The Ring and the Dragon : Smaug's Descent into Doom
FAN FICTION
In the shadowy depths of the Lonely Mountain, within the ancient halls of Erebor, Smaug the Magnificent lay coiled atop his immense hoard of treasure. Gold coins, precious gems, and gleaming trinkets shone dimly in the flickering torchlight, casting an eerie glow on the dragon’s scaled underbelly. Smaug, with his piercing eyes and keen senses, was aware of every coin, every cup, and every jewel within his vast collection. Yet, among the countless treasures amassed over centuries, one particular item called to him with a sinister whisper—a golden ring, plain yet potent beyond measure.
Smaug had heard tales whispered by the stones of Erebor itself, of the ring's dark origins and its power to dominate the wills of others. His interest piqued not by the simple allure of gold but by the promise of dominion, Smaug extended a massive claw and delicately picked up the ring. The very air around him seemed to thrum with power as he contemplated slipping the ring onto one of his claws.
In a moment of prideful curiosity mixed with the arrogance that only a dragon could possess, Smaug slid the ring onto his smallest claw. The effect was instantaneous and overwhelming. The ring, crafted to be wielded by beings far smaller and less powerful, warped and twisted its magic to accommodate the dragon’s immense form. Smaug felt a surge of power rush through him, his senses sharpened beyond mortal understanding, and a dark awareness of the thoughts and desires of creatures beyond the mountain’s stone walls filled his mind.
As the ring’s power melded with his own, Smaug's already formidable influence grew exponentially. He found himself able to reach out with his mind, touching the thoughts of those across Middle-earth. The small folk, the elves, even the distant minds of the dwarves who once called Erebor home, all lay open to him like a book. He reveled in the absolute power the ring granted him, the power to rule not just Erebor but potentially all of Middle-earth.
But the ring was not crafted for a dragon. It was a tool of corruption, designed with a will of its own—to return to its master, Sauron. Even as Smaug delighted in his newfound might, the ring began to work its malevolence upon him. It whispered of an alliance, of shared power, of dominion not just over the weak-willed men of the lands but over the very creatures of shadow and flame that served the Dark Lord.
The more Smaug used the ring, the more he felt a presence clawing at the edges of his mind, a shadowy figure reaching out across vast distances, seeking to ensnare and command. Paranoia crept into his thoughts. Was the ring truly amplifying his power, or was he becoming a puppet, bound to the will of another far more sinister than he?
Tormented by visions of servitude under Sauron, Smaug realized that the power he craved now shackled him. His roar echoed through the empty halls of Erebor, a sound mixed with fury and a dawning dread. In a desperate bid for freedom, he attempted to remove the ring. But the ring, ever deceitful, clung tightly to his claw, its influence burrowing deeper like a parasite feeding on the dragon’s immense life force.
In his panic and fury, Smaug took flight, bursting from the mountain with a rage that set the very sky alight. He flew towards Mount Doom, the one place where the ring could be destroyed. Driven by a primal fear of enslavement, his mighty wings beat a tempest as he raced against the dark forces mustering to intercept him.
As he approached the fiery chasm, Smaug was assaulted by Nazgûl, the ringwraiths riding on fell beasts. A battle ensued, the sky dark with malice and fire. Each breath Smaug exhaled scorched his foes, but the wraiths were relentless, driven by Sauron’s will to recover his precious artifact.
With a final, desperate effort, Smaug reached the brink of the volcano. Realizing that the only escape from his torment was to destroy the ring, he plunged down towards the molten heart of Mount Doom. The heat seared his scales, the pain immense, but his resolve was stronger.
With a mighty scream that split the clouds, Smaug crashed into the lava, the ring sinking into the molten rock upon his claw. The destruction was total—both dragon and ring perished in the inferno. The skies cleared, and a tremulous peace fell over Middle-earth, a silence mourning the loss of the magnificent, if not misguided, creature and the final end of the One Ring’s dark allure.
Thus, the tale of Smaug and the One Ring passed into legend, a stark reminder of the corrupting power of absolute power, no matter how strong or mighty one might be.