Half a month passed in a blur of gold and shadows.
Smaug remained sprawled across his hoard, lost in a deep, restorative sleep. Naturally, during this time, Gollum had not been idle.
Initially, Gollum approached the sleeping dragon with painstaking caution. When he saw that Smaug did not stir, he grew bold. He began to scuttle over the dragon's massive body, his spindly fingers probing every crevice and scale, desperate to find where his "Precious" was hidden.
When his search proved fruitless, Gollum grew frantic. He scratched at his own thin hair, his mind racing with paranoid theories. Perhaps the Thief-Dragon hid it in his mouth? Or swallowed it?
Driven by a suicidal desperation, Gollum tried to pry open Smaug's massive jaws to crawl inside. But no matter how he strained, the dragon's mouth remained clamped shut like a vault door.
"Curse you! Curse you, Thief!"
Exhausted and depressed, Gollum finally realized that direct theft was impossible. He needed a more... indirect approach.
"Kill it! Open it up! Cut out its belly and find the Precious!"
With this dark new goal, Gollum spent two days mapping every inch of Erebor. When the mountain yielded no weapons capable of slaying a drake, he ventured outside. He studied the sleeping Stone Giants and watched Beorn from the tall grass.
Finally, he crept into the city of Dale. He blended into the shadows, eavesdropping on the townsfolk and weaving himself into the flow of information. He was occasionally driven away or pelted with stones due to his hideous appearance, but his obsession made him immune to shame.
By the second morning, he had learned everything he needed. He heard the stories of the Wind-lance, the Black Arrows, and the old feud between Smaug and the Line of Girion.
Under a heavy, overcast sky, Gollum's large eyes darted back and forth. He had seen the old wound on Smaug's chest during his earlier search.
Smaug is not invincible!
The Lord of Dale's grandfather actually struck him!
Gollum scuttled through the streets until he found Lord Bard.
"Lord Bard," Gollum hissed, bowing low with a grotesque, oily respect.
Bard knew the creature had been wandering the city, but he wasn't sure of its purpose. "Master Sméagol. What do you want with me?"
Gollum's grin was terrifying. "Lord Bard... I have heard of your grandfather's bravery. I have come to tell you a secret. Your grandfather did not fail! He hit the dragon! There is a wound on its belly—a missing scale!"
Bard's brow furrowed. His suspicions were immediately confirmed. "Why are you telling me this?"
Gollum lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Smaug killed your kin! Don't you want revenge? You have the Wind-lance! You must have more Black Arrows!"
"The dragon is sleeping! He will not wake! I can lead you into the deeps... you can kill him and be free!"
Bard felt a sharp twitch in his temple. His mind raced. Is Gollum sincere? Or is Smaug using this creature to test my loyalty? If I follow him and find the dragon waiting for me...
He felt a surge of panic. He was no longer a desperate bargeman in a wooden shack. He was the Lord of a thriving city. His children ate well, wore fine wool, and laughed in the sun. He had everything to lose.
Moreover, for months, Smaug had been nothing but a generous, if eccentric, benefactor. Why risk everything for a dead grandfather?
"Sméagol, why are you doing this?" Bard asked, his voice cold. "Smaug told me you were his friend."
"Friend..." Gollum's face twisted as the voices in his head began to scream at each other. "No! Not friend! He stole my Precious! He won't gives it back!"
"If he dies, the Precious comes back to us! Oh, my Precious!"
As Gollum spiraled into another fit of madness, Bard took a step back. He realized the creature was utterly insane.
"I see," Bard said, turning to walk away. "My thanks for the information, but my grandfather's business is in the past. I have no desire to shoot the dragon."
Gollum went frantic, his voice regaining some clarity. "Lord Bard! It was your kin! How can you not seek vengeance?"
"I never knew my grandfather," Bard replied over his shoulder. "The past is dead. Let it stay that way."
Gollum stood in the street, stamping his feet in a silent rage as Bard disappeared into the manor.
"Precious! Precious!" he hissed. "He won't kills the dragon! What do we do?"
As night fell, a dejected Gollum returned to the Great Gate of Erebor. He curled up on the cold floor, whispering to the darkness. Without the Ring, he felt as though he were fading away.
Late that night, on the mountain paths leading toward Erebor.
A column of movement stretched as far as the eye could see. Tens of thousands of Goblins were on the move. At the head of the procession, a hundred exhausted Goblins groaned as they carried the massive litter of the Great Goblin.
The Goblin King held a flagon of grog in one hand and a hunk of meat in the other. "Faster, you maggots! The two weeks are almost up! If we aren't inside the Mountain by dawn, Smaug will turn us into charcoal!"
"Charcoal! Do you hear me?"
The Goblins roared in response, their pace quickening.
"The night is young! Sing, you filth!" the King shouted, looking up at the clouds.
A rhythmic, discordant music erupted. The singing of a goblin nation echoed across the plains.
Perched in a tall tree on the outskirts of the valley, Legolas watched the approaching tide of filth. His head throbbed. He didn't need to guess who was responsible.
Smaug... Legolas thought. First giants, then bears, and now a nation of Goblins. What possible use could he have for this many Goblins?