A new day. Under the golden light of dawn.
Far from the Misty Mountains, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield resumed their trek after a night of fitful sleep.
As they walked, a tiny, jewel-toned bird spiraled down from the sky and fluttered near Gandalf's ear, chirping a series of rapid, rhythmic notes. Gandalf's expression hardened with every passing second. The bird was a messenger from Galadriel, bringing news that shook the foundations of his mission: the seven Stone Giants had successfully relocated to the Lonely Mountain.
Gandalf, a guardian of Middle-earth, knew the terrifying combat potential of even a single giant. Seven of them under the command of Smaug meant that the Dragon Kingdom had just ascended to a new tier of global power.
In the coming war against Sauron, the dragon's weight on the scales was now absolute. Whichever side Smaug chose would effectively win.
In just a few months, how has Smaug become... this? Gandalf mused, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.
"What is it?" Thorin asked, his voice cold and sharp. He had noticed the bird immediately. "What word does the Wind-bringer send you now?"
Gandalf hesitated for a heartbeat. "A message from the Lady of Light," he replied with a faint, enigmatic smile.
It wasn't a lie. And he knew that by mentioning the Elves, the dwarf-prince would lose interest immediately. Sure enough, Thorin's lip curled in distaste, and he turned away, resuming his heavy-footed stride toward the horizon.
Heh, Gandalf shook his head, puffing on his pipe. He began to think about Smaug's next move. He is fortifying. He is building a nation. He won't ignore his neighbors for long. Thranduil... I wonder if the King of the Wood has already bent the knee?
The Submission of Mirkwood
Gandalf's wisdom was, as usual, spot on.
That very morning, Thranduil emerged from the Mirkwood, riding a magnificent, towering elk. He was followed by a procession of hundreds of Elven warriors, a silver tide flowing across the plains toward the Mountain.
Thranduil had made his choice. He was going to cooperate. Or more accurately—he was folding.
He bypassed the city of Dale, leading his host directly to the scorched clearing before the Great Gates of Erebor. Inside the gate, Gollum—who had been lurking in the shadows since the previous day—spotted the silver host and scrambled toward the lower levels on all fours.
"Nasty Elveses is coming!"
"So many Elveses!"
"Precious! Why is there so many?"
Gollum's speed was unnatural, and his nose guided him easily to where Smaug lay atop his gold. He reached the dragon's massive head and, with a terrifying lack of fear, began to shove at the scaly snout.
"Smaug! Smaug! Wake up, precious! The Elveses are here!"
Smaug opened a single golden eye, let out a massive yawn, and blinked at the creature. "If the Elves are here, let them wait. No need for such a fuss."
He knew who it was. Unless Thranduil had suffered a total mental collapse overnight, he was here to finalize the deal. Smaug rose leisurely, his massive frame shaking the gold-pile, and began the slow climb back to the surface.
The Meeting at the Gate
In the city of Dale, the humans were in a state of high-alert. They stood on rooftops and peered through windows, watching the Elven army with bated breath.
"Is the Elven-king here to kill Smaug?"
"Unlikely. Even hundreds of Elves can't kill a dragon with seven giants guarding the door."
"Good. I don't want a war. I just started my new garden."
"Wait—you want the dragon to stay?"
"I'm just saying, my life has been better this month than the last ten years combined. Stability is nice."
The debate raged in the streets until the silhouette of Smaug emerged from the Great Gate.
Thranduil, perched atop his elk, looked at the creature following the dragon—the hunched, pale thing known as Gollum. He narrowed his eyes in curiosity. What manner of creature is that? And why is it allowed inside the Mountain?
"Old neighbor, good morning," Smaug rumbled with a toothy grin. "Welcome to my home."
"You have made a habit of visiting mine," Thranduil replied, dismounting with a regal grace. "It is only fair I see how the other half lives. Shall you show me around?"
"By all means. Step inside," Smaug invited, turning back into the hall.
Thranduil, maintaining his royal poise, followed the dragon into the darkness alone, leaving his guards outside. The humans of Dale watched the three figures—the Dragon, the King, and the Wretch—disappear into the depths.
Bard, watching from his balcony, felt a chill. He's done it. He's successfully recruited the Elves.
The Grand Design
Inside the mountain, Smaug shifted into his Miniature Troll form to facilitate the tour.
"Is this your... friend?" Thranduil asked, glancing at Gollum.
"An old acquaintance," Smaug replied. "His name is Sméagol. He's human, in a way."
Human? Thranduil looked at Gollum again. He didn't believe it for a second, sensing a dark, ancient hunger in the creature. He marked "Sméagol" as a threat to be watched.
"Old neighbor," Smaug said as they descended the stairs. "I assume you haven't seen the hoard of the late King Thrór. Take a look. If you see something you like, it's yours."
Thranduil, who had heard legends of the Dwarven wealth for millennia, finally saw the reality. He froze. The sheer, staggering volume of gold and gems was enough to give even an immortal king pause.
"The rumors were... understated," Thranduil admitted after a long silence.
"I've realized something lately," Smaug said, walking beside the King. "I have all this gold, and all I do is sleep on it. It's a waste. I've decided to use it to 'improve' Middle-earth."
"Improve it?" Thranduil asked, perplexed. "In what way?"
"The standard of living is primitive, old neighbor. I want to modernize the infrastructure—food, clothing, housing. I want to spend this gold to make life better for every race."
Thranduil stared at him. Is he mad? A dragon who wants to be a philanthropist? "That is... an unusual ambition for a Fire-drake."
"Maybe. But I'm bored with being a monster. Now, about our alliance..."
The negotiation was swift. Thranduil agreed to formalize the pact. Mirkwood would stand with Erebor until Sauron was defeated. In return, Smaug guaranteed the Elven borders and supplied a massive quantity of gold and Mithril for the war effort.
Two days later, the "Mirkwood Construction Crew" arrived.
One group continued the forging of armor, while another set out to transplant an entire forest around the Lonely Mountain. By the following evening, a new system notification flickered in Smaug's vision.
[Congratulations! Quest: Recruit the Goblin King is Complete.]
[Upgraded Silver Mystery Box issued to Storage.]
Smaug let out a low chuckle. So the fat man finally started the migration. He opened the box.
[You have opened an Upgraded Silver Mystery Box.]
[Reward: Shapeshifting Skill (Intermediate Upgrade).]
[Effect: You can now transform into non-human creatures up to five times your original size.]
[Current Max Form Length: 700+ Meters.]
Smaug's eyes widened. At 140 meters, he was already a titan. At 700 meters? He could wrap himself around a mountain peak like a literal world-serpent.
"Now that," Smaug grinned, "is how you make an entrance."
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