AN: Sending love to all my west coast folks who are dealing with real life dragon fire! Hope you, your families, friends, and family pets are safe and breathing alright.
Tolkien: I twist a bunch more quotes from the book in here.
P.S. I wrote this and edited this on my phone. Hope you enjoy the content of this story.
Chapter 25 - Dragon Fire
Given the great dislike most men had for dwarrow, it was Glorfindel, Legolas, Bilbo, and Saradoc who went to Laketown as the windlances were prepared on chariots designed for stealth and speed. Chariots that were remnants of old wars the elves had kept deep in their old armories, with a bit of dwarvish mending they were functional enough to be put on boats and carry out their plan.
Bilbo was happy to have his father with him as the townsfolk emerged to gawk at them.
"Who are you?" a man with a trim brown beard and princely baring asked, stepping forward from the crowd.
He was not finely dressed, but he reminded Bilbo of Thorin and his instinct was to respect him.
He seemed the sort that Estel might get on with.
Bilbo cleared his throat, "We are representatives of the elvish House of the Golden Flowers and Prince Legolas of the Greenwood, at your service."
"You are no elf," the man remarked. "And though your hair is braided, you're no dwarf either."
Bilbo smiled his best charming Sunday tea smile, "No, indeed, I am Bilbo Baggins, Consort to the dwarvish King of Erebor, Thorin Oakenshield son of King Thrain, son of King Thror. I, and my cousin, Saradoc Brandybuck, are hobbits of the Shire, or as you may have heard in tales, halflings from the Kindly West."
Bilbo was well aware he was buttering them up, but it was imperative they saw him as having some authority.
As he was likely to die by dragon fire, along with their town if their arrows failed, at least his sacrifice might earn his husband some sympathy.
The crowd broke into many excited exclamations, chief among them were of the return of the King of Silver Fountains, which was a rather pretty title, Bilbo very much liked.
"You plan to wake the dragon," the man said.
"We plan to kill the dragon," Legolas replied.
The elves had warned that the Master of Laketown was sloven creature who cared for no one but himself, they were here to talk to the people, not their tyrant.
"And what plan is that?" the man asked, crossing his arms as three children peeked around his shoulders, the youngest girl grabbing his coat to hold onto.
Bilbo softened at the way the man allowed his children to be so close to him even while negotiating something so potentially political.
"And what is your name?"
"Bard," he said shortly, placing a hand on his daughter's head.
Bilbo smiled and bowed, "Our plan begins with evacuating your town. Even if we succeed in killing Smaug, an army from Mordor marches this way and water will not delay them long."
"And take us where?" Bard asked. "We have nowhere to go."
"To the Greenwood," Prince Legolas said. "My father has promised all who make the journey now that they will be granted shelter and food through the winter. The woodland and the dwarves of Erebor have promised to help you rebuild Dale if you but trust this offer."
"What do you gain from this?" an old woman shouted. "What do we have to offer the elves?"
Glorfindel spoke, "It is not what you have to offer, it is what we owe to your ancestors and grandparents, who perished in Dale when forced to face a reminiant of evil alone.
Gondor is under siege as we speak and Mordor's forces gather more strength each day. In the face of such ancient enemies, it is imperative the free peoples of Middle Earth support one another."
Bard stared at the elf lord then at Bilbo, "You swear this, Consort of Erebor?"
"I swear it upon Yavanna's blessings that what we offer is true."
"Then we all need to go," Bard said.
"We won't be starving through the winter with the elves!" the old lady declared, a bit giddily.
Happy murmers echoed followed halted by a winded greasy man shoving through the crowd, "You are not the Master, Bard! No one is going anywhere until we've spoken to the Master!"
"He's the last descendant of the Lord of Dale," Legolas cut in. "A city which is to be rebuilt, no one here need follow the Master of Laketown if they are not the people of Esgaroth but the Men of Dale."
A cheer went up.
The greasy man was consumed with such a rage as to be spitting as he spoke, "The proud men of rubble and dragon ash, you mean."
One of the women who the greedy fellow had shoved, got her revenge by shoving the man, if you could call the spineless worm that, into the gap between docks. He came up spluttering from the freezing water with expletives that incurred much laughter from the townsfolk.
Bilbo saw then for himself just how much the Master was loathed here and, contrary wise, how respected Bard was.
By nightfall, nearly everyone was safely ashore and being ushered into King Thranduil's Kingdom.
The people brought only things most precious to them. Herbsellers, clothes makers, and blanket merchants gave away their stock, distributing it freely amongst those climbing into boats. When you had little there seemed plenty to go around. There were pitiful amounts of food to share so only the unspoiled supplies were taken by individuals.
In doing this the evacuation was rather quick and elves on the bank were quick to help the old, sick, and young.
The opposite was true of those who remained loyal to the Master, which was almost no one. The Masters barge particularly sunk with the weight of gold painstakingly unloaded from his private treasury.
When, or rather, if, they made it to shore without sinking with the gold, the way to the Woodland Kingdom would be obscured to them.
Bard brought with him the last Black Arrow of Girion and his son who assured them all that there was a chipped scale in the dragon's armour. Bard and his son would be given their own windlance on Ravenhill.
oOo
Bilbo and Saradoc took Gandalf's warnings to heart, except for the one about waiting for him to enter the mountain.
If smell was the thing that was going to tip the dragon off then they made sure to bathe with pure vinegar, not something the elves used much. They used it to clean themselves with, as well as their clothes and the fleet footed horse they rode. Rinsing off in a near freezing stream, they wouldn't smell like much of anything at all that could be familiar to the dragon.
Men and dwarves weren't excelty sweat adverse and the elves smelled of earthen perfumes and finer scents.
Freshly bathed hobbits who may smell a bit like vinegar, the favoured cleaning product of the Shire, and vaguely of wet horse would hopefully peak the dragon's interest enough not to be toasted on sight.
It was a painful thing to not give Thorin a farewell kiss or a final hug goodbye to Fíli and the rest of the company, but they were determined to outwit this baraberic lizard.
As the others made their way to Ravenhill, Saradoc and Bilbo went alone to the Lonely Mountain.
Saradoc groaned when he found the stairs, "Why did they make it so difficult? They made this all as if they were giants. They aren't that much taller than us!"
Bilbo patted his shoulder before clasping his hands to offer his friend a boost up.
Saradoc put his foot in Bilbo's hand and climbed up the "step".
Then Sara pulled Bilbo up.
And so they went.
Bilbo was the one to make the jumps when they got to the point of the geometric patterned steps. He grunted when close to the top, he nearly slipped.
Sara yelped but Bilbo managed to pull himself up, the setting sun the only motivation he needed.
That, and his aversion to death.
Sara put extra effort into clearing the jump, knocking Bilbo down as he overshot the gap.
Bilbo groaned, "I miss Thorin."
"Me too," Sara panted, offering Bilbo a hand up. "For beings who live underground, it seems the dwarrow have no fear of heights."
"Dwarrow are insane," Bilbo agreed as they hurried along the statue that hopefully led to the secret door.
"Speaking of your insane king, did you talk about having faunts with him? Everyone in the Shire knows how much you wanted more, including Frodo."
Bilbo, tired, hungry, and anxious of their trials ahead, couldn't help but smile broadly, "We did."
"And?" Saradoc said as they made it off the statue to a set of truly hellish steps along the cliff.
Bilbo paused, "He said we could plant as many as I wanted."
Sara pulled him into a hug and spoke the Green Speach blessing of hopeful parents.
Roughly, it translated to; May Yavanna bless your future, may Mahal shelter you, may the sun shine, may the rains be sweet, may your love grow deep, and your hopes grow toward the stars. May all these blessings bloom for love.
Bilbo hugged him back and was forced to wipe away tears. He had believed himself too old to find love and start a family beyond adopting more children.
Not that he was opposed to the latter notion, however, he had always wanted a large family and the idea of raising faunts or dwarflings from blossom to bark brought such joy to his heart.
The terrible stairs led them to a wall, a blank wall.
They spent two hours frantically looking for a keyhole, and as the sunlight began to wane, panic gave way to despair.
Bilbo repeated the map's rhyme in its entirety aloud, "Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole."
He and Sara came to the same realisation at the same moment; "It's a riddle!"
"The last light," Bilbo said, watching the sun dip below the horizon.
"The last light!" Saradoc exclaimed.
Bilbo got it a moment later and again they spoke in unison.
"The moon!"
They laughed, and there were a few more tears on Bilbo's part, having feared so greatly failing his Heartsong.
Bilbo laid back on the ground, "Oh my, I don't know how I could have faced Thorin again when I was the one to convince him not to come."
Sara laid down beside him as they took the time to rest as they waited for the moon to shine, "He would have forgiven you, but you don't have to worry about that now. You can save your worry for the dragon."
Bilbo huffed a laugh, "You still have that elvish rope?"
Sara lifted it up into the air, "Yep! We're insane."
Bilbo made a raspberry like Frodo had been prone to do when he was little, "I can't imagine angering a dragon will be all that difficult."
Sara sighed, "This is why your one ended up being a dwarf."
"Oh please, Esmeralda isn't less capable of insanity."
"Esmeralda has more sense then us and the Company put together."
Bilbo paused, "I don't think that's an impressive compliment."
Sara waved a hand, "Don't bother me with semantics, Baggins."
Bilbo laughed, "It only took the prospect of dragon fire to weather away the respectful addresses, I see."
Sara grabbed Bilbo's hand, and Bilbo turned his head to meet the other hobbit's gaze, "Before we die, I want you to know how much I respect you, Uncle Bilbo, and how glad I am that I can call you kin."
Bilbo squeezed his hand back, "Said the bravest hobbit I've ever met."
Sara snorted, "I'm not that brave."
"Aren't you? I'm part elf and have travelled and killed before this journey, while the furtherest you've ever travelled was Bree. No, Saradoc Brandybuck, you are brave and Merry will know his father was the one to earn our people a new home."
Sara smiled, "I hope we live. I miss him so much."
Bilbo's heart clenched as he thought of his Frodo.
Fíli had grown and Bilbo was so proud of the dwarf he had become. Frodo was still so young and Bilbo could only pray the elves let him know how much he was loved.
His heart was at peace knowing that at least his youngest son was safe with the elves and that his oldest would be protected by his dwarvish kin.
oOo
Frodo wasn't sure if Uncle Bilbo knew where he was if he would be forgiven.
Or rather, if he would forgive Lord Elrond.
For they hadn't stayed in Rivendell.
Needing every healer that could be spared, Bilbo had gone with a troop of elves including Lord Elrond to Gondor where they treated the sick and injured.
Uncle Bilbo would be appalled by the rationed meals he and Sam were enduring, but how could Frodo regret his choices?
If Gondor fell, there would be no safe passage to Erebor come spring for either the dwarrow of Ered Luin or the hobbits of the Shire.
Frodo may not be in line for Thrain, but he was a healer and Estel was a family friend.
How could he not answer when aid was asked for?
Somehow, he wasn't sure Uncle Bilbo would see it that way.
oOo
Bilbo and Sara gagged when they entered the passage to Erebor.
Dragons did not smell well, a bit like ripe eggs and a chimney that was in need of cleaning.
They got over the smell relatively soon, and after one last farewell to one another, they parted ways. Bilbo took the stairs down and Sara took the stairs.
Knowing the vague layout of the place thanks to Thorin, though his love had failed to impress upon them how large each of these spaces would be, crept into position.
The dragon, an enormous bat winged monstrosity of red and gold scales laid curled on the most expensive bed of gold and gem in all Middle Earth.
Hobbits were quiet creatures, and where Bilbo made some sound over the loose coins, Sara made none as he scaled to a higher vantage point.
Bilbo saw what had to be the Arkenstone laid too close to the dragon's hind leg.
It was a trap.
It had to be a trap, one Bilbo needed to, against his every instinct, spring.
He moved slowly, the tinkle of coins at each step no more than shower of coins caused by the dragons every breathe or dreamful shift in his sleep.
When Bilbo reached the stone, he was quick to scoop up and hide it away in his pocket.
The dragon inhaled sharply but did not open its eyes.
Bilbo slowly retreated backwards, only to slip and stumble back, falling with a mound of shifting gold, head over heels.
Practically swimming through gold, Bilbo was able to get behind a pillar just as the dragon's eyes snapped open.
As keen as the dragon's sight was, even Smaug seemed to need a moment for his eyes to focus.
When the dragon spoke, its words rumbled like thunder through the grand halls of Erebor.
"Well, thief! I smell you and I feel your air. I hear your breath. Come along, thief in the shadows!"
Bilbo was not quite so unlearned in dragon-lore as all that, and if Smaug hoped to get him to come nearer so easily he would be disappointed.
"No thank you, O Smaug the Tremendous!" he replied, throwing his voice as he had with goblins in the Misty Mountains. "I did not come for presents. I only wished to have a look at you and see if you were truly as great as tales say. I did not believe them."
"Did you now?" said the dragon somewhat flattered, even though he likely did not believe a word of it.
"Truly songs and tales fall utterly short of the reality, O Smaug the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities," Bilbo flattered shamelessly.
He needed to live long enough to insult it.
"You have nice manners for a thief and a liar," said the dragon. "You seem familiar with my name, but I don't seem to remember smelling you before. Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?"
"You may indeed! I come from under the hill, and under the hills and over the hills my paths led. I am he that grows rosemary in the spring and belladonna when the children are away."
"A gardener," said Smaug, sounding amused. "But that is hardly your usual name."
"I am a son of two fathers before my mother knew me, an uncle of many though no brother or sisters have I, and a father myself of two though before I was wed."
Smaug's tail swished, "A big family, how quaint."
Feeling the dragon's impatience, Bilbo pushed himself to talk more poetically, "I am he too small to ride horses, yet have ridden with kings, he who has flown with eagles, and spoken with trees. I am potion maker, riddler, and a singer of the Golden Flowers."
"Lovely titles!" sneered the dragon.
"I came from the end of a bag, but no bag can hold me. A meal maker and bear friend."
Smaug laughed, "Don't let your imagination run away with you!"
This of course is the way to talk to dragons, if you don't want to reveal your proper name (which is wise), and don't want to infuriate them by a flat refusal (which is also very wise).
No dragon can resist the fascination of riddling talk and of wasting time trying to understand it.
There was a lot here which Smaug did not understand at all but he thought he understood enough, and he chuckled in his wicked inside.
"Are you friends of men then? For you smell of water," the dragon's tone implied he was smiling to himself. "Lake-men, some nasty scheme of those miserable tub-trading Lake-men, or I'm a lizard. I haven't been down that way for an age and an age; but I will soon alter that!"
Bilbo took a breath before writing his own end, he would never get to see Frodo again. And he would be leaving Fíli and Thorin behind.
Tonight, their family would burn and not grow.
"Then you must be a lizard by your own words," Bilbo said boldly, allowing his voice to move away from where he thought Sara would likely be. "For I have no friends from Esgoroth."
He might have helped save them but knowing someone for a few hours didn't necessarily mean friendship.
The dragon hissed, the room heating up from his foul breath alone. "Then dwarf friend I name you, for you must have been paid to come here. What did they offer you? A share of the treasure? If you have travelled from so far away as you have implied then know it was lies they promised. Some share of the treasure could never be carried home to you. It could not be stolen from me and they would not share it if they could."
"Wrong again!" Bilbo sing-songed. "I was paid nothing. I am here of my own free will unbought and never to be paid."
Sara was the one who had traded something for the contract. Any wealth Bilbo might have earned was going to Dís and thus staying with the line of Durin.
"Very well, then a friend of elves," the dragon ventured. "The Mirkwood King finally grew a spine, or died, and now his foolish son dares to see if I still breathe."
"Nope," Bilbo said cheerily, though it was on a technicality.
Bilbo was an elf-friend, but his being son of an elf lord of a great elven house superseded such a title.
He was rightfully elf-kin.
Smaug snarled but he seemed interested as he swung his head from side to side trying to locate where the hobbit's voice was coming from.
With two hobbits sneaking about, his smell trail was partially obstructed, though it would likely only be a matter of time until Bilbo was found out.
"Then what are you?" Smaug asked bluntly. "For I've never smelled your kind before."
"I am the forgotten folk who wandered these lands before any took notice. My kind no Valar has fought over or fought against."
"Too small for my kind to take note of," rumbled Smaug. "I admit, long have a lived that the chance to encounter something new is quite the novelty. Come into the light so that I may see whether you are man, dwarf, or elf, or something altogether as other as your smell."
"Though I came to look upon you," Bilbo ventured, projecting his voice no longer as he was certain now that Smaug had correctly guessed his location. "But I am truly small and have no defense against your fire."
"You have earned my interest, that you may look without retribution. A thief will burn, but I will allow an admirer."
The Arkenstone hung heavy in Bilbo's pocket as he tucked his braid back with ribbon to hide Thorin's bead.
Bilbo stepped around the pillar, the coins like bells or rain against a tin feed trough.
Smaug stared at him, then lowered his head so Bilbo stood even with the great lizard's pupil.
He had never felt so small.
So insignificant.
And whatever magic dragons had, Bilbo felt spellbound.
If Smaug had asked Bilbo in that moment to walk down the dragon's throat, he might have.
But then the dragon sniggered, "A child? One of the wee folk? The fairies? No, the halflings, too shy to fight, too small to be worth hunting. I've heard of your kind, the children who age but remain ever children though you breed and propagate. I thought you a myth." He laughed again, leaning in to sniff. "Clean thing you are, despite your hairy feet."
"That's actually a compliment to my people."
The dragon rumbled, sitting back to spread his wings, "And what compliments would you pay me, halfling? As you can see with your own eyes, though they are puny, that my armour is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath death!"
"I have always understood," said Bilbo in a frightened squeak, "that dragons were softer underneath, especially in the region of the—er— chest; but doubtless one so fortified has thought of that."
The dragon stopped short in his boasting. "Your information is antiquated," he snapped. "I am armoured above and below with iron scales and hard gems. No blade can pierce me."
"I might have guessed it," said Bilbo. "Truly there can nowhere be found the equal of Lord Smaug the Impenetrable. What magnificence to possess a waistcoat of fine diamonds!"
"Yes, it is rare and wonderful, indeed," said Smaug absurdly pleased.
The dragon rolled over. "Look!" he said. "What do you say to that?"
"Dazzlingly marvellous! Perfect!
Flawless! Staggering!" exclaimed Bilbo aloud, but what he thought inside was: Old fool! Why, there is a large patch in the hollow of his left breast as bare as a snail out of its shell.
Surely of the three hundred black arrows newly forged, one would find its mark.
"And here the wizard told me you were but a lesser drake, smallest of your malivalant kin," Bilbo baited, trusting that Sara had had some time to get in position.
The dragon's gayety dried in a huff of pretrid smoke, "What did you say? What wizard?"
"The rainbow one," Bilbo bluffed. He was sure Saruman was arrogant enough to speak ill of a drake he had no intentions of facing, he just hadn't heard it himself. "But worry not, he was slain by the Eagles of Manwë for his numerous insults to innumerable parties."
Smaug hesitated, unsure if he was meant to be insulted or not, but of course he decided to be insulted, he was, after all, a dragon.
Smaug lowered his head and breathed in deeply, "What is you carry, Thief in the Shadows? For I know already you've stolen the King's Bane, that which drove Thror the Mad King… mad. However, you carry something with you that was not yet mine. For I know every piece of treasure, down to the last gemstone, the last copper coin, and the thing you carry… It is made of gold, but far more… precious."
Bilbo's nightmares of gold and the Shire burning flashed through his mind and he was suddenly more afraid than he had ever been, not of the great beasts whose nostrils were larger than front door of Bag End, nor of the glowing heat rising from the dragon's gullet and throat.
No, Bilbo was afraid of the ring he kept in his pocket that the dragon would name the same as that creature wasting away in the dark.
A ring more precious than gold.
"I heard Smaug was nothing more than a witless wyrm!" A voice cried out from an above balcony, saving Bilbo from an immanent fiery death he was only half paying attention to.
Poor Smaug turned toward the voice by which point Saradoc had already pitched what appeared to be a golden pitchfork, which Bilbo only knew through stories was likely called a triton.
He had never seen anyone actually use a triton before. But he had seen many a pitchfork competition that Saradoc had become a champion of.
Being a gold sick dragon, Smaug watched the glint of gold that sparkled in the fire light the dragon himself emitted.
Smaug did not have enough time to realise it was a weapon until it plunged deeply into his left eye.
Smaug may have been a giant, but even a needle in one's eye could be debilitating.
Smaug screamed, the roar shaking the foundation of the very bedrock of the Lonely Mountain.
Piles of gold began to avalanche and much as the could on the slopes of the Misties at the end of the winter.
Bilbo took a shield from the pile and tebogganed his way down the riches of Erebor as Smaug breathed fire upward at an unseen target.
Bilbo could only pray that Sara was running.
The movement of treasure all around the dragon's horde covered the sound of Bilbo's movements as he sped across the great chamber.
oOo
Sara had no idea where he was going in his panic but he knew he didn't want to end up trapped, so he sprinted like the men's starved hounds were nipping at his heels.
Hobbits were not as fast as elves nor as hardy as dwarrow, but when panicked, they were nearly as fleet footed as the brown wizard's rabbits.
Which was good as the dragon's stride was immense and the dragon's fire was, well, no rabbit was likely to outrun it.
But the pain from a stabbed eye was nothing to sniff at, and Smaug must have been forced to stop to pull the golden pitchfork out, for he stopped and sound of a metal rod was heard after another heart stopping roar of pain.
It had been stupidly fancy and ornate pitchfork held by a statue in one of the upper halls still within the dragon's sight. Bilbo's distraction had worked perfectly.
It had been odd to find a familiar farmer's tool portrayed as a warrior's weapon rather than a tool designed for hay and pony dung, but highly convenient for Sara's purposes.
He didn't think his aim would be that true despite all the ribbons he had won in his life.
Smaug roared his rage again.
Saradoc found himself in a carven of unimaginable magnitude. He ducked behind some round pillar that was neither a pillar nor fountain, covering his mouth to try and hide the gasping sounds his breaths made.
Hobbits, like bunnies, were rather good at this.
"Where are you roddent?" the drake coaxed with a magic laced growl. "Did you think you could slay me? Do you think something as lowly, and insignificant, as you could kill me? I do not know your smell, but I will burn down the west to avenge myself. I will find your holes and burn you out, so no one will ever question my might again."
Sara said nothing even as tears leaked down his face as he imagined Merry and Esmeralda face to face with this scaly beast.
Smaug was the antithesis of everything a hobbit was meant to be.
Still, Sara yelled in fright as jets of flame bathed the carven. Clapping both hand over his mouth to hold back the sobs, he tried to focus on the steady thrum of Esmeralda's heartbeat against his own.
Forever together, until the end which even so far apart, they would enter Yavanna's great gardens together.
He wasn't hit directly, but he felt as if he had fallen into an oven.
There was a new whooshing sound that followed the dragon's flames, one that repeated down the room. And the entire carvonous hall felt hotter, as if the mere idea of cold were being expelled from reach.
Sara looked up, and for a moment didn't understand what he was looking at.
He had seen forges before, but that didn't prepare him for the size of these. The pits seemed to light from within, one after another, connected somehow through dwarven innovation.
The dragon hissed, before asking in a thundering voice, "Where are you, little rabbit? Where are you quivering?"
Sara closed his eyes and prayed to Yavanna and her husband to watch over his son and family.
Yet death passed him by in that moment, thanks to Uncle Bilbo yelling taunts from the opposite direction.
Smaug spun, hissing with viscous intent.
Sara slumped in on himself trying to regather his courage to help Bilbo.
He wasn't ready when he stood on shaky legs, but he didn't let that stop him.
After all, it was no small miracle that they weren't both dead already. They couldn't stop now.
oOo
Bilbo had never used the Green Speech to swear so often in his life, but he couldn't say he was surprised at the occasion.
Bungo Baggins still may have washed his mouth out with soap, but Belladonna Took likely would have sworn right along with him.
Bilbo didn't really know what he was doing.
He did have a plan, only, it was a really dumb plan.
Somehow, Sara had managed to hold onto the rope that Samwise had given them.
It had been a very long rope that Estel had gifted Sam, made by the elves after the tween insisted that they couldn't go on an adventure without any good rope. Bilbo had tied it between two pillars leading back out to the treasure room.
Bilbo ducked under it and then hid between the last two pillars on one side, waiting for his stupid plan to either work, or at least that he would be overlooked as the drake passed.
The raven that had been lingering had left to tell the elves that the weakness of the dragon's scale if Bilbo and Sara managed to coax the dragon out of the mountain, that with any luck would lead Smaug over Raven Hill.
He could hear and feel Smaug charging forward, seething between panted breaths, "THIEVES!"
Then the dragon, who could fly but not in such a narrow(ish) space, tripped over Bilbo's trap, the sound of the dragon falling caused another avalanche of gold in the room beyond.
Bilbo didn't hesitate as he sprang from his hiding spot in the shadows just as Smaug's head fell forward.
He was on the dragon's good side, so when Bilbo charged, his elven blade held high, Smaug, the Desolation, saw him coming.
The Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, Master of Bag End, Son of Belladonna, Bungo, and Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flowers, would be the last thing Smaug, the Greatest of Calamities would ever see.
Bilbo jumped, and used his own body weight to drag the blade through that great amber eye.
Smaug's bellow was so loud, Bilbo feared he would lose the ability to hear altogether.
He did not release his sword when the dragon shook his head and thus Bilbo found himself covered head to hairy toe in liquid dragon-eye jelly as he was thrown into the piles of gold below.
Smaug breathed fire, and only gravity saved Bilbo from being incinerated midair.
Still, he did not escape the flames entirely
The agony of burning overwhelmed his every thought and sense.
If he had any room left in his lungs for voice, he would have screamed when he hit the heated coins that sizzled against his exposed skin.
Unconsciousness was the greatest gift he could have wished for as clawed foot created a wave of gold that buried him whole.
oOo
Saradoc screamed along with the dragon as Bilbo was thrown and then toasted.
Sara had seen the trap, thought it was among the stupidest plans they had come up with, awed that it had worked, and horrified by the results of Bilbo bodily attacking the dragon.
He thought his uncle was 's whined sound of pain cutting short when his body struck against coins.
Saradoc froze as it seemed the dragon had finished the job of murdering the hobbit by stepping on him.
Smaug took a running start as he broke through the front gate of Erebor to take flight into the star-filled night.
Sara was too concerned with digging his uncle out of the gold to watch the arrows that pierced the dragon.
Flying low, Smaug hadn't stood a chance of surviving his exit from the mountain, not with his great eyes closed, rendered blind by two foolishly determined hobbits.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, paraguay jaguars, or feedback, pretty please?