Chapter 30 – Daily Life at the Lonely Mountain
Any living being, when faced with the destruction—or impending destruction—of its home, will instinctively feel grief and anger.
Driven by these emotions, most will try to resist, to defend what they cherish.
Beorn had returned to his former homeland.
The longer he lived here, the deeper his attachment would naturally grow.
So when the defiler Azog eventually led his Orc army here…
—or when the Dwarves marched in—
Could Beorn truly stand by and do nothing?
One must not forget: Beorn despised both Orcs and Dwarves.
In truth, allowing Bard and the humans to live better and better lives—fuller, richer, more hopeful lives—was also part of Smaug's open strategy.
Smaug never intended for these humans to fight for him.
What he wanted was far simpler.
He wanted them to fight for everything they themselves possessed.
After a long moment, Beorn lifted his head, urged his horses forward, and headed toward Dale.
Bard received word and led a group of people out of the city to welcome him.
After several rounds of discussion, and by the afternoon, Beorn declined everyone's help, requested a supply of timber, and began constructing his home with his own hands.
---
Deep beneath the Lonely Mountain.
Having eaten his fill the previous night—and with no need to eat again for quite some time—Smaug lay sprawled atop a mountain of gold, sleeping soundly.
There was nothing urgent to deal with for now.
He intended to rest.
Not far away, the ice dragon egg stood quietly, awaiting the day it would hatch.
---
In Mirkwood.
After much deliberation, Thranduil had finally reached a clear understanding of the current situation.
Unfortunately, faced with such a thorny, nearly unsolvable dilemma, he still had no concrete solution.
But he did know what the first step must be.
Train soldiers.
Forge weapons and armor.
Stockpile provisions.
Prepare.
Thus, Mirkwood—peaceful for who knew how many centuries—suddenly became bustling with activity.
Elves who had lived in leisure for hundreds of years were forced to grow busy once more.
---
Elsewhere.
Gandalf continued leading Thorin Oakenshield and his company onward toward the Lonely Mountain—still on foot.
That noon, a scouting party sent by Dáin, King of the Iron Hills, finally found Thorin and relayed news about the Lonely Mountain—news already long out of date.
"I know all of this already," Thorin said, instinctively assuming his princely bearing.
"Thank you for coming so far. Give my regards to Dáin. Tell him—I will reclaim Erebor."
The dwarves from the Iron Hills, having delivered outdated information and made the journey in vain, soon took their leave and returned home.
After seeing them off, Thorin's mood noticeably lifted. Grinning, he addressed his twelve companions:
"This is a good sign."
"For Dáin to send people means he's been watching."
"As long as we secure the Arkenstone, Dáin will obey."
"And once Dáin submits, the other six Dwarven kings will follow."
"Slaying that dragon and reclaiming Erebor—
it's only a matter of time!"
With renewed hope, Thorin grew increasingly passionate.
Hope was powerful—terrifyingly so.
Nearby, Gandalf said nothing.
Pipe in mouth, he quietly turned his head away, avoiding Thorin's gaze.
What else could he do?
He couldn't exactly tell Thorin that reclaiming Erebor was impossible.
So he pretended not to hear.
Bilbo Baggins noticed none of Gandalf's unease. Watching Thorin and the others, he smiled warmly—genuinely happy for the dwarves.
After the excitement died down, the expedition continued onward.
---
Days passed.
Without realizing it—
More than a month slipped by.
Deep beneath the Lonely Mountain, Smaug opened his eyes.
He had woken from sleep, felt a twinge of hunger, and without hesitation stored the ice dragon egg back into his system inventory. Then he casually made his way out of the mountain, heading off to find something to eat.
Humans were an exceptionally resilient species—
and even more remarkably, they learned quickly.
And sure enough.
It happened to be mealtime. The moment Smaug emerged from the mountain, rich aromas drifted through the air.
The scent of good food.
Clearly, over the past month or so, the people of Dale had made tremendous progress in their cooking.
"Not bad. Very not bad," Smaug muttered with a satisfied grin. He spread his wings and, in a blink, arrived above the city lord's residence.
Bard was in the kitchen preparing lunch. It was his son who spotted Smaug first and hurriedly called his father up to the rooftop.
Seeing Bard, Smaug sniffed the air and smiled.
"Lord Bard, looks like you're making lunch. Mind if I join you?"
"…," Bard minded. He minded very much.
"The house is small. There's no room to invite you inside."
"Then let me show you a little magic," Smaug said cheerfully.
"Watch closely—don't blink."
In the next instant, he transformed, becoming a humanoid over two meters tall—solidly built, neither fat nor thin—a miniaturized ogre.
Bard, who had never known Smaug could shapeshift, froze on the spot, eyes wide with shock.
"Well?" Smaug asked with delight. "This work better?"
Bard remained stunned, unable to speak—yet his thoughts were racing.
The conclusion was unavoidable.
If Smaug could shapeshift…
then killing him was forever impossible.
Which meant there were only two paths forward.
Either find a chance to abandon this land and flee far away—
or completely give up the idea of killing Smaug and focus on surviving peacefully.
A few seconds later, Bard chose the second option.
He blinked, nodded, and said, "That… will do. Please, come in."
"Much obliged," Smaug replied. The feeling of utterly dominating someone was intoxicating.
He instantly transformed back into his true form, retrieved two dazzling gemstones from his system inventory, placed them on the ground—and then shifted back into the ogre form.
Once transformed, he couldn't access the inventory. He'd tested that already.
The mini-ogre picked up the gems.
"This is my first visit to your home," Smaug said.
"These are for your children. A small meeting gift."
The gemstones were clearly priceless.
Bard hurriedly refused. "There's no need—they're still young—"
"No, that won't do. Etiquette matters," Smaug cut him off.
"Don't be polite with me. I have more of these than I can count. Now come—let's eat. I'm starving."
"…," Bard had nothing to say.
"Oh, and one more thing," Smaug added casually.
"My shapeshifting is a secret. Don't tell anyone else."
Bard nodded silently, walking alongside him while wondering how on earth he was supposed to explain this unsettling guest to his children.
---
Time passed.
Bard managed an explanation. His children were still young—fearless in the way only children could be. Though the ogre's appearance made them uneasy, the sight of the stunning gemstones more than made up for it.
Overall, they behaved quite well.
After eating his fill, Smaug wiped his mouth.
"Lord Bard, until next time."
Without reverting to his dragon form, he swaggered out of the city lord's residence and headed beyond the city walls, toward Beorn.
Beorn had worked efficiently. His house had been completed about half a month earlier.
At the moment, he was seated in his courtyard, holding an enormous wooden bowl and eating lunch.
The meal was delicious—Bard had personally sent people to teach him how to cook.
When he first arrived here, Beorn had never imagined this would be one of the benefits.
Because of it, he was slowly beginning to like life here