Leventis ⚜ Thorin Oakenshield

⚜ | Chapter 1 : Thundering with Rain

Casadon Erik's P.O.V

The rain thundered down in Bree; the bashing of thunder cracked amongst the clouds;and lightning struck the earthly ground. It certainly was dreadful tonight, on this very fine evening in Middle Earth. Yet, the rain jettisoned down like someone had beheaded a person every time the water would drop, onto the cold, sludgy soil that people trod on that left foot marks; engraved into the wet mud.

I had protection. Safe from the horrible aftermath of feeling oozy and wet. I feel isolated at the back of the Prancing Pony, on the corner table, smoking nothing but a handful of pipe-weed. How the smoke filled my lungs; burned them to ash and let out a cloud of smoke. For I was looking for money -not to rob, but to earn- by death. I was somewhat low on the amount of coins I had possessed. Someone had die for me to survive.

Beside me, stands a pint of ale. My mind begins to wait, it has to wait all night if I want good money. Sometimes I would receive it here, otherwise it would be a long night. After taking a long sip from the pint ale, an old, decaying man is sat in front of me. My elvish ears twitched and my emerald eyes glinted as they bulged out in fright. I should not have been startled, but the wisest and oldest of men, can somewhat surprise my soul.

Grey. Everything was grey; from the individual strands of hair to the ends of his dull robes.

"What might I owe this pleasure?" My tone seems rather cocky, "Gandalf, the Grey."

His face looked went rigid, like he was already felt anger and retribution towards me . "Might I purpose a preposition, Casadon?"

I breath in some more pipe weed before blowing out the words: "You may."

But my curiosity cannot conceive without further information. I need to know more. Needed to know if I will be receiving money at the end.

"The dwarves of Erebor-"

Before the wizard could finish his precious words, I smirk vigorously and chuckle, waving the smoke pipe in front of the wizard's face. "The dwarves of Erebor?"

Gandalf nodded awkwardly.

"They are nothing."

"They wish to take back the mountain," Gandalf said, "I ask you to be apart of it Casadon."

"And how in the name of Middle-Earth will they be able to do that, when there's a Fire Drake from the North inside of it, that still lies asleep in dwarven gold for more than, what? Many, many years now. How will they eradicate the beast when no arrow, nor sword, nor weakened axe can pierce it's armour? Tell me Gandalf, how will they do that?" I demurral the wizard.

"That information will reveal itself when the time comes, if you take upon this preposition," Gandalf answers. Deep in his eyes lie the concern and the doubt.

"So, you want me to slay a dragon?"

"Not particularly."

"And will I be getting paid if I decide to accept your preposition?"

"There will be a share of the treasures that lie there," The wizard said, trying to sound convincing. As that I only question I truly care about, "Sharing with a company of dwarves."

I don't like to share.

Not with men, nor with dwarves.

I remain quiet. A share of the treasure, means that would be a somewhat tenth of Erebor's Halls. I would be coated in gold; shining in all its glory. What of the dragon? I do not take liking to being incinerated by a Fire Drake.