another way, whispering and grumbling.

"Calen was weak. He was insecure and the perfect piece of my plan. Now that Gundabad has fallen, the Orcs will have motivation," Sauron muttered. "Raug is dead, Calen is gone, my Nazgûl have not returned for weeks, and Smaug only wants revenge on Oakenshield. The days will come down under my shadow. Everything will happen as I have predicted. Yes…" Sauron vanished back into the murky darkness of Dol Guldur.