On the high terrace of Rivendell, the atmosphere was thick with ancient dignity.
Gandalf, possessing a deep personal bond with the Lady of Light, was the first to speak. "Lady Galadriel," he said with a warm, respectful smile.
Galadriel offered a soft, ethereal smile in return. "Mithrandir. It has been too long."
After a few brief exchanges of courtesy, the council moved to the heart of the matter. Saruman the White did not bother with pleasantries, his voice sharp with thinly veiled irritation. "Gandalf, you are always stirring the waters. Middle-earth has known peace for four hundred years. Why must you pursue this 'reclamation' now?"
Gandalf, long accustomed to being the target of Saruman's scrutiny, gave a weary chuckle. "I simply do what I believe is necessary. And events have already proven me right, have they not?"
"Smaug has awakened. He has declared a kingdom. Do you truly believe he will remain content within the walls of Erebor? Or is it possible his shadow will stretch across our borders?"
A debate ensued. Gandalf, Saruman, and Elrond traded arguments—not a shouting match, but a tactical clash of philosophies.
Galadriel listened in silence for a long while, her presence radiating a quiet authority. "The changes in Smaug must be treated with the utmost gravity," she finally spoke. "If the dragon still slept, this quest might indeed have been a dangerous folly. But now... none of us can claim to see the path ahead."
Her words were a clear, if subtle, endorsement of Gandalf. The Grey Wizard offered her a look of profound gratitude, while Saruman's lip curled in a silent, frustrated scowl.
Seeking to move past the debate, Gandalf shifted the topic. "The matter of Dol Guldur..."
The council agreed that the mysterious Necromancer required close observation and that the origin of the Morgul-blade must be uncovered.
"Which leaves but one final mystery," Gandalf added. "The Raven—or rather, the Squirrel. It possesses a shapeshifting sorcery the likes of which I have never seen. We must find it and uncover its true nature."
At this, Galadriel offered a faint, knowing smile. "There is no need to search, Mithrandir. Our guest is already among us."
She turned her gaze toward a nearby stone railing where a fat, grey squirrel was perched. Her voice was calm and steady. "Will you join us?"
"I should have known," Keith's voice rang out, clear and resonant despite his tiny frame. "I thought I was hiding quite well, but nothing escapes the Lady of Light."
He scurried onto the terrace and settled atop the stone balustrade, looking down at the four powers of Middle-earth.
Galadriel did not respond immediately. She stared at the squirrel with an unblinking intensity. For a few seconds, her expression remained calm—and then, it broke.
A look of genuine, profound shock washed over her exaggeratedly beautiful face.
Gandalf, Saruman, and Elrond—all now on their feet—saw the shift. Their own hearts hammered. To see Galadriel surprised was a rare and terrifying thing. Instinctively, their gazes followed hers, locking onto the small rodent.
Galadriel regained her composure, though her voice carried a new, wary weight. "It is an honor to meet you, though I did not expect it to be in such a... diminutive form."
Keith let out a chattering chuckle. "I doubt I'd have received an invitation in any other form, exalted Lady."
Galadriel's words confirmed she had seen the truth. Saruman, unable to bear the mystery any longer, barked, "Lady! What is this creature?"
Galadriel glanced at Saruman, then back at the squirrel. "He is our guest. Shall he speak for himself, or shall I announce him?"
"Be my guest," Keith chirped, sounding entirely unbothered.
"Behold," Galadriel said softly, "The Exalted Smaug."
The reaction was instantaneous.
Gandalf, Saruman, and Elrond recoiled several paces. Saruman's reaction was the most violent; he raised his staff, the air humming with the sudden gathering of white-hot power.
"Saruman, stay your hand!" Galadriel commanded.
Her wisdom was clear: the Smaug of old was a calamity, but a Smaug who could wear a hundred skins and move through the world unseen was a living nightmare. If they struck now and failed to kill him here in the heart of Rivendell, no corner of the world would ever be safe again.
Saruman hesitated, his jaw tight, but he slowly lowered his staff. The air remained thick with tension.
Gandalf stood as if turned to stone, his mind a buzzing hive of confusion. Smaug? It was Smaug who had followed them? It was Smaug who had shaved Thorin's head? It was Smaug who had saved them from the Trolls?
The logic of the world was collapsing around him.
Galadriel ignored the men and addressed Keith directly. "Tell us, King of the Mountain. Why have you come to our halls? Why do you wait for us here?"
"Lord Elrond, could I perhaps get a cup of that Elven vintage?" Keith asked, turning to the master of the house. "I'm quite parched from the flight."
Elrond blinked, then nodded slowly. He stepped away and returned shortly with a silver flagon and a small chalice. As he poured the wine, he looked at the squirrel with a weary, incredulous sigh. "I must admit... of all the possibilities I imagined, this was not among them."
Keith took a few polite sips, letting out a satisfied huff. "Fine craftsmanship. Truly."
He looked at the four expectant faces. "Very well. To business."
"Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond. I have come with a singular purpose: I wish to dissolve your 'stereotypes' and ease the hostility you hold toward me. From where I sit, we have no reason to be enemies."
"Oh?" Galadriel tilted her head. "And how do you propose to achieve such a thing?"
"If you are willing to set aside your blades and treat me as a neighbor—perhaps even a friend—I am prepared to offer you my strength against the Dark Lord, Sauron."
Keith turned his gaze toward Gandalf. "Mithrandir, you organized this little parade of Dwarves for that very reason, didn't you? To secure the North against the Shadow. Well, I am cutting out the middleman. I am offering you exactly what you want."
Gandalf blinked, finally finding his voice. His eyes were a storm of suspicion. "And why should we trust the word of a Fire-drake?"
Keith grinned. "Because not long ago, Sauron's shadow came to my mountain. He offered me the world if I would stand by his side."
"And I told him to go to hell."