"What must I do?"
I am old, Gandalf. I don’t look it, but I am beginning to feel it in my heart of hearts. Well-preserved indeed! he snorted. Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can’t be right. I need a change, or something.
The first they heard was a noise like a hurricane coming down from the North. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot, dry wind. It was a fire-drake from the North. Smaug had come! Such wanton death was dealt that day, for this city of Men was nothing to Smaug. His eye was set on another prize. For dragons covet gold with a dark and fierce desire. Erebor was lost - for a dragon will guard his plunder as long as he lives. Thranduil would not risk the lives of his kin against the wroth of the dragon. No help came from the Elves that day… or any day since. Robbed of their homeland, the Dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness, a once mighty people brought low. The young Dwarf prince took work where he could find it, labouring in the villages of Men. But always he remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon, the trees like torches blazing bright, for he had seen dragon fire in the sky and a city turned to ash. And he never forgave… and he never forgot.
And you can never get it spotless,
when there’s dirt beneath the dirt.
And when I arrive I won’t know anyone
The fires of Isengard will spread, and the forests of Tuckborough and Buckland will burn. And all that was once great and good in this world will be gone.
Tauriel appreciation post (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)