Inside the stone house in Dale.
Gandalf understood the shock paralyzing the room. He didn't push. He simply puffed his pipe, letting the thick blue smoke drift toward the rafters.
Bilbo was the first to find his voice, though it sounded faint and far away. "You mean... that raven? The one I fed? That was Smaug? I was that close to the Dragon... and he didn't eat me?"
Gandalf nodded solemnly.
The silence that followed was broken by Thorin Oakenshield, whose mind was finally beginning to process the magnitude of the Wizard's secrets. Fury, cold and sharp, ignited in his eyes.
"Gandalf! When did you know? When did you realize the Troll and the Raven were the Dragon?!"
Thorin was not a man built for forgiveness. He was a man built to hold onto a grudge until it turned into a diamond.
"I suspected something was amiss early on," Gandalf replied, his tone calm. "I only confirmed it after his third appearance."
"So you knew! You knew and you said nothing while we were toyed with!" Thorin's teeth were bared.
"What would it have changed, Thorin? Had I told you, you would have charged him with a butter knife and been incinerated. Would you have turned back? No. You would have come to this mountain anyway. My silence kept you alive."
"Lies!" Thorin spat. "You have your own purposes, Wizard!"
"Our purposes are aligned," Gandalf countered. "We both want the Shadow held back."
As Thorin and Gandalf bordered on a shouting match, Balin stepped between them. "Enough! We are at the threshold. We have no time for bickering. We have two dragons to consider now, and very little time."
The other Dwarves mumbled in support, though the terror of a "dragon family" had turned several of them green.
"We cannot go to war with Smaug," Gandalf said, dropping the final bombshell. "The Necromancer of Dol Guldur is indeed Sauron. He sought to recruit Smaug, and Smaug refused him. If we attack the Dragon and fail to kill him instantly, he will fly South and join the Shadow. If that happens, Middle-earth falls. You will lose Erebor, and the rest of the world will follow."
Thorin went quiet. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles bled. "I will not yield. Erebor is mine! The gold is mine!"
The gold.
Gandalf felt a cold prickle of dread at the back of his neck. He remembered the last King Under the Mountain. The obsession with the hoard was a sickness that ran through the line of Durin. Thorin hadn't even seen the gold yet, and already the "Gold-Sickness" was taking root in his mind.
Balin noticed it too. His heart sank. "Thorin," Balin whispered, testing the waters. "Perhaps the gold doesn't matter. If we get the Arkenstone and unite the Seven Houses, we could go to Moria. We could rebuild our kingdom there, in the ancient halls, and leave this cursed mountain to the drakes."
Thorin turned on Balin, his eyes burning with a feverish light. "And leave my wealth? Leave my heritage to a worm?! Never!"
Balin let out a long, silent sigh. The sickness has him, he thought. The Mountain is a trap for his soul.
"You have until dawn to decide," Gandalf reminded them. "If you do not help with the harvest, you do not get the Arkenstone. And without the stone, your 'reclamation' is a dream."
High above the world, beyond the reach of stars or shadows.
The world of Middle-earth was a flat plane created by Eru Ilúvatar. It was, by his own admission, a somewhat "rough" draft. Perhaps that was why, long ago, he had crafted a second world—one with four continents: Westeros, Essos, Sothoryos, and Ulthos.
In the Eternal Halls, Ilúvatar opened his eyes. He glanced at the dragons of Valyria in his new world, then turned his gaze toward the deeps of the Lonely Mountain in the old one.
He saw Smaug. And he saw Alice, the Ice Dragon hatchling.
Alice was not a creature of this world. She belonged to the new creation. In this world, her skin was white; as she grew, she would turn to the deep, crystalline blue of a winter sky.
Ilúvatar felt a faint flicker of amusement. Something had reached across the bridge of his creations and "borrowed" an egg. He looked at Smaug, then at the "System" intertwined with the dragon's soul. He saw the Space-Time Laws at work.
He didn't intervene. He was, as the System later noted, quite lazy. He watched for a moment, like a man watching a curious insect, before closing his eyes once more.
Smaug felt his soul tremble. A weight, infinite and cold, had pressed down upon him for a single, agonizing second. Alice had already burrowed deep into the gold, her instincts telling her to hide.
What was that? Smaug wondered.
[The Creator, Eru Ilúvatar, has turned his gaze upon you.]
[Your performance has been noted.]
[Reward: Contract Technique (1/4 Fragment) - Completion Achieved.]
Smaug froze. The mechanical, cold voice of the System had changed. It felt... present. Aware.
Who—or what—are you? Smaug asked in his mind.
The System remained silent for a moment. Then:
[The gaze of Ilúvatar has passed.]
[What I am is something you will discover in time.]
Smaug's heart hammered against his ribs. A living system? A rogue god? He didn't have time to dwell on it. The weight of the pressure had lifted, and Alice was cautiously peeking out from beneath a pile of coins.
Dawn broke over Dale.
Gollum scurried toward the city, a wicked grin on his face. He had his orders.
At the same time, thirteen Dwarves, looking as though they were heading to their own executions, marched out of their house and toward the Lord's Manor. They were not happy. They were not willing. But for the Arkenstone, and for the hope of finding a lost King, they would pick up the scythes of humans.
The harvest was about to begin.