Dragon’s Vengeance

By MochaLiterati

Twisted from The Hobbit (Smaug)

The vast blue sky began to darken, the sun setting as smoke billowed from the once large and lush forest. Towering trees that had fed the blaze were now ashes, the fire claiming the few that still stood, along with the lower plants. The once haunting screams were now gone, burned corpses strewn across the scorched ground, their looks of terror immortalized on their faces.


A jagged mountain a distance away gave the large dragon a bird’s-eye view of the carnage that he had caused. He had not intended to claim as many victims as he had, only chasing a small group of hunters. The group of men who had caused his ire had fled into the forest, making a fatal mistake that ended up bringing innocent elves and other creatures into the destruction that was meant for them.

He. Did. Not. Care.

Perhaps it would be a message to other elves and men, along with those dwarves, to leave him alone.


That’s what he was now, wasn’t it? Alone? Yes, yes it was. And it was all the fault of men. Men and their stupid ideals of what a monster was, of what, or who, needed to die, and what would happen if they succeeded. They would be showered with praise, jewels, and more women than they desired. How would they feel if they lost the few things they truly cared for?

As the sun disappeared below the mountains, so did the anger broiling in his stomach, which was then replaced by an aching sense of loneliness. It was a rare,
uncomfortable, hurting feeling that usually fueled the anger, giving him the rage
to cause his destruction.

Now, it only left him tired.

Spreading his massive wings, the large firedrake began the journey back to his home, letting out a thunderous roar as he did so. Those who heard it shuddered at
the anger and pain it spoke of. What could have happened, to make such a terrifying
creature so pained?

The smell of the cave had only gotten worse since he had left, the blood having now dried from on the floor, along the walls … everywhere.

Including the golden body.

He moved slowly, hating himself even more as he moved closer to the unmoving Cold-Drake. She looked so peaceful in death that he almost thought that she was sleeping. But as he pressed his head against her, her already cold scales were frozen, no thudding heartbeat.

He should have been here, protecting his defenseless mate and their clutch. The multiple wounds and lacerations on her form showed how hard she had fought, how hard she had tried to protect the clutch, but ultimately had fallen. Men called him a monster, an uncaring beast whose only concern was for gold and jewels. But they were wrong. His mate and clutch had mattered more to him, and an instinctive need kept him close to cave, becoming paranoid after he found human hunters laying traps. He forbade his mate and recently hatched draclings from leaving the cave.

But eventually, prey nearby had become scarce, and he needed to go out farther each time to find enough to feed his family. After time passed, he decided that he would go out once more, and then take the hatchlings on their first hunt, so they could learn to defend themselves.

It would seem it was too late for that now.

Lifting his head, he looked toward where the dead hatchlings would be cu— where were they?

Where was his clutch?!

Where were they!?

Whipping his head around, he realised that the smell of decay had covered
another, foul smell.


A horrifying snarl formed its way on his face. A roar reverberated throughout the cave, mingled with a scream of absolute rage. How dare they!? HOW DARE THEY!? How dare those pathetic excuses for living beings even think to take the bodies of his children?! The anger he had lost before now returned full force, the cave shaking as he stormed out of the cave, gaze fixing on dark land far away.


He had been gone for too long. The orcs had already returned to Mordor, using the bodies of his children for whatever sick twisted idea Sauron had. As he took out his rage on his home, his muddled mind came up with an extremely risky solution.

Align with the opposing force.

But that begged the question: Who was the opposing force?

It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that the orcs will die. All of them.

It probably wouldn’t work. He was a dragon after all; they would most likely try
to kill him before aligning. And he still felt the rage at man for slaughtering his family. Why should he align himself with them?

Destroying the ring is the only way to kill them all. And then, when their guard is down, you can get revenge.

True. And the large dragon lay in the middle of his destruction, pondering over this idea long into the night, even into the sun’s rising. It was when the sun’s rays hit his eyes that the tired dragon decided he would go through with his idea, albeit a
possible mistake he would end up regretting. As the dust, ashes, and dirt blew around him as he took off toward one of the cities, animals and others alike hiding in his shadow, he realised something. After his rage had finally been calmed, he noticed that he felt nothing. All his anger was gone, leaving him feeling empty and hollow. It seemed most of his emotions died with his mate and clutch. He didn’t even react to the few arrows that were shot at him by the reckless and idiotic hunters. No attempts to burn them, no attempt to grab them and carry them into the sky where they would find themselves falling to their death. Nothing. He felt absolutely nothing.

… well, he did feel some joy at the look of shock and horror on the hobbit’s face,
as he realised that a dragon everyone thought dead was still alive.