Chapter 12: A Half-Day Tour of the Shire, the Brown-Robed Wizard
Perched atop a stunted tree, Smaug had just enjoyed quite the spectacle. As it ended, a new idea struck him.
"Mithrandir," he said, as if remembering something belatedly,
"I didn't get the chance to mention this earlier."
"On my way here, I saw a large number of Orcs moving in this direction. It looked very much like they were chasing you. You'd best be careful."
A few days earlier, Gandalf's party had already heard the howls of Orcs in the distance.
So the presence of Orcs nearby did not surprise Gandalf.
"What?"
"What do you mean—chasing us?"
That, however, did.
"Possibly," Smaug replied vaguely.
"Good luck."
With that, he spread his wings and departed without hesitation.
"Thank you," Gandalf said, watching Smaug fly off for quite some distance before finally withdrawing his gaze, his expression complex.
Something felt increasingly wrong.
Was that eagle truly sent by Galadriel?
If not… then who was it? And what was its purpose?
He needed to confirm this—soon.
Gandalf made the decision quietly.
At that moment, the ever-innocent Bilbo spoke up, fear creeping into his voice.
"Gandalf… did he say Orcs are chasing us?"
Gandalf snapped out of his thoughts and, as usual, gave Bilbo a reassuring smile.
"Only possibly. It may not be true. Come—we should catch up with Thorin and the others."
That was what he said.
But in truth, Gandalf was worried. He dared not waste a single moment.
If, in this brief delay, Thorin's company were to encounter Orcs… the consequences would be dire.
In the blink of an eye, the two mounted their horses and hurried forward.
---
Smaug was still flying.
Gandalf's party was at least two days away from Rivendell.
Two days were more than enough for Smaug to pay a visit somewhere else—and still return in time.
Time passed swiftly.
By the next morning—
The Shire.
Bag End.
Another paradise of Middle-earth.
Its beauty was vastly different from that of Rivendell.
Rivendell's beauty was ethereal, untouched by the mundane.
The Shire, by contrast, was filled with the warmth of everyday life—
Smoke from chimneys, soil beneath fingernails, laughter in the air.
To Smaug, this place felt more real.
He liked it better.
After surveying the land from above, Smaug transformed into a crow and descended, gliding low through the area around Bag End.
At this hour of the morning, the Hobbits were going about their routines as usual—
Those who farmed were farming, those who wandered were wandering.
The air was thick with leisure, or perhaps more accurately, with ease.
Smaug liked this atmosphere.
Or rather—
The human Amino liked it.
After all, people lived such exhausting lives.
Who wouldn't be drawn to a place so close to carefree?
Because he liked it, Smaug lingered in the Shire for four or five whole hours.
During that time, he even indulged in a bit of mischief—snatching food from the hands of several Hobbit children, teasing them just enough to make them shout and chase after him.
Only when the sun dipped low, smoke rising gently from hearths as dinner was prepared, did Smaug reluctantly spread his wings and head back into the sky.
Reluctant to leave.
---
At the same time—
Not far from Dol Guldur, deep within the vast and boundless Great Greenwood, the Brown Wizard Radagast made a shocking discovery.
The forest was sick.
Plants were withering in patches, their vitality draining away. Small animals lay scattered across the ground, already cold, already dead.
Radagast's heart clenched at the sight.
"What has happened here?" he murmured anxiously. "What has gone wrong?"
Not long after, he found a hedgehog—Sebastian—barely clinging to life. Radagast hurried back to his woodland hut with the creature in his arms and attempted to save him.
But the old methods failed.
No matter what he tried, it wasn't enough.
When he examined Sebastian more closely—
Radagast's expression changed abruptly.
"Darkness…"
The word left his lips as he snapped his head toward the direction of Dol Guldur.
At that very moment, a loud disturbance rose outside the hut.
A massive shadow scuttled rapidly across the ground and stopped just beyond the door.
Radagast immediately recognized it.
A giant spider.
He had lived in the Great Greenwood for countless years and was absolutely certain—creatures of this size did not exist here.
Where did it come from?
The question barely formed before the answer surfaced in his mind.
Once the spider retreated, Radagast used his magic to revive Sebastian. Then, without hesitation, he rushed outside, climbed into his rabbit-drawn sled, and sped straight toward Dol Guldur.
---
Meanwhile—
At the foot of a mountain not far from the borders of Rivendell, there once stood a small village.
It had long since been abandoned. All that remained were crumbling ruins.
This was where Gandalf's company arrived.
"We camp here for the night," Thorin Oakenshield ordered curtly—then shot a sharp glare at Gandalf.
Gandalf noticed.
And chose to ignore it.
Bilbo noticed too. He wanted to say something—to ease the tension, to mend the growing rift—but couldn't think of a single thing that might help.
The truth was this:
Although Gandalf and Bilbo Baggins had caught up with Thorin the day before, Thorin hadn't driven them away again… nor had he spoken to them.
For all intents and purposes, they might as well have been strangers.
The atmosphere was painfully awkward.
Because of that—
Bilbo found himself doubting his decision once more.
Why had he risked his life to join this quest?
Gandalf had his own purpose.
But Bilbo?
Was it really all for Thorin—this hot-tempered, stubborn, unreasonable Dwarf—so he could reclaim a kingdom?
Bilbo truly didn't care about the one-fourteenth share of the treasure.
He was a Hobbit of Bag End.
He didn't need gold.
"I think we should keep moving," Gandalf said at last, setting aside Thorin's hostility for the sake of the greater picture.
Thorin snorted. "Do I look like I care what you think?"
Balin, the wisest among the Dwarves, felt a headache coming on. He wanted to reprimand Thorin—but knowing his temperament, turned instead to Gandalf.
"Why do you say that?" Balin asked.
"I don't think this place is safe," Gandalf replied gravely. "There's a reason this village ended up like this."
"But traveling at night isn't safe either," Balin countered. "And we wouldn't get very far."
Gandalf was silent for two seconds.
"If we walk another half-day," he said at last, "we'll reach a place where we can rest safely."
Balin's eyes lit up. "Where?"
Gandalf frowned slightly, glanced at Thorin, then answered quietly:
"Rivendell."
The moment the word left his mouth—
Predictably, the foolish Thorin Oakenshield nearly exploded.
"You want us to seek Elven help?!" he roared.
"I would rather die than set foot in that place! And I will never accept aid from elves—never!"
Gandalf wasn't surprised.
Only tired.
…Sigh.
He let out a silent breath, thoroughly fed up, and decided not to argue further.
"I need to cool off," he said simply.
With that, Gandalf turned and walked away.