♕ by the curse of gold
Smaug
Greed tasted like ash in his mouth; his throat was parched with an ancient thirst, his nostrils burnt with the sting of the blackest smoke. Glistening beads of sweat turned into rivulets across his lined forehead and the heat in his armoured body was rising to barely tolerable levels. His eyes watered under the burn of soot, cool blue turning to molten grey as the rising flames licked the incandescent pillar he was flush against, his blood roaring deafeningly in his ears and his drumming heart straining against the constricted cage of his ribs, squeezing the breath out of his lungs.
Thorin Oakenshield was against the deathly maw of the hideous beast, trapped between the dreadful spears of his great limbs - but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He would bravely face the oppressor of his people, the greatest calamity of his age, the thieving monster who took his life from him and forced him into disgraceful exile - alone. Anger was his catalyst, his royal right his driving force. He would fearlessly look into the amber-flecked eye of the great drake and deliver vengeance upon his loathsome hide.
Smaug was the beginning of his greatest despair, and if he was to be the end of his rueful life, so be it - so long as he could take him down with him into the flaming pit whence he came.
“Begone, you abominable beast!” the king bellowed, proud voice like thunder against the roaring din of the surrounding flames and the tinkling waterfalls of doughy treasures as the great drake shifted his cumbersome weight.
