Chapter 29 — Thank Smaug for It
Mirkwood
Prince Legolas had seen too little of the world. He could not yet fully grasp the depth of Thranduil's concern, and instinctively felt his father's words were somewhat exaggerated.
"Father… surely it won't come to that," Legolas said.
"Even if Smaug can change forms, he is still only one dragon. Dark Lord Sauron commands entire Orc legions."
Thranduil shook his head.
"Your view must stretch farther."
"So long as he cannot reclaim the One Ring, Sauron remains nothing more than a disembodied spirit. And the Orcs and Wargs beneath him—creatures of extremely limited intellect—know only slaughter."
"Last time, relying on Orc armies alone, Sauron failed."
"If he tries again the same way, the outcome will not differ much."
"But Smaug is different."
"I do not know why such a drastic change has occurred… but he has gained something far more dangerous."
"He has gained a mind."
"You must understand—intelligence outweighs brute force."
Thranduil had lived for thousands of years and witnessed the rise and fall of countless powers. Though he had secluded himself in Mirkwood for centuries, it did not mean he had grown dull or naïve.
Legolas understood the words themselves—but to truly comprehend their weight was another matter entirely.
Thranduil knew this.
And so, for the first time, father and son began a conversation not about war or duty—but about life itself.
As they spoke, the bond between them grew visibly warmer, more real.
Legolas found himself enjoying the moment, and an oddly humorous thought crossed his mind:
If anything, this change… might actually be thanks to Smaug.
---
Time passed.
By evening, the people of Dale had finally finished preparing food for Smaug.
Deep beneath the Lonely Mountain, Smaug caught the scent of roasted lamb. He rose at once and went to eat.
Once he was full—
"Bard," Smaug said, heading straight for the governor's residence.
Bard stood before him, as tense and rigid as ever, yet unyielding.
Smaug found the sight amusing and deliberately teased him.
"Governor Bard—have things been well lately?"
"All is well," Bard replied stiffly.
"And your children? Are they settling in comfortably?" Smaug pressed on.
As expected, Bard's nerves tightened instantly. His gaze sharpened, danger flashing in his eyes.
"They are fine," he said coldly.
"They require no concern from you."
"Ha!" Smaug laughed. "Relax. I'm merely asking—no ill intent."
To Bard, Smaug's mention of his children sounded unmistakably like a threat.
"What do you want?" Bard cut in, unwilling to continue.
"Something small," Smaug replied, finally easing off.
He placed two books on the ground.
"Your cooking is… frankly, inadequate."
"These are manuals on advanced cooking and spice crafting."
"Study them. Learn to make better food."
"Otherwise, you're wasting perfectly good ingredients."
Bard stared at the books.
His mind went blank.
His head buzzed.
For a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming.
What had happened?
What had this dragon gone through—to become like this?
First farming manuals. Seeds.
Now cooking techniques. Spice production.
Was Smaug the Terrible truly meant to be like this?
Wasn't he supposed to be a creature of endless slaughter—fire and ruin incarnate?
Seeing Bard frozen in place, Smaug continued calmly.
"That's the first matter."
"The second is this: I'd like you to find scribes to copy these two books—along with the farming manual I gave you earlier—one hundred copies each. Once finished, keep them in your custody."
Bard snapped back to himself, lifted his head, and stared at Smaug blankly.
"…????"
He wanted to say something—anything—but genuinely had no idea what words could possibly be appropriate.
Smaug went on.
"The third matter is that sometime soon—perhaps tomorrow, perhaps the day after—I have a friend named Beorn who will be moving here."
"Have you heard of him?"
This time, Bard actually had an answer—though it only added to his shock.
"You mean Beorn the skin-changer… from beyond Mirkwood?" Bard blurted out.
"Good. That makes things easier," Smaug replied.
"He's rather solitary and likely won't want to live inside the city. When he arrives, receive him properly. Find him a suitable plot of land nearby and meet his requirements."
Bard's eyes widened. Panic crept in.
"I've heard Beorn often turns into a massive black bear!"
"When he's in that form, he's completely impossible to communicate with! If he lives nearby, how are we supposed to guarantee the safety of the citizens?"
"Heh," Smaug chuckled.
"Just place him a little farther away. As long as you don't provoke him while he's a bear, nothing will happen."
"And really, Governor Bard—there's no need to be so nervous over a bear."
"I live even closer to you, don't I?"
Bard: "..."
No argument there.
A fire-breathing dragon capable of incinerating people in an instant was, by any reasonable standard, far more terrifying than a black bear.
"I'm right, aren't I?" Smaug said with a grin.
"Oh—almost forgot. Over the coming period, more of my friends may move here as well. Stone-giants, goblins, and the like."
"Governor Bard, I suggest you do some advance planning when you have time, so my friends can live here comfortably."
Bard: "?????"
At that moment, Bard wore the exact same expression Thranduil had worn earlier.
"Well then, keep up the good work. I'll be off," Smaug said cheerfully, before turning and taking to the sky.
Bard: "?????"
Skin-changers.
Stone-giants.
Goblins.
Bard involuntarily imagined all manner of strange and terrifying creatures living together on this land.
The more he thought about it—
The more uncontrollably he began to shiver.
This was a nightmare.
---
The Next Day
Under the rising sun, Beorn the Skin-changer finished packing swiftly. Driving more than a dozen horses ahead of him, he set out on his journey.
At the entrance to Mirkwood, a squad of Elves waited.
Seeing them, Beorn couldn't help but curl his lips into a faint smile.
The once-arrogant Elves… coming to escort him—because of Smaug.
The world truly had gone mad.
Time passed.
Guided by the Elven escort, Beorn crossed Mirkwood without incident and reached the lakeshore.
Five large boats were already waiting.
Beorn led his horses aboard, and the vessels set sail toward the Lonely Mountain.
Before he realized it—
After countless years—
Beorn once again set foot upon his homeland.
He looked down at the ground beneath his feet, momentarily lost in thought, unable to describe the feeling in his heart.
But whatever it was—
It felt right.
At that moment, Beorn had no idea that by coming here at all, he had already stepped straight into Smaug's trap.