𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒: 𝑺𝑴𝑨𝑼𝑮 | FINISHED

~ch. 02: another dragon?

He now possessed it, the coveted wealth of the dwarves that had ignited his desires for countless months. Smaug, the magnificent dragon, emitted a deep rumble of contentment from the recesses of his throat, luxuriously wriggling beneath the weight of the resplendent and dense yellow precious metals and glittering gemstones. Why did the dwarf king hoard such a vast treasure if he had no intention of utilizing it? Smaug briefly pondered this enigma but swiftly dismissed the valiant notion. It mattered not. He, Smaug, could do naught to alter the circumstances. Gradually, the golden orbs of his eyes fluttered shut as slumber enveloped him, and the cavernous hall around him descended into a hushed serenity, save for the occasional whisper of coins cascading from the drake's cavernous belly.

His dreams were an ethereal tapestry of flames, gold, and sustenance, yet an intriguing element wove itself into the nocturnal fabric. A call resonated, akin to the stirrings of something awakened—a call not for assistance, but something altogether different. Another life force, another creature. Smaug furrowed his brow even in his slumber. "Smaug," a voice resounded within his dream, causing the fire-breathing dragon to turn his head with a mix of cold disdain and simmering anger. "Who dares disturb my rest?" he bellowed, his tone frigid and laced with fury. Amidst the charred remnants of a battlefield, a shadowy figure slithered forth, a dark stripe contrasting against the vast expanse of scorched terrain. An eye, Smaug discerned. "I am your... well, demise," the soft voice echoed once more, its eyes shimmering open and shut. Smaug growled, a low, resonant sound reverberating within him as he assumed a battle-ready stance. "I fear you not," he snarled, closing the distance between himself and the burning azure eye.

A soft, melodic laughter permeated the air. "You shall soon discover, Smaug, that I am so much more than you can fathom. Far beyond your comprehension." The laughter gradually receded, allowing darkness to encase Smaug in its enigmatic embrace. His crimson-golden eyes snapped open, and he lay in silence for a lingering moment. What was that? his thoughts whispered, a sliver of doubt creeping into his majestic mind. Could it be another dragon? No, inconceivable. I am the last of my kind. Shaking his regal head, Smaug rose from his golden bed, gracefully making his way toward the great gate. Perhaps indulging in some sustenance would quell the unsettling thoughts that plagued him.

♡

Enter now a creature known as a hobbit, for by the whims of chance and the guiding hand of a wizard, fate decreed his inclusion in this wondrous tale. It all began, as one might expect, in a cozy abode nestled within the embrace of a burrow in the earth. This dwelling was not a wretched, filthy cavity teeming with repugnant creatures and dank odors. Nay, this was a hobbit-hole, a sanctuary where the aromas of delectable fare wafted through the air, where warmth emanated from a crackling hearth, and where the comforts of home embraced its fortunate inhabitant. The hobbit, ever punctual and averse to tardiness, cast a disapproving gaze upon the notion of being late. Yet, in those days of yore, he was always punctual, always the epitome of respectability, and life unfolded in a predictable manner, devoid of unexpected occurrences.

Six decades prior...

Bilbo, the younger version of himself, sat upon the very bench, puffing contentedly on his pipe, lost in a swirl of smoke. His smoke ring transformed into a smoke moth, abruptly interrupted by the arrival of a tall figure, veiled in a hooded cloak. The moth fluttered toward Bilbo's face, rousing him from his reverie. Surprise etched across his features as he beheld the mysterious interloper. "Good morning," he offered in greeting, his voice tinged with a touch of curiosity. The hooded figure replied with a question, his tone laden with a hint of testing amusement, "What do you mean? Do you intend to bestow upon me a salutation of a pleasant morning, or are you asserting that this morning possesses inherent goodness, regardless of personal inclination? Or perchance you express your own contentment with the day's dawning? Or are you simply stating that today affords an opportunity for goodness?" The hobbit, bewildered and perplexed, considered the inquiries before responding, "I suppose all of the above." Yet, his confusion did not escape the scrutiny of the gray-clad stranger, who regarded him with a faint disapproval.

"Can I be of assistance to you?" Bilbo inquired, and the gray figure sighed wearily, leaning back slightly as if burdened by the weight of the world. "That remains to be seen. I seek someone to partake in an adventure," the stranger declared. Bilbo's eyes widened, and a protest bubbled forth instinctively. "An adventure? I daresay, the notion of embarking on such ventures does not rouse much interest west of Bree. They tend to be unsavory, unsettling, and uncomfortable affairs, liable to disrupt punctuality and ruin a perfectly good meal, hmm, mm," he declared, rising from his seat and hastening to check his mailbox, absently sorting through his mail while clucking disapprovingly. His countenance betrayed his discomfort, for the hooded figure known as Gandalf remained steadfastly present. Puffing on his pipe in vexation, Bilbo retreated back into the sanctuary of Bag End, gesturing impatiently with his pipe in the direction of Gandalf. Once inside, he bolted the door and leaned against it, seeking solace in the familiar confines of his home. A peculiar sound reached his ears, causing him to press his ear against the door. It emanated from Gandalf, who inscribed a glowing symbol upon Bilbo's door using his staff. Alarmed, Bilbo peered through a side window, only to find Gandalf's piercing eye fixed upon him. Startled, he recoiled and sought refuge behind a nearby wall. As he cautiously peered out from another window, he observed Gandalf briskly departing, leaving behind a sense of disquiet that clung to the air like a veil of uncertainty.

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