Ten minutes passed in the tension-filled air of Lake-town.
Escorted by dozens of armored guards bristling with steel, the Master and his sycophant, Alfrid, finally arrived at the eastern bank. The moment the Master laid eyes on the mound of gold, his pupils dilated. Greed, sharp and intoxicating, surged through him until he could barely contain his excitement.
"So much gold..." he whispered, his voice trembling with lust.
"My Lord," Alfrid hissed into his ear, "the legends are true. The wealth of the Lonely Mountain is limitless. Think of it—in time, all that treasure could be yours."
The Master was powerless against such a lure. His imagination soared, and with it, his courage grew—though his legs still moved with agonizing slowness, heavy with the instinctive terror Smaug's presence commanded.
Finally, the party came to a halt fifty paces from the dragon's massive snout. The Master took a deep, silent breath, clutched his robes, and spoke with a groveling smile.
"Most esteemed and mighty Smaug, I am the Master of this humble town. How may we serve your greatness?"
In the shadows, the townspeople watched their leader's fawning display with a collective, silent disgust.
Keith, looking down at the bloated, oily creature, felt a similar revulsion. However, the time for execution had not yet arrived.
"I have slept for sixty years," Keith's voice vibrated through the earth, "and I have awakened with a new design. I intend to establish a Kingdom of Dragons."
He leaned closer, his shadow engulfing the Master.
"Should you pledge your loyalty to me, you shall be permitted to return to the city of Dale. Furthermore, a tithe of gold—equal to the pile before you—shall be granted to your people every year. In exchange, you shall provide my court with prepared feasts at the appointed times and obey my sovereign commands."
The Master's eyes burned with heat as he stared at the gold. A pile of this size every year? In a few years, he would be wealthier than the kings of old. He could flee with a fortune before the dragon ever tired of the arrangement.
It was a perfect plan. He opened his mouth to eagerly accept.
"And what if we refuse to bow?"
The voice cut through the air like a blade. Bard, knowing the Master's soul was already sold, had stepped out from the shadows. His face was a mask of defiance. His ancestor, Girion, had died defending Dale against this very beast; to bow now was a betrayal of his blood.
Keith shifted his golden gaze toward Bard. A slow, toothy grin spread across the dragon's snout.
Bard's heart sank. He recognized that smile. It is a trap, he thought.
"I recognize your scent, Archer," Keith rumbled. "Then let me rephrase the terms. Whether you bow or defy me, know this: when night falls this evening, Lake-town shall cease to exist. You may swear fealty and move to Dale, or you may seek your fortune in the wilderness. The choice of survival is yours."
Bard's knuckles turned white as he gripped his bow, his every instinct screaming to slay the drake.
Before he could speak, the Master pushed forward, his voice a frantic bleat. "Great Smaug! On behalf of Lake-town, I accept! We surrender our loyalty! we shall move to Dale with all possible haste!"
"Excellent," Keith replied. "Then there is but one final matter of state. You, and that rat-like creature at your side—step forward. Closer."
The Master and Alfrid exchanged a confused glance. But the bargain was struck, was it not? Surely the dragon wished to bestow a mark of favor. They stepped forward.
One step. Two. Three.
"What is your command, Great Smaug?" the Master asked, bowing low.
Keith did not answer with words. With a single, fluid motion, he unhinged his jaw and released a concentrated plume of fire.
The Master and Alfrid had no time to scream before the white-hot roar of the furnace swallowed them whole.
"AARRGGHH—!"
The shrieks were mercifully short. The guards behind them scrambled backward in terror, and the residents further back broke into a blind, screaming run. Only Bard remained, rooted to the spot, watching the inferno.
Dragonfire burns with a heat that defies the natural world. In moments, the Master and his sycophant were gone. Where they had stood, only a few handfuls of grey ash remained on the scorched earth.
"I am well aware of how those two oppressed you," Keith's voice boomed over the crackle of the flames. "You will require a new leader to guide you to your new home."
He snapped his wings, the force of the downbeat nearly knocking the nearby guards off their feet, and soared into the sky.
"Remember: before the sun sets, every soul must depart this town."
He did not look back as he flew toward the Lonely Mountain.
The eastern bank was silent. For a long minute, everyone simply stared at the sky. Then, as if a spell had broken, eyes began to drift toward the mountain of gold.
The dragon was gone. The gold remained.
"Don't touch it!" the captain of the guard roared, turning his sword toward the approaching residents. "This belongs to the treasury!"
"It belongs to the dragon!" a bold resident shouted back, lunging forward. "If you steal his tithe, he will burn us all!"
In less than two minutes, the clearing dissolved into a riot.
Across the vast expanse of the Long Lake lay the borders of the Mirkwood, the realm of the Wood-elves.
Usually, the forest was a place of deep, eerie silence. But today, the air hummed with agitation. Keith's sheer size and the thunder of his flight had alerted the Elven sentinels the moment he breached the clouds. The report reached the ears of Thranduil, the Elven-king, almost instantly.
Thranduil stood upon the highest terrace of his palace, his cold, beautiful face set in a mask of grim contemplation as he watched the distant shape of Smaug return to the mountain.
That the dragon lived was no surprise to him. Thranduil had never believed the fire had truly gone out.
Why now? he wondered. What does the Fire-drake seek after a century of silence? The peace of Middle-earth is ended.
Thranduil preferred the silence of his halls. He wished only to pull the shadows of Mirkwood around his people and let the world burn itself out beyond his borders. Close the gates and let the seasons turn; what is the world of Men and Dwarves to me?
"Triple the border patrols," Thranduil commanded his captain. "Watch for any sign of the beast turning toward our woods."
He turned his gaze toward Lake-town. His son, Legolas, and the captain Tauriel had already been dispatched to gather intelligence. For the first time in an age, the Elven-king felt a flicker of urgency. He hoped for good news, but his heart expected only fire.
In Lake-town, the atmosphere had reached a boiling point. Despite the hours remaining before sunset, the panic-stricken residents were already packing what they could carry.
Strangely, despite their fear, almost all had chosen the path to Dale. Even Bard. It was the only logical choice. To the west lay the Mirkwood, and the Wood-elves did not suffer the company of Men.
Legolas and Tauriel arrived amidst the chaos. It took some time to piece together the events from the babbling survivors. When they finally heard the truth, both Elves felt their composure waver.
The last dragon in Middle-earth had awakened... to establish a kingdom?
"He is the last of his kind," Legolas said, his brow furrowing. "A kingdom of one? How can such a thing be called a kingdom?"
Tauriel, younger and less cynical, looked toward the mountain. "Is he truly the last? Are we certain no others hide in the wastes of the North?"
Legolas shook his head firmly. "He is the last. Of that, there is no doubt."
Tauriel remained silent for a moment. "We must return. The King must know."
Legolas, his eyes lingering on Tauriel, nodded. "Yes. At once."
When the report finally reached Thranduil, the Elven-king could only manage a bitter, incredulous laugh. But the humor vanished as quickly as it came. Regardless of how absurd the dragon's ambitions sounded, the power of Smaug was a reality that could not be ignored.
"Spread this news," Thranduil ordered, his voice cold and decisive. "Let the Wizards and the Lords of Men deal with this madness. We shall see how Middle-earth reacts to a Sovereign of Fire."