Chapter Text
Ered Luin awoke to a roar echoing down from high in the mountains, amplified by the ancient rock which had housed the Broadbeams for centuries and, now by fate rather than choice, the House of Durin.
And it was those of that fallen house that froze at the sound of that roar, their hearts freezing in their chests, their lungs struggling against the memory of smoke and the inferno that had destroyed them.
"Dragon!" Came the terrified cry from the tallest watch tower, which was soon drowned out by the flurry of screams and the pounding of feet as the Dwarrows armed themselves or attempted to find any available shelter.
A moment later and the beast finally burst into view, flying high and fast through the clouds only to swoop down and...
Completely miss the settlement.
It didn't turn, it didn't rise only to dive down again with greater speed, no, instead it landed, with some pomp, atop the large rock that bisected the Great River in two and it...waited.
A terrifying pause, a beat...one...two...three and then it spoke in a rolling, almost childishly cruel voice. "Thorin Oakenshield? Are you there? I'd like a word, if you'd be so kind."
Thorin had often awoke to a roar ringing in his ears, fire lapping close to his flesh, jerking him up out of his sweat soaked sheets, muscles locked in terror yet again.
Every other morning, after those first gasping breaths, had brought him silence,; Had brought him a few blessed moments to breathe and let those jagged memories dull just enough for him to function.
But, on this day, a roar had followed him from his dreams...
The next few desperate minutes were a blur of metal, fear and utter despair that his people, with the ash of Erebor barely blown from their lips, were to be slaughtered yet again.
Kili and Fili had been sent away, despite their desperate protestations, but the boys were needed, the line of Durin would not die in dragon fire, not while Thorin drew breath.
And he wouldn't perish without a fight.
But no fight was to be had.
No.
He was being summoned.
Snarling, Thorin advanced to the water's edge, flanked by Dwalin, who was practically vibrating with barely restrained hatred and Dìs, who's rage was a cold, terrifying thing that seemed serene on the surface but held something pure and terrible beneath.
The Drake itself was an ugly thing; It was a sickly grey with lacklustre scales, peeling horns and withered wings; it was smaller than Smaug, a third of that monster's size in fact but it still held the same malevolence in it's golden, fey eyes.
"There you are," it purred, voice dripping with disdain, "'the King under the Mountain,' I'm truly honoured." It cooed, before bowing its head in a mock bow.
"And it will be my honour to slay you wyrm, if that is why you dare summon me so." Thorin growled, Deathless drawn, poised to do exactly that.
"An honour? Yes, it would be but, disregarding the fact you would fail, I am not here to slaughter you. I am here, in fact...to bargain."
Sünna's life, thus far, had been rather dull if they were being honest with themselves. Being a...lesser dragon carried little glory, plentiful violence and, often, death to serve as a meal for a greater brethren.
But if brute strength was not on their side, their mind was all they had and Sünna was not one to waste the only treasure they'd ever claimed as theirs.
It seemed as if their request had shaken the dwarves worse than their fire, a fact that delighted the drake immensely. Truthfully, it was pathetic that they were not attacking them; After all a grounded dragon, was, more often than not, a dead dragon.
But no, Dwarvish honour would never have allowed for such base brutality.
And so, Sünna was treated to the rather bemusing sight of the dwarvish battalion attempting to respond diplomatically to their declaration.
"Bargain?" Oakenshield spluttered first, as they'd expected, all shorn grief and cracked rage.
"You expect me to believe a Dragon would bargain, all your filth do is destroy and steal-
"-and where has that left us?" Sünna drawled, dismissive, "down to a single 'Great Drake' atop one hoard upon which he grows fat...and complacent."
At that, they smiled, all teeth and no warmth. "Something we could both benefit from."
Thorin felt hatred curl thickly between his teeth, threatening to choke him.
For, as vile as Smaug's purpose was, he had, at least, been honest.
This snake was not; Cunning, coddling, daring to come here speaking pretty words of bargain.
Yet another creature demanding the Dwarves undersell their rubies and diamonds to save those of their blood and hearth.
"And you would seek to usurp him?" Thorin sneered, gazing over the emaciated dragon once more and scoffing at the idea, the great Wyrm would consume it in but one snap of its jaws.
"Yes," the Drake drawled, "but not...directly, I am not one for beginning fights I will inevitability lose, I'm no Dwarf."
Thorin surged forward at that, only just held back by the restraining arm of Dís who, now as then, did not flinch from the Dragon's eye.
"Then what, Dragon, are you here to propose?" Dís asked, her voice ringing with the might of Durin, prince and heir.
Considering, the Dragon shifted, its whip-like razor tail lazily cutting through the water as it turned to better address her.
"You have a Dragon in your kingdom you cannot kill and that Dragon is atop a hoard that I want. I propose I help you kill Smaug, in exchange for taking over ownership of said hoard."
"WE WILL NOT SACRIFICE OUR HOME FOR ANOTHER DRAGON!" Thorin roared, the earth below seeming to shake and echo his rightful rage at this obscene proposal.
A beat and then the Dragon began to laugh, its great head shaking with the rasping, ugly sound. "Oh you poor thing," it simpered, "I don't want your 'home', I want your gold.”
Its eyes narrowed upon him, now but slits of fire. "I can tolerate an infestation living above it."
Luckily, it was Dís who spoke next, her voice hardened into diamond, "and when our 'infestation' grows to overwhelm you? When you too grow 'fat' and 'complacent?'"
But this subtle threat didn't seem to affect the Wyrm, instead, it merely smiled at her, voice aching in the cruelty only reality can have.
"'Grows?' Nay, you have not the women, nor the living babes, nor the friends. You are a cast out and alone people."
Its head tilted, mocking. "Tell me, did the Elves rally to your defence? The Men? Nay, I will protect my hoard and, by default, you, which is far more protection then any other Race have ever offered."
"Besides, you will have all died out long before I grow 'fat' and 'complacent', no I need not fight you, I need but wait..."
And it was those words, the awful, unspoken truth of them that drove Dís to take a step back, even as the dragon continued, clearly relishing every word.
"So, do you die out here in this pit of iron slag...Or do you die among the last whisper of Dwarven glory? No, don't waste my time answering, we all know which the King under the Mountain will choose."
Sünna sensed, rather than saw, the Dwarf king fold, a reminder of the cold, undeniable reality of his position snatching the ground from underneath his feet.
He'd chosen, as they'd expected.
"I will have terms Dragon," he spat at them, all incompetent rage and gnashing teeth and oh wasn't that precious? And certainly worth infuriating just a little more...
"Sünna, if you please, it is most rude to bargain without using my name."
And oh, didn't that fluster the little king? His honour once more a millstone about his neck, tch, he'd have made a truly contemptible Dragon.
"Sünna," he replied with mock sweetness coated in contempt, "your King has terms."
"But of course my liege, what are they?" They asked, laying their great head atop their talons like an obedient hound, their whip-like tail cutting lazily through the water once more.
Ha! O' bless the poor, poor little creature, growing so very angry at being obeyed, what an awful king he must make.
"You will not kill any of our number," he ground out, practically quaking with fury, "nor will you harm, harass nor rob any within the mountain. You will stay atop the hoard unless l or the current king give you permission to leave it and you will have no part in Erebor's governance, power or trade."
"Agreed."
....
....
....
"Just like that?" The sister asked, while her brother floundered in the face of such suspiciously easy acceptance.
"'Just like that'," Sünna parroted with another cold chuckle, "I, of course, only ask parity of treatment. Also, that I am to be undisturbed, unless you are adding more wealth to the hoard, and that any wealth you need take you replace. I think that most reasonable, don't you?"
No.
Thorin did not.
Was he not simply selling his people? Taking them from refugees into little more than chattel, indirectly serving a dragon, an active threat that would ever live below them?
But then Kili and Fili's faces entered his mind, his rosey faced boys with filthy knees and tangled hair, clothed in little more than cast-off wool and stories of a kingdom they'd never seen.
His sister, beside him as ever, proud and glorious even with the ash from the pre-dawn firepit staining her fingertips. Dwalin, with the pig iron in his axe rather than true dwarvish steel, Balin repairing broken quills because even fresh feathers were beyond his reach.
And so many more, laid low and kept there...
For them, he would endure this humiliation.
"It will do." He choked out, "you have my oath upon my crown and my marrow to honour your terms. Now swear yourself to yours."
The Dragon considered a moment before its whip like tail flicked up in a violent arc, the wicked end barb sinking deep into its own flank, lodging itself between two scales, breaking off one of the many that were cracked and worn before flicking it at Thorin, as though swatting away a fly.
Instinctively, Thorin caught it, fingers staining black with dragon's blood as he studied the pale grey scale, finding it as hard as mithril even in its decrepit state...But yet, so very brittle.
"My oath," the Wyrm intoned, sounding rather bored. "Pass it on from king to king until I may reclaim it from the last dead hand."
"Or we'll use it to complete your corpse for stuffing you utter bastard," Dwalin growled under his breath, making Thorin's lip twitch in an almost-smile.
"I accept," he said instead, letting Balin take the scale from him. "Now, enough wasting my time, how do we kill Smaug?"
Sünna had considered this question at a length for many years, lying low in the Withered Heath, plotting and waiting for their time to come, killing other lesser dragons for meat when they could.
And, finally, they had an answer.
"Erebor is a mine is she not?" Sünna asked, rising to sit back on their forlegs, increasing their height over them all, tone imperious. "A working mine who, for the last 80 years, has remained untended, unmaintained...and unvented."
Their lip curled with satisfaction as their words sunk into the dwarf before them, their ripples echoing through the host.
"You speak of firedamp?" The king asked, tone losing some of its hostility to its growing excitement.
"Yes, I do," Sünna replied smugly, tail still cutting through the water behind them in a lazily, self-assured manner. "An odourless, noxious, explosive gas, building up below Smaug for decades. You dwarves must have some system for venting it out, why not vent it up? Let him breathe it in and breathe it deep. Then, simply, goad him to flame and..."
"Bang." The bald dwarf finished with growing glee.
"Bang." Sünna agreed dryly.
"And what if this 'great' explosion buries Erebor?" The sister asked, clearly less impressed then her brother and his followers.
Sünna snorted, utterly dismissive, "you're Dwarves aren't you? Dig it out again."
After taking a moment to enjoy her indignation at that comment, Sünna added, "besides, have you a better plan? Drown him in molten gold perhaps? Cast him from the air with a net? Sing him to sleep?"
A sharp scoff, "You have not the resources nor the numbers nor the magic. This plan can be accomplished by a suitably small, stealthy and knowledgeable team slipping inside the mountain while Smaug slumbers. Of course, that part, I shall leave that to you."
Sünna rose up onto their feet, flexing their wings. "I will know when Smaug is slain and then I will come and claim my hoard. Good luck Thorin Oakenshield."
Another smug smirk filled their face, "and do enjoy the walk."
And with that they took off with such a powerful updraft that it knocked the dwarves back several steps as they swooped into the sky...Only to dive down into the closest field, stealing a cow as they went. Before, finally, vanishing out of sight behind the mountains, heading on the long flight east with one last, terrible roar.