Chapter 90: madness?

[General POV]

"Boom"

A thunderous noise reached the ears of the dwarves, who were hiding like cockroaches. They had seen the terrifying Smaug firsthand, and witnessing Aldril's brave fight had stirred their spirits, only to be dampened again by Smaug's fury. They weren't foolish; they lacked Aldril's speed and agility and would only be a hindrance if they tried to help him, or so the elder dwarves thought.

"To the casting molds, we need to lead him there and fill it with molten metal," Kili suggested impatiently. "We can't let him fight alone. He'll be killed if we don't help!" he said.

"Yes, we can use the furnaces! Come on, we have to get there and heat them up ahead of time!" Fili agreed, sharing his brother's eagerness to help Aldril. The bravery displayed had inspired their youthful spirits.

Nori, one of the younger dwarves, agreed as well. "Yes! You go, and I'll warn Aldril!" he said, his spirit still aflame despite his fear. "I'll help lead the dragon! Hurry!" he shouted as he tried to descend the stairs, only to be stopped by a firm hand.

"You will go nowhere," Thorin said calmly, though this time he couldn't hide the look of madness in his eyes. They all saw it, the great king under the mountain! He was displaying the same signs of madness as his grandfather, Thrór.

The sight made those who saw it grow pale. "Thorin," murmured Balin with deep sorrow. What he had feared most had happened! Their great king, worthy of following, also harbored the seed of madness within him. "All because of that cursed treasure," he thought in resignation.

"Why are you stopping us, uncle?" Kili asked, hesitant. Thorin's face was less than normal; they had all heard of the madness rooted in Durin's line, starting back when they were driven from Moria. "Durin's Bane" everything began there. They didn't know what it was, but Durin's legacy had not been the same since that day.

Summoning courage, Fili stood by his brother. "Yes, uncle, what's going on? Don't you want to help Aldril?" he asked. His persistent questions echoed through the company. Yes, why not help him? They might be a hindrance to Aldril if they were at his side, but not if they managed to attack the dragon from outside!

But how would Thorin Oakenshield in his madness allow this? "NO!" he shouted. "That half-elf will deal with him! If he dies, it is no concern of ours!"

Such words left the company speechless. Their king was beginning to sink into madness! And they weren't far from the truth. Thorin had been well enough, but when he descended through the halls of Erebor and beheld his family's vast treasure, that rooted madness had awakened.

"Thorin," murmured Glóin. "Are we really not going to help Aldril?" he asked softly, not wanting to lose another friend but also fearing being seen as a traitor in Thorin's eyes and branded a rebel. Such was the way of these dwarves, any other would blindly follow the king's orders. "If he says it's his matter, then we shouldn't interfere," was what most dwarves would say. But this expedition group was different; they would never leave a friend behind, and they would do what they could to change their king's mind to save one more life.

"It's my final decision! We will not help him!" Thorin replied, causing the dwarves to lower their heads in disappointment.

"But if he loses, the dragon will still be there, and he won't let us reclaim Erebor, Thorin." In the silence that followed, an aged voice made itself heard. Balin, as the dwarf closest to Thorin, gave a valid reason to help Aldril.

Just then, Bilbo arrived, running toward them with a shout of joy. "Smaug is retreating! I saw Aldril hanging from his tail! He's driven the dragon off!" The elation on his face was unmistakable—his friend had done it! He had witnessed a battle worthy of storybooks, and the spectacle inspired him. He would surely begin a book of his adventures once back in the Shire, and that battle between man-elf and dragon would be recorded in history.

"In that case, there's no need to think of foolishness!" Thorin began, only to be interrupted by a loud crash and a voice that froze them in place. The voice echoed through the desolate valley.

"I AM FIRE! I AM DEATH!"

That proclamation filled them with terror. That voice was fearsome. "Look there!" Bilbo managed to exclaim. In the distance, a figure flew toward Lake-Town. Smaug had left Erebor. "The townspeople! They'll die!" cried Bilbo in fear.

"That is no longer our concern, Mr. Baggins," said Thorin with disdain, prompting Bilbo to stare at him, wide-eyed. "Now they can deal with the dragon," he continued, an unpleasant smile forming on his face. "That treasure awaits us. Onward!" With that, he ignored the dwarves' downcast expressions and descended the stairs.

-Lake-Town-

Laughter, songs, food, and drink filled the air; a lively celebration was underway. And why wouldn't they celebrate? These people had suffered from lack of food and money, all thanks to that greedy, obese governor! But tonight, their troubles were forgotten. A group of dwarves had arrived, one of them claiming to be the king under the mountain, promising gold in exchange for aid.

Such an opportunity was not wasted by the fat governor, who, basking in his luxuries, flaunted that food was not scarce, it was merely well-guarded in his vaults! "What a despicable man," the townsfolk would say, if not for the fact that they were now feasting.

It was late into the night. The moon hung high above, and the stars shone brilliantly. Naturally, many took advantage of such a setting; some stayed up until the early hours still celebrating, others admired the stars, while some followed the elves. "How foolish, missing this celebration over the whims of those elves," they'd say.

Amid this celebration, a small commotion was taking place. Alfrid, taking advantage of the situation, went to find Bard. He, along with a group of guards, headed to Bard's home, only to find him gazing at the great mountain.

"Oh! But it's Bard!" he exclaimed with feigned surprise. "Taking one last look at the great mountain?" he sneered.

"No, I fear the dragon might come and attack us by surprise," Bard replied, unfazed by Alfrid's mockery. His bow hung from his shoulder, a black arrow clutched tightly in his right hand, as if it were his last hope.

"Nonsense!" one of the guards scoffed.

"Just children's tales," added another.

"It seems our dear Bard believes in fairy tales," Alfrid sneered, reveling in making Bard look foolish.

"They aren't tales, Alfrid," Bard replied calmly, before frowning and readying his bow. He shouted, "Hurry! Evacuate the people!" Without waiting, he ran. "Follow me! We must protect the people, even at the cost of our lives!"

This action took them by surprise. Alfrid hadn't reacted; he quickly snapped out of his stupor and, with a grotesque look, shouted, "Chase him!" The guards immediately ran after Bard. "What was he thinking? Did he really think I'd believe his tales?" he muttered, turning around, only to be stunned by a guard's scream.

"DRAGOOOON!"

-Aldril vs. Smaug-

The wind whipped across Aldril's face as he clung with all his strength to Smaug's tail. It seemed the beast hadn't noticed him yet, as it hadn't made any moves to shake him off. The dragon's spines served as handholds, allowing him to inch his way up towards Smaug's back.

It wasn't until he reached the dragon's back that Smaug noticed the filthy half-human, half-elf. The pain of his wound had dulled his senses. "You're worse than a cursed rat!" he roared, beating his wings and maneuvering his massive body, flipping upside down in an attempt to dislodge the pest clinging to his back.

But Aldril was no ordinary person. His formidable strength and endurance allowed him to hold onto Smaug's spines. "Arrrg," he grunted with effort. It was no easy task to stay latched on with the wind tearing at him, but despite the struggle, he managed to inch closer. He had to reach the dragon's head.

"In the center of the horns, that's where you can kill them with a single strike," Glorfindel's voice echoed in his mind. "You wield the most powerful blades in Middle-earth; it will be easy for you to pierce its tough scales."

"I have to get there," he told himself as he climbed further up Smaug's body. Furious at failing to rid himself of this plague, Smaug dived straight down, the wind roaring like a fierce gale around him, his wings folded tightly, diving like a hawk. His goal? To crash into the lake and, if possible, shake off the pest. Such an impact would injure any other dragon, but not him! He was the mighty Smaug, and his magic allowed him to perform such maneuvers unharmed.

The lake approached rapidly. Aldril's eyes were half-closed, the strong wind making it impossible to fully open them. He had guessed Smaug's intentions. With all his strength, he gripped the spines on Smaug's back, bracing himself for the impact.

BOOM!

The powerful crash into the lake sent waves rippling toward Lake-Town, waves that swallowed parts of the city. Some unfortunate souls were swept away, thrown into the frigid lake.

Darkness was all Aldril saw. The impact had jolted him, and he used every ounce of his strength to hold on, barely managing to stay on Smaug's back. He opened his eyes, seeing only the small red patch of Smaug's scale mere inches away. One of his swords was left behind in Erebor, and he knew he could summon it with a thought, but it would take a few minutes to return. Taking advantage of Smaug's drastically reduced speed, he drew Anglachel, the blade that had slain the first dragon, Glaurung.

With all his remaining strength, he plunged it into Smaug's back, causing the dragon, who was swimming slowly toward the surface, to scream in pain beneath the water.

"ROAAR!"

Water spiraled into the dragon's mouth, forcing him to open his eyes in terror and desperation. Poor Smaug. The sky was the domain of dragons, but not the water. Underneath, they were slow. With all his might, he rose, his wings beating furiously.

In Lake-Town, Bard and a group of guards were rescuing people after the massive wave, what a wave it was! Most of the city had suffered from the disaster, and Bard's face bore a grave expression. "Hurry!" he urged.

It was then that he observed, in awe, the massive silhouette of the dragon emerging from the lake, rising back into the air. Those red scales were unmistakable. "Smaug," he murmured. The dragon had taken flight again, drops of blood trailing from his body and staining the lake. "Is he wounded?" Bard wondered in disbelief, only to spot a figure driving a sword into the dragon's back.

"Is that... Aldril?"

***

Filthy orcs!

I already have the new laptop in my hands and I am eager to write! 

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