A/N: Here we go! This will be a many-chaptered story - updates are on Mondays and Fridays, and all feedback is much appreciated! Cheers!
It is over.
That was all that was running through the mind of a battered hobbit as hush filled the still winter air. It is over, it is over, it is over.
Sharp, icy rocks surrounded Bilbo, a stark contrast to the rolling green home he had left behind. When he had once kept vigils over tender sprouts of marigold or pumpkin, he now kept guard over a body. No, over a friend, he scolded himself, stealing a bewildered glance to his left.
Thorin Oakenshield lay there, sprawled majestically against the snowy rock bed beneath him. Half-lidded eyes stared up at the clearing sky, the fierce blue fire extinguished by an orcish blade. Bilbo reached over with a trembling hand, barely brushing his friend's eyes closed as his breathing hitched; he let out a single huffing sob and collapsed back into his seat beside the king. Blinking rapidly, he looked around at the desolate landscape, surprised that tears still threatened to come despite the amount he had already lost to the stony ground.
His gaze settled on another crumpled body across the frozen river, strands of golden hair shifting restlessly in the crisp breeze. Bilbo's throat caught again, remembering the horrendous slaughter he had witnessed mere hours ago. Fili lay crumpled to one side, facing the empty ruins of Ravenhill.
Pushing off a particularly jagged outcropping of rock, Bilbo stumbled upright and towards the riverbank, his sluggish feet fighting his growing determination. His mind thrummed with the need to retrieve his dead friend, to see that nephew and uncle were reunited as quickly as possible.
Dropping down onto the ice, Bilbo easily skirted the broken battlefield where the line of Durin had been shaken to it's core. Dreamy recollections of the savage fight floated through his mind - were they memories? Fever dreams? He wasn't sure, but he pushed them out of his mind with venomous rage as he scrambled off of the river and towards the fallen prince.
Fili, the golden heir, was much heavier than he looked. Bilbo let a dry sob rip itself out of his throat as his eyes fell on the ugly wound on the prince's back, clogged with drying blood that had spilled to the ground below. Gritting his teeth, he slung an armored arm over his shoulders and hefted the young prince onto his back. Grunting all the way, he unceremoniously heaved the prince towards Thorin's figure.
He gently laid Fili next to his uncle, although he knew that no amount of battery could change the prince's fate. Ignoring the urge to cry again, he set about lightly arranging the two royals - brushing back a stray raven hair, re-buckling a worn leather bracer, lacing up the collar of a night blue tunic.
While in the midst of his task, a flash of red and green appeared in the corner of his eye. He hurriedly straightened up and groped for Sting, turning to face this new threat, only to find himself staring across the river at a elf bearing-
"Oh no...Kili..." Bilbo half sighed, half choked. He had been harboring the slight hope that somehow the youngest song of Durin had survived, but the look on the elf's face made his fate abundantly clear as she delicately crossed the river with the prince's body, carrying him as one would a child. Bilbo sheathed his sword, staring wordlessly as the elf brought Kili to him, and gently laid him beside his brother and uncle. She seemed at a loss for words as well, and numbly joined Bilbo as he sat on the riverbank.
They sat for a moment in silence, neither quite knowing what to say. The elf stared skyward, as if searching the evening sky for answers, while Bilbo was transfixed by the frozen waterfall, watching the stain of Azog's blood recede with the sluggish current. After a moment he cleared his throat, causing the elf beside him to jump.
"Bilbo Baggins," he croaked out, "at your service."
The elf looked at him a long moment, then inclined her auburn head.
"Tauriel, at yours."
They relapsed into silence for e few more moments, watching the survivors wander across the death fields below.
"You are not a dwarf, Master Baggins."
"Hmm, no, no. A hobbit, from the Shire."
"And how came you to this foul part of the world?" Tauriel asked, turning to look at her companion. He frowned slightly, increasing the wrinkles on his forehead as he pursed his mouth.
"I was hired, as a burglar by, um," he seemed to choke on something before continuing, "by Thorin Oakenshield." He gestured to the prone bodies behind them, but couldn't bear to look. Instead he looked up at Tauriel. "You're from Mirkwood?"
She raised a single eyebrow. "Yes, although you are unfamiliar to me. Were you ever in those halls?"
"While I was employed, yes. I burgled this lot out through your cellars, actually."
"Ah, so it was you. I had wondered how a group of dwarves managed to escape the halls of the Elvenking." she murmured the last word with dash of bitterness. Bilbo hummed in agreement.
"They may not be the stealthiest, but dwarves certainly have other merits." he replied softly.
"I know," she responded, her face shrouded in the same sorrow that Bilbo felt wrapped around his heart. "One of your company was dear to me."
Bilbo's eyes caught a flash of blue in her hands, neatly folded in her lap. Her thumb absently rubbed the edge of a smooth, shimmering stone.
"I thought...that I would bring him to the gates, to his kin," she said, nodding towards the broken entrance of Erebor's halls, "but all my strength seems to have left me, and I have no desire to return to my own at the moment. They will not be...understanding about my loss."
Bilbo gulped, staring down at the tiny survivors below. He turned to look at Tauriel with a watery smile.
"Well, you are welcome to share your sorrows with us," he replied, waving to Erebor's gate, "I don't think any grief will be easily turned away." Tauriel looked at him, several emotions passing over her face before she settled on a thin smile. Returning it, Bilbo clumsily stood up and cracked his back and settles his hands on his hips as Tauriel gracefully joined him.
Steeling himself, Bilbo looked once more on the pale faces of the line of Durin - a terrible storm had brought this branch crashing to the ground. He opened and closed his mouth several times before speaking. "I should go get the others. I've no idea what dwarfish burial customs are."
Tauriel nodded, placing one shaky hand on his shoulder as the other hand shifted the blue stone around. With a last heavy sigh, Bilbo dragged himself away from his prone companions, leading the way down the Ravenhill to the carnage field below.