Chapter 10. Finding Gandalf
[Quest: Successfully recruit the skin-changer Beorn as a powerful general for the Dragon Kingdom.]
[Reward: Bronze Blind Box (Upgraded).]
Smaug saw the quest prompt and chuckled softly to himself.
Just then, Beorn tilted his head and asked bluntly,
"Then what do you want with me?"
"I want to be your friend," Smaug replied.
"I don't need friends," Beorn refused without hesitation.
"As far as I know," Smaug continued, unruffled and straight to the point,
"the skin-changers originally lived near the Lonely Mountain. If you're willing, you could move back. I'll set aside a large tract of land for you."
"I don't need it," Beorn rejected him again.
On the one hand, Beorn had no desire to entangle himself with Smaug.
On the other—and more importantly—the waters around the Lonely Mountain ran far too deep.
Scheming Wood-elves.
Greedy Dwarves.
A ferocious dragon.
And beyond that, the Lonely Mountain itself was a strategic stronghold—destined, sooner or later, to become a vortex of chaos.
"Then what if I told you this," Smaug said evenly,
"you could have revenge?"
"I will help you cut down the head of the Defiler, Azog."
This time, Beorn did not refuse immediately.
He fell silent, hesitating.
The reason was simple.
There had once been many skin-changers.
Then Azog slaughtered some—and captured the rest.
Not to put them to work, but purely for amusement. Torture.
As the last skin-changer in Middle-earth, Beorn harbored a hatred for Azog and the Orcs that ran bone-deep.
But alone, he could do nothing.
After a short silence, Beorn finally spoke.
"You are powerful—but you are only a dragon. Azog commands an Orc army. I don't believe you can help me kill him."
For Beorn to say this at all meant he was tempted.
That alone was a good sign.
Smaug smiled faintly.
"Beorn, you're mistaken about one thing."
"Middle-earth does not have only one dragon left," he said calmly.
"And since I claim I can help you take Azog's head, I naturally have the strength to make good on it."
"!!!!!"
Beorn was genuinely shocked.
Other dragons?
How could that be?
If they truly existed, how had no one discovered them?
Is he lying? Beorn wondered, deeply suspicious—but said nothing.
"Oh—almost forgot," Smaug added, choosing to press his advantage.
"I regret to tell you that the peace you enjoy here likely won't last much longer."
"Some time ago, the Dark Lord Sauron sought me out. He wanted my cooperation—to conquer Middle-earth together."
"I refused."
"But I doubt he'll give up."
"Before long, a war of enormous scale will sweep across this land."
"!!!!!"
Beorn's eyes widened. "Sauron… is truly still alive!"
"Yes," Smaug replied with feigned solemnity.
"That's all for today. I hope you'll consider my proposal. I'll return in a few days to visit again."
With that, Smaug prepared to transform and leave.
"Wait," Beorn suddenly called out, eyes shifting.
"If I move near the Lonely Mountain—does that mean, when war comes, I'll have to fight for you?"
"When the time comes, Azog will show himself," Smaug answered instead of replying directly.
"I promise you—I will help you take his head."
"And you'll be able to kill many, many Orcs."
"For you," Smaug added, "that should be enough."
Beorn said nothing.
He was unsure.
Seeing this, Smaug considered briefly—then pulled out a pile of gold from his system storage, tossed it into his mouth, and spat it out onto the ground.
"Whether you agree or not," Smaug said casually,
"this gold is yours. Buy yourself some good drink."
Without waiting for a response—
Smaug decisively transformed into a great eagle, spread his wings, and soared into the sky.
Beorn lifted his head and watched Smaug recede into the distance. Only after a long while did he withdraw his gaze—then looked again toward the far-off Lonely Mountain.
The lands around the Lonely Mountain were the ancestral homeland of the skin-changers.
Should he return?
In the end, Beorn looked down at the pile of gold on the ground.
Everyone said that Smaug was greed incarnate—mad with avarice, obsessed with gold, unwilling to let any living being take even a single coin.
Yet just now, Smaug had casually given away so much gold without hesitation…
Had Smaug truly changed?
Beorn found himself torn.
He needed time to think.
---
Smaug, now transformed into a great eagle, flew south using the original owner's memories to guide his route.
Elsewhere—
It had been nearly half a month since Gandalf and his companions departed from the Shire.
At this moment, they had just reached a point not far from the Hidden Valley—Rivendell.
One horse after another carried the party forward at an unhurried pace.
The weather was excellent today: clear skies, bright sunshine, and a gentle spring breeze.
Traveling on horseback in such conditions was actually quite pleasant.
At least, that was how Bilbo Baggins felt, riding along on his small pony.
Bilbo had no idea what the others thought.
Gandalf, riding ahead with his pipe clenched between his teeth, paid little attention to the comfort at all. His mind was occupied with something else.
In five or six more days, they would reach Rivendell.
They needed to rest there—properly.
They needed supplies.
And more importantly, they needed the Lord of Rivendell, Elrond, to interpret that map—now nearly indecipherable to anyone else.
Without deciphering that map, the entire expedition would effectively be doomed.
The problem was—
Thorin Oakenshield was stubborn beyond reason. He refused to consider why the Elves had stood aside in the past, harboring only resentment. The very mention of Elves made his teeth grind with hatred.
Gandalf was carefully thinking about how to speak—how to persuade Thorin to agree to go to Rivendell.
Time passed slowly.
One day.
Two days.
Three days.
Smaug flew almost without rest.
At last, he arrived above the Hidden Valley of Rivendell.
Looking down from the sky—
To be fair, Rivendell was breathtaking: towering mountains, flowing waters, dense greenery. It truly looked like something straight out of a fairy tale.
Comparing that to the barren, desolate Lonely Mountain—
It was like heaven and earth. Not even worth comparing.
"Damn it," Smaug muttered irritably, looking away and continuing on.
He flew for nearly half a day more.
With evening still some distance away—
The traveling party of Gandalf and the others suddenly entered Smaug's field of vision.
"Found them!"
After flying nonstop for days, Smaug was thoroughly exhausted—but elated. Without hesitation, he beat his wings and dove downward.
The weather remained fine.
Gandalf, pipe in his mouth, quickly sensed movement in the sky—even though Smaug was still far off.
He calmly lifted his head, squinting against the light as he looked upward.
There were Great Eagles in Middle-earth.
Seeing one was nothing unusual.
And yet, at this moment—
For reasons he couldn't quite explain—Gandalf felt that something was… off.
Before long—
The eagle in the sky was clearly diving straight toward them.
So the feeling had been right.
Gandalf immediately reined in his horse, dismounted smoothly, and gripped his staff, waiting.
At this moment, Gandalf believed—
That eagle might have been sent by the Lady of Light herself, Galadriel.