Bells rang out in Laketown despite the late hour, and people frantically loaded their few possessions into their boats. Erebor was awash with golden light in the distance, a clear sign to the townspeople. Tauriel watched the sky ominously, the sounds of Smaug's growls and wingbeats clearly audible to her elven ears. The dragon drew even closer, and then arrived with frightening speed, his shadow passing over the moonlit town and causing a fresh wave of panic.
Tauriel reentered Bard's house, saying, "We have no time. We must leave!" As the dwarves gathered up their gear, she snatched up some extra layers and wrapped them around Tilda's shoulders to keep her warm in the early winter chill.
"We're not leaving," Bain insisted, "Not without our father."
"If you stay here, your sisters will die," the Elf responded, "Is that what your father would want?"
Bard, meanwhile, was still trapped in the prison, all the guards gone in fear of the dragon. He clutched at the cell bars, not bothering to shout for them. Instead, he waited.
At last, he saw his foe: Smaug, limned in moonlight and flying high above the town, circling around for another pass. The archer turned to start stripping the bed to make a rope.
Tauriel led the dwarves and Bard's family down below the house, where their boat waited for them. "Quickly now!" she called, taking position at the prow, "Hurry!" They set off down the canal, poling the boat through the floating chunks of ice. The dragon swooped low overhead, close enough that they all ducked automatically, and the townspeople around them screamed.
Smaug soared high above and away from Laketown, then turned and dove steeply, building up fire in his chest. As he passed over the town, he breathed the fire out in a line all the way across part of the town. People screamed in panic, and many died in the inferno. He continued making passes and leaving lines of flame and burning homes in his wake.
"Look out!"
The Master's boat collided with Tauriel's, upsetting everyone and everything on them. They managed to right themselves and push apart, but some of the Master's treasure spilled over the edge into the water. "My gold," he cried when he noticed, "my gold!"
"We're carrying too much weight," said Alfrid, looking over their costly cargo, "We need to dump something!"
While he looked to the pile of treasure, the Master looked to him. "Quite right, Alfrid," he said pleasantly, and then pushed him overboard, just as a cloth loop fell from above. Bard's timing had been dead on; the cloth rope caught the Master by his throat. The other end was tied to his cell bars, already in position to pull them free of the prison. At the front of the boat, Braga hadn't noticed the Master's predicament and called for the pole men to move them faster.
As the boat pulled ahead, the rope loops pulled the Master back, but then he became stuck against the boat's rear post. As the rope drew taut around his neck, he began to gag and choke, but before it could kill him, the wall of Bard's prison yielded first. The rope construction tore out entire side of the cell, and Bard himself escaped, climbing up to the roof. As Smaug flew overhead, breathing more fire, Bard broke through the window to the guardroom and grabbed a bow and quiver, feeling the bowstring. He punched out some of the shingles in the roof and clamber out onto it again, where he had a good vantage point for Smaug' latest pass. He ducked low as Smaug flew by barely a meter overhead – and spotted the missing scale, the one gap in his armor. When the dragon passed him by, Bard began running across the rooftops, heading toward the bell tower, the tallest remaining building in the town.
Bard thundered up the winding steps of the bell tower, mindful of his bow. This was no gun that could survive bangs and blows; if the wood splintered or the string snapped, he was doomed. Once at the top, he pulled all the arrows out of his quiver, letting it fall away, and looked out at the sky. In the distance, Smaug dove for another pass. As he soared by the bell tower, Bard leaned out at an awkward angle and shot an arrow at him, aiming for the missing scale, but it missed, reflected off of Smaug's scales, and spun away into the night.
The swinging and tolling of the bell was incredibly distracting, so the archer pulled out his dagger and cut's the bell's rope, silencing it, before climbing up onto the railing to fire again. Like the first, it collided with the dragon – this time closer to the fatal gap – but tumbled away without doing any damage at all.
In the canals below, Bain noticed his father at the top of the tower. "Da!" he cried, drawing the others' attention as well. His siblings cried out for their father, too, but he was too far away to hear. As they watched, Bard shot another arrow at the dragon. It hit perilously close to its target but missed just the same.
"He hit it!" Kíli shouted, "He hit the dragon!"
"No..." the elf responded.
"He did!" insisted the dwarf, "He hit his mark, I saw!"
It was not Bard's aim that Tauriel doubted. "His arrows cannot pierce its hide," she responded, "I fear nothing will."
Bain looked down, thinking, then up again and noticed the statue of the Master, and below it, the boat where he'd hidden the Black Arrow. Bain's face hardened with determination, and as their boat passed under a hanging hook, Bain leaped up to grab it, swinging clear of the boat. The others grabbed at him and miss, and called after him, demanding explanation. The hook swung him around to the dock, and the instant he got his feet under him, he ran for the Arrow.
"Leave him!" Tauriel called, praying to Eru to give him all the luck in Arda, "We cannot go back!"
"Bain!"
At the top of the tower, Bard turned to reach for his arrows, only to find one left. He hesitated in fear – his shots had come within centimeters of hitting the mark - then grabbed it anyway and shot at Smaug. This time, Smaug passed so close to the tower that the wind knocked the archer over and rattled the structure, wood creaking ominously. Smaug roared as he began to circle, searching for the source of the irritation.
Footsteps pulled the man from his state of bowman's Zen, Bain appearing at the top of the bell tower and shocking Bard. He had been so focused on slaying the dragon with what he had that he had forgotten his son. "Bain?!" he said, "What are you doing?! Why didn't you leave?! You were supposed to leave!"
"I came to help you," the boy insisted.
"No! Nothing can stop him now!"
"This might." He pulled the Black Arrow up so the man could see it. Bard sighed in relief, then cupped his son's face.
"Bain - you go back. You get out of here now!" Bard tensed, hearing the wingbeats over the crackling of the fire, and grabbed his son by the upper arms, pulling him in close and shielding him with his body as the dragon took off the roof of the tower. The boy held tight to the Black Arrow and his father as the stairs fell away under him, the man pulling them both up with all his strength.
Smaug landed close by in the town, crushing already burning buildings underneath his bulk. "Who are you that would stand against me?!" the dragon demanded, turning to look at the archer.
Bard stood tall before the creature, then grabbed his bow, only to find that it had been broken in half when Smaug smashed into the tower. He had been hoping against hope that it would stay whole, picked the strongest wood he could find, but it still could not stand up to the force of a dragon.
"Now that is a pity. What will you do now, Bow Man? You are forsaken. No help will come."
Bard looked around frantically, but there is nothing to help him. Smaug began walking toward him through the field of fire, crushing the buildings beneath him. Looking at the tower, Smaug growled and continued to speak to Bard. "Is that your child? You cannot save him from the fire. He will burn!"
'Not if I can help it.' He knew just what to do and got right to it, firmly embedding the two broken halves of his bow into the remaining posts of the bell tower, with the bowstring taut between them. He put the Black Arrow to the bowstring, and laid the front end of the Black Arrow on the shoulder of his son, who stood as the new center of the bow, facing Bard. Bain panted in fear, listening to Smaug approaching from behind but unable to turn back and see him. "Stay still, son," said Bard, in his gentlest voice, "Stay still."
"Tell me, wretch," the dragon demanded, "How now shall you challenge me?!" He lifted his head – a mistake that would prove to be his undoing, for it clearly revealed the missing scale to the archer, and now he had a head-on shot. A small smile pulled his lips up.
'And now, the moment of truth,' Bard thought, ignoring the dragon's words as he charged. Bain looked over his shoulder at the dragon, but his father called him back, saying, "Bain! Look at me. You look at me." He didn't dare draw the Arrow back any further, mindful of its weight and the tensile strength of the string. "A little to your left."
Bain did as he said, moving the tip of the arrow to the right, toward the spot where Bard noticed the missing scale on Smaug.
"That's it," Bard soothed, and let the Black Arrow fly. Neither of them saw it hit, but it was clear that it had. Smaug roared in pain and fear and lost control, body convulsing like an alligator's death roll. Bard grabbed Bain when the dragon side-swiped the tower, holding the boy close as they fell with the tower into the water. The cushion of the water saved them as Smaug rolled and slid through the remains of the town, destroying everything in his path, before at last getting his wings under him. He struggled to gain altitude, limbs uncoordinated, gasping and hacking in pain. With massive effort, he managed to get a few hundred feet up, but no further before his body gave out. The dragon fell back to the city, but did one unintentional good deed for the townsfolk, landing directly on the Master's boat and crushing it, killing everyone on board.
Dawn came again, as it always did and, as far as anyone knew, always would. On the banks of the Long Lake, refugees were heaving themselves from the water and searching though wreckage from Laketown. People still screamed and cried as they had hours before, looking through the bodies of the dead for people they knew. Some of the debris from the town still burned.
Bard heard his other children calling for him, but for now he focused on reviving Bain. It had been a hard swim for so young a boy, but he had borne it bravely even if he had lost consciousness and almost drowned as his energy faded. At last, he came around, and the man searched for an intact waterskin. There was one next to an overturned boat that was scuffed but unbroken, still plugged tight and half-filled. "That was very bravely done, Bain," he said as the boy drank as much as he could without coughing or throwing up, "I'm so very proud of you."
Bain plugged the waterskin, then hugged his father, burying his face in the man's chest. "I was so scared," he muffled out, like it was some kind of shameful secret.
"So was I," Bard admitted, making the boy look up, "I was afraid that Smaug was going to kill us, that you were going to die right before my eyes and there would be nothing I could do to save you. But bravery isn't about not being scared. It's about going forward, being scared of something and doing it anyway."
Bain swallowed, then nodded resolutely.
"Now, let's go find your sisters." Bard led his son through the wreckage on the shore, following the sounds of Alfrid's shouts, remembering that his daughters would be nearby.
"You're a sneak-thief, more like," a woman shouted, the same one who had spoken in the movie, he recalled, "I'll be dead, before I answer to the likes of you!"
As she turned away to help others, Alfrid grabbed her. "Maybe that can be arranged!" he snarled, and raised his hand to strike her.
Bard's hand shot out grab his wrist and stop him. He leaned in close and growled, "I wouldn't go turning on your own, Alfrid. Not now!" He spun the other man around and away, and Bain stuck out his foot trip him. Sigrid and Tilda came running out of the crowd to their father, and he swept them up in his arms, glad that they were alive and unharmed. "It's all right now. We're going to be all right."
"It was Bard! He killed the dragon!"
Percy, who used to check the papers at Laketown's gates, pushed through the crowd to continue, "I saw it with my own eyes. He brought the beast down. He shot him dead, with a Black Arrow!"
The refugees all gathered close, cheering and patting his shoulders and calling, "You saved us all! Thank you, bless you!"
Even though he was expecting it, Bard was still startled when Alfrid suddenly appeared and raised his arm, cheering loudly for him. "ALL HAIL - TO THE DRAGONSLAYER! ALL HAIL - KING BARD!" The people grew silent around them, and Bard yanked his hand away from the Master's patsy. Alfrid, still with his hand up in the air, spoke to the crowd. "I have said it many times - This is a man of noble stock. A born leader!"
"Do not call me that!" Bard snapped back, "I'm not the master of this town." He looked around as if searching faces, all the while knowing that the man's corpse was crushed under the dragon's. "Where is he?! Where's the Master!?"
"Halfway down the Anduin, with all our coin, I don't doubt. You would know!" The woman pointed at Alfrid, who looked scared. "You helped him empty the treasury."
"No - I tried to stop him."Alfrid raised his voice and addressed all the people, scared and pleadingly. The people began to shout at him angrily, calling him a traitor and a mongrel. Alfrid ducked behind Bard, keeping him between himself and the woman. "I pleaded. I pleaded. I said, 'Master - NO!'" As the people continued to hurl abuse at him, Alfrid's look of terror intensified. "Think of the children." Alfrid grabbed Tilda and pulled her in front of him. "Will nobody think of the children?!"
The girl stomped angrily on Alfrid's foot, forcing him to let go of her.
"To the tree with you!" one of the men called, and the rest agreed, several of them grabbing Alfrid and lifting him off the ground, preparing to hang him with a rope. He screamed with fear.
Bard stepped in at last and stopped the people. "Enough! Let him go! Let him go!" The people quieted and let Alfrid fall to the ground with a thud. Bard turned about, addressing them all. "Look around you! Have you not had your fill of death?"
Alfrid stood, putting a hand on Bard's shoulder to steady himself. "Aye."
Bard shifted out of his grip and let him fall again. "Winter is upon us! We must look to our own, to the sick and the helpless. Those who can stand, tend to the wounded. And those who have strength left - follow me. We must salvage what we can." Bard turned to go.
"What then? What do we do then?"
"We find shelter."
The townspeople looked at one another, then moved to follow him as he walked away.
Bilbo heard the dwarves coming before he saw them, heard their calls echoing through the massive hall. "Hello! Bombur? Bifur? Anybody?" Bofur called, voice echoing well in advance of their passage.
The hobbit raced up to meet them, mindful to memorize the path. "WAIT! WAIT!" he shouted.
"It's Bilbo!" said Óin," He's alive!"
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" He skidded to a halt in front of them in a corridor. "You need to leave. We all need to leave."
"We only just got here?!" Bofur protested.
"I have tried talking to him," the hobbit went on, "but he won't listen."
"What do you mean, laddie?"
"THORIN," he said, his voice unexpectedly loud, making the dwarves jump. He lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. "Thorin. Thorin. He's been out there for days. He doesn't sleep. He barely eats. He's not been himself - not at all. It's this - It's this place. I think a sickness lies on it."
As Bilbo spoke, Fíli peered past him and saw something that caused him to wrinkle his face in consternation.
Kíli was paying attention, at least; there was hope for him. Perhaps a dwarf in love could not be affected? "Sickness?" he asked, "What kind of sickness?"
His brother less so. Fíli walked past the group and headed further down into Erebor, looking down towards the hoard. Bilbo and the others ran after him, calling his name and trying to stop him. As they continued heading down, the light reflecting off the gold began to appear on the walls. They rounded a corner, and stopped short at the sight of the sea of gold, Smaug's treasure, heaped so high over the floor of the cavern that the ground could not be seen. As they stared, Thorin paced slowly out of a doorway, dressed in fine robes and jewelry. Thorin muttered softly to himself, "Gold - gold beyond measure. Beyond sorrow… and grief." He looked up at them, seeming strange, almost possessed, and the dwarves looked back at him in surprise. Bilbo swallowed thickly, feeling acutely the weight of the Arkenstone concealed in his coat.
"Behold - the great treasure hoard of Thrór," he said to them, and suddenly flung something high into the air to where the dwarves stood on the stairwell landing. Fíli caught it. It was a blood-red ruby the size of a Man's fist. "Welcome, my sister-sons, to the kingdom of Erebor." He spread his arms out in a grand gesture as if to encompass all the gold and gather it into himself.
Bilbo couldn't bear to watch as Thorin started to drive the other dwarves into the ground, searching for the Arkenstone. He had lied to the dwarf time and again, saying that he didn't know where it was – it had been buried when Smaug chased him, who knows how deep, and it would take forever to find it. He walked out onto the ramparts of the front gates, near the hole Smaug made in the wall. He paced back and forth for a while, struggling internally. Then, after looking around to see that no one was watching or anywhere nearby, he sat down on a rock, remembering.
Once more checking than no one was watching, he reached into his tunic and pulled out the Arkenstone. He stared at it as it glowed with patterns of nebulae and stars within, rubbing his thumb over its smooth surface, and sighed.
At the Laketown camp, the people packed what supplies they could find and got ready to leave. "Take only what you need," Bard called to them, foregoing a change of his own clothes in favor of more food, "We have a long march ahead."
"Where will you go?"
The Elf Legolas. The Man looked across the lake. "There is only one place."
"The mountain," said Alfrid, "You are a genius, sire. We can take refuge inside the mountain. It might smell a bit of dragon - The women can clean up. It will be safe and warm and dry, and full of stores, bedding, clothing... the odd bit of gold."
"What gold is in that mountain is cursed with dragon-sickness," the Man said firmly, "We will take only what was promised to us - only what we need to rebuild our lives." Bard dumped a few shovels and the bundle of sticks he was packing into Alfrid's hands and walked off to help elsewhere. "Make yourself useful, Alfrid," he called over his shoulder.
"News of the death of Smaug will have spread through the lands," said the Elf.
Bard stopped. "Aye."
"Other will now look to the mountain - for its wealth, for its position."
"What is it you know?" he asked, but he knew very well what was coming. He was already preparing himself for something to go wrong.
"Nothing for certain. It's what I fear may come." Legolas looked concerned, and gazed off into the distance at the Lonely Mountain.
Tauriel stopped to speak with the man who had slain the dragon, wanting to see him with her own eyes. Bard turned to her, and she saw recognition in his eyes. He knew her? "Molly?" he asked.
She drew back in surprise.
"John – Bilbo told me," he said, in English, "I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade."
Tauriel smiled in relief. "It's good to see you," she said, stepping forward to give him a friendly embrace. "No sign of Sherlock?" she asked when they parted.
The Man shook his head. "None at all," he answered with a sigh, "and we could really use him here."
"Agreed. Perhaps we just haven't met him yet. Or maybe he hasn't been born? What if he's Frodo? Or Aragorn?"
Bard laughed and shook his head. "Him as Aragorn would be a nightmare," he said, "Could you imagine him trying to be king and work at politics? He had far too sharp a tongue for that."
"Agreed."
Bard sighed. "I need to go." He looked towards the people of Laketown. "Wish me luck leading this lot. I could barely keep control of Scotland Yard."
"You'll do fine," said the Elf, and gave him another hug before moving to join Legolas. "You saw something out there," she said to him.
"The Orc I pursued out of Laketown," the blond responded, "I know who he is. Bolg - a spawn of Azog the Defiler. A Warg pack was waiting for him on the outskirts of Esgaroth. They fled into the north. These Orcs were different from the others. They wore a mark I had not seen for a long time. The mark of Gundabad."
Tauriel stopped in false shock and turned to Legolas. "Gundabad?"
"An Orc-stronghold in the far north of the Misty Mountains."
An Elf from Mirkwood rode up on a horse and addressed the Elf Prince in their native tongue. "My Lord Legolas, I bring word from your Father. You are to return to him immediately."
He nodded and said, "Come, Tauriel."
"My Lord," the messenger said hesitantly, "Tauriel is banished."
"Banished?" Legolas was surprised, but Tauriel was not. "You may tell my father: If there is no place for Tauriel, there is no place for me."
"Tauriel, my king said to give you these words," said the messenger, before switching over to hesitant, accented English, "I am moving as you said, and await your return from the stronghold."
Tauriel nodded and turned away. Legolas strode after her and pulled a little ahead. "I ride north. Will you come with me?"
"To where?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.
"To Gundabad."
The two Elves rode out of the Laketown camp on Legolas's horse. Behind them, carrying their possessions and stretchers with their sick and injured, the townspeople began the long and arduous trek around the lake and toward Erebor.
In Erebor, Thorin gazed upon the throne, over which the Arkenstone had been inlaid before it was lost. He spoke to Balin, Dwalin, and Bilbo, who stood behind him. "It is here in these halls," he whispered, "I know it."
"We have searched and searched…" Dwalin began before he was cut off.
"Not well enough!" the prince hissed venomously.
"Thorin, we all would see the stone returned."
"And yet, it is still not FOUND!" The sound of his voice echoed through the halls.
"Do you," Balin began, "doubt the loyalty of anyone here?"
Thorin turned at his words and slowly walked toward Balin and Dwalin.
"The Arkenstone is the birthright of our people," said the elder dwarf.
"It is the King's Jewel." Thorin's voice rose sharply into a shout. "AM I NOT THE KING?!"
As Thorin turned away, Balin, Dwalin, and Bilbo looked at one another, painfully uneasy.
"Know this," said the prince, clad in all his finery, "If anyone should find it and withhold it from me, I will be avenged."
As Thorin walked away, Bilbo gritted his teeth, then sought out Balin. The dwarf was in a quiet corner of what was once possibly a library, breathing deeply as if he had just been weeping. "Dragon-sickness," he said as the hobbit approached, "I've seen it before. That look. That terrible need. It is a fierce and jealous love, Bilbo. It sent his grandfather mad."
Bilbo stepped closer and swallowed. "I lied to him, Balin." When the dwarf's brows furrowed in confusion, he reached into his outer robe and pulled the Arkenstone out, its glow filling the space between them as he held it cupped in his hands. "I knew this would happen, the gold sickness. But… if I gave it to him… Would it help? Truly?"
"The stone crowns all," said the elderly dwarf, reaching out with one hand to cover its light, "It is the summit of this great wealth, bestowing power upon he who bears it. Will it stay his madness? No, laddie. I fear it would make it worse. Perhaps it is best that it remains lost." He pushed it closer to the hobbit and raised his eyebrows as if to say, Get the hint?
Bilbo nodded and left Balin to his grief, moving to sit on a bench in a hall near some sort of mess hall, he guessed. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the acorn he took from Beorn's garden, tensing with nervousness and hoping against hope. Thorin, walking in an adjoining hallway, saw the action. "What is that?!" the prince demanded, striding quickly over to him as the hobbit stood. "In your hand!"
"It-It's nothing."
"Show me," he demanded.
"It…" He held it out, showed the prince the acorn. "I picked it up in Beorn's garden." He felt the air around the dwarf ease like it was a living thing.
"You've carried it all this way," he said, sounding amazed.
"I'm gonna plant it in my garden, in Bag End."
His anger faded, and Thorin smiled fondly at Bilbo, proof that the noble dwarf was still in there somewhere. It made Bilbo all the more determined to save him, to make sure that he did not fall to Azog. If he could overcome the gold-sickness, he would be a good king. "That's a poor prize to take back to the Shire," he said.
"One day it'll grow. And every time I look at it, I'll remember." He tucked it back into his outer robe, mindful of the Arkenstone. "Remember everything that happened, the good, the bad. And how lucky I am that I made it home." They smiled at each other, and Bilbo gathered himself to speak, knowing it would do no good. "Thorin, I..."
As expected, Dwalin came up to interrupt. "Thorin, survivors from Laketown. They're streaming into Dale. There's hundreds of them."
Thorin's smile faded into a stern, uncompromising glare, the sickness closing in again like a living thing. "Call everyone to the gate." Thorin strode off in that direction, shouting, "To the gate! NOW!"
The citizens of Laketown trudged into the snow-covered ruins of Dale, weary from their long walk. They stared around at the ruins, the wreckage of playgrounds and markets, the charred and burned bodies left behind from Smaug's first assault almost two hundred years previously.
"Come on, keep moving," Bard called, helping support some of the infirm up a short flight of steps.
"Sire!" Alfrid shouted for him, "Sire! Up here!"
Bard looked up to see Alfrid on one of the city walls. Bard finished helping and moved to join him. "Look sire," said the patsy, "the braziers are lit."
Indeed, giant braziers stood on either side of the gates of Erebor, full of bright fire.
"So, the company of Thorin Oakenshield survived," said the archer, sighing internally when he glimpsed the small form of Bilbo atop the wall by the door.
"Survived?" asked Alfrid, "You mean there's a bunch of dwarves in there with all that gold?"
"You shouldn't worry, Alfrid," he responded, "There's gold enough in that mountain for all." Bard walked away, thinking, 'I can only hope Thorin will give it to us without a fight.' He called to the other people, "Make camp here tonight. Find what shelter you can. Get some fires going." To the other man, he said, "Alfrid, you take the night watch."
As Alfrid looked sourly at Bard and stomped off, Bard looked back at the Mountain and waved a hand. Bilbo did the same. The hobbit had apparently found a mirror or something reflective, because he then flashed a short message in Morse code.
'"Dragon sickness." Because nothing in this God-forsaken world could ever be easy.' He waved again in acknowledgement of the message. Bilbo did the same, and disappeared back into the mountain.
The dwarves worked through the night to block up the main gate that Smaug had broken through. They lowered rocks into place before the entrance by hand and with the help of ropes and pulleys. "I want this fortress made safe by sunup," Thorin growled, setting a small boulder into place and rocking it a little to make sure it was stable, "This mountain was hard won; I will not see it taken again."
Kíli was definitely immune to the gold sickness, and apparently more likely to protest. "The people of Laketown have nothing. They came to us in need. They have lost everything!"
"Do not tell me what they have lost," the prince snarled at his nephew, "I know well enough their hardship. Those who have lived through dragonfire should rejoice. They have much to be grateful for." He looked out at the city of Dale, where a number of fires were lit, flickering in the ruins. Then he turned back to the dwarves. "More stone!" he shouted, "BRING MORE STONE TO THE GATE!"
Bilbo looked on in despair as they built the barricade higher and higher.
Night fell in Dale, and passed slowly. By dawn, the people were up and moved through the ruins once more, the healthy tending to the wounded and seeking out any who had died during the night. Infants cried, their parents trying to soothe them. "These children are starving!" one mother whimpered, rocking her child, "We need food!"
"We won't last three days!"
"Bard, we don't have enough," said Percy as Bard entered the ruined house.
"Do want you can, Percy," he responded, handing over a container of water. He had sent some trustworthy men down to the river that flowed from the mountain to break the ice and haul up as much water as they could for boiling, so they had that aplenty, at least. "The children, the wounded, and the women come first." Bard walked over to where Alfrid was supposed to have been standing guard. Alfrid had actually been napping, and he woke as Bard spoke. "Morning, Alfrid. What news from the night watch?"
"All quiet, sire, not much to report," the man yawned, "Nothing gets past me."
He got up to follow Bard outside, only to find that the archer stopped suddenly in the archway. "Except an army of Elves, it would seem."
The courtyard – and indeed, much of the city – was packed full of Mirkwood Elves armored for war, standing in perfectly ordered lines. The people of Laketown emerged from some of their buildings and saw the Elves, hesitating. Bard walked down the steps and approached the Elves. Some of them turned and stepped aside, opening a path for him through their ranks, and closed the gap behind him. As he exited the ranks of Elves, Thranduil rode in on his elk, and all the Elves turned to face him.
"My lord Thranduil," said Bard, "we did not look to see you here."
"I heard you needed aid," the Elf responded, and turned to look at the first of a number of wagons pulling up. All of them were loaded with food and drink for the refugees. The people of Laketown grinned and cheered, moving to unload the cart with the Elves' help.
Bard approached Thranduil gratefully. "You have saved us! I do not how to thank you."
The Elf smiled tightly. "Your gratitude is misplaced. I did not come on your behalf," he responded, voice cold, "I came to reclaim something of mine." Once the carts were unloaded and the provisions distributed, the Elven troops began marching out of Dale.
Bard ran to catch up to Thranduil. "Mycroft, wait!" he called in English, making the Elf King wheel his mount around to face him, before he switched back to the common tongue, "Please, wait! You would go to war over a handful of gems?"
"The heirlooms of my people are not lightly forsaken," said Thranduil, following the script exactly.
"We are allies in this," the Man said desperately, "My people also have a claim upon the riches in that mountain! Let me speak with Thorin!"
The Elf looked back at him. "You would try to reason with a dwarf?"
"To avoid war? Yes!"
In Erebor, Thorin strode quickly toward the blocked off gate, calling the other dwarves to him, "Come on."
The rest of the company laid down their tools, picked up their weapons, and followed him up the stairs they laid in on the barricade, all the way to a platform at the top of the gate. It gave them an unobstructed view over the plain in front of the gate. From there, they saw the walls of Dale filled with Elves ready for war, but then there attention was brought closer to home. Bard rode up the path to the gate on a horse, and stopped in front of it. "Hail Thorin, son of Thráin!" he called, though he already seemed resigned, "We are glad to find you alive beyond hope."
"Why do come to the gates of the King Under the Mountain armed for war?" the prince demanded.
"Why does the King Under the Mountain fence himself in?" the man responded, "Like a robber in his hold?"
"Perhaps it is because I am expecting to be robbed!"
"My lord," the man insisted, "We have not come to rob you, but to seek fair settlement. Will you not speak with me?"
Thorin inclined his head, and stepped away from the platform and down the stairs. Bard swung down from his horse and crossed the bridge in front of the gate. As he approached the blockade, one of Erebor's legendary ravens flew out of the opening above the gate and quickly winged away, cawing. There was a hole built into the blockade, and Thorin waited for him at the other side. "I'm listening."
"On behalf of the people of Laketown," said the man, knowing it would do no good but keeping to the script, "I ask that you honor your pledge. A share of the treasure so that they might rebuild their lives."
"I will not treat with any man while an armed host lies before my door."
"That armed host will attack this mountain if we do not come to terms."
"And your threats do not sway me."
"What of your conscience? Does it not tell you our cause is just?! My people offered you help," Bard insisted, "And in return you brought upon them only ruin and death!"
"When did the men of Laketown come to our aid, but for the promise of rich reward?!"
"A bargain was struck!"
"A bargain?" the prince hissed, "What choice did we have but to barter our birthright for blankets and food? To ransom our future in exchange for our freedom?" His voice dropped almost to a whisper. "You call that a fair trade? Tell me, Bard the Dragon-slayer, why should I honor such terms?"
"Because you gave us your word. Does that mean nothing?"
Thorin turned away from the hole, disappearing from Bard's view. The dwarf leaned back against the blockade, tired and weary. He looked up at the other dwarves and Bilbo, who stood in a semicircle around him. Bilbo pleaded silently with his eyes, but to no avail. Thorin shouted back to Bard, "Be gone, ere our arrows fly!"
Bard slapped the rock angrily, then remounted his horse and returned to Dale. The company watched him go from the top of the platform. "What are you doing?!" the hobbit demanded, "You cannot go to war."
"This does not concern you."
"Excuse me?! But just in case you haven't noticed, there is an army of Elves out there. And not to mention several hundred angry fishermen." As the other dwarrows turned to look at him, he stuttered a little. "W-We are in fact outnumbered."
Thorin turned to look at Bilbo, smirking. "Not for much longer."
"What does that mean?"
Thorin approached him. "It means Master Baggins, you should never underestimate dwarves." He turned to the rest of the company. "We have reclaimed Erebor. Now we defend it!"
As Thorin walked slowly down the steps, Bilbo and Balin exchanged distressed looks before the elderly dwarf looked away.
Bard rode back to the gates of Dale, where Thranduil waited. "He will give us nothing," the archer reported needlessly.
"Such a pity," the Elf answered, "Still, you tried."
Bard wheeled his horse around to look back toward the Mountain. As they watched, the dwarves dislodged the head of one of the massive stone statues. It fell and rolled through the moat, breaking the raised bridge to the gate and thus preventing any attackers from using the gates easily.
"It is fruitless to reason with them; they understand only one thing." Thranduil drew his sword from its sheath and checked its edge. "We attack at dawn!" he said, turning his elk back toward the city, "Are you with us?"
Bard looked over his shoulder at Erebor.
In Dale, Bard and the Lakepeople collected and distributed the various weapons and armor stored there, dusty with disuse and covered in cobwebs. In Erebor, the dwarves did the same, suiting up for battle and checking their weapons. As Bilbo walked by, Thorin called out to him, holding something. "Master Baggins, come here!" He took a few steps closer, heavily armored footsteps clanking against the stone floor. "You are going to need this," he said, "Put it on."
Bilbo began removing his jacket.
"This vest is made of silver steel," Thorin went on, "'Mithril,' it was called by my forebears." He held it up so that Bilbo could slip into it. "No blade can pierce it."
Bilbo finished putting it on, tugging it down all the way, then looked at himself. The other dwarves watched, too. "I look absurd," he said, "I'm not a warrior; I'm a Hobbit."
"It is a gift. A token of our friendship. True friends are hard to come by." Although he started off smiling at Bilbo, he looked toward the other dwarves and frowned, then grabbed Bilbo and pulled him away to an alcove where the other dwarves couldn't hear him. "I have been blind. Now I begin to see. I am betrayed!"
"Betrayed?" the hobbit repeated.
"The Arkenstone," the prince hissed worriedly, the hobbit matching his expression but for different reasons, "One of them has taken it. One of them is false."
"Thorin... the quest is fulfilled," Bilbo began, "You've won the mountain. Is that not enough?"
Thorin did not seem to hear him. "Betrayed by my own kin."
"No, eh... You-you made a promise... to the people of Laketown. Is-Is this treasure truly worth more than your honor? Our honor, Thorin. I was also there, I gave my word."
"For that I'm grateful," said the dwarf, "It was nobly done. But the treasure in this mountain does not belong to the people of Laketown! This gold... is ours... and ours alone. By my life, I will not part with a single coin! Not...one...piece of it!"
Bilbo heard the echoes of Smaug's voice in his ears, gazing at Thorin in fright. The dwarf was clearly mentally affected, more than he'd feared, and Bilbo stared at him as the other dwarves, armored for battle, walked between them.
In Dale, the people were preparing for war, sharpening swords and collecting arrows and other supplies. They jumped out of the way as Gandalf galloped into town on his horse, calling, "Let me through! Make way!" He dismounted in the main courtyard and looked surprised to see men drilling with swords, companies of Elves marching by on patrol.
Alfrid spotted him and began shouting, upset. "No, no, NO! Oi! You - pointy hat! Yes. You. We don't want no tramps, beggars, nor vagabonds around here. We got enough trouble without the likes of you. Off you go! On your horse."
"Who's in charge here?!" the wizard demanded.
Bard heard him and walked over, saying, "Gandalf the Grey. It is an honor indeed."
The wizard met with Bard and Thranduil in the latter's tent. "You must set aside your petty grievances with the dwarves," he said, "War is coming! The cesspits of Dol Guldur have been emptied. You're ALL in mortal danger!"
"What are you talking about?" the Man asked after exchanging a look with the Elven King.
"I can see you know nothing of wizards," said Thranduil, rising from his throne, "They are like winter thunder on a wild wind rolling in from a distance, breaking hard in alarm." He poured Bard a mouthful of wine with a murmur to drink in small sips. "But sometimes," he continued, "a storm is just a storm."
"Not this time," the Istari insisted, "Armies of Orcs are on the move. And these are fighters! They have been bred for war. Our enemy has summoned his full strength."
"Why show his hand now?"
"Because we forced him! We forced him when the company of Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim their homeland. The dwarves were never meant to reach Erebor; Azog the Defiler was sent to kill them. His master seeks control of the mountain. Not just for the treasure within, but for where it lies, its strategic position." As Gandalf talked, they left the tent and walked outside to a spot from where they could clearly see the gates of Erebor. "This is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the north. If that fell kingdom should rise again, Rivendell, Lórien, the Shire, even Gondor itself will fall!"
"These Orc armies you speak of, Mithrandir - Where are they?"
Gandalf was unable to answer, but that did not stop him. He confronted Thranduil, demanding, "Since when has my council counted for so little? What do you think I'm trying to do?!"
"I think you're trying to save your dwarvish friends," the Elf King responded, following the words that Bard was mouthing to him behind the wizard's back, "And I admire your loyalty to them, but it does not dissuade me from my course. You started this, Mithrandir. You will forgive me if I finish it." Thranduil exited the tent and called to one of the Elves, "Are the archers in position?"
"Yes my Lord," was the response.
"Give the order. If anything moves on that mountain, kill it! The dwarves are out of time."
Night fell quickly as winter drew closer. At the blocked off entrance to the mountain, Bilbo threw a rope over the edge and clambered hand-over-hand down the rope, slipping along the way. He scrambled across the moat on some rubble and ran toward Dale.
Unseen by any, out in the still-smoldering remains of Laketown, something big began to stir. The barest whisper hissed through the ruins.
"John…"
Gandalf turned to Bard. "You, Bowman!" he called, "Do you agree with this? Is gold so important to you? Would you buy it with the blood of dwarves?!"
"It will not come to that," said Bard. Like Thranduil, he was waiting. "This is a fight they cannot win."
Bilbo appeared and addressed both of them, "That won't stop them. You think the dwarves will surrender - They won't. They will fight to the death to defend their own." He was already reaching into his coat for the Arkenstone.
"Bilbo Baggins!" the wizard cried.
"John!" said Bard.
"Doctor Watson," Thranduil acknowledged, sitting back in his chair.
"How goes it?" the hobbit asked, moving forward to lay the stone on the Elven King's table.
"Everything is proceeding according to what Tauriel told me," the Elf answered.
"And what I remember from the movies," Bard added.
When he noticed Gandalf's confused look, Bilbo said hurriedly, "Oh Gandalf, these are Mycroft Holmes," he waved to Thranduil, then Bard, "and Greg Lestrade. They're re-embodied like me, from the same world. We knew one another."
"Ah," said the wizard, "Then you all have a plan? You know about the army?"
"Not much of a plan," the hobbit sighed, "We're trying to keep as close to what we know as we can, so that way we actually know what's coming. If we deviate too much, try to change too much, what we know might not do us any good."
"Although," Thranduil added, "it's possible that this world will continue on its natural path even with our changes to its timeline. Of course, it's also possible that the world has already changed, deviated from its course and is forging a new path."
"Thank you for that, Captain Sunshine."
Bard snorted quietly, and looked away when Thranduil glared. "Will you be all right? Thorin… will not react well to this." He waved at the Arkenstone, glowing benignly on the table.
"I'm prepared for what's coming," Bilbo answered.
Gandalf left the Man and Elf to a quiet conference and led the hobbit through Dale. "Rest up tonight," he said, "You must be ready for tomorrow." He stopped and sighed. "I certainly hope you know what you're doing, Bilbo."
"So do I," the hobbit admitted.
"Don't underestimate the evil of gold, gold over which a serpent has long brooded. Dragon sickness seeps into the hearts of all who come near this mountain," the wizard warned, then looked at Bilbo appraisingly. "Almost all," he corrected. He spotted Alfrid nearby and called, "You there! Find this Hobbit a bed, and fill his belly with hot food. He has earned it."
Alfrid grudgingly came over and led Bilbo away, cursing as a group of people walked in front of him and pushing his way between them.
In the darkness, slowly, laboriously, that same immense something rolled over and began dragging itself free of the still-smoldering wreckage of Esgaroth.
Early the next morning, the legions of Elves and Men, armed for battle, stood before the Door in the Mountain. The dwarves, also prepared, watched them all from above the gate blockade.
Thranduil and Bard rode together to the front of the armies, the Elves twisting expertly out of the way in front of them and shifting back into place behind. The two approached their side of the broken bridge over the moat. From above the blockade, Thorin drew a bow and shot an arrow at the ground directly in front of Thranduil and Bard. It skipped off the stone, and they halted.
"I will put the next one between your eyes!" the dwarf warned.
Thorin strung an arrow on his bow again, and the dwarves on the wall jeered and shook their weapons. Thranduil stared at Thorin levelly, then tilted his head. Instantly, several rows of Elves near the front of the army pulled out their bows, nocked their arrows, and aimed for the dwarves, all in one fluid motion. The dwarves' cheering cut off abruptly as all but Thorin ducked behind the ramparts. After holding position for a few seconds, Thranduil lifted a hand, and the Elves put away their arrows, eerily in sync. Thorin still had his bow drawn, though.
"We've come to tell you," said the Elven King, "payment of your debt has been offered... and accepted."
"What payment?" the prince demanded, "I gave you nothing! You have nothing!"
Thranduil raised his eyebrows and looked at Bard. "We have this," said the man, reaching into his coat and pulling out the Arkenstone, holding it above his head. Thorin lowered his bow, mouth open and eyes wide.
"They have the Arkenstone," Kíli gasped, "Thieves! How came you by the heirloom of our house? That stone belongs to the king!"
"And the king may have it, in our good will," he answered, tucking the Arkenstone back into his robe, "But first he must honor his word."
Thorin whispered to himself, and the dwarves near him could hear him say, "They are taking us for fools. This is a ruse, a filthy lie." Balin was shocked that Thorin's mental state had deteriorated to the point where he would even consider it. Thorin then yelled out, "THE ARKENSTONE IS IN THIS MOUNTAIN! IT IS A TRICK!"
"It-It's no trick." At the top of the ramparts, Bilbo stepped out from the dwarves, moving a little closer to the prince. "The stone is real. I gave it to them."
As Bilbo spoke, Thorin's expression changed to a mixture of anger and sorrow. Thranduil and Bard sat up straighter on their mounts, worried for the hobbit's safety. Thorin and the other dwarves turned to Bilbo in shock. "You…" the prince gasped.
"I took it as my fourteenth share."
"You would steal from me?!"
"Steal from you? No. No. I may be a burglar, but I like to think I'm an honest one. I'm willing to let it stand against my claim."
"Against your claim?!" Thorin roared, "Your claim! You have no claim over me you miserable rat!" He threw down his bow in anger and began making for Bilbo.
"I was going to give it to you!" the hobbit shouted, "Many times I wanted to, but..."
"But what, thief?!"
"I knew this was going to happen!" the ex-soldier shouted, waving between them, "This! The dragon sickness has poisoned you – you are changed, Thorin! I had hoped – against hope, I admit – that it wouldn't have come to this. I had hoped that you would overcome this, so that I could present the Arkenstone to you, and I would have, with a glad heart! It would have given me great joy to watch you be crowned king!
"But then," said the hobbit, "You let me down. You let all of us down. The dwarf I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word! Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin!"
"Do not speak to me... of loyalty!" Thorin shouted to the other dwarves, "Throw him from the rampart!"
Bilbo stood firm, resolute. Rather than obeying Thorin, the other dwarves stepped away from Bilbo, realizing the same. Thorin seemed surprised that no one obeyed him. "DO YOU HEAR ME?!" He grabbed Fíli's arm, but Fíli shook him away. "I will do it myself!" He lunged for the hobbit and grabbed him, shouting, "CURSE YOU!"
As Thorin struggled with Bilbo, the other dwarves leaped forward, shouting, to pull Thorin away. Thorin managed to grab Bilbo and wrestled him over to the edge of the rampart. "Cursed be the Wizard that forced you on this Company!"
Suddenly Gandalf appeared, striding through the armies below. Magically amplified, his voice bounced off the stone and reached them clear as a bell. "IF YOU DON'T LIKE MY BURGLAR…" His voice returned to a normal volume and tone. "Then please don't damage him. Return him to me! You're not making a very splendid figure as king under the mountain, are you? Thorin, son of Thráin!"
Thorin slowly let Bilbo up, and some of the other dwarves rushed to help him. "Never again will I have dealings with wizards," the dwarf prince bellowed down, "Or Shire-rats!"
Bofur gently guided Bilbo toward the rope he'd hung the night before to climb down the walls. Bilbo threw it over the wall once more and climbed down.
"Are we resolved?" Bard called, "The return of the Arkenstone for what was promised?"
Thorin, breathing heavily, looked to a ridge in the distance, as if expecting someone or something.
"Give us your answer! Will you have peace or war?"
As Thorin bowed his head, a large raven flew up to the ramparts and perched beside him, cawing. Thorin and the raven stared at each other. "I will have war."
A rumbling was heard in the distance, and the armies turned to see the ridge being covered by troops of heavily armored dwarves, led by a huge dwarf riding a battle-pig.
"Ironfoot," Gandalf growled.
The Erebor dwarves cheered as they saw their backup arriving.
Thranduil called for his Elves to face their new opponent, riding through his army as they turned away from the gates of Erebor and marched quickly toward the oncoming Iron Hills dwarves. Gandalf moved along with them, Bilbo rushing to keep up with their longer strides.
"Who is that?" Bilbo asked, remembering the dwarf, though not his name, "He doesn't look very happy."
"It is Dáin, lord of the Iron Hills - Thorin's cousin," Gandalf responded.
"Are they alike?"
"I always found Thorin the more reasonable of the two," the wizard said dryly, looking down at the hobbit.
The two armies halted a short distance from one another, and Dain rode his pig onto a rocky overlook to address the Elves and Men. "Good morning!" he boomed cheerfully, "How are we all? I have a wee proposition, if you wouldn't mind giving me a few moments of your time. Would you consider... JUST SODDING OFF! All of you - right now!"
"Stand fast!" Bard called to the people of Laketown, even as the Elves moved into battle positions around them.
Gandalf strode forward. "Come now, Lord Dáin!" he called, drawing the dwarf's attention.
"Gandalf the Grey," the dwarf acknowledged, "Tell this rabble to leave, or I'll water the ground with their blood!" He waved his hammer to encompass the group of men and Elves.
"There is no need for war between dwarves, men, and Elves!" said the wizard, moving to stand between the two armies, "A legion of Orcs march on the mountain. Stand your army down!"
"I will not stand down before any Elf!" Dáin snarled in response, "Not least this faithless woodland sprite!" He gestured to Thranduil. "He wishes nothing but ill upon my people! If he chooses to stand between me and my kin - I'll split his pretty head open! See if he's still smirking then!"
Thranduil smiled furiously, as the Erebor dwarves cheered atop their barricade. "He's clearly mad, like his cousin," he said, flicking his gaze between Dáin and his army and the hills where the were-worms would emerge.
"You hear that, lads?!" Dáin turned to rejoin his army. "We're on! Let's give these bastards a good hammering!"
A dwarf yelled out a command, and the Iron Hills dwarves raised their weapons and shouted a response in Khuzdul. The ranks of Elven archers twisted back and away to put their shield-and-spear bearers between them and Dáin's army. As both armies prepared to engage, the ground began to vibrate in the distance, the sounds of cracking rock reaching them. The dwarves fell silent as they all turned to look.
"Were-worms," Gandalf murmured.
At the spur of the mountain, parallel with Dáin and his dwarves, a massive worm, hundreds of feet long and dozens of feet thick, broke through the rocks, followed by another, and another and another. All were shrieking, crushed rock spraying from their jaws. The human, Elf, and dwarf armies looked on in shock.
The worms pulled back into the tunnels they had made through the earth approaching the Lonely Mountain. A horn sounded atop the Ravenhill, the tower there signaling in conjunction, and legions of Orcs began pouring out of the openings in the mountainside.
"The hordes of hell are upon us!" Dáin shouted, leading his army around to stand between the Orcs and the mountain, "To battle! To battle, sons of Durin!"
At a nod from their king, the sword-Elves moved up behind the dwarves, the archers launching the first volley over the dwarvish line as a cover while their path was still clear. Masses of Orcs fell, but still more kept coming, trampling the bodies of their fallen comrades. The Orcs closed with the shield wall just as the last of the sword-Elves fell into position. Right as the Orcs reached the dwarves, the first three rows of Elves charged, leaping up over the shield wall from behind with swords drawn, and began cutting a swath through the foremost creatures. As the Elves pressed forward, the dwarves broke their shield wall and rushed forward, cutting down Orcs with their pikes and spears as the Elves deftly moved aside. Dáin rode furiously through the Orcs, smashing them left and right with his hammer.
"Eh, Gandalf - Is this a good place to stand?" Bilbo asked the wizard rhetorically, knowing he wasn't going to be there for long, right before the signal flags changed their position to show a new signal, the horn sounding a second time. Seeing the signal, Gandalf looked to see new legions of Orcs emerging from the tunnels, including massive trolls and other monsters. Thranduil shouted for his archers with the longest ranges to take aim at them, guiding his elk through the reserve ranks of Elves.
The horn atop Ravenhill sounded a third time, the signal flags changing position once again, this time to signal the Orc's forces to attack Dale. Fresh from the tunnels, new ranks of soldiers turned to do so, marching toward the ruined city-
-a roar echoed across the battlefield, on its heels a gust of hot, dry wind. Smaug dropped from beyond the clouds in a steep dive, and passed so close to the signal flag that the draft from his wings was sufficient to knock it off the tower, sending it spinning through the air to break on the ground below. His sharp descent brought him even lower, and he breathed a white hot stream of dragonfire along the edge of the river separating Dale from the rest of the battlefield. The heat from the flames cracked and melted the layer of ice on the river, creating a wall of both raging fire and rushing water between the men and women in Dale and the Orcs who would kill them.
The dragon circled around to land heavily on the roof of the Great Hall, weak and weary but unmistakably alive. The Black Arrow had flown true, struck its mark, but not deep enough; half its length protruded from the creature's breast, leaving him alive but still affected by the wound. Smaug's head drooped, his forepaws unable to bear his full upper body weight, and froth dripped from his jaws as his eyes rolled, darkened and unseeing.
"Leave him!" Bilbo shouted, waving, "Leave him! Focus on the Orcs!"
"Do as he says! Leave the dragon be!" Thranduil bellowed to his troops, galloping through the masses of Orcs astride his elk, Bard confirming the order for the humans and sending a messenger around the fire to Dale with word of the same.
The battle continued to rage, Dale safe beyond the wall of fire and torrent of water, for the most part. The war beasts and the Orcs on their backs launched rocks from the other side, but rarely struck their mark. Smaug batted the stones away with his wings and tail when they came too close to him.
The fire died slowly, and some of the Orcs broke for the city when an opening appeared, but without Azog's guidance, they were not nearly as coordinated or effective. They still had the advantage of numbers, more of their kind still pouring from the tunnels, and drove the men, dwarves, and Elves alike to rally in mixed ranks before the door of the mountain.
Bilbo had retreated to Dale with Gandalf, and was helping to hold the town against the occasional interloper who made it through the fire and ice cold water without succumbing. The threat of Smaug seemed enough to hold most of the Orcs back, or even send them running right past Dale, despite the fact that the dragon was clearly half-dead.
The hobbit made his way up to the roof of the Great Hall, moving carefully through the ruins and avoiding areas of the building that were already groaning under the dragon's weight.
Smaug was even more magnificent in the light, his sinuous form curled up around the domed roof, sunlight reflecting off the gold and gems pressed into his scales. Even with the Black Arrow half-embedded in the single-scale gap, he radiated beauty and danger and mystery, and drew the hobbit in.
Baker Street. Come at once if convenient.
If inconvenient, come anyway.
Could be dangerous.
The ex-soldier carefully climbed the roof, even creeping over Smaug himself so he could face the dragon head on. Bilbo grabbed hold of the spire at the peak of the dome to steady himself and straightened to look at him. Smaug was watching the battlefield with dark and unfocused eyes, not concussed but clearly out of it. Yet he was aware of the hobbit's presence; his spines flared, then laid as flat as possible against his neck, his head finally swaying around to point at the Halfling.
"True courage is not knowing when to take a life…"
Bilbo's eyes dropped to the Black Arrow.
"…but when to spare one."
Smaug let out a low growl when he touched the fletching of the Arrow, stilling his swaying but making no move to attack. The hobbit called on John's stability and took a deep breath for courage, then began to ease the Arrow out as steady as he could.
"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. Your therapist thinks it's post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service."
The dragon's chest was not glowing with contained fire, but still the sheer heat of him was making the hobbit sweat. He paused with the Arrow about two thirds of the way out to wipe his hands before beginning again.
"You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady."
Bilbo was forced to stop again when Smaug lifted a wing to bat away a boulder flying their way, and took the opportunity to wipe his hands again, and his brow. Both of them ignored the sounds of Bombur blowing his own horn atop the wall before the mountain, the great gong of the golden bell smashing through the dwarves' barricade as Thorin and the company joined the battle.
"You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson."
The tip of the Arrow eased free.
"You miss it."
Smaug blinked once, then again and again, his eyes glowing gold once more.
On the battlefield below, Thorin sliced through the skull of an orc who thought to kill him, and called out to his cousin, who was not far away. "Dáin!"
"Thorin!" was the reply, "Hold on! I'm coming!" The dwarves continued killing the orcs between them, all the while getting closer to each other. "Hey cousin, what took you so long?!" In a brief respite, they met and hugged. "There's too many of these buggers, Thorin" Dáin panted, "I hope you've got a plan."
Thorin looked up, scanning the area beyond the battlefield. He frowned when he spotted what looked like the company's burglar atop the Great Hall with the dragon Smaug, but then his attention was caught by the hilltop where Azog and his men still stood, trying to come up with some kind of new signal platform. "Aye," he said, "We're going to take out their leader!"
"Azog..."
Thorin jogged forward and mounted a large goat brought by Dáin's army. "I'm gonna kill that piece of filth!" he growled, and turned the beast toward Ravenhill. He charged toward Azog's hill with Dwalin and his nephews, each on a goat. The beasts had their heads lowered, horns and hard skulls smashing through the Orc armies in their way.
Back in Dale, Gandalf watched as human spearmen and archers kill a massive troll attempting to climb to the top of a flight of stairs. It roared in pain and fell back onto its own allies, crushing them and blocking the path. "We may yet survive this," said the wizard.
"GANDALF!" Bilbo shouted down from the roof of the Great Hall, using the Black Arrow for a staff of his own, keeping his balance on the edge of the roof. Smaug's head leaned out over the edge, too, so he could peer down at the wizard.
Gandalf killed an Orc, then hurried over to where Bilbo signaled, standing at the wall and watching as Thorin, Dwalin, Fíli, and Kíli rode up a spur of the mountain towards Ravenhill.
"It's Thorin!" called the hobbit.
"And Fíli, Kíli... and Dwalin," the Istari added, "He's taking his best warriors to kill Azog!"
Just then, Legolas and Tauriel arrived back in Dale together on a horse. They charged through the streets, killing Orcs on their way. When he noticed, Gandalf moved to greet them. "Legolas... Legolas Greenleaf."
"There is a second army!" the blond Elf called without preamble, frowning at Smaug but ignoring him in favor of his message, "Bolg leads a force of Gundabad Orcs. They are almost upon us!"
"Gundabad…" repeated the wizard, "This was their plan all along. Azog engages our forces, then Bolg seeps in from the north." He turned back and strode over to the parapet once more to look after the four dwarves. "Ravenhill."
"Ravenhill," said Bilbo, still shouting from the roof, "Thorin is up there! And Fíli and Kíli - they're all up there!"
At the sound of Kíli's name, Tauriel became alarmed. Together, they all looked out toward the top of Ravenhill, which had become shrouded in mist and smoke.
Thorin and Co finished slaying the Orcs in the ruins across the frozen waterfall from Azog's stronghold, then looked out across the still falls at the ruins where Azog had last been seen. His horn, the last of his signaling machines, stood abandoned.
"Where is he?" the prince whispered.
"Looks empty," said Kíli, "I think Azog has fled!"
"I don't think so," the prince refuted, then turned. "Fíli, take your brother. Scout out the towers. Keep low and out of sight. If you see something, report back. Do not engage, do you understand?!"
"We have company," said Dwalin, calling for their attention, "Goblin mercenaries. No more than a hundred." They all looked back the way they had come to see goblins running over the ruins toward them, shrieking.
"We'll take care of them," said Thorin, "Go! Go!"
As Fíli and Kíli ducked across the river, Thorin and Dwalin moved to meet the goblins rushing toward them, yelling battle cries of their own.
In a moment of peace, Thranduil walked slowly through the city, seeing the bodies of the fallen strewn like toys on the ground, many of which were his own Elves. His attendant came running up, sword drawn, the same Elf who had delivered his message to Legolas and Tauriel. "Recall your company," he commanded.
The attendant groped for his horn and blew it. Gandalf heard the signal and came running up. "My lord, dispatch this force to Ravenhill! The dwarves are about to be overrun. Thorin must be warned."
"By all means, warn him. I have spent enough Elvish blood in defense of this accursed land - No more!" Thranduil walked away haughtily and angrily.
"Thranduil?!" asked the Istari.
"I'll go!" Bilbo called from where he was still on the roof.
"Don't be ridiculous!" the wizard shouted back, "You'll never make it!"
"Why not?"
"Because they will see you coming and kill you!"
"No, they won't." When Gandalf looked at Bilbo peculiarly, he clarified, "They won't see me." He glanced back at Smaug. The dragon met his gaze levelly, still not all there but more there than he was before, recovering fast now that the Black Arrow had been removed. Then the hobbit turned back to the wizard.
"Out of the question," he boomed, "I won't allow it!"
"I'm not asking you to allow it, Gandalf." The hobbit turned once again to the dragon and approached him carefully. Smaug gazed at him for a long moment. Then without a word, he lowered his head, and permitted Bilbo to climb up onto his back. The Halfling settled between his shoulders, mindful of the sharp spines on his back, and reached into his coat to pull out the Ring and slip it on, shivering as the world washed out and began to move around him. Smaug glowed a warm red beneath him, so unlike the white Elves, Men, and Istari, or the black Orcs.
Bilbo held tight to the dragon's spines and the Black Arrow still in hand. Smaug must have felt him ready himself, because he reared up, then leaped into the sky, his flight considerably easier than before. He roared a warning, then renewed the wall of flame protecting Dale before angling for the Ravenhill, the invisible hobbit on his back.
As Thranduil and his Elves marched through the city, killing Orcs, they stopped abruptly when they came upon Tauriel standing to one side of the lane ahead of them, watching Smaug in flight. When she noticed them in turn, she pushed off the wall and waited as Thranduil approached. In English, the Elf King said, "Give me your bow and arrows." When she did so, he turned both of his swords and their sheaths over to her, helping her to buckle them on.
Then she turned and sprinted for Ravenhill. "Go after her, Legolas," Thranduil said in the common tongue, not looking toward where his son had been waiting for her judgement, "She will need the support."
The younger Elf broke away from his concealment and followed her across the causeway.
Still wearing a woman's outfit and clutching the gold he found to his chest, Alfrid wove through the city, dodging the few Orcs that managed to get past before Smaug renewed the fire. As he backed toward a wall, a lone troll climbed over it and roared at him. It raised its club to kill him, and he screamed. Suddenly, from behind him, Bard shot an arrow, aiming for just under its breastbone, and killed it. Alfrid turned to run and tripped, the gold spilling from his dress. He scrambled to gather it up.
"Get up!" Bard demanded.
"Get away from me!" the other man snarled, still gathering up the coin, "I don't take orders from you! People trusted you. They listened to you. The Master's mantle was there for the taking. And you threw it all away - for what?"
Bard turned to look back. Alfrid followed his gaze, and saw Bard's children in a doorway, staring at him with his dress full of coins. He scoffed, turned, and stomped away.
"Alfrid," the archer called after him, "your slip is showing."
The man adjusted his dress, then rushed away. Bard sincerely hoped that would be the last they saw of him.
Having defeated the goblins, Thorin stared anxiously out over the frozen river. Dwalin voiced his concern with his, "Where is that Orc filth?"
Both dwarves snapped around when they heard Smaug's wingbeats. They lifted their weapons when he landed behind them, only to almost drop them in shock when Bilbo appeared out of thin air on his back and scrambled to get down. The dragon stayed low in the mist behind a ruined wall, eyes watching Ravenhill and tail twitching like a cat's.
"Thorin, you have to leave here!" the hobbit yelled, sprinting across the distance between them, "Now! Azog has another army attacking from the north. This watchtower will be completely surrounded. There'll be no way out."
"We are so close!" Dwalin growled, "That Orc scum is in there. I say we push on."
"No! That's what he wants. He wants to draw us in." Suddenly, Thorin understood. "This is a trap," he hissed, "Find Fíli and Kíli! Call them back!"
"Thorin, are you sure about this?"
"Do it. We live to fight another day."
As they turned to leave, a drumbeat from Ravenhill called them back. Firelight appeared in the remnants of the tower, and at its top, Azog appeared, dragging a bloodied Fíli behind him. "This one dies first," he said in his native tongue. Unseen by the Orc, Smaug wiggled like a cat preparing to pounce. "Then the brother. Then you, Oakenshield. You will die last."
"No!" shouted the dwarrow in his grip, "RUN!"
Thorin, Dwalin, and Bilbo looked helplessly as Azog lifted Fíli by the neck – but before he could go in for the kill, Smaug lifted himself above the mist and ruins concealing him and roared so loud that the sound seemed to shake the whole world. The Orcs were all so shocked to see him so close that some turned to run without thought. Azog dropped Fíli and staggered back, startled. The dwarf fell to the ground from the tower, tucked and rolled to minimize injury, then regained his feet and limped quickly away towards the others. He fell past Kíli, who had been watching from a doorway below. Seeing that his brother yet lived, Kíli cheered and rushed down the tower steps toward the dwarrows, hobbit, and dragon.
"FÍLI!" Thorin bellowed, running across the frozen waterfall to meet him, grabbing hold of his nephew and checking him all over. Aside from some nasty bruises from where he'd hit the ground and a few cracked bones, he was unharmed from his fall. The prince pulled the other dwarf into a fierce embrace, which Fíli returned. Kíli tore from the tower and practically jumped on his brother in joy.
Thorin released the younger dwarf and turned to look back at Smaug. He opened his mouth to speak, but the dragon got there first.
"Whatever you wish to say can wait," he rumbled, the sheer depth of his voice making the ruined stones shift around them. He sounded raspier than usual, if that was possible. "This is not yet over."
He was right. The dwarves turned to look at one another, nodding, then yelled battle cries and rushed Orcs beginning to emerge from the tower. Azog lunged out of a tunnel to attack the dwarf prince, and they began their fight on the snowy mountainside, Thorin with his sword and Azog with his arm-blade and a heavy mace. The Orc was much larger than the dwarf, had a lot more bulk, and so the prince could barely parry his blows, but his smaller size gave him the advantage of speed for dodging.
Still on the other side of the river with Smaug, Bilbo heard a noise and ducked as werebats flew out of the mist. The dragon reared up to snatch at them, the crunching of their bones making the hobbit twitch as Smaug ate them. Sting began to glow blue in his hand, and he looked back to see Bolg and his forces climb a ruined wall. Seeing Bilbo but apparently not the motherfucking DRAGON, the Orcs charged at him. He lifted his sword and readied himself, quickly reviewing what the dwarves had taught him about fighting with Sting. Just before they reached him, Dwalin charged up to join him and began fighting some of the Orcs singlehandedly, the hobbit providing support. They both ducked when Smaug swung his tail like a mace to knock the Orcs off their feet, and killed the ones who fell as quick as they could before resuming their fight with the rest.
Tauriel and Legolas paused on the causeway to Ravenhill, the werebats swarming ahead of them. The beasts arrowed down to the main battlefields, swooping through ranks of soldiers and slamming into the dwarves and few remaining Elves. Thranduil had withdrawn his warriors from the melee, but his archers were still posted in Dale. As the bats flew by, they launched volleys of arrows into their midst, taking out a great number of them.
Legolas jumped and grabbed the leg of a passing werebat, and it carried him away. Tauriel saw Kíli in the ruins, fighting several Orcs on the ruins with his brother at his side.
"Kíli..." she said, surprised, then glad.
Azog and Thorin continued to fight in the ruins, the Orc's armor too thick for the dwarf to do any real damage even though the beast was careless with defense and the prince hit him multiple times. Thorin managed to knock Azog off his feet, and Azog slid down a slippery set of stairs, but before Thorin could chase him, go in for the kill, other Orcs climbed over the ruins to attack, forcing him to defend.
In the courtyard, Bilbo threw rocks at Orcs with one hand and stabbed the stunned ones with Sting in the other, Dwalin fighting the beasts head on. Smaug crushed any who came near with his claws or bit them in half and spat them out, apparently not liking the taste.
Kíli continued fighting his way up the ruins with his brother, and Tauriel, looking for them, encountered several Orcs rushing out of a side tunnel and killed them when they charged her.
Its flight laborious, the werebat still carried Legolas through the air, the archer trying to find a good spot to make his stand.
As Bilbo continued throwing rocks, Bolg suddenly ran out and tried to smack Bilbo in the head with the handle of his mace. The hobbit had been expecting the move and jerked back to avoid the swing, but he overbalanced and fell back onto his rear. Bolg appeared not to have noticed and kept moving, the hobbit getting back up and continuing to fight once he was gone.
As the werebat carried Legolas over the ruins of a stone tower, he shot it through the soft flesh under its jaw, the arrow piercing through its skull and killing it. Its grip slacked with death, he dropped free and landed gracefully on top of the tower.
Azog, recovered from his short fall, charged Thorin out of another hall and knocked him onto the surface of the frozen river. "Go in for the kill!" Azog yelled to his Orcs, many of whom ran out on to the ice to attack Thorin, "Finish him!"
Thorin looked around rapidly as the Orcs ran toward him, trying to work out how to fight so many. Suddenly the Orcs began toppling with arrows stuck in them. Legolas was on the tower above, shooting the Orcs attacking Thorin from the summit. Thorin moved to take on the remaining Orcs, even with his broken sword.
In a moment of respite after slaying another opponent, Tauriel called out, "KÍLI!" She knew that he could hear her but was too busy double-teaming two Orcs at once with his brother to respond. "KÍLI!" she shouted again.
"TAURIEL!" he cried in response.
"Kíli…" Good, he was still alive. She readied herself, and jumped out of the way when Bolg lunged out of a tunnel at her, rolling and coming up with Thranduil's swords in hand.
Kíli slew his opponents and began making his way toward her, Fíli close behind and looking just as angry as his brother.
Though she was not stronger than the Orc, she was faster and more agile, and Tauriel managed to slip from Bolg's grasp to attack him with the dual swords. He caught both her arms and twisted them, causing her to gasp in pain, then smashed his fist down on her head, temporarily felling her.
Fíli and Kíli rushed desperately when they heard Tauriel's groans. Bolg lifted Tauriel up by the throat, but that proved to be a mistake. It put his knee in range of her foot, and she kicked out with all her might, making him drop her and fall. The Elf tried to go in for the kill with her knife, but he grabbed her and threw her bodily against a wall. As she laid stunned on the ground, he pulled out his mace for the kill, but Fíli and Kíli were suddenly there, leaping from a higher level onto him. They fought, and Kíli managed to slash him, but Bolg grabbed and held the dwarf against his knee, lifting the pointed base of his mace to stab him through the chest.
"No!" Fíli shouted, and jumped on Bolg from behind.
Bolg threw him down, but in his preoccupation with the dwarves, he forgot about the Elf.
Tauriel gathered Thranduil's swords and ran the Orc through with them both, one up through the heart, the other through the spine. He sagged in her grip, then fell, almost landing on Kíli, but the dwarf scrambled out of the way in time to avoid being crushed.
They all panted around the corpse for a moment, making sure it did not move. Then Tauriel let the Elven King's swords fall and sank to her knees, crawling over to Kíli and pulling him into a fierce hug, and wrapping his brother in, too, when he limped over to join them.
Legolas felt the tower wobble under him without warning. He looked down at the base to see a troll smashing away at the stone foundation. He reached back for an arrow to slay it, only to find that he had run out without knowing. He scowled and threw down his bow, pulling out Orcrist and leaping off the top of the tower, plummeting down with the sword out. His aim was dead on, as always, stabbing the troll through the head, and it hobbled around in pain. Twisting the sword like a guide stick, he got the troll to turn and charge forward, smashing head first into the already-weakened base of the tower. The tower fell across the chasm, forming a weak bridge across the face of the falls. Legolas pulled the blade free and moved to cross it.
Up above, Thorin hamstringed an Orc right before another one rushed up and smashed into him, sending him sliding across the ice all the way to the edge of the waterfall, directly over the Elf Prince. Thorin managed to stab the Orc in the neck and throw it over the edge of the waterfall. It landed on the bridge behind the Elf, slamming into an Orc that had been sneaking up on him and breaking through the weak stones, but the blond was agile enough to avoid falling. Another Orc approached Thorin, lying on his back, partially hanging over the edge of the waterfall, defenseless. As it raised its axe, Legolas pursed his lips but threw Orcrist, his aim still true as the sword sank into the beast's chest, killing it. As it fell over the edge, Thorin leaned and reached out to grab the sword, saving it from going over.
As Legolas watched Thorin, another Orc charged onto the bridge and swung at him, but Legolas dodged and pulled his two knives from his quiver, fighting and easily slaying the beast with them. Thorin stood and looked in wonder at his blade come back to him, then up the river. Azog, alone, stood facing him on the far end where a bridge had once been. Orc and dwarf approached each other slowly.
A horn blew in the distance, and Azog smiled as the rise behind him became covered with approaching Orc reinforcements. He roared, charged forward, and swung a large makeshift Morningstar, a rock attached to a chain, at Thorin, who ducked under it. Azog was unbalanced by the swing, and Thorin took advantage, getting behind him and slashing him. Azog angrily swung the rock at him again, whipping it down from overhead, and Thorin dodged, the rock smashing into the ice and cracking it.
Legolas took advantage of a brief reprieve in opponents to finish crossing the bridge and destroy it behind him to prevent more Orcs form coming up from behind. He looked around up at the Ravenhill for Tauriel, but didn't see her. "Tauriel!" he called.
As Thorin and Azog fought, the ice continued to crack. They both paused for a second, slipping on the ice, then the beast swung again with a battle cry. This time, the ice actually separated completely beneath them. As Thorin stumbled over one edge of the ice, Azog managed to knock his legs out from under him with the chain, but he was able to roll free of several more swipes. He caught the Pale Orc off balance and slashed one of his thighs, lunging past him. Azog angrily swung the Morningstar at Thorin, missing, and the rock became stuck in the ice, forcing the beast to lunge forward and slash at Thorin with his bladed arm, only to return to his side of the ice when they nearly unbalanced.
Suddenly, Azog's face went slack with shock as he looked into the sky behind Thorin. The Eagles, with Radagast riding their leader, had arrived at last and swooped by, shrieking their battle cries. They sailed through the first of the oncoming Orc legions from Gundabad, decimating them. Beorn, riding atop one of the other Eagles, threw himself off it and transformed into his bear shape as he fell, landing right in the middle of the Orcs. He smashed through them with ease. At some point, Smaug had taken off for the battle in the valley below, but now he returned on the heels of the Eagles, and released a long stream of fire into the enemy ranks further back, some of the Eagles circling back around to follow him and fan the flames with their wings.
Thorin let Orcrist slide from his hand when their ice floe bumped against the piece from which it had calved. The dwarf scooped up the rock at the end of the chain and threw it at Azog, who caught it reflexively. The Pale Orc stared at him in confusion, then Thorin stepped backward off the ice floe that they were both standing on. Without his weight to balance it, the ice floe tipped Azog into the icy water below. He dropped the Morningstar and scrabbled for purchase on the ice, but his own weight and that of his armor pulled him down. The prince panted in exhaustion, watching the spot where he'd vanished.
As he bent down to pick up Orcrist, Thorin saw Azog beneath the ice, being pulled slowly by the current toward the edge of the frozen falls. Thorin slowly walked above him, and they stared at each other through the ice. The Orc closed his eyes.
"Thorin!"
Bilbo. The dwarf looked up, eyes locking on the hobbit.
"Get back!" the hobbit shouted, waving to signal the same, "GET BACK!"
The prince didn't think, just moved to obey, and threw himself backwards as Azog shoved his blade up through the ice, right where his foot had been. He leaped through the ice as Thorin scrambled to recover, pushing himself backward on the ice. As he stabbed his blade arm down at the dwarf, Thorin managed to stop it from running him through by sliding Orcrist in one of the forks of the blade. Using gravity and his superior weight and position, the Orc slowly pushed his blade further and further, only to be startled when a rock slammed into his head. Bilbo scooped up another one and threw it as Smaug passed directly overhead, roaring, his spiked tail falling low enough to knock the Orc off the prince. Thorin took advantage of the distractions they provided to get back on his feet and throw himself at the Orc, running the beast all the way through with Orcrist before pushing himself back and away, out of reach of any return strike.
Azog gasped and choked as they watched, staggering on the ice as Smaug circled around to land amongst the ruins of Ravenhill once more, rumbling low in his throat. The Pale Orc sank to his knees, then fell face first onto the ice with one last gasp, dead at last.
The hobbit and dwarf could hardly believe it. Smaug's face was inscrutable as he climbed over the ruins to the edge of the river, and there he crouched, still silent.
Thorin stumbled toward the edge of the frozen waterfall, looking out over the battlefield below, where the remaining Orcs were clearly being routed. No more of the beasts were emerging from the tunnels, and fires glowed within. Smaug had landed in front of one of the openings and breathed as much fire down it as he could, cooking the Orcs still inside the earth.
Weak from his wound, the prince sank to his knees at the edge of the fall. Bilbo stumbled over to him, his legs feeling like jelly, and flopped down next to him. They were silent for a long moment, then Thorin said, "I was under the impression… that I was not going to survive."
"I am aware…" Bilbo replied, "and I have never… been so happy to be wrong."
They smiled, still looking out over the battlefield. Then Thorin leaned over and pulled Bilbo into a hug. "I am glad you are here," he whispered, "If this is the last we will see one another, I wish to part from you in friendship. I would take back my words and deeds at the gate. You did what only a true friend would do." He sat back, looking into the hobbit's eyes. "Forgive me, I was too blind to see. I'm so sorry that I have led you into such peril. And…thank you."
The hobbit gripped his shoulder. "Thorin, there is nothing to forgive. I'm glad to have shared in all your perils, each and every one of them. It's far more than any Baggins deserves. And you're not getting rid of me just yet. I told you, I want to see you crowned king."
They smiled at one another. Then the other dwarrows arrived on the frozen river, crying out in relief when they saw that Thorin yet lived and rushing over to pull him into an embrace. Fíli and Kíli were among them, and Tauriel trailed behind, standing a little ways off next to the dragon.
Thranduil walked slowly through the ruins of Ravenhill, gazing about at the carnage. Legolas ducked in through a tunnel and approached him. "I... cannot go back." The younger Elf brushed past his father and prepared to leave.
"Where will you go?"
Legolas turned and faced Thranduil. "I do not know."
"Go north," Thranduil suggested, "Find the Dúnedain. There's a young Ranger soon to be amongst them - you should meet him. His father, Arathorn, was a good man. His son might grow to be a great one."
"What is his name?"
"He'll be known in the wild as Strider. His true name you must discover for yourself."They nodded at each other, then Legolas turned and walked away. Thranduil called after him, "Legolas, your mother loved you, more than anyone, more than life."
Legolas' eyes widened in shock and surprise. He made a gesture of departure to his father, which was returned, then he left. Thranduil walked back the way his son had come and saw the dwarrows celebrating under the watchful eyes of Smaug and Tauriel. The she-Elf had eyes only for Kíli, smiling at the dwarf, and he turned to grin back at her.
Thranduil did not need to be an expert on love to know that the two were in it.
It took time to tally the dead and gather them up for burning. The Orcs were simply dumped in piles that were set alight by the dragon, but the Elves were taken back to Mirkwood to be laid to rest in the embrace of the forest, the Dwarves deep into Erebor, and the men and women of Laketown were laid to rest on funeral pyres and consigned to the flames before their grieving families.
No one said anything about the dragon, but at some point, without being seen by anyone, Smaug slipped back into the mountain and fell asleep on the gold. Tilda reported that before he did so, he had been picking over the broken rocks of Erebor, Dale, and Ravenhill, and she even saw him eat one. They wouldn't have believed her if a few other children hadn't claimed to have seen the same thing.
'Dragons eating rocks?' Bilbo thought as he picked his way over the gold with Gandalf, Bard, Thranduil, Tauriel, and the rest of the company. Smaug was sleeping in an out-of-the-way corner, one of his wings pulled up over most of his bulk. He didn't react to their approach, or even when Dwalin threw a gemstone that bounced off of him.
Thorin's eyes narrowed, and he studied the dragon at length, thinking deeply. Finally, he said, "Leave him."
"Are you sure?" Dwalin asked, voicing the question that everyone save Bilbo was thinking.
"He attacked us, yes, and brought ruin to our people," said the prince, frowning, "but without him, many more innocents would have died against Azog and his army, myself included." Here he seemed almost reluctant to add on, but finally did. "And in a way, we brought it on ourselves. We were not mindful for the sickness that has almost undone us, watchful for its consequences." His shoulders drooped in shame, and he was silent for a moment more. "So long as he offers no battle, leave him be. Perhaps we can use him to guard the mountain."
Smaug slept on. For over a week, he laid in the corner, unmoving, and eventually some of the children got over their fear of him and went to investigate. Because of the way he was lying, they made a game of seeing how many coins they could stack on the sides of his back spines before the slow expansion of his breathing toppled them.
The dragon was alone when he woke. He blinked slowly, before he rolled to his feet and stretched, yawning. Then he snaked his head down to peer at his chest.
His missing scale had regrown. He scratched at it to remove the shiny coating on the new scale, making sure that it was solidly in place, then padded out into the rest of the mountain.
While Bard, Thranduil, Bilbo, and Gandalf were in conference with Thorin, the rest of the company, and Dáin, negotiating suitable wergild, there was a knock at the door. One of the guards stepped in, looking confused, and announced, "The Fire-Drake Smaug."
But the being that stepped into the room after him was not a dragon, not really. It was a Man, or perhaps an Elf, tall and willowy, with dark curly hair, sharply pointed ears, and slit-pupiled golden eyes that glowed from within. His skin was pale and patchy with red dragon scales. He wore an old and threadbare pair of pants, likely originally meant for a dwarf because they barely passed his knees, and over it a glittering, unbroken coat of dragon scales that joined with his skin, so long that it dragged on the floor behind him, his tail twitching between its flaps. Yet, as they watched, the patches of scales gave way to smooth and unmarred pale skin, and the coat grew shorter until it hung just above his ankles, the coins and gems embedded in it shifting closer together or falling free. His tail pulled up into his body, his long fingers shifting to normal hands, his paws to feet. His claws remained, and the horns poking through his hair and spines down his back, though they were much reduced in size.
"I told you," said Sherlock, "I'd be lost without my blogger."
The Black Arrow fell from Bilbo's nerveless fingers, hitting the ground with a clang as he rushed to the dragon. Smaug dropped to one knee to embrace him on a more equal level, and everyone heard the hobbit muttering, "You bastard. You absolute – fucking – bastard – I oughta kill you myself," as he buried his face in the dragon's neck.
Smaug closed his eyes and began to purr.
