[General POV]
-Aldril vs Smaug-
The ascent was an extremely uncomfortable sensation, like a roller coaster rising rapidly without letting you hold on. His strength was waning, the impact and sudden rise had prevented him from fully reacting. As Smaug ascended, one of his arms slipped off the spine he clung to, and the water running down didn't help his grip at all.
"Damn it," he muttered as he dangled from one arm on the spine. Falling from this height would result in severe injuries, or worse, death, a gamble he wasn't willing to take. With a grunt, he stretched out his hanging arm, fighting against the wind that battered him, making his action difficult. "Ahhh!" With a shout, his arm reached its target.
His feet dangled as he clung tightly to Smaug's spine. Smaug, his vision blurred, couldn't see exactly where Aldril was, but he could feel he hadn't rid himself of his foe. "Ahggg!" A growl was the only way he could show his frustration and disdain.
His powerful build and magic allowed him to ascend close to the edge of the stratosphere, his limit, one he could only reach due to the growing magic accumulated over the long years since the War of Wrath, where almost all of his kin were annihilated. This was his last trump card. It would have been easier to try and slam into his back to shake off this pest. But no! He was Smaug! He was the Red Terror, one of the oldest and largest dragons still alive! He had to demonstrate his grandeur, and what better way than putting on a spectacle for the foolish beings who had forgotten his majesty?
The air was thin, and it was a miracle he didn't pass out from the sudden change in pressure, a miracle thanks to his new attributes and the blessing inherited from Vala Varda, which allowed him to remain conscious. From this height, he could glimpse some of Middle-earth's grandeur, but there was no time to admire it as the dragon prepared for the inevitable descent.
His wings spread with unmatched grace, his ascending figure paused for a few seconds as if time itself had stopped. He remained in that position briefly, then retracted his wings and began a steep dive once more. "Try to handle this, you damned rat!" he roared.
This time, Smaug had reached his limit, and logically, the dive was even more devastating. The very air seemed to burn, warning of a terrible impact. Aldril felt the hot wind cutting his face, pushing him backward, and his wet clothes dried at an astonishing rate. It was as if a meteor were falling upon Middle-earth once again.
"A divine descent," some would later say of those who witnessed the event. It was a spectacle worthy of sight, one that many inhabitants of Middle-earth could see.
-Iron Hills-
"Fire! Fire is falling from the sky, my lord!" a soldier informed Dáin II, better known as Dáin Ironfoot. Upon hearing this, he rushed to the open terrace of the mountain, catching sight of the spectacular scene, a ball of fire plummeting down. "That direction is Erebor," he murmured with a furrowed brow. "Thorin," he said quietly, concern in his voice.
-Kingdom of Gondor-
The Steward of Gondor, Turgon, was also informed by a servant, who exclaimed, "Something is falling from the sky, my lord! It's a ball of fire!" This brought great concern to Turgon, an elderly man of eighty-six years. Despite his age, he quickly left the royal chamber and went to the garden where the White Tree stood. From there, he could see, with great concern, a ball of fire descending. From that distance, it appeared to fall slowly, though it was only a matter of perspective.
"Father, Father!" His son, Ecthelion II, who would succeed him one day, rushed into the royal garden, sweat on his face indicating he had been running for a while. "Do you see it, Father? What is that?" he asked. Little was known about meteors, as only two had fallen on Middle-earth in recorded history. One disintegrated, and the other endured, from which materials were taken to forge Anguirel and Anglachel.
"I don't know, my son," Turgon replied in his aged voice. "But I hope it's not a bad omen," he concluded, his gaze fixed toward the northwest.
"There lies the Lonely Mountain," murmured Thengel, one of Turgon's servants and the son of Fengel, the current King of Rohan, a murmur barely heard.
-Rohan-
The elderly King Fengel of Rohan gazed northwest, lost in thought. There was no need to alert him, as he had witnessed the memorable event during his walk. "The day something descended from the sky" would be a fitting title. His years of experience allowed him to stay calm, while his guards looked on, horrified by the sight.
-Lothlórien-
Celeborn lay in the mystical tree where his home resided, his gaze fixed on the magnificent scene. Beside him, Galadriel watched with an unusually serious expression, which puzzled him.
"What troubles you, my love?" he asked tenderly, looking at her calmly.
"I fear for that child," she said in her magnetic voice. "His journey has only begun; the dangers he will face would make even the bravest elf turn back, and this is just the beginning." She had already noticed, the descending ball of fire was the dragon, and with him was Aldril, both falling like a divine sign.
-Rivendell-
Both Elrond and Glorfindel stood atop a tower, looking toward Erebor, and logically they observed Smaug's figure plummeting like a meteor. Yet, neither showed any signs of concern.
"It seems the beginning of your nephew's legend has arrived," Glorfindel said with ease. From the moment he met Aldril, he had recognized the child's enormous potential, capable of surpassing them.
Nodding at Glorfindel's words, Elrond didn't take his eyes off the scene. "Yes, now this era will belong to the new generation. We, who are from the old age, have nothing left to do. The future of Middle-earth now rests in their hands," he said, glancing over to Aragorn, who stood with his daughter Arwen.
-Lake-Town-
The citizens who managed to escape the initial wave watched with feverish fear at the descending figure, knowing that if it hit the lake, it would spell disaster for the town.
"Hurry! Leave the boats and go to the tallest building!" Bard shouted to the crowd, who had only moments ago been rushing to board the boats to leave Lake-Town. They regretted not heeding his warnings sooner! How foolish they were! The dragon wasn't just a story, and now they were paying the price for their ignorance.
On Smaug's back, Aldril held on with all his strength. The air burned his hands, but he endured the searing pain. He had never imagined something like this would happen. Smaug had shown no such abilities! He had been naive once again, but now he had to survive at any cost. "I won't die here," he thought as he clung to Smaug. Magically, his coat did not catch fire; however, it was unfortunate that his bow and arrows had burned away during Smaug's descent. This felt like a meteor crashing, a sensation filled with adrenaline.
The lake grew closer with each passing second. Aldril couldn't see it due to the fiery aura surrounding him, but instinctively, he knew he had to do something, or his life would truly be in danger. Despite his burned hands, he managed to make a sign with one of his fingers, casting a protective shield learned from a wizard's teachings.
Smaug, like a meteor, plunged toward the lake, a movement that in his eyes was full of glory and grandeur. Aldril would be worthy of dying to such a move. Smaug knew the lake was deep, so he had no concern about his massive body entering at such speed.
In those final moments before impact, everyone around was petrified. All sound vanished. In the distance, Thalwen, along with Finduilas, Legolas, and Tauriel, watched in horror, this went far beyond anything they could have imagined! Thalwen and Finduilas were the most affected; in all their years, they had never seen such an impactful sight.
At some point, Thranduil had appeared beside them, and the scene reminded him of the War of Wrath, when fire and death flooded all of Middle-earth. He remembered seeing fireballs fall from the sky, dragons making their final attack before dying. He remembered how many of his comrades had perished, taken to their graves by dragons.
There was only silence. Those seconds felt eternal; the refugees' skin prickled with fear. In that moment, the silence was shattered by a thunderous crash that deafened everyone for miles. The shockwave from the impact caused many to fall, and others, weaker, had their eardrums burst.
"UAAAAAAH!"
Aldril's scream echoed across the vastness; none could tell if it was a cry of pain or the desperate shout of someone clinging to life with all their might. Yet that thunderous scream was drowned by the explosion from the impact.
"BOOOOM."
The lake was shaken by the immense force, and torrential water sprayed out like rain. The intense heat immediately caused the water to evaporate, creating a haunting fog.
Amidst the refugees' groans of pain, a broken whisper echoed among those nearby, a whisper loaded with conflicting emotions.
"Aldril… please… don't die."
***
Filthy orcs!
Did you catch where the inspiration for this chapter came from?
15 Advance champters in "p@treon.com/Mrnevercry"