On the high terrace of Rivendell, the air grew heavy, as if a physical weight had dropped upon the Council.
Keith's words hit like a thunderclap. Gandalf, Saruman, and Elrond stood frozen, their expressions shifting through shock, disbelief, and a mounting, cold dread. Galadriel remained still, though the light around her seemed to flicker with the intensity of her thoughts.
"Is this true?" Gandalf asked, his voice urgent. For centuries, the fear of the Dark Lord's return had been his shadow. "Sauron is active? He has truly begun his move?"
Keith, still in his squirrel form, nodded with a nonchalant flick of his tail. "It's not a beginning, Mithrandir. He's been moving for years. And for the record, I know the better part of his grand design. Don't bother asking how; just know that I do."
The four Council members exchanged looks of utter bewilderment.
"And what is this plan?" Gandalf pressed, leaning forward.
"Information of that caliber isn't handed out like travel-bread," Keith chuckled, taking another small sip of the Elven wine. "I may be a squirrel at the moment, but I'm not a fool."
Gandalf fell silent, his mind spinning.
Elrond, regaining his composure, spoke next. his voice was a calm, steady blade. "You say you are willing to help us against the Shadow. What exactly can a dragon offer in a war of subtle movements?"
"Lord Elrond, that's a remarkably dull question," Keith replied, his tone sharp. "Aside from my fire and my scales, look at me now. I can walk into the black heart of Mordor itself, and not a single Orc would look twice at a raven or a rat. I am the ultimate spy."
Elrond remained silent, weighing the truth of it.
"And why should we believe a word of this?" Saruman broke in, his voice dripping with condescension. "Why would the Fire-drake of the North turn against the Dark Lord? You are both children of Morgoth's legacy. You are of the same flock. Why would you betray your own kind?"
Keith looked at the White Wizard, almost losing his battle against a sudden urge to laugh. Betrayal? You're one to talk, you old vulture. The irony of the future-traitor Saruman accusing him of "turning" was almost too much to bear.
"I don't like his style," Keith replied flippantly. "Dominion through raw violence is a bore; it never lasts. Sauron doesn't understand the nuance of ruling. As for Morgoth—that fossil has been gone for an Age. I owe him nothing."
"I do not trust you," Saruman snapped, his beard quivering with indignation.
"I didn't ask you to," Keith shot back. "I'm not here to be your friend, Saruman. I'm here to do business."
Saruman bristled, speechless. Keith turned his focus back to the Lady of Light. "Well, Queen? What say you to my proposal?"
Galadriel, who had been watching the exchange in a profound silence, finally spoke. "What is it that you truly seek in return, Sovereign Smaug?"
Keith offered a tiny, squirrel-sized grin. "That is for me to know, and for you to eventually find out."
Galadriel's brow furrowed, but she said nothing more.
"Right," Keith said, standing up on his hind legs. "It's clear you lot need to have a very long, very serious chat. I'll leave you to it." He drained the last of the wine from the chalice and scurried down the railing, vanishing into the gardens.
Once the dragon-soul had departed, Saruman was the first to explode. "Lady! You cannot possibly entertain this! It is a ruse! He has likely already sworn his fire to the Shadow!"
Galadriel said nothing. Elrond, after a long hesitation, nodded toward Saruman. "There is logic in his caution, Lady. A dragon acting out of the goodness of his heart? It defies everything we know of their kind."
Still, Galadriel remained silent. Instead, she reached out with her mind to Gandalf.
Mithrandir... what say you? Has the beast truly changed?
Gandalf took a slow pull from his pipe, his thoughts echoing back to her. In the days I have traveled with him—unbeknownst as he was—he had a dozen chances to incinerate us all. He saved us from the Trolls. He herded us toward your borders. It doesn't prove he is 'good,' but it proves he is no longer the mindless engine of destruction he once was.
We must try, Galadriel, Gandalf added. If we spurn him and he turns back to Sauron, the North falls. We cannot hold Erebor against him, and we certainly cannot hold the Gap of Rohan if the Orcs can march freely from the East. The consequences are unthinkable.
This was the pivot. The geography of the war rested on the dragon's loyalty. If Smaug stood with them, the North was a fortress. If he stood against them, the War of the Ring was lost before the first battle.
Galadriel finally spoke aloud. "The cost of driving him into Sauron's arms is a price we cannot pay."
The decree was final. "Gandalf, you have spent the most time in his presence. You shall be our liaison. Seek him out. I shall remain in Rivendell for several more days to oversee these negotiations."
"It shall be done," Gandalf agreed.
Saruman fumed, his face a mask of cold fury, but he knew better than to challenge Galadriel openly.
Gandalf remained on the terrace alone, leaning against the cold stone as he watched the Dwarves in the courtyard below. The smoke from his pipe drifted into the night air.
The quest... what remained of it?
If Keith was an ally, what was the point of the expedition? How could Thorin steal the Arkenstone from a dragon who was currently a guest of the White Council? Even if they succeeded, how would they "reclaim" a mountain that the dragon was already ruling as a sovereign?
Do we simply ask him to leave? Gandalf thought with a dry, bitter laugh.
He considered the possibility of calling the whole thing off. The primary goal—preventing an alliance between Smaug and Sauron—was being handled through diplomacy. The "Restoration of the Dwarves" had always been a secondary aim. Ending the quest now would save lives.
But the guilt weighed on him. He had given Thorin hope. He had dragged a Hobbit across the wild. To destroy that hope now would be a crushing blow.
He sat for hours, lost in thought. Finally, a plan began to take shape—a middle path that might satisfy the dragon's ambition and the Dwarf's pride.
He stood up, intending to find Keith. He turned toward the stone table and stopped.
Keith—still in his squirrel form—was sitting right there on the table, watching him.