In the halls of Mirkwood, the conversation between father and son continued.
Legolas was young for an Elf, and he struggled to grasp the full weight of his father's dread. "Father, surely you exaggerate," he said tentatively. "Even if Smaug can wear a hundred skins, he is still but one dragon. Sauron commands legions of Orcs and Wargs."
Thranduil shook his head, his gaze distant and weary. "You must learn to look beyond the horizon of battle, my son."
"Sauron, without his Ring, is a shadow seeking a body. His Orcs and Wargs are dull-witted beasts who know only how to bite and burn. He relied on raw numbers and malice, and in the end, it failed him. It will fail him again."
"But Smaug... Smaug has changed. He has acquired a mind. He understands the value of strategy, of patience, and of diplomacy. Intelligence is a far more dangerous weapon than a sword, Legolas. A beast with a brain can topple empires that a legion of Orcs could never touch."
It was a lesson in life that Legolas could hear, but not yet fully feel. Still, as they spoke, the cold distance that usually defined their relationship began to melt. They were no longer King and Prince; they were father and son facing a storm. If this is the result of the dragon's return, Legolas thought with a wry internal smile, then perhaps we should give thanks to Smaug.
Dale
As the sun dipped below the peaks, the people of Dale finally finished preparing the massive quantity of food Smaug had requested. In the deeps of the Mountain, Smaug caught the scent of roasted meat and rose from his gold-pile with a satisfied rumble.
After sating his hunger, he flew directly to the Lord's Manor to find Bard.
The Lord of Dale was, as usual, stiff and alert the moment the dragon landed. Smaug found it quite entertaining to poke at the man's nerves. "Lord Bard," Smaug rumbled with a toothy grin. "I trust all is well with you?"
"All is as it should be," Bard replied, his voice steady despite the tension in his frame.
"And your children? Are they enjoying their new rooms in the stone city?" Smaug asked, intentionally poking at Bard's softest spot.
Bard's eyes flashed with a sudden, dangerous light. "They are well. They do not require your concern!"
"Hah!" Smaug laughed, the sound vibrating the windows. "Relax, Bard. I was merely being neighborly. I have no interest in your hatchlings."
Smaug realized he'd pushed enough for one day. He reached into his system storage and placed the Culinary Compendium and the Manual of Spices on the floor before the desk. "Your people have the spirit for cooking, but their technique is... primitive. It is a waste of good meat."
"These books contain the secrets of high cuisine and the crafting of exotic spices. Study them. Improve your craft. I expect my next meal to be a masterpiece."
Bard stared at the books, his mind reeling. Seeds. Planting manuals. Now... cookbooks and spices? He looked at the dragon, wondering if he was trapped in a fever dream. A Fire-drake who wanted his subjects to improve their seasoning?
"That is the first task," Smaug continued, ignoring Bard's bewilderment. "The second is this: take these books, along with the agricultural manual I gave you before, and have them transcribed. One hundred copies of each. Keep them safe for now."
Bard looked up, his expression a mask of confusion. "One hundred copies? For what purpose?"
"That is for me to know," Smaug replied. "Now, for the third matter. I have a friend named Beorn moving here in a day or two. He is a skin-changer. Have you heard of him?"
Bard's eyes widened. "The skin-changer from the other side of the woods? The one who becomes a great black bear?"
"The very same," Smaug said. "He is a bit of a recluse. He won't want to live within your walls. When he arrives, greet him, find him a suitable stretch of land nearby, and see that his needs are met."
Bard's face paled. "I've heard that in his bear-form, he is a beast beyond reason! How can the safety of my people be guaranteed with such a creature at our doorstep?"
"Hah!" Smaug roared with genuine amusement. "Just give him his space. He won't bother you if you don't bother him. Besides, Bard... he's just a bear."
"I live much closer than he does, and I am much larger. If you can tolerate me, you can tolerate a bear."
Bard opened his mouth, then closed it. The logic was undeniably, infuriatingly sound.
"Good. I'm glad we agree," Smaug grinned. "Oh, and a heads-up: more of my 'friends' might be arriving soon. Stone Giants, Goblins... that sort of thing. I suggest you start doing some urban planning, Bard. This valley is going to get quite popular."
With that final "vicious" bombshell, Smaug took to the sky. Bard stood in the silence, his mind filled with a nightmare vision of dragons, bears, giants, and goblins all sharing a Sunday brunch in the town square. He felt a sudden, cold shiver.
The Journey of Beorn
The next morning, under a bright sun, Beorn packed his few belongings, gathered his horses, and began his journey.
At the entrance to the Mirkwood, he found a contingent of Elven scouts waiting for him. Beorn couldn't help but let out a dry, mocking chuckle. The proud Eldar, acting as porters for a skin-changer, all because a dragon had told them to. The world had truly gone mad.
With the Elves as his guides, Beorn crossed the forest and reached the shores of the Long Lake. Five massive Elven barges were waiting. He loaded his horses and himself onto the boats and began the final leg of the journey to the Mountain.
As the silhouette of the Lonely Mountain grew larger on the horizon, Beorn stood at the prow, staring at the ancient home of his ancestors. He felt a strange, complicated stir in his chest. He was coming home.
He had no idea he was walking straight into Smaug's web.
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