Springtime at the Lonely Mountain

The Prince's Council

That evening

"We need to evacuate Erebor at once! Who knows when the dragon returns?" a solemn voice reverberated against the council chamber's walls.

Shouts of outrage from a dozen throats filled the air above a large, wooden table surrounded by chairs on which the King's Council members were sitting.

"Abandon both our kingdom and our treasures? Nonsense!"

"Have you completely lost your wit?"

"How dare you suggest such a thing?!"

"He has a point! W-we have to protect our women and children!"

"We shall defend Erebor against the dragon or die trying!"

"Let us find this beast and kill it! It is not too late!"

"And leave the Lonely Mountain unprotected?"

Thorin quickly rose from his seat at the head of the table. His figure, clad in a formal, richly embroidered dark blue robe with a silver belt, towered over the uproar created by the council members. Lightning bolts of anger were flashing in his eyes.

"Enough! Quiet! All of you!" he roared in a commanding tone and banged his fist on the table.

The room fell very silent in the blink of an eye.

The young prince of Erebor's piercing gaze thoroughly scanned the faces of the councilmen.

"We have gathered here to decide on the best course of action, and not to prattle idly until the sun rises."

Several heads nodded in agreement. Some of them belonged to respectable nobles, like Lord Gróin, the father of Óin and Glóin, as well as Lord Fundin, Balin's and Dwalin's father. As members of the House of Durin, both were utterly loyal to king Thrór and the prince knew he could rely on them, especially since his grandfather and father were still absent. When it came to several other members of the King's Council, he couldn't be quite sure about where their loyalties laid. They had their own agendas and goals which were not always in line with the kingdom's best interests. Thorin ground his teeth. He had to bend the reluctant councilmen to his will. Fighting with a sword against the enemy on a battlefield was much easier than these games of politics and court intrigue, but he would prevail. There was no other way.

"Let us concentrate on the facts," he started speaking in a steady manner. "Lord Fundin, would you be so kind and elaborate on what we know so far?"

"Certainly, my lord prince," the king's military advisor stroked his thick red beard. "Around noon today, a green-scaled dragon was sighted by the Outer Guard of Erebor. The creature approached from the north. It slowly circled the Lonely Mountain, keeping its distance, and then it flew towards the city of Dale. We do not exactly know what happened then, but it suddenly roared and fell from the sky onto the Market Square like an attacking hawk. We believe that something spiked the beast's interest or perhaps annoyed it and that is why it swung its tail. As a result, the main city tower was destroyed together with a few adjacent buildings. After that, the beast roared again, returned to higher altitudes and flew towards the south, as the witnesses claim. It passed Esgaroth on its way and continued along River Running. It is quite probable that it entered the eastern parts of Mirkwood and probably flew past it by now."
"Are all our lookouts in place?" Thorin asked.

"Almost, your highness. They were sent out soon after we received your orders. We expect the last few of them to reach our furthest outposts south of the Lake in the morning. If the dragon decides to return, we will know in advance."

"Thank you, Lord Fundin," the prince replied. "And what about the casualties?"

"A significant number of dwarves and Men were injured. We are still conducting the rescue operations together with the Dale guardsmen, and we do not have the final count yet. We can expect a more thorough report as soon as Master Filur returns from Dale," Lord Fundin pointed at the empty chair beside Lord Gróin.