In LOTR with Harry Potter system

"Sylas, you and Smaug stay here for now," Gandalf said. "Let me speak to Thorin alone."

He knew how quickly things could escalate, and he did not wish for conflict between Sylas and the Dwarves.

The truth was, even before the contract with the dragon, Sylas had become someone the Dwarves could scarcely contend with. But now? With Smaug under his command, even the proudest of the House of Durin would struggle to stand against him. And Erebor held only thirteen Dwarves.

Sylas gave a nonchalant shrug. "Do as you like. But I suspect you'll be disappointed. Thorin's dragon-sickness should have fully taken hold by now. If he's lost to madness, reason won't reach him."

Gandalf sighed deeply. "It's always worth a try."

With that, he stepped down from Smaug's back and strode toward the mountain gate, now sealed by great slabs of stone. He raised his staff, voice booming like thunder.

"Thorin Oakenshield! Come out and speak with me!"

The stones echoed his words, but no reply came.

He narrowed his eyes, tone sharpening.

"Thorin Oakenshield!"

Still, silence.

A flicker of frustration crossed the wizard's face. He gripped his staff and was just about to bring it down upon the gate when a smaller voice called out.

"Gandalf! Up here!"

He looked up to see a small figure leaning out from a narrow window between the stones, Bilbo Baggins, waving furiously.

"Bilbo!" Gandalf exclaimed. "Why are you out here? Where's Thorin?"

Bilbo scrambled down a bit, clearly flustered. "It's Thorin! He's… well, he's gone completely mad. After you left with the dragon, he ordered Bofur and the others to seal the gate with explosives. He's been raving about the Arkenstone nonstop, forcing the others to scour the treasury for it!"

The hobbit paused, eyes suddenly locking on something behind Gandalf.

His face drained of color.

"Wait a moment… is that...?"

Gandalf turned slightly, following Bilbo's gaze to the massive, coiled form of Smaug.

Bilbo's jaw dropped. "What in the name of the Shire is the dragon doing here?!"

Gandalf gave a faint smile. "Subdued. He now follows Sylas's command."

"What?!" Bilbo's voice cracked as he rubbed his eyes, utterly dumbfounded. "That dragon tried to eat me two nights ago!"

"I'm aware," Gandalf said dryly. "Things have changed."

Still gaping, Bilbo nodded slowly. "Right. I… I'll go fetch Thorin."

He vanished back through the slit in the stone, muttering something about tea and needing to lie down.

Minutes ticked by.

Gandalf waited, growing more tense with each passing moment. Just as he began to raise his staff again, there was a sound from the top of the battlements.

Heavy boots echoed behind the stone.

And then, at last, Thorin Oakenshield stepped forward.

Before Thorin could launch into another tirade, his eyes caught sight of the enormous dragon looming behind Gandalf. His pupils shrank. His breath hitched. Instinctively, he stepped back, one hand gripping the stone ledge.

"Gandalf!" Thorin barked, voice laced with suspicion and mounting dread. "What is the meaning of this? Why has the dragon returned with you? Have you allied yourself with it? Do you intend to steal my treasure?"

His tone dripped with paranoia and possessiveness, the madness in his eyes unmistakable.

Gandalf exhaled heavily and muttered under his breath, "By the Valar, he is lost."

"Thorin, son of Thráin," the wizard called up, louder now, "You have reclaimed Erebor, and that is cause for celebration. But why, then, does the King Under the Mountain wall himself off like a bandit in hiding?"

Thorin's eyes darted between Gandalf, Sylas in the distance, and the immense dragon resting behind them. His gaze was sharp, narrowed with mistrust.

"I've become a bandit? I have bandits at my door, Gandalf! One rides a dragon; the other seeks to weasel his way into the mountain's gold!"

"And I am not yet King Under the Mountain. Not until the Arkenstone is found! Until then, the gates stay sealed."

Gandalf clenched his jaw, staff trembling in his grip. "No one here covets your gold, Thorin!" he snapped. "What matters now isn't hoarding treasure in stone halls, but forging alliances. The threat of war brews in the north. Orcs march. Bolg is not idle!"

But Thorin's expression remained unmoved. "The only threat I see," he said icily, "is the one you brought with you."

"Thorin Oakenshield, listen to reason!" Gandalf shouted, his voice echoing across the mountainside. "Smaug has been subdued. He follows Sylas now, yes, Sylas, the very wizard who risked his life to help you! The dragon is no longer your enemy!"

Thorin's gaze flickered, uncertainty battling pride, but then the sickness reclaimed him. His expression hardened once more.

"You are not welcome here, Gandalf," he said. "Leave."

Gandalf's shoulders slumped. His beard quivered with restrained fury and disappointment.

Then another voice rang out, colder and calmer.

"What about me, Thorin Oakenshield?"

Sylas flew up beside the battlements on his broom, hovering level with the Dwarven king. His robe billowed in the wind, his wand in one hand. Behind him, Smaug shifted, letting out a low, ominous growl that shook the stone.

"You made a promise," Sylas said. "Once Erebor was reclaimed, one-tenth of its treasure would be mine."

"I've kept my end of the bargain," he continued. "I neutralized Smaug, helped clear the way. You sit atop the mountain because of me. So I ask again, when will you fulfill your debt?"

Thorin recoiled at Sylas's nearness, and even more so at the sight of the dragon's glinting eyes behind him. His fingers gripped the stone tighter. Smaug let out a deep, threatening rumble that made a few loose rocks tumble from the wall.

Fear, more than reason, flickered across Thorin's face.

He looked back at Sylas, sweat beading his brow. His voice was tight, strangled between pride and fear. "When… when the Arkenstone is found, I shall give you your share."

Sylas raised an eyebrow. "And if it's not found? Or if someone decides to hide it? Does that mean I receive nothing?"

Thorin's face contorted. "That's not what I meant! But you agreed to help reclaim Erebor. The Arkenstone is Erebor. If you want your share, help me find it."

A faint chuckle escaped Sylas. "I think not."

He raised one hand, and with a flick of his fingers, a glowing contract unfurled in midair.

"According to this agreement," Sylas said coolly, "I was to assist in reclaiming the mountain. Which I have. Nowhere does it state that I must find the Arkenstone for you. That, Thorin, was never part of our deal."

"Besides," Sylas added with a faint smirk, "Smaug blasted the treasury with dragon fire more than once. For all we know, the Arkenstone might've been reduced to ash."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice colder now. "I've fulfilled my part of the contract. Now it's your turn, Thorin. Fulfill your promise."

Thorin's face darkened further, his jaw clenched tight as though every word cost him blood.

"Give me a month," he finally gritted out. "In one month's time, I will have your share prepared. Not a single coin less. You'll get what you're owed."

Sylas narrowed his eyes, searching Thorin's face for deceit. "I hope, for your sake, that you keep your word."

Then he turned, gliding his broom downward toward Bilbo, who stood not far from the gate.

"Bilbo," Sylas called, his voice now gentler, "Do you want to leave with Gandalf and me?"

Bilbo glanced over his shoulder at Thorin, who was still standing stiff and grim on the battlements, then looked back at Sylas, whose calm presence gave him some reassurance. After a moment's pause, he nodded.

Sylas descended a little further, holding out a hand to help him aboard.

But just as Bilbo was about to take it;

"Don't you dare leave!" Thorin's voice thundered from the wall.

Sylas stopped mid-reach. He turned back slowly, eyes narrowed, expression ice-cold.

"Do you have an objection?"

Bilbo, startled, looked between the two.

Thorin's gaze was sharp, almost wild. "You can leave," he said, his voice clipped and accusing, "but not until you prove that you haven't stolen anything from Erebor!"

The air grew heavy. A dense magical pressure radiated from Sylas like a crushing tide, rolling across the broken courtyard and up the battlements.

"Thorin Oakenshield," he said quietly, but with deadly clarity, "am I being too kind to you? How dare you question my friend's honor?"

Thorin staggered back, gasping as the very air turned solid around him, like invisible chains tightening on his chest. His fingers twitched toward his sword, but he didn't draw it. He couldn't even move.

And yet, through gritted teeth, he forced the words out. "If he has nothing to hide… then why fear a search? Is the Arkenstone hidden in that hobbit's pouch?"

Sylas raised his wand, fury dancing at the tip of it, ready to teach the mad dwarf a lasting lesson.

But Bilbo stepped forward, gently placing a hand on Sylas's wand and shaking his head.

"It's alright," Bilbo said, his voice steady and calm. "If Thorin suspects me, then let him check. I've nothing to hide."

Sylas stared at him for a moment, then lowered his wand with a visible sigh. He gave Thorin one last glare before releasing the pressure in the air.

The King Under the Mountain collapsed against the stone wall, wheezing as air rushed back into his lungs. But in his eyes, behind the madness, was something else now.

Fear.

Bilbo, undisturbed, began turning out his pockets one by one, emptying bits of food wrappers, crumbs, buttons, and old handkerchiefs.

Then he paused.

"Wait, and that money pouch. I know it's enchanted and can hold a lot of things."

Bilbo stood motionless, his expression blank with disappointment. Without a word, he untied the small enchanted pouch at his waist and upended it.

A cascade of gold and silver spilled onto the ground with a clatter, coins, goblets, amulets, and rings, all glittering in the pale mountain light. In moments, a small mound of treasure had formed.

These were not Erebor's riches but spoils they had claimed from the Goblin caves earlier in their journey.

Thorin's eyes immediately fixed on the pile, and though madness still swirled in them, something like yearning and greed shimmered underneath. His fingers twitched.

But then he caught sight of Sylas and Smaug watching him closely.

The young wizard's arms were folded, and a thin smile played on his lips, not friendly, but sharp and knowing. The dragon behind him, coiled like a great serpent, loomed silently, its golden eyes fixed on Thorin with a predator's patience.

"Go ahead," Sylas said, gesturing to the pile with a lazy flick of his hand. "Search every coin and clasp. See if any of it belongs to Erebor."

Thorin said nothing. He knelt, grudgingly, and sifted through the trove. His hands moved slowly, searching for something, anything, to justify his accusation.

But there was no Arkenstone.

Of course there wasn't.

And under Sylas's gaze, and the looming presence of Smaug, Thorin's mad greed faltered. Begrudgingly, he began to return the items, one by one, into the pouch. His movements were stiff, mechanical, as if each coin burned his fingers.

When he handed the pouch back to Bilbo, he could not meet his eyes.

Sylas turned away without another glance and guided his broom downward. Bilbo followed, clutching the pouch tightly.

Together, they descended from the wall and rejoined Gandalf outside the ruined gate.

"Welcome back, Bilbo," Gandalf greeted warmly, though his smile was tinged with sorrow. He had watched everything unfold from below and now carried a deep disappointment in his heart.

The Thorin he had once believed in, the bold, noble heir of Durin's line, was gone. Replaced by a king gripped by sickness, obsessed with wealth, and blind to those who had stood by him.

Perhaps, Gandalf thought with a pang, this was partly his fault. Had he not been the one to spark this entire quest? Had he not urged them to reclaim Erebor?

But Sylas, walking beside him, gave no sign of blame. If he had known Gandalf's thoughts, he would have dismissed them with a shake of his head.

This had always been Thorin's path. With or without Gandalf, he would have marched to Erebor. Without the wizard's guidance, he might have perished on the road like his father Thráin, or died screaming in dragon fire without allies or plan.

Now, at least, the kingdom was reclaimed, even if the king was lost.

The three turned from the mountain and began the journey southward, toward Dale.

Bilbo, riding Smaug's broad back for the first time, couldn't hide his excitement. The wind rushed through his curls, and for a time, all thoughts of Erebor and Thorin faded.

"This is… marvelous!" he shouted into the air, grinning from ear to ear.

Then, as they soared over the glimmering river, a thought struck him.

"Oh! Sylas, I forgot to mention, back in the treasury, I searched everywhere for that Mandrake you lent me, but I couldn't find it. Do you think it got burned by the dragon fire?"

Sylas chuckled and shook his head. "No need to worry. I summoned it back days ago with an Accio spell. Just forgot to tell you."

Bilbo's shoulders relaxed with relief. "Ah, thank goodness. I thought I'd lost it forever."

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