Chapter: 5: A Headache for the Dark Lord
Gandalf stood frozen for a few seconds. When he finally came back to himself, he rose to his feet, intending to step outside and think.
"Where are you going, Gandalf?" Thorin Oakenshield asked.
"Out for some air," Gandalf replied casually, already heading for the door.
Thorin sensed something amiss. He was certain Gandalf was hiding something, and his gaze hardened as he watched the wizard leave.
In the small front yard of Bilbo Baggins's home stood a simple wooden bench.
Gandalf sat down, took a deep drag from his pipe, and exhaled slowly. His mood was anything but calm.
He had spent months running about, gathering Thorin and his company of dwarves, and had finally brought them all here today…
The premise of every plan he had made rested on one assumption:
That Smaug was still asleep—and would remain so for some time.
Only then would Bilbo have even a slim chance of stealing the Arkenstone, and only then could Thorin reclaim the Dwarven Kingdom.
But now—
Smaug was not only awake…
He intended to found a Dragon Kingdom at the Lonely Mountain?!
Who in this world could possibly sneak into Erebor and steal the Arkenstone while Smaug was fully awake?
Bilbo Baggins… can he really do it? Gandalf thought, taking another long pull on his pipe.
Yes.
Gandalf did not want to give up.
As one of the guardians of Middle-earth, Smaug had been a knot in Gandalf's heart for many years.
In Gandalf's view, as long as Smaug lived—or as long as he remained in Middle-earth—peace could never truly last. Sooner or later, it would shatter.
Smoke drifted upward.
Gandalf took several more puffs, his thoughts returning again and again to that prophecy.
"When the old birds return to Erebor, the dominion of the beast shall end."
Prophecies did not lie.
And the ravens had indeed begun to return to Erebor.
With that thought, Gandalf steeled his resolve. He became even more determined to continue this expedition—
Of course, he had no intention of telling Thorin and his companions—or Bilbo—that Smaug had already awakened.
At least… not yet.
Just then—
Soft footsteps approached.
Unable to tolerate Thorin's company of dwarves any longer, Bilbo rushed out of the house, irritation written all over his face, and hurried over to Gandalf.
"Gandalf, what is going on?" Bilbo asked anxiously.
"Those dwarves are about to tear my house apart! Why are they here?"
Gandalf turned and smiled at him.
"Oh, my dear Bilbo," he said warmly, "this is the beginning of a wonderful adventure."
Bilbo Baggins: "????"
---
Night deepened.
Outside the Lonely Mountain, blazing firelight illuminated the ruins of Dale, abandoned for decades, as if it were day.
By this time, all the former residents of Lake-town had already relocated here, hurriedly beginning new lives among the ruins.
Of course—
With the exception of the former Master and Alfrid, who had long since been reduced to ash.
A new Master had yet to be chosen—
Though many were already voicing their support for Bard.
On one hand, earlier that morning—after Smaug had tossed down the gold and left Lake-town—it was Bard who forcefully stopped the ensuing riot.
Otherwise, who knew how many people might have been killed or injured over that pile of gold?
On the other hand, everyone had now returned to Dale—and Bard's ancestor, Girion, had been the last Lord of Dale.
For the moment, Bard neither accepted nor rejected the calls for him to take office.
At this time, he stood at the very place where his ancestor Girion had fallen in battle—the high terrace atop the Lord's Tower.
Standing there, Bard felt his emotions surge, tangled and impossible to put into words.
After a long while—
He took a deep breath and turned toward the Lonely Mountain.
The moonlight was bright tonight.
Under its glow, a massive silhouette stood atop the mountain's peak.
Smaug had been standing there for some time now. He found that he rather enjoyed this feeling—looking down upon the world.
A few seconds passed.
Smaug sensed Bard's gaze. His eyes shifted slightly, locking onto him.
With torches burning nearby, Bard was clearly visible.
And so—
With nothing better to do, Smaug moved. His wings beat once, and he flew straight toward Bard.
Bard's expression tightened. Fear surged instinctively—but he forced it down. He did not retreat. Instead, he straightened his back and lifted his head, waiting for Smaug to arrive.
The Lord's Tower was tall and broad.
Smaug landed smoothly on a nearby rooftop, looming over Bard.
"Years ago," Smaug said, his voice low, "right where you stand now, a human tried to challenge my power."
"He died."
"…That was my ancestor," Bard replied after a moment, teeth clenched. "Girion. The last Lord of Dale."
"He was a foolish human—but a brave one," Smaug said with a faint, amused tone.
"So then—you are clearly brave. The question is… are you foolish?"
Bard clenched his jaw. "I'm not afraid of you."
"Heh. How childish," Smaug laughed softly.
"Insignificant human, you should learn fear. Only then will you—and your children—live well."
Boom!
Bard's mind exploded. "If you dare touch my children, I swear—"
"Don't make threats that mean nothing," Smaug cut him off flatly.
"For your children's sake, you should learn to forget the past."
Bard said nothing.
"At dawn, take your people to the lakeshore," Smaug continued.
"Erect a border stele for the Dragon Kingdom. Then slaughter a few dozen sheep, roast them, and deliver them to me."
He paused, then added—
"Lord Bard."
Smaug deliberately raised his voice on those last two words before taking to the air and leaving.
Most of the people in Dale heard it.
And naturally—very naturally—in their eyes, Bard was now the new Lord of the city.
On the high terrace of the Lord's Tower—
Bard's body began to tremble uncontrollably.
Not from fear.
But from excitement.
He had seen it.
There was a wound on Smaug's belly—an arrow wound.
Girion had struck him back then.
More importantly—
Smaug was not invincible, as the legends claimed.
Smaug could be killed.
Bard saw hope.
He never considered that this hope was something Smaug had deliberately shown him.
---
Deep beneath the Lonely Mountain—
With nothing left to play with, Smaug returned underground. After wandering for a while, he located both the Arkenstone and the white gem necklace desired by Thranduil. He stuffed them into his system storage, then lay down beside the Ice Dragon egg.
---
That night—
The Dark Lord Sauron had a splitting headache.
If he still had a physical head.
Smaug not only refused to cooperate—he also knew the secret of Dol Guldur!
What was he supposed to do now?
Relocate the secret stronghold?
Impossible. There was no better location left in Middle-earth.
Kill Smaug?
Unfortunately—that wasn't an option either.
True, he commanded vast Orc armies.
True, he could launch a rapid assault on the Lonely Mountain.
But Smaug could fly—simply leave at will—and then make good on his threat by exposing Dol Guldur to the world.
After turning the matter over again and again, Sauron finally realized—angry, unwilling, yet helpless—
He had only one choice left.
That was to exhaust every possible means…
To flatter.
To appease.
And to buy off Smaug.