Farmer in the Dale RPG

[Child of the 7th Age]

Elanor glanced around with trepidation as the two wagons slowly advanced through the city's crowded streets. This looked nothing like the cheerful market town that she remembered. Men and women were running everywhere, laden down with houshold goods or carrying children on their backs and in their arms as they tried to make their escape.

She could see that a number of buildings were in total ruins. Some had roofs sagging down or walls with gaping holes. One entire block just to the rear of the market square had earlier caught fire and was now burning out of control. The fumes and smoke lay heavy over the city making it difficult for her to breath.

The wyrm had apparently focused his attack on the city's central square where the main warehouses and shops were situated; these were adjacent to the royal palace and grounds. She had often been here with her father on market days. The family's grain was stored in a small warehouse at the end of the row, right next to the stables that belonged to Girion, King of Dale. In fact the rear of the two buildings, the royal stables and the grain warehouse, shared a common private courtyard, a very small entryway where it was possible to load a wagon or two, or to ride out on horseback. Normally, the farmers avoided this back lane out of courtesy to the royal family. However, Elanor could remember standing by the courtyard gate and watching as Girion rode out on horseback with his family: his wife, two daughters and a son, all attired in the finest of clothes.

As was the general practice, their own wagons approached the warehouse not from the courtyard but from the regular public entrance that faced onto the street. There was a huge line of carts and wagons already in line ahead of them, all awaiting their turn to go inside and retrieve their grain. Elanor watched as her father disappeared into the building and then came out again, shaking his head in frustration. He explained that they must go around the other way through the private courtyard, since there were too many farmers crowded at the main entrance. Moreover, they had been told to work as fast as they could. The fire was burning perilously close and, if the wind should shift, they would all be in danger.

Hearing these grim words, they quickly turned their wagons around and rumbled through the alleyway until they came to a small gate that led down to the courtyard. They had no trouble getting through here, since the lane and courtyard were virtually deserted. The wagon was brought inside and backed up against the small silo where the families' grain and hay was stored. While her father and Uncle Rhysdan rushed to transfer the grain into the wagons, Elanor and Elian went over to fill their water bottles from a small well that stood in the middle of the courtyard. Her mother had told them to keep an eye on Eric and Daisy, but somehow with all the excitement they had forgotten about this.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Eric stood in the courtyard watching his father load the grain into the wagon. He would have liked to help, but this was a job that would take somebody bigger and older. He gazed at the door of the stables that opened onto the courtyard, wondering what sort of wonderful horses the King would have. For a moment he wanted to run off on his own and push open the door and go exploring. But then he remembered the last time he'd gone exploring, things hadn't worked out too good. He'd better stay here and wait patiently till the grown ups had finished.

He thought of going and playing with Eli, but his twin had fallen asleep curled up on mother's lap. So he went over to Daisy instead. She was two years older and, worst of all, she was a girl, but still she was better than nobody. He took out three of his prized rocks that sparkeled almost as brightly as jewels and offered her one of them. But before the two children could begin talking or playing, there was a sudden moaning sound, loud and insistent, coming from somewhere deep within the stables. It sounded very much like a young child who was crying and in desperate need of help.

"Somebody's in trouble! Bad trouble!" Eric noted. "Just like I was. We need to help them." Eric looked around for someone big to help, but everyone seemed to be loading grain or drawing water at the well. He could stay here and do nothing and let the child cry, or he could go and try to help.

He made his decision very quickly and sprang to his feet. "Come with me, Daisy. Some kid is in trouble. We've got to help them. Or are you too much of a cry baby?" he taunted. Daisy did not answer but quickly ran after Eric as her cousin sprinted through the stable door.

***********************

The two children scurried forward through the aisles. Some of the stalls were empty. Apparently, the royal grooms and trainers had already removed a number of the horses and sent them to Long Lake. Worst of all, everything was dark. They could barely see an inch in front of their face. The stable was a big place, and Eric had no idea where he was going. He ran up and down trying to figure out where the noise was coming from.

Daisy was the first to figure out what had happened. Taller and older, she sprinted ahead and called back to Eric to come quickly. To her surprise she had found three young children: two girls and a boy, each wearing the livery of the royal house. Eric came running in just behind his cousin, hardly believing what he was seeing. His jaw dropped open in disbelief. These were King Garion's children!

"How did you get here?" Eric questioned.

"We came to try and rescue our ponies," the older boy explained. "Only our ponies weren't here and then this happened."

He pointed towards the ceiling. There was a jagged hole in the roof where the wyrm had made his latest attack. The thatching on the roof was burning, and one of the smaller beams had eveidently given way and come crashing to the ground. It had come down on top of little Layla's ankle. The girl was pinned down and could not move. Her brother and sister had tried to remove the beam but it was too heavy. Even the five of them working together could not budge it.

"Please don't leave me!" Layla moaned. "I hurt bad. And that monstor will come back and eat me."

Eric reassured the little girl that they were not going to leave her alone, and he would drive off the monstor if need be. "I've already driven him off once today," he explained. "Some of us will stay with you. But one or two must run back to the courtyard and get dad and Uncle Rhysdan and the rest of our families to come and help. We'll all have to push together to move this heavy beam."

Eric looked around and asked, "Alright, who wants to go get help?" As they stood there thinking, Eric could see that the fire had already spread. Whoever went to get help had better do so very quickly, he thought.

[Nurumaiel]

Daisy stared about her with overwhelming feelings of fear. The fire was spreading about, and vivid pictures of what their fate might be came into her mind as horror filled her. She contemplated Layla's wide, terrified eyes and listened with compassion to the pitiful little moans of pain. She longed to take the little girl in her arms and just mother her for a bit, but Eric was saying, 'You go, Daisy.'

She was silent for some time. She wanted nothing less than to move from that spot, dangerous as it seemed. The roof, however unsteady it was, seemed to shield her from the open air that seemed filled with the dragon, and she did not want to leave the shelter. 'I don't know the way,' she gasped.

He glowered at her. 'You know the way to the courtyard!' said he. 'Hurry, Daisy!'

'I don't know the way,' she said again. In all truth she did not, for terror was overcoming her so strongly that all logical reasonings and remembrances were being swept from her mind. Eric grasped her shoulders strongly and gave her a little shake, crying, 'Daisy! Hurry! Just run!' He made her stand from her kneeling position and shoved her towards the door. She took one last glance at the poor little Layla, and then she ran, though she knew not where.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Elanor had leaned against the gate and was watching her father and uncle load the last of the grain onto the carts when she suddenly saw the door from the stables burst open and a familiar figure scurry into the courtyard. A harried Daisy, barely gulping back tears, immediately flew to her mother's lap and quickly shared the story of how she and Eric had heard someone cry and gone to investigate on their own since everyone else was busy. Even before her mother could reprimand her, Daisy went on to describe what they had seen and how King Girion's daughter was trapped underneath the beam, with the fire in the roof of the stables beginning to spread.

Her father and the others in the family were quick to respond. "Stay here with Eli!" Arinn pleaded with Willow. "The rest of us will rescue the children and bring them here."

Willow stubbornly shook her head. "Say what you will, Arinn Millwind, but I'll not have the family separated, not at a time like this. Who knows if you'll be able to get back with this creature attacking and the fire running out of control? Live or die, we'll stay together as a family.

Seeing that he could not dissuade her, Arinn went over and retrieved a heavy metal bar that stood upright against the fence as he thought they might need it. He beckoned the others to hurry through the stable door; little Daisy took the lead with Eli running beside her. The fire had not yet reached this far down in the stables but everywhere the smoke and noxious fumes lay heavy on the air, stinging their eyes and making it difficult to breath.

Within a few moments, the families had arrived at the portion of the stables that Daisy had described for them. Eric was kneeling on the floor, trying to comfort the girl who was still penned beneath the beam. Her brother and sister had retreated to the far end of the stall and were using heavy blankets to smother the sparks that fell onto the floor from the roof. If these sparks were to catch hold, they would spread the fire directly to the spot where their sister now lay. Using the great metal bar they had brought along, Arinn and Uncle Rhysdan worked together and pushed with all their might until the heavy wooden timber moved slowly off the child's leg. Esmerelda bent down and cradled the girl to her lap, pulling her leg out from under the beam and lifting her up in her arms.

"Is this Layla" whispered Esmerelda, for she knew the names of the King's children.

"Aye, maam," her brother responded. "And I am Garth and this is my sister Lisel."

Arinn hastily interrupted, "We need to leave now. The fire is spreading. We must return to the wagons and go to your parents. But I am afraid we must find another way out."

Elanor gazed in the direction that her father had pointed: the route they had taken from the courtyard into the stables was no longer passable. A sheet of fire had leapt down from the roof and was now spreading its ravages along the wooden walls and extending into the stalls that had formerly housed the animals. Long tongues of flame shot out into the corridor, engulfing everything in sight and making it totally impossible for the families to turn back and retrace their steps.

"Come!" gestured Garth. "There's another way out. I think we can skirt around the fire."

The families quickly regrouped and began sprinting along behind Garth and Lisel . Garth led them left, then right, up and down a number of passages, keeping to the edge of the stables where the clouds of smoke were not so thick. Just as they reached the far end of the stable, the two children gave a concerted yelp and began running towards the door.

"Father, father," Lisel cried. "Enid was hurt, trapped under a beam, but these nice people rescued her."

A quick glance at his daughter's weary face and limp body told much of the story. He reached out to embrace Arinn and his wife, and then directed his attention to each of the others in turn . "I am greatly in your debt. On this day of horrors, my wife and I feared never to see our children again. We have been looking and almost gave up hope." They all glanced over at the woman who appeared suddenly in the doorway. The Queen had an obvious expression of relief on her face, going over to retrieve her daughter from Willow.

"To the horses now, all of you," urged Girion. He glanced directly at Arinn. "You and the Whitfield family as well. It is the least I can do to help. The horses are yours, as my gift. Ride together to Long Lake where things will be safer."

"But you, father," Garth cried. "Ride with us."

"In a while, I will join you. But now I must stay and organize what defenses we can, to make sure that all the citizens of Dale get out."

With that, the group hurried to the stable door and thrust it open, but before anyone advanced more than a step into the street, a giant bolt of lightning and fury whirred and spun in circles over their heads. Smaug, master of Erebor, halted in mid-air and glared down imperiously at the men and women emerging from the stables. Somehow he sensed that this one Man represented all the citizens of the town and that he had the audacity to call himself ruler of Dale. He and the others with him would pay.....

Girion rushed to the front of the group and drew his sword, brandishing it over his head. Looking back at his family and the others, he barked out an order, "Out of here now....to the horses, all of you."

The others hurried to obey Girion's command, but Arinn tugged at his cap and remained behind, "With all respects, sir, I will stay and fight." Then he glanced back at his family. "Rhysdan, take the women and children down to Long Lake. Keep them all safe. I will join you after we finish." Willow began to shake her head in disagreement, but Arinn went over and placed a hand warmly about his wife's waist, whispering something in her ear. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Then she gave a gave a nod to Rhysdan that they could continue on. The whole entourage --the horses bearing the King's children and wife, and the rest of the Whitfield and Millwood families, now mounted on the horses the King had given them--left the enclosure and trundled southward down the lane.

Girion sighed in resignation and beckoned with his hand to Arinn, indicating he should join him. With that final gesture, the king turned waving his sword to confront the wyrm. The beast, already bellowing his triumph and rage over the city, turned a somersault and plunged towards Girion and Arinn as a bevy of armed guards appeared out of nowhere to fight by the side of their sovereign. One offered Arinn a sword and pike and a metal helm to put on his head and a chain link coat to strap to his shoulders.

Girion stepped forward to confront the beast, issuing a challenge of his own, "Smaug, thou cowardly wyrm, who art so base to attack innocent folk with no warning, feel the bite of my sword and spear. For I swear that I will put my mark on your evil hide and that I or others of my blood will bring you to your death. Go back now, go back to the shadows."

************************

Regin Hardhammer's post

Eric was mounted on the pony behind his mother, holding tightly onto her cloak. The dragon didn't look much different than the last time he'd seen him. He still looked as big and mean as when he'd attacked Eric in the woods. Part of him wished that he could be standing beside King Girion and his father and strike a blow against such a cruel beast. But he had to admit that another part of him was very happy to be mounted on a horse and riding in the opposite direction.

Still, there was one thing that bothered him. He leaned forward and tugged on his mother's sleeve to ask a question. "Mother, is father going to be alright? Will he be there when we get to Long Lake?"

His mother sighed and looked up, fixing her eyes on the sky as she watched the great winged beast catapult through the air. Then she glanced back over her shoulder and smiled at her son. "Your father has promised to do his best to help the King, but also to be careful. He has good common sense, and I believe he'll do just that. So if he's not caught up with us by the time we get to Long Lake, I expect he'll be coming soon after that."

"I hope so," Eric responded, his voice full of worry as the horses trotted out of the courtyard. Behind them, Eric could hear loud noises of combat amd the clash of swords and spears against the dragon's thick leather hide. He cetainly hoped his mother was right.

[ArwenBaggins]

Arinn hurriedly strapped the mail across his shoulders and forced the helm onto his head. "Go now, back to the Void!" he yelled at the beast, shaking the pike and shouting a few very unhappy curses.

Flames shot out around all of the fighters. Arinn avoided the fire as much as possible, hurling stones he found in his pocket at the beast that hovered just out of reach. "Come on now! Afraid of us puny Men? That can not be!" Tightening the grip on his sword, Arinn foolishly threw the pike at the hideous wyrm. "Get down here and face the consequences!" The weapon bounced off of the thick dragon scales, leaving no signs that it had ever made contact.

Smaug roared and blew fire at the surrounding area, and it seemed as if he purposely missed the men. Arinn backed up a few feet, expecting the dragon to close in on the group. He could hear the very roofs of buildings crumbling and burning, doomed to face the monster's wrath. If only the blasted beast would lower so we could strike, Arinn said to himself, shaking his head and lowering it to shield his face from the heat.

The next thing Arinn knew he was lying on the ground and was in a tremendous amount of pain. Across his back was a beam not unlike the one crushing poor Layla's foot, and a large boulder across his left arm. Trying to struggle up, Arinn managed to wiggle from the beam, but could not seem to move his arm. He could see the dragon, now only a few feet from the ground, torturing the other fighters, but Girion was urging them on. "I have got to do this..." he muttered, closing his eyes to keep blood out of them.

Using the tip of his sword, he pushed the stone from his arm and scrambled up. His left arm laid lip at his side, twisted in an extremely unnatural angle. The pain was almost unbearable, but Arinn struggled through. Letting out a blood curdling war cry, he rushed forward toward Smaug.

Girion's glance flashed over to him for a second, and his eyes immediately fell upon his broken and bleeding arm. "You can nay fight with that injury!" he called over the howling wind and flames, tilting his head toward the arm but still swinging his sword.

Arinn looked to Girion and the burning city around him. He wanted to fight, but the pain was continuously draining his fighting power. "What should I do sir?"

"Find a horse… somewhere! Flee to Long Lake, with thy family. Thy duties will not go disregarded once this brute is slain. Now go!" Girion didn't give a second to interrupt before he charged toward the serpent.

It took Arinn several frantic minutes before he could find a horse. It was running wildly through the streets, and it was quite a struggle for the man to calm her with only one hand. "Now girl..." he whispered softly, struggling to mount the horse and not hurt his already throbbing back and hand.

Kneeing the mare on, Arinn pointed her into the direction of Long Lake. Fatigue was setting in, and pain was taking control. He fought the best he could, but passed out on the back of the horse when they reached the edge of his destination.

[Kransha]

Smaug, the golden dragon in the sky, swooped gracefully down over Dale, again taking in the sight of his enemies. Already he could feel and hear their chorusing hearts beating faster below him. They would be easy prey for him, and he would relish the coming battle, for he did not need foresight to know who the victor would be. Another cold grin darkened his grimaced jaws and his eyes narrowed ominously, the pale, precise beams that came from them resting at last upon Girion, the mortal man who had the gall to claim lordship over Dale when Smaug himself was clearly the regent of the land, just as he was of Erebor. The people of the Lonely Mountain and Dale had fled, leaving only these meager remnants of defensive troops. There would be no contest between the opposing forces. These men were no more than an irritating thorn in the wyrm’s side, one which he was all too intent to remove promptly. Quietly, Smaug contemplated his strategy as the men on the ground beneath looked up in awe, horror, and rebellious defiance, to Smaug’s great displeasure.

Slowly, wheeling himself around in mid-air, his ever fixed on Girion and his assorted troops Smaug’s winged form looped and swept itself higher and higher into the cloudy, blackened sky above Dale. The clouds consumed him as he watched some of the creatures below who he’d damaged flee, scatter, and route through the streets as the watched the dragon’s monstrous shadow spread over the heavens, the black length of his wings encompassing all of Dale as he dragged himself, his wingspan stretched to its fullest, past the course of the sun, blazoning his silhouette on the earth below. The men below were probably quaking with fear, though Smaug couldn’t tell from such a height above them. Letting his jaw fall open swiftly, a burst of aimless fire burst from his gullet, piercing the clouds with ease and enveloping the wispy mists with thick smog. He surged above the smoke, his monumental roars echoing around him, and then plunged, clearing the clouds in an instant and diving like a bolt of lightning towards his prey.

Suddenly, as he tore downwards, the dragon found that some small objects, sharpened with intention to strike him down, were flying feebly through the air towards him. From down below arrows were let loose, the weak shafts of wood flying up into the air towards the diving dragon. Smaug growled darkly as the minute bounced glanced harmlessly off his scaly hide and his gem-encrusted underbelly which still sparkled in the few slivers of light that had escaped the dense cloak of cloud-cover. As Smaug drew closer to the ground, the amount of arrows that managed to hit him increased, since his gargantuan body was easy enough to hit at close range, but still they did no damage, deflected by his armored skin. He launched himself precisely at the few soldiers and their leader, aiming himself in the fashion of a javelin. Just as he’d anticipated, the men scattered frantically to escape him, but to no avail.

In an instant, great, gleaming talons unfurled beneath Smaug and shot down and forward as the dragon neared the earth. His claws stabbed the ground and, as his flapping wings bore him onward, he ripped the dirt and grass asunder, tearing great gashes in the foundations beneath his routed assailants. He swerved, spreading his arms and legs, dragging his tail through the ground now and opened his scaly palms, aiming his next dive at a number of soldiers, clumped together in retreat. Before they could make it to a safe or sheltered distance from the wyrm, his monstrous talons’ scope devoured them, clawed digits closing around them and their steeds. He managed to maneuver nimbly upward, his wings spreading and stretching further as the beat the air, sending gusts of wind downward. The earth beneath the dragon rippled as disturbed water would, his talons still dragging through it. The undulating ground split and belched forth dust onto the wyrm as he ascended with his enemies in hand. Swinging gracefully around, Smaug glided backwards until he had risen just enough. Without hesitation or care, he opened his claws and let the hapless few constrained by them plummet to their deaths. Laughing a horrible laugh, he swooped down again, his eyes gleaming in the new darkness of the sky.

The streets were empty. From the ruins smog and blackness billowed, wrapping around Smaug as he plunged, searching for further prey. The other soldiers had mostly scattered but Smaug’s beaming eyes fell on a second and final group. The corners of his mouth twisting upward, the dragon’s rushing jaws pulled apart and out came another fiery torrent that swept across the land, the column making its way towards the fleeing enemies and clearing a scorched path behind it. The brunt of the blast hit the earth that the soldiers fled upon, engulfing it in fire. A few gasping shrieks were heard, but they were drowned out by the crackling breath of Smaug and died, fading into nothingness. Bearing himself majestically over the wreckage and trembling ground, Smaug’s eyes peered through the fumes, searching for the man who’d led this dwindled pocket of resistance. At last, he saw a miniscule figure, the last moving being in the area, shrouded by fire-induced mists.

Coughing indignantly to expunge the last of the lingering smoke plumes that wound around his long snout, Smaug veered sideways, worming towards the figure and slowly alighted, planting his claws firmly in the dislodged earth. Smaug’s gaze settled on the figure of the man, atop a horse who now brayed nervously, printing its wild hooves on the scorched field it stood on. The dragon’s wings beat no more and folded neatly into themselves, resting against the wyrm’s sides. The dragon, almost mocking the frightened steed that whinnied nervously before him, roared in his throat, letting loose a fierce guttural snarl that shook the land, combined with the constant stamping of his limbs. He soon became still as the dust that had risen around him settled. Smaug, glowering now, set his cold sights on the unnamed man and his air of command. Suddenly, a voice rose behind his snarl and seeped out sinisterly, like a ocean of venomous spite onto Girion.

“Fool,” he roared, the words dark and full as the resounded like the bursting chimes of thunderclaps, “what power have you to stand in my way? I am Smaug, master of this land,” his wing waved outward, indicating Dale, as if to illustrate the fact, “and you are no more than a mortal whelp with a knife and a ruined town at his back. Join the rest of your people in exile and you may yet escape my fire, for I am invulnerable, invincible, without weakness or fault. The petty tools of men do naught to me though my tail could crush their bones with ease. Those who do not fear me now will soon learn that they must, unless they long for death…” his sour expression changed again, his growling frown manipulated into another ghastly grin. “Is that what you wish for, man?”

Girion looked up, back at Smaug, his horse barely controlled beneath him. His face bore a look of defiance as his grip tightened on his sword, which was pointed at the dragon. “If my death must come,” he said, loud enough for the gargantuan dragon to hear, “you will fall with me. I am no whelp, dragon, I am the King of Dale, Girion, and this is not your land.”

Smaug had waited for his moment, and now it had been long enough. With a mixture of glee and fury, the dragon dove, scrambling across the scorched tendrils of grass. His wings flapped, causing the ground to ripple again, and leapt up, pouncing, cat-like, on the horse and rider. In a flash, Girion and his mount had bolted forward, too fast for the dragon to see or swerve. Unable to turn quickly enough Smaug tore through the air as Girion sped beneath him, dragging his glinting sword along the wyrm’s underbelly. It was ineffective, glancing off each sparkling gem and jutting scale. Smaug at last flipped himself, using his arm as an anchor and burying it in the ground. The device worked and Smaug turned on his wing, fully rotating to face the rear of Girion, now galloping away. Growling with incendiary anger, Smaug dipped, planted each of his four limbs in the earth, tearing into disintegrating plates. The ground sunk and rose as it quaked uncontrollably, the dragon passing over it. He aimed for Girion, but the horse and rider zigzagged around the melting plain, avoiding Smaug’s claws and tail as they unearthed more. Smaug madly fumbled for his foe, but his wings carried him higher and away, up towards the sky, only at a great height could he turn again.

The dragon’s eyes looked down to see Girion, on his horse, at the edge of newly made plateau. He was on a cliff-like mound surrounded by land that had sunk into itself, falling away from the cliff like water and into the shallow abyss below. Smaug smiled again, belching steamy smoke, and dove, his eyes slits of golden-red that gleamed like a terrible blade about to strike. Girion, below, spurred his horse forward and was soon headed full speed towards the edge of the cliff, sword raised high with the wyrm barreling at him. The distance was closed in the span of a second. Smaug’s jaws tore open, ready to close, just as Girion, horse, sword, and all leapt from the cliff at the dragon. The dragon’s cold eyes widened as his jaws met naught but ash and rock. Girion, in mid-air, was beneath him.

Suddenly a terrible pain gripped Smaug, jetting through him like poison. The blade of Girion was in him, the metal drawing his blood. He was awestruck before anything else. A mortal had dealt him damage, caused him pain. His dragon’s brain barely registered the fact. Beneath him, Girion’s sword was buried to the hilt in his gem-encrusted underbelly, Girion still holding onto it. The horse bearing Girion was dislodged and had fallen, alleviating the weight that dragged the man down. The King of Dale clung to his blade in the wyrm’s breast as Smaug, crying in agonized fury, rose higher into the sky. Smaug barely even noticed the mortal latched onto him until Girion’s feet began to scrabble for purchase on his scales. With a murderous blaze in his eyes and fire in his belly, Smaug swatted at the pestilence lodged in him with great talons. Girion, helpless against the dragon in his element, drove his sword in as deep as he could, tugging it back and forth as the hand of Smaug descended on him. A moment later, Girion, former King of Dale, was plummeting to his inevitable doom and disappeared into the foggy shroud that covered the city that was once his.

Smaug sailed on, clawing at his chest. The man had done nothing that he could tell of. It had been a failed attempt, just as Smaug predicted. The dragon’s fiery anger turned to grim satisfaction as he realized that, at last, he was free of the viral people of Dale and Erebor. Never again would those wretched folk pester him or stand in his way. He was the ruler of Dale and the Lonely Mountain, unchallenged, uncontested, and unbeatable. Dwelling on this, his spasmodically beating wings slowed and relax, carrying the worm toward his new home within the mountain. He was victorious, and he could revel in that while perched atop his treasures, the gold of Dwarves and men all for him and him alone. The battle for Dale was over and Smaug could finally rest.

In his haste and arrogance, he did not notice the effect of Girion’s last act. In his left breast was a bare patch, clear of scale or gem, openly visible to anyone who could get close enough to see. But, no one could ever get that close to Smaug the Magnificent if they valued their lives…unless they were, perhaps, invisible…

[Child of the 7th Age]

Elanor could not believe how many people had managed to escape from Dale and find their way down to Long Lake. The trail going south was crowded with horses and stray animals as well as families pushing wheelbarrows or carrying possessions on their back, whatever they had managed to salvage.

Despite everyone's relief to be away from Smaug, the group was subdued and grim. Many of the families had lost everything they owned. Far worse were the injuries they had suffered or the fact that many kinfolk and friends had fallen forever under the wyrm's fierce assault.

Elanor tried not to think about her father, but she knew that her mother was worried. Even little Eric and Eli had not run off to explore once the families had set up their new campsite, but sat quietly off to the side with their shoulders drooping and their eyes full of sadness.

Nor was Willow the only one worried. The Queen had politely said her goodbyes to the Millwinds, promising that she would not forget them, and had then gone off to join the other members of her household. But Elanor could plainly see that, underneath her pleasant exterior, the woman was deeply troubled. What chance was there that either of their men had survived? Already it was early evening and there had been no word of what had happened after they left the streets of Dale.

Elian was the first to see him. Bringing water to the men who guarded the settlers, Elian had peered out over the plain and spied a lone rider just beyond the edge of camp, slumped in the saddle and barely managing to stay upright. The lad let out a yelp that was loud enough for both the Millwood and Whitfield families to hear from where they had gathered to eat dinner. Little Eric leapt up, his food tumblng to the ground as he raced across the meandow towards the slumped figure who now lifted up his head and stared groggily towards them.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Eric was sitting at the camp fire trying to eat his chicken, but found it very hard. It was already dark and his father still had not returned. He could not bear to think what would happen if his father did not come back. Imagining the dragon munching on his father was not a comfortable thought. Someone had already told him that the king had been slain. Eric had been attacked by the dragon, but had managed to escape the beast. He only hoped that his father had done the same.

Eric's heart lept as he saw the party returning to the camp, his father in the middle of the pack. He ran to greet his father overcome with joy and relief.

"Oh Daddy, Daddy, I'm so glad your back. I missed you so much and I was worried about you. Now I know how you felt when I went missing. I love you so much."

He hugged his father so tightly that he felt the air being squeezed out of him. His father looked very tired and had a broken arm, but Eric was just glad he had made it back home.

[Child of the 7th Age]

In years to come, the Whitfields and the Millwinds were to see their fortunes turn for the better. The widowed Queen still had friends and continued to look out for the families' interests, grateful for the help they had given in rescuing her daughter. She did not remarry, but focused her attention on her children.

Both the Whitfields and Millwinds came to occupy two sturdy farmsteads on the outskirts of Esgaroth: they held more land than they had possessed in Dale and enjoyed connections with the wealthiest of merchants, who vyed to purchase their crops and livestock.

All of the children -- Elian, Elanor, Eric, and Eli and even timid Daisy -- made sound marriages and lived to old age in the relative peace of Long Lake. Yet, always they were alert for the rare incursions of the wyrm, and his terrible visage haunted their dreams and that of their children. Still the Queen swore that her children or their descendents would someday avenge the death of Girion and rid the people of the wyrm. But therein lies another tale that goes far beyond the bounds of this one.....

~ Finis

[piosenniel]

~*~ To Elvenhome ~*~