Later that night.
Gandalf, using the excuse of scouting the path ahead, managed to pull the Raven-Smaug aside for a private conversation.
"I truly cannot fathom it," Gandalf said, his silhouette illuminated by the moon as he puffed on his pipe. "Why are you targeting them so relentlessly? Why this gamesmanship?"
"Think of it from a different perspective, Mithrandir," Smaug replied, his voice a gravelly, avian chuckle. "Perhaps I am not targeting them. Perhaps I am refining them."
"..." Gandalf remained silent, unimpressed.
"Fine, you caught me. I am targeting Thorin Oakenshield," Smaug admitted, his tone shifting. "I dislike the man. I believe I mentioned that back in Rivendell."
"You did," Gandalf nodded wearily.
"Your little 'Grand Quest' is built on a fairy tale, Gandalf. You think Thorin gets the Arkenstone, the seven houses bow, they take back the Mountain, and suddenly you have a Dwarven shield against Mordor? I've looked at the board from every angle, and it's a fantasy. It isn't realistic."
"Oh?" Gandalf's eyes narrowed. "And why is that?"
"The fundamental flaw is the man himself. Do you truly believe a personality like Thorin's is capable of ruling a united race? He's stubborn, prideful, and prone to madness. A crown won't fix a broken character."
Gandalf didn't have an answer. He was improvised, moving from one crisis to the next, hoping for the best. "Perhaps he will grow," Gandalf muttered, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "He is the heir of Durin. The other Kings must respect the Blood and the Stone."
Smaug let out a dry laugh. "We shall see. But while we're on the subject of realism, I have a question for you."
"Ask," Gandalf replied.
"Why, in the name of the Valar, are you still walking? It's been weeks. Why haven't you found a village and bought some horses? Is there a prize for being the most exhausted traveler in Middle-earth?"
"..." Gandalf blinked.
"And why the forests? Why the mountain passes?" Smaug pressed. "Don't tell me it's to hide your tracks. Everyone who matters already knows where you are. And don't say it's to avoid Orcs—Orcs live in the forests and mountains. You're literally walking into their living rooms while making yourselves slower and more vulnerable."
"Have you checked your calendar, Wizard? At this rate, you won't reach the Mountain by the date set in your map. So... why?"
Gandalf stood in a rare state of absolute speechlessness. The logic was undeniable.
"It seems my confusion is well-founded," Smaug chuckled, flapping his wings. "Think it over. I'm off to the Iron Hills."
With a mocking caw, Smaug took to the sky. The next morning, Gandalf turned to the weary Company and made a sudden announcement: "We are heading down to the lowlands. We're buying horses."
Days passed. At the peak of Erebor, Gollum sat like a gargoyle, his large, luminous eyes fixed on the horizon where Smaug had vanished. He hadn't slept in days.
"Precious! We is tricked!"
"Nasty Smaug takes the Precious and never comes back!"
"Curse him! Burn him!"
"No, no! He has the gold! He must come back for the gold!"
"But when, precious... when?"
Gollum curled into a ball, weeping silently. Suddenly, his ears twitched. A sound—faint, but distinct—carried on the wind from the East.
Something was moving through the desolation between the Mountain and the waste.
Gollum peered into the dark. He couldn't see clearly, but he sensed the rhythm of running feet. "Precious... that is not the Dragon."
He watched as the shadows resolved into the forms of Orcs and wargs. At the lead was a massive, pale figure on a white beast. Azog the Defiler.
"Precious! So many Orcs! What does they want with Smaug's gold?" Gollum whispered. "Should we tell the others? No... let them take the gold. Let the Dragon fight them and die! If he dies, we finds the Precious!"
"But what if he dies and we can't find it? What if the Orcs takes it?"
The voices in his head began a fresh, violent argument.
On the slopes below, Azog pulled his warg to a halt. He stared at the mountain with a look of pure, concentrated hatred. He was here to deliver gold as a bribe—a task he found loathsome.
"Find the Ring... then I kill you all," he hissed to himself.
He pointed to two Orc scouts. "Infiltrate the mountain. Find the Dragon. Tell him we are here to talk. Go!"
The scouts scurried up the jagged rocks. There were no easy entrances on the back of the mountain, so they were forced to climb toward the peak.
"Do you think he'll eat us?" one Orc whispered, glancing nervously at the sky.
"I haven't heard that Smaug likes the taste of Orc," the other replied. "He'll probably just burn us to ash."
"Shut up!" the first Orc hissed, trembling.
They reached a flat ledge near the summit. Suddenly, one of the scouts froze. He saw a pair of large, glowing eyes staring at him from the shadows. A small, pale creature was crouched on all fours, watching them with a murderous intensity.
"What... what are you?" the Orc stammered, raising his blade.
Gollum didn't answer with words. A feral snarl ripped from his throat as he launched himself forward like a spring.
"The Precious is MINE! No one takes it!"