Thorin was the first to cross the threshold, reclaiming his heritage with every step. He was followed by Balin, then Dwalin, and so, one by one, the sons of Durin entered with a mixture of urgency and sacred respect. The Eldens, the elves, and Bilbo waited at the end, maintaining a courteous distance, recognizing that this moment belonged to the dwarves.
On the underside of the tunnel, lit only by the moonlight filtering in from outside, an ancient message remained carved into the living rock. The runes, though worn, seemed to spring to life upon the return of their owners, like a warning cast from the past toward an uncertain future:
"Herein lies the Seventh Kingdom of the House of Durin' Folk. May the Heart of the Mountain unite all dwarves in the defense of this home..."
A silence, heavy with reverence for the glory of their ancestors, enveloped the company as they ventured into the corridors of aged stone. However, it was no mere walk through history; as they advanced, voices turned into sharp whispers to dictate the final orders before facing the horror awaiting in the bowels of the mountain.
"You must descend and find the Arkenstone, the Heart of the Mountain," Thorin ordered, fixing his gaze on Bilbo. The hobbit listened with nervous attention, remembering the engraved symbols of the throne that guarded the passage entrance.
"And what does this gem look like?" Bilbo asked, feeling the weight of his role as a burglar. "Is there any way to recognize it? I fear mistaking it for some other treasure among so much wealth..."
"There is no other stone like it in all of Middle-earth," Balin stated with a trembling voice. "You will recognize it the moment your eyes rest upon it: a white gem, a glow trapped in crystal, pure like no other."
"Remember, your only duty is to recover the jewel. Nothing else matters," Thorin insisted, a feverish glint crossing his eyes. "Use your skills as a burglar, slip through the shadows, but bring it back. No matter what you have to do."
Miquella, walking beside them, noticed how Bilbo's breath became erratic under Thorin's pressure. With a gentle gesture, he placed his hand on the halfling's shoulder.
"Do not let fear cloud your judgment, Bilbo," he said in a voice that radiated peace. "If danger stalks you, run and seek refuge. We will intervene before the fire reaches you."
"Though it remains paramount to secure the Arkenstone," Thorin reiterated, hardening his expression.
"Do what you believe is right, Bilbo. I believe in you," Miquella replied, declining to enter a sterile dispute with the dwarven king. "Smaug has never perceived the essence of an Elden; we are... less detectable to his senses. My warriors and I will be ready to leap into combat at the slightest hint of disaster. If you find yourself in trouble, shout or do something conspicuous; we will be your shield."
Miquella exchanged a look of confidence with his companions, especially with Malenia, who was advancing with some difficulty because the ceilings, designed for dwarven height, were oppressive for her tall figure.
"Dwarves and elves, you will wait at the threshold as our final reinforcements," the prince concluded.
Everyone present nodded. The plan had been reviewed to exhaustion, but in the darkness of the mountain, every word weighed as much as gold. They had waited a lifetime for this moment, and now, the abyss was finally looking back.
...
The forces fractured once more in the gloom of Erebor. Bilbo, after gripping his courage tightly, ventured into the depths of the mountain. Behind him, at the threshold, the elves, the dwarves, Malenia, and Latenna waited in a tense vigil. Meanwhile, the Eldens diverted through a tunnel parallel to the hobbit's, seeking attack angles that would allow them to flank the beast.
However, shortly after entering the stone depths, the intervention group fragmented even further. Malenia had already agreed to stay in the rearguard; it was feared that the acrid, stagnant trail of the Scarlet Rot she carried in her blood would alert the dragon's supernatural sense of smell. Latenna also stayed outside due to her mobility issues; although compensated for by her wolf, there were fears that stealth would be compromised. But now, Miquella himself decided to take a different path.
"Continue with the plan. I must fulfill my promise to the Elven King," Miquella announced with a calm that contrasted with the oppression of the place. "Besides... there is something in these air currents that does not allow me to be at peace."
"My Lord?" his followers responded, worry etched on their faces as they saw their guide intended to move forward alone.
"Do not worry. I can look after myself," Miquella assured them, pausing for a moment to look them in the eyes. "Stay alert for Bilbo. Act as agreed, but do not rush. Give him the space needed to fulfill his duty, but under no circumstances allow the fire to reach him."
After those final instructions, Miquella vanished into the shadows of a side passage. His companions, though uneasy about the physical fragility of their lord who was far from his prime, had no choice but to watch him go and resume the mission they had been entrusted with. The fate of the mountain now hung from separate threads, all converging toward the same halls filled with gold.
...
Bilbo, with his heart hammering against his ribs, ventured into the depths of the mountain. Despite the dread clutching him, the burglar's determination prevailed. He traversed deserted corridors and empty chambers, ignoring the side rooms; he knew his destination awaited where the treasures lay... or at least that's what they told him.
Finally, the tunnels opened into an exit toward a place that defied the reason of a humble hobbit like him. There opened a chasm so vast it seemed to contain a world of its own. Stone bridges crossed the void between carved columns that were lost in the darkness of the ceiling. Below, in the abyss, rested the greatest accumulation of wealth mortal eyes had ever seen: an ocean of gold emitting a bronze glow under the sparse light of the silent citadel.
The sight took the hobbit's breath away. For a moment, greed and wonder fought against his prudence, but he soon remembered his mission. He began to cross one of the bridges with feline steps, repeating like a mantra that Smaug was not there. Receiving no response from the darkness, he gained a reckless courage, allowing his feet to make slight noises against the rock—a stupid and dangerous way to tempt the silence.
He let out a sigh of relief, believing himself safe. He was unaware, however, that from the side shadows, two irises of liquid fire were already following his every move.
It was a warm breath, laden with a stench of sulfur and ancient evil, that made Bilbo experience the coldest chill of his life. He turned his head with agonizing slowness. There, on another stone bridge perpendicular to his own, a scaly nightmare had risen.
"Smaug?" Bilbo whispered unconsciously.
The dragon's head was a terrifying mass, vaster than any steed, with jaws capable of swallowing a man in a single bite. There was no verbal response; only the incandescent glow beginning to brew in the beast's throat, swelling like a forge about to burst.
The terror that had frozen him transformed into a surge of pure adrenaline. Bilbo took off running across the stone bridge, letting out a scream that tore through the silence of centuries.
The beast stretched its neck and opened its jaws, releasing a torrent of flames intended to incinerate the intruder. But just as the light of the fire illuminated the darkness, a golden disc—imbued with sacred energy—violently struck the dragon's snout. The blow deflected the creature's head by only a few centimeters, but it was enough.
The tide of fire, which loomed over Bilbo like a wave of death, veered from its original path. The flames did not consume him, but they still managed to touch him on one side, along with the scorching heat, setting fire to the left side of his clothes and tufts of his hair as the hobbit continued to flee desperately.
To Bilbo's cry of dread was then added the war cry of the Eldens. From the upper bridges, the armored figures threw themselves into the void with weapons raised, falling like meteors of steel upon the dragon's back.
...
The war cries and the roar of fire echoed through the tunnels, reaching those waiting at the threshold with terrifying clarity.
"Has it started already?" Bifur asked, his voice cracked by a mix of tension and nervousness.
"They've barely entered!" Gloin commented, tightening his grip on his axe handle.
"Damm... It's found him," Thorin grumbled. A shadow of bitterness crossed his face; deep down, he still harbored the hope that Bilbo would recover the Arkenstone before steel clashed against scales. But the time for discretion was dead.
Without wasting a second, those who had remained in the rearguard threw themselves inside. Malenia adjusted her gold prosthesis with a metallic click as she entered the oppressive corridor, followed closely by Latenna, who rode upon her wolf with an already enchanted arrow on the string. Both moved with the determination of those born to fight ancient beasts.
Behind them, Legolas and Tauriel took off at a run.
"Hey! Where are you going?" Nori shouted. "Aren't the Eldens supposed to handle the dragon?"
"It no longer matters if we enter or not," Legolas replied without stopping, pulling an arrow from his quiver. "We will not stand idly by while others shed their blood."
The dwarves exchanged doubtful looks before fixing their eyes on Thorin. The pride of their lineage began to burn stronger than fear.
"No elf shall ever say they have more courage than a dwarf," the heir of Durin declared, unsheathing his sword. "Forward! Even if we fall into the abyss, let no one say the sons of Durin did not defend their home."
The dwarves let out a battle roar that woke the brave hearts of their comrades. They ran through the corridors with an ancestral familiarity, dodging rubble and taking shortcuts that only dwarves living under mountains knew. However, upon reaching a key intersection, Thorin stopped dead.
"Split up! Guide the Eldens and give them support!" Thorin ordered, pointing to the bearers of the troll runes, Dwalin, Gloin, and the sisters who diverted through a side tunnel to flank the beast. "The rest, follow me to the workshops! Balin, do you still remember how to mix a flash-flame?"
"Just give me the materials, and I'll have them ready in a jiffy," Balin replied with a spark of cunning in his tired eyes.
"Good. We are going to prepare a surprise for Smaug worthy of his foul existence," Thorin declared, the flames of revenge burning in his pupils. "We might not have the strength of a dragon or the strange techniques of the Eldens, but we will be so bothersome that the worm will curse the day he entered our mountain."
Under their king's command, the dwarves ventured into the shadows of the great forges