Deep within the roots of the Mountain, atop a sea of gold.
Once the first piece of the shell fell away, the rest followed in quick succession. Within minutes, a tiny creature—pale-skinned and covered in a fine, silvery down—scrambled out of the remains of the egg and stood shivering before Smaug.
Caw! Caw!
The little Ice Dragon blinked its large eyes, observing the golden-red titan for a few seconds before opening its mouth to let out a series of raspy, high-pitched chirps. It sounded remarkably like a raven's call.
Smaug watched with genuine fascination. The little thing was exquisite, unique, and honestly quite adorable.
"Welcome to Middle-earth," Smaug rumbled softly, his voice a low vibration that didn't startle the hatchling. "Remember, your name is Alice."
Caw! Caw!
Alice chirped twice more. Smaug couldn't understand her, but he figured she wasn't much different from a human infant. She was new, she was loud, and she was almost certainly hungry.
"I need to get you some food," Smaug said, starting to rise. But he paused. The cavern was vast and full of treacherous drops for a creature so small. If she started wandering while he was gone and tumbled off a gold-pile, that would be the end of his "Dragon Father" career.
He settled back down and roared toward the ceiling. "Gollum! To me!"
Behind the Great Gate, Gollum heard the summons. He didn't hesitate; he scrambled down the stone stairs on all fours, arriving in the deep chamber in a blur of motion. He skidded to a halt on the gold, his eyes instantly locking onto the small, pale creature standing before Smaug.
"Gollum! Gollum!"
"Precious... what is it? A little drake?"
"Where did Smaug find another dragon, precious?!"
Gollum muttered to himself for a moment before cautiously creeping closer, his eyes wide with curiosity as he studied Alice.
Alice, driven by instinct, hissed and chirped fiercely at the strange, pale creature.
"Alice, be still," Smaug chuckled. "This is Gollum. He is our... friend."
Friend? Gollum blinked. He liked that word. A rare warmth flickered in his fractured mind. Alice seemed to sense the change in tone; she tilted her head, blinked at Gollum, and stopped chirping.
"Gollum, I have a mission for you," Smaug said. "Go to Dale immediately. Tell the humans to prepare a roasted sheep. No bones. Chop the meat into bite-sized pieces for a small child. Bring it here."
Smaug looked at Alice again. He was a Fire-drake; he thrived on the heat and the cold gold felt like a refreshing sheet. But Alice was an Ice Dragon. Sleeping on cold metal might not be the best thing for a newborn.
"And bring back a large quantity of soft blankets."
Gollum listened with rapt attention. He understood perfectly. "Master Smaug... these things is for the little one, yes?"
"Yes," Smaug replied. "Now move. And remember: if you speak a word of this to anyone, you will never see your 'Precious' again."
Gollum's entire body gave a violent jolt. "We swears it! We says nothing! Not a whisper, precious! We goes now!"
Gollum spun around and raced out of the mountain at a speed that would have shamed a thoroughbred horse. Smaug remained behind, watching over Alice with a watchful, golden eye.
The walk from the lake to the city gates usually took about two hours on foot. As Gandalf and the Company progressed, their amazement grew with every mile.
On either side of the road, vast vegetable patches had appeared. Humans were working the soil with an efficiency Gandalf hadn't seen in centuries. Beyond the fields, he could see large herds of cattle and sheep, and even paddocks for horses.
Thorin Oakenshield's face grew darker with every step.
In only six months, Smaug had transformed a wasteland into a thriving agricultural hub. It was—painfully—even more productive than the region had been under Dwarven rule. For a proud prince like Thorin, this was a bitter pill to swallow.
Gandalf, however, was focused on the technical details. "Lord Bard," he said, peering closely at a field of lush green leafy greens. "Where did you get these seeds? One would have to travel across half of Middle-earth to find such a variety."
Bard smiled, a genuine look of pride on his face. "Smaug provided them. I don't know where he got them, and I didn't ask."
"??????" Gandalf nearly tripped over his own robes. A fire-breathing dragon... distributing seeds? "What else has he given you?"
"Methods for irrigation and crop rotation," Bard replied. "His techniques are strange, but they work. Our yields have tripled."
"..." Gandalf's head was spinning. Absurd! Utterly absurd! A dragon acting as an agricultural consultant?
"Is there more?" Gandalf pressed.
"He taught our cooks how to prepare the new crops. He even provided recipes for spices," Bard said. "You'll see at lunch. The food in Dale is like nothing else in the world."
Gandalf was speechless. He looked toward the distant eastern slopes. "And the Elves?"
"Building a forest, as you can see," Bard pointed. "That is all for now."
Gandalf walked in a stunned silence. Crops. Cooking. Spices. Reforestation.
Facing this reality, he finally understood why Bard treated the "rightful" King Thorin with such cool indifference. Most common folk don't care about bloodlines or ancient hoards; they care about their children having enough to eat.
Smaug wasn't just ruling with fear; he was ruling with prosperity.
Thorin will never get his mountain back, Gandalf concluded, glancing at the Dwarf-prince's stiff back. Not because of the dragon's fire, but because the people of this land will never want to go back to the way things were.