Everlong

45

The dragon's trail was lost quite quickly, the wake it left was quite obvious though; busted and bent trees from it either flying too low, or the beats of its wings inflicting a harsh wind to be flown downwards, the foliage did not stand a chance. It didn't matter if they lost sight of it though, because they all knew where it was heading, it was going to the one place which Thranduil had thought he'd never return to. It wasn't like he was expecting to be greeted with open arms if he ever returned. Far from it, he'd expect the gates to be shut and him barred entrance.

It didn't matter now, Thranduil had had experience with drakes, he knew what to expect with them and what they could do. Yes, he did not fight the one which had dealt him damage on the battlefield, but he knew full well what power such creatures could harbour. Such power that could be unleashed so easily and readily that a second thought wasn't even cast. They weren't mindless creatures acting on impulse, there was intelligence behind their actions and if anything, this dragon heading towards the Mountain was proving that perhaps it was acting on both sides. As an impulse it was being pulled and called to the dwarven realm, the gold would be too great a treasure to ignore and shun, or at least leave unchecked and hoarded by the dwarves. A race that would surely be looked down upon grimly by such a massive beast in more ways than one. But also, what intelligence led it to this, or was behind such an invasion was something Thranduil was struggling to piece together. He didn't see what intelligence there could be, other than turfing the dwarves out of their home and taking what was theirs, for its own.

The marching boots around him echoed out amongst the trees and forestry scape around him. His own focus and eyes were on the path ahead, the twists and turns they took, missing Esgaroth completely to get to the outcropping and overlooking hills that were beside Erebor. Even before they broke the cover of the forest, they could all see black smoke trailing upwards into the otherwise blue sky. They were too late to do anything, not that Thranduil was going to fight a dragon, but they were all very aware that they would be walking into an inferno. And that was putting it incredibly lightly, Esgaroth was untouched, the distance between it and the Mountain proved uneventfully boring to the dragon it seemed.

Dale however, didn't have that luck. What was once a beautiful, peaceful city of Men was now a wreck and a twisted nightmarish parody of what it once was. The light brickwork of the buildings were scorched a horrible black, charcoal grey colour. Roofs were destroyed, some just barely intact but not by much. The majority of the buildings looked like they had caved in already, what happened to the people in within was uncertain, but it was clear the outcome wasn't good. How anyone could escape this, Thranduil did not know. But even as he slightly tilted his head, he could hear frantic screams and running feet, people were alive by some miracle from above from the higher powers of the world. How they would ever recover from this, he didn't know, they would no doubt relocate to Esgaroth, and Thranduil doubted they'd be wholly welcome there.

The city was on fire, the blackened smoke mingling upwards into the clouds and covering the area in a hazy smog. The smell of the smoke, plus burning building materials and unfortunately those caught in the flames was unbearable almost. The smell sickening and as unpleasant as the city itself. But the trail of fire led straight towards Erebor and its heavily guarded stone gates. These no longer remained, what seemed to take a few to struggle to open had been so easily smashed aside as if they were made out of sand. The broken dark stone laid cracked and segmented around the doorway itself, small figures could be seen running out of the remnants, so it seemed some had survived here too.

The dragon wasn't interested in those who were managing to slip its grasp apparently, and why would it be concerned? It was moving into a treasure horde that had already been built up by a mad king, who by looks of things from Thranduil's position on the hill, had survived too. He remained stoic and watching with his army around him, they were all equally looking blank faced, readying to hear a command and move into action. No order came, Thranduil was not going to make a move and risk unnecessary deaths of his people. Why would he? The dwarves bought this upon themselves, if Thrór had listened; if he hadn't been so blinded, pigheaded and ignorant to the kind warning which came to him, then this wouldn't have happened. They'd still have their home, they wouldn't be running from a dragon, they wouldn't be watching as others around them were burned and killed by fire.