Author's Note: While I love LOTR and the Hobbit fandom, I never figured I would write in either canon. They're just too amazing to tarnish with my writing and lack of knowledge. Even so, the first time I saw the final Hobbit movie I couldn't help wishing I could find a specific type of story. Ages passed and I never found it. Then I randomly watched the movie again on TV and realized, I still really want to see this! So, since I obviously wasn't going to get anyone else writing it, I eventually accepted that I would have to dip my feet into this fandom and write it myself. Hopefully it turned out alright. A special thanks to BlackRoseRaven109 for beta-ing this for me and giving me the confidence that it's at least not horrific!

When Five Becomes Three

There shouldn't have been a battle. While Bard had been well aware that Thorin might not give in without a fight, even with the Arkenstone in their possession, he had been expecting a siege at worst. After all, what type of war could thirteen dwarves bring to a combined army? Once the others had shown up, a battle had become a much more likely possibility. But not on the streets of Dale. Never there! Dale was supposed to be safe! For that was where his children were, unprotected and unprepared for what had struck the ruins of the city.

It was the only thing that kept racing through his head as he battled his way through the streets. He had to find his children. There hadn't been any sign of them so far, which he tried to view as heartening given how many orcs he had slain on the way to his current location. If he hadn't found them yet there was a chance they were in a safer part of the city. Bard prayed to the gods that they were, but he couldn't count on it. Until he had them back in his arms he wouldn't have any peace.

"Bain! Sigrid!"

His yelling only drew the attention of orcs. He had to dodge a slash to his head and stab the orc through the chest before calling out again.

"Tilda!"

Bard continued down the blood-splattered streets of Dale, calling out for his children and killing any orc in his way. Each one dead was one less who could harm his little ones. With every street he traveled with no sign of Sigrid, Bain, or Tilda, his panic grew. They had to be here somewhere. Alive. He absolutely refused to consider the other possibilities.

The sound of pounding feet off to his right drew his attention. A large group was heading his way, though friend or foe Bard had no idea. He ducked back into the shadows, waiting to see what he was up against. If he was going to be facing an overwhelming number of orcs then he was better off escaping and living to fight another battle than confronting them alone. Besides, he had his children to think about. He was all they had. They were all he had as well, and they were still missing. He sent up a silent prayer for their safety before pushing thoughts of them aside to focus on the incoming group. He had just tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, prepared for the fight, when the shadows across the way revealed his own men and not orcs. After breathing a sigh of relief he hurried out to join them. For a moment the men braced themselves, thinking him an orc, before they relaxed.

"Lord Bard!"

"Dragonslayer!"

Cutting off their questions, Bard asked the one question he was desperate for an answer to.

"Has anyone seen my children?"

A pall descended on the group as they all shook their heads in a negative. Receiving that answer was like being stabbed in the chest. Bard had to close his eyes and take a very brief moment before he could box up his despair and look forward. They were in the middle of a battle. He couldn't afford to fall apart.

"Follow me, men!"

He turned and headed off down the street, the small contingent of men following behind him. There was still work to be done and orcs that needed to be destroyed, but that didn't mean he couldn't continue looking for his children as well.

There seemed to be no end to the orcs, for every turn they made brought them more. The group of men dispatched those that they met and moved on. All the while Bard continued to call out for his children, but it was to no avail. As the hours went by Bard began to hate any lull in the fighting, and they were coming more and more often. Each break allowed the desperation and pain deep in his heart to surge to the surface and nearly overwhelm him. The battle was clearly dying down, yet he was no closer to finding his children than he had been when he'd first reached Dale at the start.

"Tilda! Bain, Sigrid! Tilda!"

Hands shaking, Bard turned a slow circle, hoping to spot one of his loved ones or at the very least get some kind of answer. The answer he did receive was not one he was hoping for.

"Are you looking for your children, My Lord?" a woman asked as she paused in her flight. "Last I saw them they were in the market, but that was being overrun quite some time ago. I do hope they got out."

She didn't wait for a response from Bard before she hurried off. Not that it would have mattered. Bard's face had gone deathly pale, and for a long time he couldn't put together any fully cohesive thoughts.

The marketplace was overrun. His children had been there. The marketplace was overrun. His children…

Bard's body was moving before his brain truly registered the situation. He found himself halfway to the market by the time his head caught up to the rest of him. Thank the gods there hadn't been any lingering orcs nearby for he would have been easy prey. Realizing that, and recognizing the fact that he would be no use to his children dead or maimed, he pushed his concern for them out of the way – at least as far as it would go – and focused on his surroundings. The corpses of dead orcs, men, and even elves littered the streets. Every few feet he would find at least one. At first he tried to sidestep the puddles and streaks of blood, but he quickly discovered it was a useless endeavor. There was simply too much of it. Besides, his boots and most of his clothing were already covered, and it would be much faster to take a straight course.

Bard flinched when he spotted a group of men sprawled across the road. He didn't need to look closely to determine they were dead. Their wounds were gruesome and obvious even from a distance. The sight of one with its face nearly torn off forced Bard to look away. This battle was going to take a severe toll on the people of Laketown. Before, they'd only been holding on by a thread. Now they would need a leader more than ever.

He was that leader.

Bard knew that, yet it didn't honestly matter to him in the slightest. He'd done everything that he had for the sake of his children. In a position of authority he could provide for them better than he could otherwise. They were the reason he'd taken on the role of mayor. Without them, there was no point. Nothing came before his children. Not even all of the townsfolk. They were going to have to manage on their own until Bard could assure himself that all three of his little ones were safe and secure.

He carefully picked his way around the fallen men and continued onward. The closer he got to his destination, the harder it became to breathe. Complete panic was closing in around him. With each street he took he found more dead orcs littered about. The number of other dead were increasing too. He thought he'd faced a considerable number during his own battles in the streets of Dale, but that was nothing compared to this. The death toll was already greater than what he'd seen, and it only seemed to be growing larger the closer he drew to the marketplace. If this continued… He couldn't even finish the thought as dread filled him.

Desperation was no longer a strong enough word to describe the emotion running rampant through his mind. It took every ounce of reason he possessed to remain at a cautious walk so he could maintain awareness of his surroundings. He managed, however. At least he did until he reached the final street before the turn into the market. Bard couldn't help himself at that point. Self-preservation completely forgotten, he raced ahead. He skidded around a pile of fallen stones on the side of the entryway and then slammed to a stop as his next step didn't result in the thud of boot meeting stone but a splash. Startled, Bard looked down. Immediately he was trying to force down bile. The cobblestones were completed painted with a thick mix of red and black blood like a grisly piece of artwork. The only areas not outwardly covered in blood were those covered by bodies, of which there were quite a few, though Bard knew they were merely concealing the blood that lay beneath. He shuddered and pressed onward, thinking of his children instead of the scene of horror and death around him.

His children! They had been in the middle of all of this. It was the worst scene of carnage Bard had seen in all of Dale, and his children had been here. Here! How could they have survived? Very few had. So far he'd seen no sign of movement. He'd seen no sign of his children either.

Clinging desperately to that thought as terror clamped an iron fist around his throat, he started searching. That giant fist had already squeezed his heart into near silence. It wouldn't beat again until he found his loved ones. Alive. If they weren't, it would never pick up its rhythm again.

Bard picked through the remains, searching every nook and cranny and moving any bodies that looked like they could be covering another, smaller, one. As he searched he continued calling out in what was quickly becoming an automatic rhythm. He could already feel a rough feeling settling into his throat and his voice starting to go, but if that was the price he had to pay to find his children then he would gladly pay it.

"Sigrid! Bain! Tilda!"

None of his calls received a reply. It was something he ignored in favor of the fact that none of his searching had turned up any physical trace either. That left him to hope that his children had escaped and were still alive, or better yet, that they had never been here in the first place. Some part of him warned that it was likely nothing more than a desperate hope, but it was a hope he had to hold on to. For the sake of his own sanity there was no other way.

As he picked his way through the bodies in the market, Bard noticed something unusual. Most of the bodies were scattered individually or in small groups of two or three. Off in the corner of the market, however, was a mass of dead. The area closest to the corner could easily be described as a pile. The sight made his blood run cold, and a sick feeling settled into his stomach. Without hesitation, he rushed toward the grouping, tripping over a few bodies in his haste. When he drew closer Bard realized that the outermost dead were all orcs, though there weren't very many of them. As his gaze traveled inward and toward the corner, he found only the bodies of villagers. A few nearest the orcs had weapons nearby. The rest had been defenseless, the majority women and children. What had happened became all too clear. When the enemy had poured into the courtyard, it had caught many off guard. Either fleeing in a blind panic or cut off from any escape, the villagers had fled to the corner of the courtyard. With their backs against the walls they could try to mount a defense on only one front, but it had been a futile effort. They had been too outnumbered. Once their few defenders had fallen, the rest had nowhere to run and had been cut down where they stood. Body after body, until all had fallen. If his children had been caught in the market when the battle had reached the streets of Dale, this was likely where they would be. In this pile of dead.

"No… No!"

Choking on his grief, Bard began throwing bodies off of the pile and uncovering those beneath. Had he seen someone else doing what he was, he would have been appalled by the utter disrespect for the dead. As it was, that wasn't even a concern for him at the moment. All that mattered were a potential three of those dead. Three precious bodies that didn't belong in this pile. They belonged tucked into warm beds where they were safe from the evils of the world.

The pile of bodies grew wider as he pushed more of them aside. Many he recognized, but none were the three he was hoping to find – though not here, not in this pile of dead. When he finally revealed the last of the dead, a thrill of hope went through him. None of these poor souls were his children. There was still the barest flicker of a chance that they were still alive. But where?

As Bard scanned the destruction of the market again he realized he wasn't alone. A few other men from Laketown had ventured in, hoping to find their missing loved ones and looking as shell-shocked by the scene as Bard had felt. They weren't the only ones walking through the fallen either. There were three elves as well, searching through the remains to find any of their own kin. Elves! Thranduil! Why hadn't he thought of it before?! If he went to Thranduil he could get help in finding his children. The Elvenking had aided his people more than once already, and that had been before they'd really met or worked together. Now, when Bard needed aid more than ever before, he hoped Thranduil would once again offer his help. If the Elvenking's aid led him to find his children alive, he would be forever in Thranduil's debt. If they found bodies instead, at least his people would be safe in Thranduil's hands until they could pick a new mayor. Bard knew if his children were lost to this world, he wouldn't be continuing in it for long.