Even after decades, Thorin Oakenshield had never truly accepted that his father, Thráin II, was dead. He had never stopped searching. In fact, when Gandalf first approached him months ago, Thorin was already on a desperate trail following rumors of his father's survival.
So, when the news came directly from the mouth of Smaug the Terrible—a creature who actually occupied the very halls where the royal line was broken—the weight of it was undeniable.
Thorin didn't think. He didn't debate. He spun around and lunged for his horse, ready to gallop straight into the jaws of the Dragon.
"Out of my way!" Thorin roared as Gandalf steered his own horse to block the path.
"Calm yourself!" Gandalf shouted, his patience finally fraying. "Even if your father lives, he is certainly not in the Lonely Mountain."
"How can you know that?" Thorin snarled, his eyes wild with a mix of hope and fury.
"Think, you fool! Smaug has slept in those halls for sixty years. If he had kept your father as a prisoner, what has he been eating? What has he been drinking? No mortal could survive sixty years in a dragon's larder without sustenance!"
The logic hit Thorin like a physical blow. He froze, his hand trembling on the saddle.
But then, Gandalf himself froze.
A chilling realization washed over the Wizard. By disproving that Thráin was in the Mountain, he was inadvertently helping Smaug. If Thorin believed his father wasn't in Erebor, where would he go? He would abandon the Quest and wander off into the Wild to look elsewhere.
Smaug... is that your game? Gandalf wondered, his head starting to throb. Do you want him to just... leave?
But that didn't make sense either. If Smaug wanted them gone, why not just give them the coordinates to Thráin's actual location (wherever that might be)? Why keep it a secret? Gandalf felt like he was chasing his own tail. He couldn't fathom that Smaug was doing all of this simply because he was bored and wanted to stir the pot.
"Where is he then?" Thorin's voice was low and dangerous. He looked at Gandalf with sudden, sharp suspicion. "You know something, don't you? All this time, you've been acting in shadows. You knew Smaug was awake and didn't tell us! You found me when I was looking for my father and forced this 'Quest' upon me!"
"Did you know he was alive? Were you stopping me from finding him?!"
Thorin was yelling now, his face inches from Gandalf's. "Answer me!"
Faced with this rabid, accusatory version of Thorin, Gandalf suddenly felt a profound desire to say absolutely nothing. He took a long, slow drag from his pipe, trying to remain calm. "Thorin, you need to be rational."
"Rational?! My father has been tortured for decades, and you tell me to be rational?!"
Gandalf snapped.
The air around the Wizard suddenly grew cold and heavy. His shadow surged, expanding against the rocky backdrop until he loomed over the Dwarves like a giant from the First Age. His voice dropped into a register that vibrated through their very bones.
"CALM YOURSELF!!!!"
It takes a lot to drive the Grey Pilgrim to anger. Seeing the "Giant Gandalf" was enough to shock the Company into silence.
Balin, ever the voice of reason, stepped forward quickly. "Thorin, please. Listen to Gandalf. Don't let a dragon's word drive you to madness. Smaug is our enemy; everything he says is designed to hurt us."
The other Dwarves mumbled their agreement, though a few remained silent, their eyes darting between Thorin and the Wizard.
Gandalf let the shadow recede, returning to his normal, slightly hunched form. He puffed his pipe again, his hands finally steady. "Balin is right. Smaug's words cannot be fully trusted, but they cannot be ignored either. We are days away from the Mountain. Why does he release this information now? What is his objective?"
Thorin ground his teeth, but he didn't mount his horse. "What do you suggest, then? That he's lying to keep me away from my throne?"
"I suggest we proceed as planned," Gandalf said. "We find a place to camp for the night. I need time to think. By dawn, I will have an answer for you. I promise."
"One night," Thorin spat. "I will give you until the sun rises."
As the night deepened, Gandalf sat by the fire, lost in a cloud of smoke. He paced the logic in his mind until he reached a terrifyingly plausible conclusion.
Hypothesis A: Smaug is lying. But if he's lying and doesn't give a location, Thorin will eventually go to the Mountain anyway to demand answers.
Hypothesis B: Smaug is telling the truth. If he knows where Thráin is and Thorin reaches the gates... what happens?
Gandalf's heart sank. According to their earlier deal, Smaug was supposed to hand over the Arkenstone upon their arrival. But what if Smaug offered a trade?
The location of your father... in exchange for the Arkenstone.
Would Thorin do it? Would he trade the sovereignty of his people for the life of his father?
The irony was overwhelming. Smaug's ultimate goal might be to make Thorin voluntarily give back the very treasure he spent sixty years obsessing over. It was a play so twisted, so petty, and so brilliant that it could only come from a mind that had spent too much time sitting on gold.
Gandalf blew a massive smoke ring and sighed. I think I'm starting to hate that dragon, he thought.