An Aureate Accord
Title: An Aureate Accord
Pairings: None
Warnings: Minor violence; crackiness
Word Count: 2106
Disclaimer: If I owned the hobbit it would be even more ridiculous.
Summary: Smaug the Golden earns his name after Thorin springs his trap. (Because there's nothing that a dragon loves more than a treasure bath)
“This is not your kingdom. These are dwarf lands, this is dwarf gold, and we will have our revenge. Maimhir!”
So shouted Thorin Oakenshield as he stood against the dragon in the Gallery of Kings. Then the dwarf lord pulled on the rope attached to the rock beneath his feet and leaped to the safety of the upper balconies, the mold falling away to reveal the shining golden statue that lay beneath. So Smaug could not help but stalk closer, the treasure before him too much for the great wyrm’s greedy heart to resist.
But the gold was not set, its fire still burning brightly beneath the surface of the statue, and without the stone of its mold to bind it, the liquid metal soon burst forth. The gold poured over Smaug in a wave, tearing the dragon off his feet and sweeping him down the hall as Thorin’s company watched in triumphant victory.
All but Bilbo Baggins who was standing most unfortunately in the dragon’s path. The burglar scrambled for safety behind the grand stone pillars that lined the hall, only Thrór's love of needless staircases saving him. For the Gallery of the Kings had been built with a depression in the center of its chamber so any visitors must climb the steps toward the throne room of Erebor and know that they were small. This depression captured the rushing gold and the wyrm it carried, diverting the liquid’s path away from the small hobbit to create a gleaming pool in the middle of the hall.
For one brief moment, all was silent, the metal’s surface as smooth as glass until Smaug rose from the gold with a shriek.
“This is fantastic,” the dragon crowed, rolling in the pool until every scale was coated with a lustrous treasure shine and the company of Thorin Oakenshield found itself nonplussed.
On the bright side, Smaug wasn’t trying to kill the dwarves anymore nor flying off to attack the people of Laketown, but on the downside, there was still a dragon on their floor. One that was most certainly not dead and didn’t seem interested in leaving when he could roll around in gold instead.
Thorin frowned as his enemy wallow in his treasure, hoping that the metal might solidify around Smaug’s body and allow a blade to find his heart. But this hope was broken when the wyrm looked down at his cooling bath with distaste and breathed a stream of flame across the gold until it was boiling again. Then he sighed with bliss, sinking down until only his head and the tips of his wings were visible.
“Does this mean that you’re not angry anymore?” Bilbo said into the shocked silence when Smaug did not move again, venturing out from behind his pillar cautiously. The rest of Thorin’s company had gathered nearby, several of them making frantic motions toward the hobbit when he walked within Smaug’s reach.
But someone had to ask the question and the rightful lord of Erebor did not seem inclined to do more than gape right now. Besides, Bilbo was probably safe enough since Smaug would have to leave his bath to eat him and indeed, the dragon just opened one enormous yellow eye.
“No, Barrel Rider, I am not angry. Not when your companions have give me such a gift as this. I thought that you came to steal my treasure but it seems you simply came to transform it and I am quite content.”
“So, oh great and terrible Smaug… Can Thorin’s clan move back in?” the hobbit continued, figuring that he might as well try to complete the negotiations before Smaug got his senses back. Not that his company seemed to appreciate his bravery since the dwarves reacted as though he’d just poked the dragon with a toothpick, staring at Bilbo in shock even as Thorin growled his name and Dori threw one hand over his eyes.
But Smaug seemed far more amused than insulted, letting out a great rumbling laugh before he replied, “Tell me, Barrel Rider. Why would I agree to that?”
“Because you don't want to leave your pool of gold, of course,” Bilbo answered, the dragon's amusement giving him the courage to push on. “Let the dwarves of Erebor return to the mountain and they will ensure that you need never move again. Thorin's people will feed you when you hunger and replace any gold that spills out upon the floor. All they ask in return is the right to return to their homeland, mine the mountain and raise their families within these fabled walls.”
“And does this halfling speak for you, Thorin Oakenshield? Or should I show you why I am called the Terrible once more?” Smaug asked, drawing lazy patterns in his bath with the tips of his wings.
While Thorin was obviously not happy about this turn of events, even he wasn't reckless enough to attack the dragon across a pit of molten gold. Although, the dwarf lord did actually consider that option with some seriousness until Balin grabbed his arm and whispered a few choice words in his ear. Because the rest of the company was leaning more toward running away than fighting now that they had seen the wyrm up close and Thorin did not need to lose the few allies that he had.
So instead of charging, the dwarf lord just let out a deep sigh and said, “Yes; I will uphold what he has offered and any agreement that we make here will be written into the laws of Durin’s Folk. If the price of our home is a pool of gold and enough sheep to feed your hunger then we will pay it gladly as long as no more dwarvish blood is spilled.”
“Then we have a deal, Master Oakenshield. Just remember that you are here on my sufferance and we shall live in peaceful times.”
The dragon and the dwarf lord could not exactly shake on it, but their word was spoken with Bilbo standing witness and both were too proud to ever betray this bond. Because a wyrm did not need to lie in order to cause havoc and indeed, the creatures prided themselves on ripping lesser beings to shred with truth alone. Along with teeth and flame and claws like spears, of course.
But Smaug would not go back on his word now that it was given and so the company of Thorin Oakenshield ventured forward cautiously. The sight of the wyrm bathed in gold was actually quite lovely now that he was not trying to eat them and Erebor would truly be the jewel of dwarvenkind once more with such a sight to greet the kingdom’s visitors.
So the dwarf lord accepted the change in his fortunes with as much grace as he could manage even as the rest of his companions decided that this was a decisive victory. This was something worth celebrating and perhaps the sight of Smaug using chunks of rubble as bath toys would be less surreal with a case of ale dancing in their blood. Erebor had been known for its ale back in the golden days of Thrór's kingship and the mountain’s cellars were still well-stocked.
Thus it was a rather soused company that the other dwarves found when they ventured forth from Laketown: Fíli, Kíli, Óin and Bofur come to see if their friends were still alive. They brought along Bard the Bowman and one Tauriel who was curious about the mountain, along with the news that orcs were rumored along the western plains.
However, everyone forgot about the rumors when they were met with the sight of Smaug in all his shining glory, head laid upon the stone so that Bilbo could scratch behind his ears.
“He gets itchy,” the hobbit explained with a shrug as his companions stood gaping, Bard and Tauriel inching their hands toward their bows. But Thorin arrived before they could do anything foolish, greeting the man and elf as representatives of his allies and explaining that there truly was no danger here.
“Do you think he’d let me ride him someday?” Kíli whispered to his brother, already picturing himself on armored dragon-back. Though Fíli just smacked the younger dwarf upside the head and told him not to be foolish before giving him over to Bilbo’s charge. Their burglar would keep Kíli out of trouble while the rest of the company determined what to do about Azog since no one wanted to lose the Lonely Mountain once again.
However, the dwarves had barely begun discussing possible defenses before Smaug interrupted their conversation with a booming, “Let them come.”
When Thorin opened his mouth to argue, the wyrm glared him to silence and declared firmly, “No one steals from me. Besides, it will be some time before you have the resources to feed me properly and I’ve always thought that orcs have a nice crunch when you toast them right.”
So when Azog the Defiler arrived at the Lonely Mountain with his army, he found the gates of Erebor standing open and who was he to deny an invitation such as that? Instead he raised his mace and strode into the mountain, his orcs following in an endless inky tide. Most of the side passages were still blocked with rubble and the pale orc didn’t stop to question this, not when he had Durin’s blood to spill.
“Duuun dun…
duuun dun…”
“Do you hear humming?” one of Azog’s lieutenants asked as the orcish army made its way deeper into the Lonely Mountain. “I could have sworn that I heard humming.”
“It’s not humming, it’s just the mountain shaking,” another orc retorted before the Defiler swiped both of them off their feet with a command to silence their flapping tongues. “We are here for dwarf-flesh, not some mountain’s music and your gaping mouths will give away our position to our enemies.”
“Dun dun dun dun dun dun…”
“Okay that was definitely humming.” No one knew who said it, though every orc flinched back from Azog’s fearsome glare. However, even the Defiler had to admit that this was starting to feel more like a trap than a victory, the lack of resistance making his hackles rise. But the pale orc had come too far to turn back when his prize was so near at hand and the treasure of Erebor was worth a few lost lives.
Indeed, the pale orc's army shortly rounded one last corner and found itself spilling out into an enormous hall where the floor itself was paved with gold. Yet before the orcs could celebrate their riches, the entire room began to shake as an echoing hum reverberated off the walls.
“BOM BOM
Dun dun dun dun dun dun
Doo dedoo doo dedoo dede doo dede doo dededoo…”
When the last note sounded, Smaug rose from the pool of gold like a beast of myth and legend, ten orcs caught in his jaws before his foes could react. The wyrm tossed them in the air and swallowed them whole, their screams growing louder and louder until they were silenced with a sudden crunch.
Then he turned his gaze on the rest of Azog’s army, the orcs turning to run as one beneath that feral stare. But those in front were blocked by those behind them and there was no escape from the flames that poured from the dragon’s mouth. Indeed the stone halls of Erebor were perfect for funneling Smaug’s attack and when the flames finally ceased, only a few score orcs remained from the thousands who had left Dol Guldur.
Of those in the Gallery of Kings, only Azog had managed to dodge the dragon’s fire, the pale orc raising his mace and charging with a shout. He would not turn tail and run; he was Azog the Defiler and he would triumph over everyt-
Smaug ate the pale orc in two quick bites, plucking Azog’s weapon from the air as it fell and using the spikes to clean his teeth. The wyrm waited a moment to see if anyone else would be brave enough to challenge him, but when no attack manifested, Smaug turned back to his gold instead.
The dragon was due for a nap now that the battle for Erebor was over and so he settled himself down to sleep with a little humming song:
“Bathing, bathing, bathing
Bathing in my lovely treasure
Painting, painting, painting
My scales in shining gold.”
End
Pairings: None
Warnings: Minor violence; crackiness
Word Count: 2106
Disclaimer: If I owned the hobbit it would be even more ridiculous.
Summary: Smaug the Golden earns his name after Thorin springs his trap. (Because there's nothing that a dragon loves more than a treasure bath)
“This is not your kingdom. These are dwarf lands, this is dwarf gold, and we will have our revenge. Maimhir!”
So shouted Thorin Oakenshield as he stood against the dragon in the Gallery of Kings. Then the dwarf lord pulled on the rope attached to the rock beneath his feet and leaped to the safety of the upper balconies, the mold falling away to reveal the shining golden statue that lay beneath. So Smaug could not help but stalk closer, the treasure before him too much for the great wyrm’s greedy heart to resist.
But the gold was not set, its fire still burning brightly beneath the surface of the statue, and without the stone of its mold to bind it, the liquid metal soon burst forth. The gold poured over Smaug in a wave, tearing the dragon off his feet and sweeping him down the hall as Thorin’s company watched in triumphant victory.
All but Bilbo Baggins who was standing most unfortunately in the dragon’s path. The burglar scrambled for safety behind the grand stone pillars that lined the hall, only Thrór's love of needless staircases saving him. For the Gallery of the Kings had been built with a depression in the center of its chamber so any visitors must climb the steps toward the throne room of Erebor and know that they were small. This depression captured the rushing gold and the wyrm it carried, diverting the liquid’s path away from the small hobbit to create a gleaming pool in the middle of the hall.
For one brief moment, all was silent, the metal’s surface as smooth as glass until Smaug rose from the gold with a shriek.
“This is fantastic,” the dragon crowed, rolling in the pool until every scale was coated with a lustrous treasure shine and the company of Thorin Oakenshield found itself nonplussed.
On the bright side, Smaug wasn’t trying to kill the dwarves anymore nor flying off to attack the people of Laketown, but on the downside, there was still a dragon on their floor. One that was most certainly not dead and didn’t seem interested in leaving when he could roll around in gold instead.
Thorin frowned as his enemy wallow in his treasure, hoping that the metal might solidify around Smaug’s body and allow a blade to find his heart. But this hope was broken when the wyrm looked down at his cooling bath with distaste and breathed a stream of flame across the gold until it was boiling again. Then he sighed with bliss, sinking down until only his head and the tips of his wings were visible.
“Does this mean that you’re not angry anymore?” Bilbo said into the shocked silence when Smaug did not move again, venturing out from behind his pillar cautiously. The rest of Thorin’s company had gathered nearby, several of them making frantic motions toward the hobbit when he walked within Smaug’s reach.
But someone had to ask the question and the rightful lord of Erebor did not seem inclined to do more than gape right now. Besides, Bilbo was probably safe enough since Smaug would have to leave his bath to eat him and indeed, the dragon just opened one enormous yellow eye.
“No, Barrel Rider, I am not angry. Not when your companions have give me such a gift as this. I thought that you came to steal my treasure but it seems you simply came to transform it and I am quite content.”
“So, oh great and terrible Smaug… Can Thorin’s clan move back in?” the hobbit continued, figuring that he might as well try to complete the negotiations before Smaug got his senses back. Not that his company seemed to appreciate his bravery since the dwarves reacted as though he’d just poked the dragon with a toothpick, staring at Bilbo in shock even as Thorin growled his name and Dori threw one hand over his eyes.
But Smaug seemed far more amused than insulted, letting out a great rumbling laugh before he replied, “Tell me, Barrel Rider. Why would I agree to that?”
“Because you don't want to leave your pool of gold, of course,” Bilbo answered, the dragon's amusement giving him the courage to push on. “Let the dwarves of Erebor return to the mountain and they will ensure that you need never move again. Thorin's people will feed you when you hunger and replace any gold that spills out upon the floor. All they ask in return is the right to return to their homeland, mine the mountain and raise their families within these fabled walls.”
“And does this halfling speak for you, Thorin Oakenshield? Or should I show you why I am called the Terrible once more?” Smaug asked, drawing lazy patterns in his bath with the tips of his wings.
While Thorin was obviously not happy about this turn of events, even he wasn't reckless enough to attack the dragon across a pit of molten gold. Although, the dwarf lord did actually consider that option with some seriousness until Balin grabbed his arm and whispered a few choice words in his ear. Because the rest of the company was leaning more toward running away than fighting now that they had seen the wyrm up close and Thorin did not need to lose the few allies that he had.
So instead of charging, the dwarf lord just let out a deep sigh and said, “Yes; I will uphold what he has offered and any agreement that we make here will be written into the laws of Durin’s Folk. If the price of our home is a pool of gold and enough sheep to feed your hunger then we will pay it gladly as long as no more dwarvish blood is spilled.”
“Then we have a deal, Master Oakenshield. Just remember that you are here on my sufferance and we shall live in peaceful times.”
The dragon and the dwarf lord could not exactly shake on it, but their word was spoken with Bilbo standing witness and both were too proud to ever betray this bond. Because a wyrm did not need to lie in order to cause havoc and indeed, the creatures prided themselves on ripping lesser beings to shred with truth alone. Along with teeth and flame and claws like spears, of course.
But Smaug would not go back on his word now that it was given and so the company of Thorin Oakenshield ventured forward cautiously. The sight of the wyrm bathed in gold was actually quite lovely now that he was not trying to eat them and Erebor would truly be the jewel of dwarvenkind once more with such a sight to greet the kingdom’s visitors.
So the dwarf lord accepted the change in his fortunes with as much grace as he could manage even as the rest of his companions decided that this was a decisive victory. This was something worth celebrating and perhaps the sight of Smaug using chunks of rubble as bath toys would be less surreal with a case of ale dancing in their blood. Erebor had been known for its ale back in the golden days of Thrór's kingship and the mountain’s cellars were still well-stocked.
Thus it was a rather soused company that the other dwarves found when they ventured forth from Laketown: Fíli, Kíli, Óin and Bofur come to see if their friends were still alive. They brought along Bard the Bowman and one Tauriel who was curious about the mountain, along with the news that orcs were rumored along the western plains.
However, everyone forgot about the rumors when they were met with the sight of Smaug in all his shining glory, head laid upon the stone so that Bilbo could scratch behind his ears.
“He gets itchy,” the hobbit explained with a shrug as his companions stood gaping, Bard and Tauriel inching their hands toward their bows. But Thorin arrived before they could do anything foolish, greeting the man and elf as representatives of his allies and explaining that there truly was no danger here.
“Do you think he’d let me ride him someday?” Kíli whispered to his brother, already picturing himself on armored dragon-back. Though Fíli just smacked the younger dwarf upside the head and told him not to be foolish before giving him over to Bilbo’s charge. Their burglar would keep Kíli out of trouble while the rest of the company determined what to do about Azog since no one wanted to lose the Lonely Mountain once again.
However, the dwarves had barely begun discussing possible defenses before Smaug interrupted their conversation with a booming, “Let them come.”
When Thorin opened his mouth to argue, the wyrm glared him to silence and declared firmly, “No one steals from me. Besides, it will be some time before you have the resources to feed me properly and I’ve always thought that orcs have a nice crunch when you toast them right.”
So when Azog the Defiler arrived at the Lonely Mountain with his army, he found the gates of Erebor standing open and who was he to deny an invitation such as that? Instead he raised his mace and strode into the mountain, his orcs following in an endless inky tide. Most of the side passages were still blocked with rubble and the pale orc didn’t stop to question this, not when he had Durin’s blood to spill.
“Duuun dun…
duuun dun…”
“Do you hear humming?” one of Azog’s lieutenants asked as the orcish army made its way deeper into the Lonely Mountain. “I could have sworn that I heard humming.”
“It’s not humming, it’s just the mountain shaking,” another orc retorted before the Defiler swiped both of them off their feet with a command to silence their flapping tongues. “We are here for dwarf-flesh, not some mountain’s music and your gaping mouths will give away our position to our enemies.”
“Dun dun dun dun dun dun…”
“Okay that was definitely humming.” No one knew who said it, though every orc flinched back from Azog’s fearsome glare. However, even the Defiler had to admit that this was starting to feel more like a trap than a victory, the lack of resistance making his hackles rise. But the pale orc had come too far to turn back when his prize was so near at hand and the treasure of Erebor was worth a few lost lives.
Indeed, the pale orc's army shortly rounded one last corner and found itself spilling out into an enormous hall where the floor itself was paved with gold. Yet before the orcs could celebrate their riches, the entire room began to shake as an echoing hum reverberated off the walls.
“BOM BOM
Dun dun dun dun dun dun
Doo dedoo doo dedoo dede doo dede doo dededoo…”
When the last note sounded, Smaug rose from the pool of gold like a beast of myth and legend, ten orcs caught in his jaws before his foes could react. The wyrm tossed them in the air and swallowed them whole, their screams growing louder and louder until they were silenced with a sudden crunch.
Then he turned his gaze on the rest of Azog’s army, the orcs turning to run as one beneath that feral stare. But those in front were blocked by those behind them and there was no escape from the flames that poured from the dragon’s mouth. Indeed the stone halls of Erebor were perfect for funneling Smaug’s attack and when the flames finally ceased, only a few score orcs remained from the thousands who had left Dol Guldur.
Of those in the Gallery of Kings, only Azog had managed to dodge the dragon’s fire, the pale orc raising his mace and charging with a shout. He would not turn tail and run; he was Azog the Defiler and he would triumph over everyt-
Smaug ate the pale orc in two quick bites, plucking Azog’s weapon from the air as it fell and using the spikes to clean his teeth. The wyrm waited a moment to see if anyone else would be brave enough to challenge him, but when no attack manifested, Smaug turned back to his gold instead.
The dragon was due for a nap now that the battle for Erebor was over and so he settled himself down to sleep with a little humming song:
“Bathing, bathing, bathing
Bathing in my lovely treasure
Painting, painting, painting
My scales in shining gold.”
End