Bard of Laketown

Part Thirty-Seven

Bilbo's dirt covered hand reaches down to grasp the Arkenstone, but he slips on the coins. A look of utter horror and despair crosses his face, and he holds his breath as an avalanche of coins tumbles downwards into the room, the hobbit going with them.

The dwarves outside hear it too, though it is faint. Thorin looks up sharply. "I knew it was too much to ask of the halfling," he says, though his tone is harsh. The dwarves stand to go help their friend, but Thorin stops them. "Stay here."

Bilbo squeezes his eyes shut, fear and adrenaline coursing like fire through his veins. The coins come to a stop, dull clinking noises echoing throughout the chamber, and then. Silence.

The hobbit lets out a breath, and wipes his hand across his damp forehead, relieved. He looks down at his hand and realizes, he is not holding the Arkenstone. Somewhere in the vast pile of coins which are surrounding him, and burying his large, rough feet, is the jewel that he was meant to take back to Thorin Oakenshield.

He swallows hard, and then looks up as he hears a heavy snore reach his ears. And then another. And another. But suddenly... it stops. Bilbo bites his fist hard, fighting the heavy urge to scream.

Across the chamber, a massive shape is lying, covered in gold. It has slept for sixty years amongst its hoard. Until now. A large, catlike eye slowly opens, and searches the chamber. The dragon has awoken.

Bilbo's heavy breathing is loud in his ears, and he tries to calm his heart, but it's beating right out of his chest.
The dragon's ears catch the faint sound, his nostrils smell the intruder. He rises slowly, coins falling off his enormous body in waves.

Bilbo's heart suddenly stops, and he turns to find the shape of the dragon, standing in the middle of the chamber. His eyes take in the sight. All of the tales, everything that anybody has ever told him about this dragon, falls out of his mind. He has never been so glad of his height than at this moment, with that massive golden eye searching the chamber.

"I can smell you. Thief." The dragon's voice, louder than a clap of thunder, booms and echoes through the room. Terror is flooding Bilbo's mind, fear freezes him where he stands. He finally finds the courage to speak, though his voice is shaking as badly as his hands.

"I-I am not a thief," he says in a quavery voice.
"Are you not?" That voice tumbles throughout the mountain.
"N-no. I only came... I only came to see... to see you."
The dragon's vain mind is pleased by this. "Did you now, dwarf."
A thread of courage returns to the halfling. "Yes. To see if all the tales were true, O Smaug, Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities."

The dragon laughs, then lets out a searing, white hot flame from his mouth. Bilbo shrinks down as the flame passes inches above his head. "Do you believe them now?" the dragon roars, standing up to his full height.

"In-indeed, they fall utterly short," Bilbo's legs are shaking, and he can barely hold himself up.
The dragon walks closer.
The dwarves hear the dragon's voice, deafeningly loud even to them.

And the elves, journeying to the mountain hear it too, and they feel twinges of fear in their wise hearts.
The day that everyone in Middle-Earth had thought would never come, is here.