In the valley of Isengard, the air was thick with smoke.
Saruman was practically fuming—partly from rage, and partly because his robes had been singed by dragonfire. "Smaug!" the Wizard roared, his voice echoing off the obsidian walls of Orthanc. "You seek to provoke a war?"
Without waiting for an answer, Saruman leveled his staff and unleashed a barrage of arcane bolts.
Smaug banked hard, but his massive frame made him a large target. One bolt clipped his wing. It stung—a sharp, cold heat—but it was far from a crippling blow. His hide was thick, and his temper was short.
"Hah! You're the one who started it, Wizard!" Smaug mocked. "I came to talk, and you started throwing sparks. So, shall we have a war?"
Smaug opened his jaws and sustained a continuous stream of molten fire, flooding the high balcony where Saruman stood. The heat was unbearable. Saruman was forced to retreat, frantically casting shields as he watched his priceless collection of ancient scrolls and artifacts crumble into ash.
"You dare!" Saruman shrieked. He couldn't win a physical brawl against a dragon, but his pride wouldn't let him yield.
"Calm down, you unreasonable old man," Smaug rumbled. He realized that simply trading blows with a Wizard was a game of diminishing returns. He didn't know how to "block" magic yet; he just had to take it on the chin.
Adapt and overcome, Smaug thought. He banked his wings and dove, circling the base of the tower and exhaling a ring of fire around the foundation. He wasn't touching the stone—not yet—but the message was clear: I can cook you in your own pot.
After a few minutes of "muscle-flexing," Smaug glided back to the top level. He landed on the ruined balcony, staring directly into Saruman's eyes.
"Can we talk like adults now? Or do I need to turn your bird-nest into a chimney?"
Saruman, soot-stained and disheveled, ground his teeth. His tower was his life, his status, his anchor to this world. He couldn't risk it being unmade. "What... what do you want?"
"See? That's much better," Smaug chirped, shifting smoothly into his Eagle form. "I'm coming inside. Don't be stupid and try to zap me again."
"I will not," Saruman spat, lowering his staff.
Smaug hopped through the window and shifted into his Miniature Troll form. He paced the room, looking at the charred remains of the library with a casual, mocking curiosity. "Nice place. A bit of a fire hazard, though."
Saruman looked as if he wanted to peel the dragon's scales off one by one. "Why are you here?"
"No wine for a guest?" Smaug asked.
With a snarl, Saruman poured a goblet of dark Elven wine and shoved it toward him. Smaug drained it in one go, savoring the taste of the Wizard's mounting blood pressure.
"Saruman," Smaug said, leaning back in a chair. "Do you desire power?"
The Wizard froze. "What are you implying?"
"You have no friends, Saruman. Radagast thinks you're a fool. Gandalf finds you tiresome. Elrond and Galadriel... they tolerate you, but they don't like you. And Thranduil? He wouldn't spit on you if you were on fire."
"I do not need the 'friendship' of the weak!" Saruman snapped.
"True. The strong are always lonely," Smaug agreed. "But here's the problem: you aren't strong enough. Not yet. That's why I'm asking: do you desire power?"
Saruman's breath hitched. He wanted to rage, but curiosity held him. "Speak plainly, dragon."
"Middle-earth is changing. The board is being reset. It's time to pick a side, or you'll be crushed between the hammer and the anvil."
Smaug leaned in, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "Go to Dol Guldur. I know you crave the strength to change this world. Go there, make the right choice, and you can have everything you've ever wanted."
Smaug looked like a demon in the flickering light of the scorched room.
"You... you and Sauron..." Saruman gasped, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.
"Shh," Smaug interrupted, tapping a claw against his lips. "Some things are better left unsaid. Just think about it. The choice is yours."
Smaug stood up and walked to the window. "I'll be off. Don't mention this chat to anyone. If you do, I'll come back, and I won't be so polite. You aren't my match, and we both know it."
With a final, mocking toss of a handful of gold from his storage onto the table—"for the repairs"—Smaug leaped out the window and took to the sky.
Saruman stood at the window, watching the dragon vanish into the twilight. He was an arrogant man, but he was a "Wise" one. He believed he saw the truth: Smaug and Sauron were allies.
The dragon's visit to Rivendell had been a ruse to distract the Council.
I was right! Saruman told himself. The others are too soft to see it!
He began to calculate. If the Shadow and the North were united, the West was lost. Unless he, too, took a seat at the table. He decided he would visit Dol Guldur—purely to "investigate," of course. He would see what the Necromancer had to offer.
While Smaug was playing mind-games in Isengard, his other "project" was reaching a boiling point.
Under the orange glow of a mountain sunset, Thorin's Company was running for their lives. They were exhausted, desperate, and trapped on a barren slope with no cover.
"Gandalf! We can't keep this up!" Thorin roared. "We're going to collapse!"
"Find a cave! We rest for the night and ambush them at dawn!" Gandalf replied. They dove into a wide cavern, panting and drawing their weapons.
A few miles behind them, the Orc pack was hesitating. Azog was still away, and his orders were strict: Follow, do not kill.
"How long are we going to wait?" one Orc grumbled.
"Azog will have our heads if we strike without him!" another replied.
A "common" Orc, who had joined the pack hours ago, let out a loud groan. It was, of course, Smaug.
"I'm tired of walking!" Smaug-as-Orc complained. "Why are we waiting? A Dwarf's head is a Dwarf's head, whether Azog is here or not! Are you all cowards?"
"Azog will kill us!" the lead Orc hissed.
"He's not here! By the time he gets back, we'll have the prize and he'll be happy!" Smaug goaded. "I'm going! Who's with me?"
Without waiting for an answer, Smaug leaped onto a nearby warg and kicked it into a gallop toward the cave. As he rode, he let out a piercing, bloodthirsty howl that shattered the silence of the night.
The other wargs, driven by instinct, answered the call. The hunt was on.
Inside the cave, the Dwarves heard the howling and the thunder of paws.
"They're attacking!" Thorin yelled, his eyes wide. "They aren't waiting for the morning!"
"DIE, FILTHY DWARVES!" Smaug's voice boomed from the darkness as he neared the entrance.
The Orcs, seeing one of their own already charging, lost their discipline and surged forward. The battle had begun.
Smaug, the architect of the chaos, reached the cave entrance, pulled the warg to a stop, and vanished. He shifted into a Small Stone Giant and merged into the rock wall above the cavern, settling in to watch the carnage he had just unleashed.
Politics is fun, he thought, but a good brawl is better.