Gandalf stood his ground, looking upward in silent expectation.
Keith, in his majestic eagle form, spiraled downward. Bilbo and the Dwarves pulled their mounts to a halt, eyes wide as they watched the great bird descend. With a powerful beat of his wings, Keith flared his talons and settled onto the branch of a gnarled, stunted tree, looking directly down at the Grey Wizard.
"Mithrandir," Keith spoke, his voice clear and resonant, carrying a weight of feigned courtesy.
The eagle talks! Bilbo thought, his heart jumping into his throat.
Thorin and the other Dwarves were less shocked; they had lived through the age of dragons and knew the world held many voices. Still, they watched with a mounting tension. Gandalf, while maintaining his outward composure, felt a prickle of doubt. To his knowledge, the great eagles of the Lady Galadriel did not typically engage in casual conversation with travelers. Furthermore, the "flavor" of this bird's spirit felt... ancient and strange.
"The Lady of Light has sent me to bring you warning," Keith continued, leaning into the lie. "The Fire-drake, Smaug, has established a sovereign kingdom within the Mountain. The situation in the East grows increasingly erratic."
"Even Thranduil, the Elven-king, has struck an accord with the beast. His people labor even now to rebuild the dragon's seat. Smaug is no longer merely sleeping; he is planning."
Keith glanced toward Thorin Oakenshield, whose expression was a masterpiece of unfolding catastrophe. Shock, followed by a searing, incandescent rage, washed over the Dwarf-prince's features.
Keith felt a surge of internal glee. Exactly as planned.
Thorin surged off his pony, charging toward Gandalf. "Gandalf! What is this madness? The beast is awake? He has built a kingdom in my halls?"
"You knew! You knew this all along!" Thorin's voice rose to a thundering accusation.
Gandalf felt the onset of a monumental headache. He had seen this reaction coming the moment the eagle opened its beak. "The Lady's warning is noted, and I shall heed it," the Wizard said to the bird first, before turning to the furious Dwarf. "Yes, Thorin. I knew."
The other twelve Dwarves practically fell off their ponies in their haste to join the fray. The air was suddenly thick with the sound of a dozen angry Dwarves shouting at once—their natural state in times of crisis.
"Gandalf, how can this be?"
"When did the worm wake?"
"How long have you kept this from us?"
"What becomes of the quest now? Who can steal the Arkenstone from a dragon that is wide awake!"
The cacophony was so grating Keith almost felt like breathing fire just to silence them.
"You betrayed us!" Thorin roared over his kin. "You knew the fire was lit, and yet you marched us toward it! You don't care for our home—you only care for your own hidden designs!"
"Liar!"
The accusation cut through the clearing. In a way, Thorin wasn't wrong. Gandalf's primary concern was the macro-scale peace of Middle-earth, not the specific real estate holdings of the Line of Durin.
"Peace, Thorin! Peace!" Gandalf raised his staff, his voice gaining a sharp, commanding edge. "I can explain. Yes, I knew he was awake, but that changes nothing. The prophecy remains. The birds return to Erebor regardless of the dragon's state. My goals and your restoration are not at odds. Think, man! Use your head!"
But Thorin Oakenshield was a man who still wore the ghost of a crown. His pride was a physical thing, a jagged armor that refused to let in the logic of a Wizard. In his mind, Gandalf should have been a selfless servant to his cause, just as he believed Thranduil should have died for a kingdom that had treated the Elves with nothing but scorn.
"We are not tools for your schemes!" Thorin spat, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "We do not need you!"
He turned on his heel, marching back to his pony. "We move! We shall reclaim Erebor by our own strength!"
"Thorin..." Balin, the eldest and wisest of the company, hesitated. "Perhaps we should—"
"We move!" Thorin cut him off with savage finality. "Anyone who lacks the stomach for it can crawl back to the Blue Mountains!"
He hauled himself into the saddle and kicked his pony into a gallop. Balin looked at Gandalf with a helpless shrug, then followed. One by one, the other eleven Dwarves fell into line, leaving only Bilbo and the Wizard behind.
Bilbo Baggins stood by his pony, looking from the retreating dust cloud of the Dwarves to the weary Wizard. He lingered for a few seconds, then sighed and walked over to Gandalf. Nearly all of Bilbo's courage for this trip was rooted in the belief that Gandalf was the most reliable person in existence.
"Gandalf..." Bilbo asked tentatively. "What do we do now?"
Gandalf took a long, slow pull from his pipe, offering Bilbo a faint, apologetic smile. "Oh, Bilbo. I am sorry you had to witness that. I hope it didn't frighten you too much."
"I'm terrified, actually," Bilbo admitted plainly. "So... what now?"
Gandalf watched the distant backs of the Dwarves. "Dwarves have courage in abundance, but they are stubborn... and at times, singularly foolish." He turned back to the Hobbit. "Tell me, Bilbo. Do you still have the heart to continue this journey?"
Truthfully, the moment Bilbo heard the dragon was awake, he wanted to be back in his armchair with a seed cake. He had been looking for an excuse to quit. But looking at Gandalf now...
"If you're going, then I'm going," Bilbo said, bracing himself.
"Hah!" Gandalf's smile turned genuine. He reached out and pat Bilbo's head. "Who says Hobbits are timid? That is nothing but a baseless rumor. Let us catch up then. Since we've started this business, we might as well see how it ends."