Bilbo said nothing. He had seen the desolation already—not the scorched earth outside the Mountain’s front gate, but the desolation inside Thorin’s heart. The dragon-sickness was already awake in the dwarf-king’s voice. It whispered in every order, every sharp glance.
“The Necromancer of Dol Guldur,” the dragon hissed. “He offered me a bargain: sleep until the key came. And you, little thief… you just turned the lock.” El Hobbit 2- La desolacion de Smaug
The mist over the Long Lake did not rise; it crawled, like the breath of a dying thing. Bilbo Baggins stood on the shore of Esgaroth, clutching the cold ring in his pocket. He had not put it on—not yet—but its weight had grown heavier since Mirkwood. Bilbo said nothing
“What do you mean?” he breathed.
Smaug’s great head lowered, and for a moment—just a moment—Bilbo saw not a monster, but a prisoner. It whispered in every order, every sharp glance
That night, they entered the hidden passage. The darkness was not empty. It had teeth. Bilbo felt them scraping against the walls of his mind as he crept alone down the tunnel, the ring now on his finger, the world turned to grey shadow.