With Azog the Defiler having fled into the waste, the front of the Lonely Mountain returned to a tense silence. The back of the mountain, however, remained a hive of activity as Gollum scurried about, directing the terrified Goblins to haul heavy wooden chests.
By dawn, Gollum had successfully moved the entirety of Azog's gold bribe to the very peak of Erebor. He refused to bring it inside. He wanted to stay right here, under the open sky, watching the horizon for the return of the Master and the Precious.
As the first light of day touched his pale skin, Gollum curled up inside one of the gold-filled chests, his eyes fluttering shut. He drifted into a blissful dream of the cold, dark tunnels of the Goblin Kingdom, where the Precious was always close and life was simple.
Thranduil and his company arrived late to the "party," reaching the construction site of the new forest on the eastern slopes.
"What exactly transpired? How many Orcs did the Defiler bring?" Thranduil asked his captain. Legolas sat nearby on his horse, listening intently.
The captain recounted the events: the shadows on the peak, the boulders falling, the Great Bear's roar, and the frantic retreat of the Pale Orc.
Thranduil's brow furrowed in confusion. "Azog climbed the mountain alone in the dead of night... calling for Smaug?"
If true, the only logical conclusion was that Smaug and Sauron were allies. But Thranduil shook his head, dismissing the thought. Having dealt with Smaug's wit and arrogance over the last few months, he didn't see the dragon as anyone's "servant."
"Azog would not come alone without a purpose," Thranduil mused. "Where are the skin-changer and the creature Sméagol? They saw the fight."
The Elves first visited Beorn, who was sitting outside his cabin eating a massive breakfast. He barely looked up as the Elven-king approached.
"I have already told Lord Bard what I saw," Beorn grumbled. "I hope this is the last time I have to repeat it."
"I tracked Azog down the western slope. I saw Orc corpses along the way—killed by stones, likely by that wretched creature on the peak. When I reached the base, Azog was already fleeing with a small pack. He was moving so fast he left behind several chests of gold. I didn't care for the yellow metal; I chased him until the trail went cold in the waste. When I returned, the creature and the Goblins were hauling the gold up the mountain."
Thranduil nodded, a faint, mocking smile touching his lips. He understood now. Sauron had tried to buy Smaug.
The Great Dark Lord was reduced to sending bribes to a dragon. It was almost pathetic. Thranduil felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of superiority. At least he didn't have to bribe the dragon; the dragon was paying him in gold and Mithril.
The Elves eventually climbed to the peak, finding a sleeping Gollum. The creature bolted awake, his eyes wild with paranoia. "Gollum! Gollum! What do the Elveses want?"
"Relax, Sméagol," Thranduil said, his tone as "kind" as an Elven-king could manage for a lunatic. "We only wish to know what the Orcs said to you."
"Said? They said nothing! We killed them!" Gollum hissed. "The first two died. Then more came, and we killed them too. Then the white one came, and we told the Goblinses to fight, but they is cowards! We will tell Smaug! We will tell the Master!"
Thranduil realized there was no further intel to be gained from a madman. He descended the mountain with Legolas.
"Father," Legolas asked as they rode. "Does this mean Sauron is weaker than we thought?"
"Precisely," Thranduil replied, his mood significantly lightened. "If he is trying to buy Smaug's favor, it means his legions are not ready for a real war. We likely have another decade or two of peace. Unless..."
"Unless Smaug takes the gold and joins him?" Legolas offered.
"..." Thranduil glared at his son. "Don't be a raven of ill-omen."
Far to the East, Smaug—in his Eagle form—approached the Iron Hills. As he neared the capital, he shifted into a tiny Thrush and flew directly toward the most opulent hall in the mountain.
Inside, Dáin Ironfoot was holding court, surrounded by Dwarves eating, drinking, and shouting over each other. The Thrush landed on a windowsill, watching the rowdy scene until it identified Dáin.
Smaug-as-Thrush hopped into the room, fluttering around the tables.
"What's this bird doing here? Shoo! It'll foul the ale!" Dáin roared, waving a ham-fisted hand.
The Dwarves began throwing scraps and napkins, shouting in frustration as the bird darted effortlessly through the air, taunting them. Smaug found it hilarious. He led them on a chase around the dining hall until they were red-faced and panting.
"Get a slingshot! Kill the feathered pest!" Dáin yelled.
That's enough foreplay, Smaug thought. He darted out of the hall, soared into the sky, and reclaimed his true form.
ROAR.
A thunderous, earth-shaking howl ripped through the air as the massive golden shadow blotted out the sun. The alarm bells of the Iron Hills shrieked into the evening.
"SMAUG THE TERRIBLE!"
"THE WORM IS HERE!"
Dáin and his warriors burst out of the hall, axes in hand. Smaug hovered above them, his voice a tidal wave of arrogance. "Stupid Dwarves! I spared your wretched lives decades ago, yet you plot to steal back my halls and slay me?"
"I am here! Come then! Slay me!"
Dáin, terrified but defiant, screamed back, "I'll have your head today, lizard! Archers! FIRE!"
Smaug laughed, his wings kicking up a gale that sent the first wave of archers tumbling. He unleashed a short, controlled burst of fire toward the stone roofs—enough to terrify, but not to destroy. He had no intention of killing his future "subjects" yet; he just wanted to enjoy the show.
"I will not kill you today, Dáin Ironfoot," Smaug rumbled, banking his wings to depart. "I want you alive to watch Thorin Oakenshield lead your people to their ruin!"
He paused, hovering for one final bombshell. "Oh, and tell Thorin... his father, Thráin, still draws breath!"
The shock hit Dáin like a physical blow. Thráin? Alive? It was impossible!
Smaug didn't wait for a response. He spent the next ten days visiting every other Dwarven kingdom, repeating the performance—terrorizing the lords, mocking their pride, and spreading the rumor of Thráin's survival.
By the time he banked his wings toward the Lonely Mountain, he was thoroughly satisfied. He had set the entire Dwarven race into a state of paranoid, hopeful chaos.
As he neared the peak of Erebor at sunset, he saw a tiny figure leaping for joy.
"Precious! He is back! The Master is back!" Gollum shrieked, dancing atop the mountain of Mordor gold.