Thorin stared at the bodies that were piled on the floor of the guardroom. They had thought, hoped against hope, that there would be an escape. He looked around at the faces. Preserved over time by the dry air and lack of vermin. Dust coated and cobweb covered, they stared with white marbles at wherever their gaze had last landed. Who could know where their thoughts had lead them in their last moments. Maybe it was better to not dwell on it. Leave them in peace, it was all that they had left.
This would not be his fate. It could not be. Nor would it be the fate of his companions. They would not die like this. There was no way he would allow that to happen. Never. He again over the people who lay there, his mind racing. Balin mentioned making for the mines, hiding there for a few days. No. He was Thorin! Son of Thrain son of Thror! He would not cower in a hole and wait for death. He would fight until the very end! Something caught his eye; a little figure, clutched in one dwarf's hand. A dwarf figurine, probably painted gold. Then he knew. He knew what they would do.
They made quickly, in separate groups, to the forges. It was there that they would make their stand. Or at least begin it. He gave a shortened account of his plan to his companions, and divided them into small parties that would allow the dragon to become distracted. When they reached the forges, he turned toward the dragon. 'You have grown fat!' he taunted. 'Slug!' That worked quite well. Too well, maybe. There was only just enough time for the 14 to hide behind pillars to avoid being roasted. But his plan, as crazy as it might have seemed, and still seemed, as the enraged dragon pounded on the large metal wall, had worked. Fires sparked to to life in the forges.
He directed his kin to places in which they would be best suited. Bombur to the bellows, Balin to make flash-flames, Bilbo to the task of the all important lever. And when that lever was pulled, and the water released, and the great wheels turned... Rivers of gold flowed downward, down prepared channels to their destination. Thorin grabbed a wheelbarrow and rode it like a boat down the streams. Calling out for the Hobbit to run, just before going through a tunnel, and leaping from the cart to a chain, and sliding down to land on the large stony structure.
He recalled the day it had been completed. The day they announced when the day of it's filling would be. He remembered the look on the craftsman's face. The utter joy that had filled it. He knew not what had happened to the man. He had not escaped with the rest of Durin's folk that fateful day. He had not been among those who had followed Thorin. He had not been fighting at Khazad Dum. Thorin could imagine him, standing bravely before his creation as the firebreathing creature advanced. He would have stayed to protect his masterpiece, yet unfinished, with his life. The proud dwarf would have been as a small rodent to the immense reptile.
He would have died before his life's work. But now, his spirit would see. The dragon, turning toward the great pile of bolted stone. Thorin gave the word, and with a cry for revenge, the pins were pulled from their sockets, slowly releasing the stone, so carefully and painstakingly bored, carved and piled, to fall to the floor. What it revealed was spectacular. So great that it was beyond the realm of words. The dragon himself was moved by it. He stared into the golden relief that was to have been a monument with wonder. And then the moment shattered.
It would have taken days, maybe even weeks to be sure, for that gold to harden. It had had only a few minutes, and the pressure from the inside was too great for the thin crust to hold. The cheek of the immense figure bulged and broke, molten gold flying into Smaug's face, throwing him backwards. With the barrier broken, the entire statue melted into a wave of metalic heat, washing the beast onto the floor of the Hall of Kings and covering him completely.
But for one moment. One glorious, shining moment, the proud figure had stood tall. Stood over the beast that had cowed it's maker and it had brought joy into the hearts of dwarves, just as it had been intended. Alas, that joy did not last.