Chapter Text
Thorin barely made it around the corner before a gust of flame shot through the corridor where he had just stood. Even then, the wave of heat that accompanied the fire hit him like a boulder. Next to him, Dwalin cursed and tightened his grip around his twin axes, little good as it would do.
Smaug had been very much alive when the company of thirteen arrived in Erebor on Durin's Day and opened the secret door. Very alive and very quick to notice the dwarves as they attempted to spot the Arkenstone in the ocean of coins and gems—and equally quick to try and kill them. Which was why they were running through Erebor’s corridors trying not to get roasted or caught by the dragon's teeth and claws.
Unlucky thirteen.
But Gandalf’s chosen burglar had not been in the Shire.
“What’s the plan?” Dwalin shouted over the sound of Smaug's rage.
“Not get killed!”
What else could Thorin say? If Smaug had any weak spot in his armour, Thorin had not been able to see it what with all the running away and trying not to die. Maybe shooting him in the eyes or joints would be an option but Kíli could not get a clean shot and Thorin didn’t want to risk his nephew by ordering him to stand still and aim. He remembered, somewhere between profound annoyance and panic, that his grandfather once gifted the Lord of Dale massive black arrows and wind lances for firing them, but those were probably lost in the ruins of that city. What he wouldn't give for one of those right now.
“Do you think he'll grow bored?” Thorin heard Fíli ask from somewhere behind him, his nephew’s voice forcefully calm. The question was followed by another burst of flame as Smaug roared and (from the sound of it) brought down a pillar.
“If he doesn't grill us, he'll bury us!” Thorin could count on one hand the times he'd heard Balin sound this shaken and cursed. If Balin had no plan, the situation was very dire indeed, though anyone could have guessed because they were running for their lives from a dragon.
“We could hide!”
Thorin was about to reply but they had to hurry once more. Smaug craned his long head around the corner and opened his maw for more flames. This time, Thorin could feel the fire lick up the bottom of his coat and hastily padded it out once they were safe again for the moment. “Thieves! Filthy dwarves! This kingdom is mine!” Smaug's voice echoed in the corridor like the rumbling of thunder or a cave-in.
“I don't think he will give up until we are dead or the mountain is a ruin”, Thorin hissed out between clenched teeth and gestured back to where said beast was currently wreaking havoc.
“If the armoury is accessible—”
“Nothing in there can kill a dragon! We're thirteen dwarves! And the Arkenstone was nowhere to be seen!”
“The way from Erebor to Laketown is out in the open, we can't flee there—”
“Move!”
The company split up in two directions as Smaug tore into the corridor and breathed flames. Thorin heard Bifur yell out, but a quick look to his left showed the dwarf alive and moving, with only a bit of his hair singed. Smaug had not seen which of the many turns they had taken, which afforded them a brief moment of respite.
“We are doomed“, Thorin said in between deep, desperate breaths, the knowledge and certainty setting heavy upon his shoulders. “I will buy you time. He wants me dead the most. If I can distract him, you can run—”
“No chance!” Dwalin growled out immediately. “I’m not going to leave you behind!”
“Dwalin—"
“Either we run together or we die together”, Bofur said with a grim expression.
Thorin looked around and found the same sentiment plain in each dwarf's face. “I cannot ask this of you.”
He had asked too much of them already. Coming here—coming up with this plan—had been foolish. Damn you Tharkûn, he thought, and cursed the wizard for planting the idea into his head in the first place, and for his inability to be there when needed. How often had he disappeared during the quest only to show up at the last moment? The trolls, the goblins, the skinchanger, but now—now he was not there. He’d been gone since that Mahal-forsaken forest. Their luck had finally run out.
Thorin looked at each of his companions and saw nothing but determination in their eyes. They had faced death countless times throughout their journey and every time, they had prevailed, as if Mahal himself was guiding them. If their Maker was watching them now, at least he would see that his children were willing to fight to the end.
“Never have there been more loyal and brave dwarves than those I see before me right now. I name each of you buhel, friend of all friends.” Some of the dwarves gasped. “And though no one but ourselves will know until we enter Mahal’s Halls, know that I am honoured to have counted you amongst my closest friends, as good as kin.”
“The honour was ours”, Balin said and bowed, then raised his weapon in salute. The others quickly followed suit. Once all had straightened up again, Thorin bowed too, ignoring Balin’s scandalised expression. They were about to face certain death—there was no place for court etiquettes anymore.
Behind them, Smaug roared and spewed flame into one of the corridors, charring the stone black. The dwarves who had been standing there seconds ago had barely escaped and came running up to the rest of them.
“There is a hall nearby. We shall run there and make our final stand.” Thorin met Dwalin’s eyes and nodded at his shield-brother for one last time before they would meet their Creator.
Dwalin nodded back and wrapped his fingers firmly around his axes. “We’ll give that snake some scars to remember us by.”
“Let’s see if we can loosen some of those scales!” Fíli said with all the bravado of a Durin, betrayed only by the slight quiver of his hand as he took up his sword. Behind him, Kíli notched an arrow, echoing his brother’s words of challenge.
Thorin looked at them and felt tears of anger and regret shoot into his eyes. I’m sorry, irakdashshatê.1 You are far too young to die. I should have never let you come. Forgive me, Dís. Forgive me.
He took a deep breath, then called out: “Here! You witless worm! Come and get me!”
The reaction was immediate. Though it was only a matter of time until Smaug would have barged into their corridor and set it ablaze, hearing Thorin’s taunts told him where they were—and made him even angrier.
“Oakenshield!” the dragon roared and tore around the corner.
“Run!”
Thorin led the charge. They made it into the hall not even a second before the corridor was filled with flames and Bombur just barely escaped Smaug’s fangs as the beast snapped at him. The dwarves fanned out, forming a half circle around the dragon, and lifted their weapons.
“Baruk Khazâd!” Thorin shouted at the top of his lungs. “Khazâd ai-mênu!”
“Khama id-uzbad undu ‘urd!”2 came the answer from his companions.
Smaug opened his maw and Thorin could see the heat gather in his throat. Kíli readied an arrow, intent on shooting it down the dragon’s gullet, and just as Thorin stormed up to the dragon, three things happened—
From outside the mountain, there came an ear-splitting roar.
Smaug’s head whipped around.
Kíli’s arrow hit him right in the eye.
All the dwarves froze. A shudder of sheer, unadulterated fear ran through Thorin’s body and locked his limbs mid-motion. Another roar and another loud noise, as of massive monuments being brought to ruin. The mountain shook to its very foundation and Thorin struggled to stay on his feet.
Smaug, barely taking note of the arrow stuck in his eye—barely taking note of the thirteen dwarves he had just been about to burn—turned and tore his way back through the corridor, bringing down chunks of chiselled and carved stone with his wings as he left them behind. Then, with a roar of his own, the red dragon took flight. Thorin heard a loud crash that shook the mountain once more.
Orcrist dropped from Thorin’s slackening grasp and fell to the ground with a clank. Horror not unlike that he had felt all those years ago when Smaug attacked Erebor wrapped around his heart and squeezed so tightly Thorin was almost surprised he did not die right there.
“Did you see? I hit him! I—”
Thorin turned his head just enough to see Fíli shush his brother. Meeting his nephew’s gaze, Thorin said with a shaking voice, “Mahal mahtansisi mâ.”3
Another dragon had come to Erebor.
------------
At some point in the minutes following Smaug’s departure, the dwarves had sat down on the cold hard floor and huddled together in family groups as they had done so often throughout their journey. Thorin had slumped down where he stood but was not alone for long, as his two nephews decided to join him. Even as deep in thought as Thorin had been, he still took the time to cup the back of their necks and bring their foreheads together, and shifted a little to make it easier for them to lean against him.
Though part of Thorin was enraged that the dragon had just decided to abandon them and stolen from him the chance to try and take revenge for all the lives lost to the thrice-damned worm, the other, much larger part was just glad to see everyone still alive. The question was only for how much longer that would be the case.
“Did anyone guess ‘second dragon’?” Nori broke the silence and looked over to Glóin, who shook his head. “Damn. Guess that means no one wins.”
“Did you seriously bet on what would happen once we got to Erebor?“ Dori asked with that ‘I’m disappointed‘-look he liked to bestow upon his younger brother. “What good does it do if we all die and there is no pay-out?”
“Ah, ah!” Glóin pulled out bags of coin from who knew where—how those had survived their tumultuous journey here Thorin didn’t even want to know. “Pay-out would have happened in Mahal’s Halls. Coin might be useless there but it’s the principle that counts. Though arguments could be made for the dissolution of all contracts and bets upon death.”
Before that debate could escalate, Thorin pointedly cleared his throat. “This is not the time for contractual debates and bet making.”
Glóin nodded his head in acquiescence and moved to give the bags back to their original owners, but Ori, of all people, piped up from where he was huddled together with his two brothers, furiously scribbling notes into his book—how that had survived Thorin also didn’t want to know. “An argument could be made for the simple transfer of your bet to this new dragon.” Dori gave him a look, probably for encouraging the others in their gambling.
There was much whispering then.
Thorin looked up to the ceiling and sighed. Things had definitely not gone to plan. What were the odds of a second dragon showing up just in time to steal their certain doom from them? What were the odds of there even being a second dragon to begin with? How had it known about the treasure? Why had it come only now when years upon years had passed? That the dragon was there to steal the treasure—the kingdom—from Smaug was certain.
Another rumble made the mountain quake. “They must be fighting still,” Balin observed, to murmurs of agreement from the others. “I wonder how long it will take.”
Immediately catching onto what Balin was saying, Thorin shook his head. “The treasury is not close enough to risk it. The fighting could end any second and the dwarf going there would be caught.”
“Unless they kill each other,” Dwalin said. “They could do our work for us.”
“Would a dragon even attack when it stands no chance?”
“They are vain and arrogant creatures.” Glóin nodded his head. “They think themselves invincible.”
“Well, Kíli proved them wrong on that front.” Fíli nudged his brother. “Shot him right in the eye, he did!”
“That I did!” Kíli paused. “But I was aiming for his throat—” Thorin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Even so, you wounded the dragon when no one else had gotten anywhere close enough to do so. Your shot hit true.” He squeezed Kíli’s shoulder. “You did well.” Something inside of Thorin twinged painfully at the way Kili's face lit up at these simple words of praise. He'd always been too strict with the boys; praise had never come easy to him, but by Mahal, Thorin swore he would try to do better… if they survived the next hours.
A noise came from outside the mountain, a loud rumble or thundering followed by something that sounded like a pained screech, then a thump. The mountain shook.
Thorin strained his hearing and saw the others do the same, looking around with narrowed eyes and hands at the hilts of their weapons. The sudden silence was almost oppressive. Thorin could hear Kíli and Fíli breathing next to him, could hear the scratching of Ori’s pen on the paper and the rustling of clothes. But nothing more from the outside. That could only mean…
The dwarves shot to their feet and drew their weapons when something made the mountain tremble once again. They could hear the faint but distinct noise of large wings flapping before it became silent. Seeing Kíli open his mouth, Thorin made a sharp gesture and signed in Iglishmêk to stay quiet. They waited with bated breath but could not hear anything else.
‘Nori’, Thorin signed and once he had the thief’s attention, continued, ‘sneak as close as you can and try to find out what happened. At the first sight of anything dragon-like or other danger, return immediately.’
Nori gave a short nod and sneaked away.
As much as it pained Thorin to send one of his company away alone to get close to the dragon, they needed information. Had Smaug prevailed or did Erebor have a new dragon that called itself king? Was the dragon injured from their fight? Could they use that to their advantage?
It felt like hours before Nori returned, face grim, but apparently unharmed. He went to Thorin’s side and began signing, hands and fingers moving rapidly and fluidly. ‘I followed the signs of destruction all the way to the treasury.’ Thorin heard Dori's sharp intake of breath. ‘I risked a quick look. We got a new uninvited guest. There’s a dragon in there.’
‘Not Smaug, I take it.’
Nori shook his head. ‘This dragon looks a bit smaller but is still massive. They don’t look much alike, actually. Maybe different kinds of dragons, I don’t know. This one’s not red, but gold. Got all comfortable on the treasure. I couldn’t see any obvious injuries, but I didn’t see its underside.’
Thorin cursed quietly, then thanked Nori for the report and began formulating plans. Mahal had given them a second chance, but the question was for what—to try and fight this dragon in Smaug’s stead or to leave? Without the Arkenstone, none of the dwarf lords would come to their aid, not even Dáin. They could attempt to take the dragon unawares and ambush it in the treasury, in the hopes that its fight against Smaug had tired it out enough for the dwarves to stand a chance. This might be their best and only opening…
But then he looked at his nephews and wondered not for the first time whether it would be worth it, after all. Smaug was dead but not by their own hand. The revenge Thorin had hunted after, the burning desire to see Smaug fall by his sword and pay for all the death, destruction and suffering he had caused, would never find fulfilment. And besides, the new dragon was a complete unknown.
‘We will return to the secret door’, he finally signed, catching the other dwarves’ looks of surprise at his declaration. ‘We need information. Not only about this new dragon but also about Smaug’s whereabouts. If he isn’t dead but only fled, he might return one day.’
‘Word will spread fast’, Óin signed. ‘Smaug had not been seen for years. The portents said that chances are good and others would have seen it too. But once news spread that a new dragon has taken up residence in the mountain, it will take decades, if even that, until people will even think about trying to retake the mountain. We have an advantage now.’
‘There is no rush’, Balin agreed. ‘We can gather our strength. Prepare. Perhaps Tharkûn will arrive and can help us.’
Next to Thorin, Fíli and Kíli snorted. Thorin felt very much the same about ‘their’ wizard, especially after he disappeared on some special, secret errand before Mirkwood. Who knew if he was still alive or if he had not abandoned their quest altogether for something ‘the Wise’ deemed more important.
‘If we sent a raven to Dáin and the other lords and told them of what transpired, perhaps they might be swayed to our cause—’
‘They will not come’, Thorin interrupted Balin with a harsh gesture. ‘This quest is ours alone, that has not changed.’ He paused and looked at the other dwarves, then picked up Orcrist and sheathed it. ‘Let us see what has transpired outside the mountain.’
As quiet as thirteen dwarves could be, they traced their way back through the destroyed corridors, taking in the carnage Smaug had caused with grim expressions. Chunks of stone blocked their way on occasion, but no rock had ever been a true obstacle to a dwarf, and they climbed and clambered their way across, ever careful not to make too much noise. Thorin halted every now and then and listened, but there was no sign of that other dragon, not a single sound. Still, he’d rather not tarry long enough to find out, so he hurried his steps and led the company back the way they had come, slowing down only when they neared the treasury and the secret door. Though he was tempted to tell the others to go ahead and take a look at this new beast himself, he knew his nephews would want to come, too, and Dwalin would insist on accompanying him, so he resisted the urge and crouched low, carefully taking every single step as silently as he could. The secret door could not have come soon enough and the dwarves abandoned most of their caution to hurry outside into the fresh air. Thorin took the rear to safeguard their retreat and as such, heard the others curse before seeing for himself what had happened.
“Well”, Bofur said, “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about Smaug returning.”
Thorin pushed through the blockage of the other dwarves and stepped outside.
Only a short distance away from the front gates lay the corpse of Smaug the dragon. It looked like he had fallen from a great height. His wings were spread wide as if he had been killed mid-flight, tattered and ripped in places. His underside was covered in gems and gold for the most part, probably stolen from the treasury and meant as a layer of protective crust, but patches were missing and those were bloody. From so far away, Thorin could only guess that these were the marks of large and sharp claws, not unlike Smaug’s own. What seemed to have actually killed the dragon was a massive chunk of flesh missing from his chest right where the dragon’s heart likely lay. The kind of force needed to penetrate the gold crust, tear into the skin and cause enough damage to kill the beast was almost unfathomable. Wind lances the dwarves had crafted, yes, but those had to be manned by several people at once and were very, very difficult to aim. This had been done by another dragon, apparently smaller than Smaug—and still it had possessed the strength to bring Smaug down where an army of dwarves had failed.
Thorin tore his gaze from the corpse and looked around. The wasteland surrounding the mountain had already been desolate before, but if possible it looked even worse now. What spots of short grass had made its way through the ash and ruin over the years had now been set ablaze. Fires burned as far as Thorin could see, though the area around Laketown was strangely untouched. It seemed the dragons had stayed close to the mountain during their battle. Thorin took a few steps forward and sought with his eyes the sentinel statue they had climbed up, wincing at the damage that he saw. Large chunks were missing though miraculously, the path was mostly undamaged and stable. He did not even dare to try and imagine what the front gates must look like after Smaug’s initial attack and now the second dragon’s arrival. Perhaps that was what they had heard before Smaug took off, the golden dragon trying to tear its way inside. One invader replacing another.
“What should we call this dragon?“ Fíli asked out of the blue. All eyes immediately went to him.
“Actually, how did we know that Smaug is called Smaug?” Kíli continued. “Did he swoop down on Erebor shouting his name?”
Behind Thorin, Balin gave a long, deep sigh, likely bemoaning the fact that his history lessons apparently had not stuck. These are my heirs, Thorin thought and shook his head.
“He was known already before his attack on Erebor”, Balin lectured, with the intonation and airs of one who had already said this before. “They called him the last Great Dragon, far more destructive and dangerous than the cold-drakes of the north from whence he came, for those do not breathe fire and are lesser in stature. How his name became common knowledge before is unknown, but infamy, like fame and great deeds, has a way of spreading quickly and widely. Someone must have heard him say it or it was a name given to him which then all the people began to use.”
“So we could make up a name for this new one and that would be what it is known by?” How that was the lesson Kíli and Fíli took was a mystery to Thorin, but that was nothing new when it came to his nephews.
“It can’t be Khuzdul, obviously, though Kidzul ‘azâm4 does have a nice ring to it.”
“What about ‘Smaug’s Bane’?”, suggested Ori, pen poised to immediately commit to legend and song the name the company would agree upon. “In memory of Durin’s Bane.”
“It doesn’t fit the naming scheme of other dragons so far”, Dori disagreed.
Balin, turning to the two princes, asked, “Do you at least remember their names?” They gave Balin puppy eyes, but the older dwarf stood firm and looked at them until they caved.
“There’s Glaurung”, Fíli began, “from the tale of Túrin Turambar.”
“Scatha, though I think that was one of those cold drakes?”, Kíli continued. “Smaug, obviously. That really big one… you know, during the War of Wrath… what was its name? The big black one that destroyed a mountain when it went down.“
“Ancalagon”, Fíli said. “And it brought down three mountains, Kee, not just one. It must have been huge.”
Glad to see that they had at least memorised something from his lessons, Balin let them be for now and turned to Thorin. “If any of the drakes up north were given names by the people of the Grey Mountains, they were not passed down to us. Not even the one who killed Dáin I.”
“My grandfather only cursed the worm that slew his father”, Thorin said, “and would not speak of it much.”
“Ancalagon and Glaurung sound elvish”, Kíli said and if his voice did not hold the usual amount of hatred for anything related to elves, Thorin chose to ignore it, though he still remembered the looks his nephew had given that red-headed guard captain. “Scatha is probably from one of the Mannish tongues. Maybe Smaug too?”
“It doesn’t matter what that beast’s name is”, Dwalin interjected and went to Thorin’s side, who was once again staring at Smaug’s corpse as if it held the answers to all his questions and troubles. “What matters is deciding what we’re going to do now.”
“Wait”, Thorin replied automatically. “Wait and guard the secret door.” And try to come up with a plan.
At least, thanks to the arrival of this mysterious second dragon, they did not have to worry about others taking over Erebor anymore. And he doubted Azog and his orcs would try and get them here. Still, he’d rather be overly cautious than dead, so he set up a guard rotation to keep an eye out to all sides, the mountain corridor behind them being the exception. It was too narrow for the dragon to squeeze through and they’d hear it long before it would be visible. If worst came to pass and Azog (or any other new would-be invaders) showed up, they could retreat into the corridor and close the door behind them.
“Bombur”, he asked at last, “how long will our rations last?”
“A couple days”, Bombur replied. “More, if we stretch them thin.”
“Better not”, his brother piped up next to him. “If we do have to take on the dragon, we need to be at full strength.”
“But there is no way for us to get more once we run out. Hunting here is impossible. Kíli and Ori could try to bring down one of the birds flying around here, but that would not last us long.” Balin gestured back to the mountain, then to Laketown in the distance. “We cannot go back to replenish our supplies. They would not welcome us, especially not now that a second dragon has taken up residence in the mountain. And though some non-perishable food might have survived since Smaug’s attack, we’d have to risk going into the mountain and search for it.”
“Mirkwood is too far away, too”, Nori said, “not to mention that we should not risk that, either.”
Thorin frowned and turned to look out over the expanse of the desolation before them. Nothing grew there, nor would it for decades to come. The Long Lake held fish, but he did not want to risk any of the company making their way down there. Barely any birds, no game, nothing except—His gaze fell upon Smaug’s corpse once more and a thought struck him like an arrow to the chest. No, he thought. Only as a last resort.
Even if that would have some symbolic value.
“Normal portions for breakfast”, he finally said. “We’ve earned it. After that, a little less. If push comes to shove, we’ll only eat twice a day.” Maybe they’d come up with a plan before food ran out. Or maybe Gandalf would deign to show up, though Thorin doubted it.
Bombur began setting up a little campfire with the help of his brother, while their cousin sat down near them and began to whittle away at a small block of wood. Dori was mending some piece of cloth next to Ori who was scribbling furiously into his notebook. Nori stood facing towards Laketown as one of the first lookouts, Glóin being the second and looking in the other direction. Balin and Dwalin were deep in conversation, (hopefully) trying to formulate a plan, while Óin seemed to be going through their healing supplies. Thorin’s gaze sought out his nephews and was not surprised to see them holding some sort of discussion, Kíli gesticulating widely and Fíli interjecting with just as much enthusiasm. Knowing them, they were still trying to think of a name for the second dragon. Thorin hoped it would not live long enough for a name to need to be established.
He sat down on one of the rocks scattered in their vicinity and began sharpening his sword.