((And then I got it into my head to write a death scene, so I wrote a prequel.))

In battle, it wasn't the screaming that really made an impression on Thorin's mind. It was the sound of the blade being withdrawn from a living body.

After the Battle of the Five Armies, he had thought the likelihood of hearing that sound again were fairly slim. The greatest threats to his kingdom had been eliminated, and there were few enough reasons for the King Under the Mountain to endanger himself with personally entering a fight.

Certainly, he'd never expected to hear it in the streets of Dale.

And he had only ever imagined in his worst nightmares that the body the blade was drawn out of would be hers.

Thorin's vision was filled with a gleaming, curved blade, a stream of blood. The deep green of her gown, the red stain spreading, turning the fabric the color of old rust. The colors were vivid, much sharper than he remembered ever seeing them before. The dwarf was only aware of his own pounding footsteps as a distant beat, something too far away to matter. What mattered was the weight of her in his arms, the look of fear on her face.

"Billa, you're bleeding." As though informing her were the most important thing int he world. "Hold still. Don't move." What had the first step always been? Not bandaging. No. Pressure. Apply pressure to the wound. See if it was clean. Oh Mahal, if the blade had been poisoned-! Thorin pushed that thought aside and pressed his hand against the growing stain. In her back, below the ribs, angled upward. A killing blow.

But not fatal. It can't be fatal. The knife wasn't long enough. Or was it? Billa was so tiny. One of her hands brushed over his cheek. Thorin saw her mouth moving. What was she saying?

"Shush. You're injured. Be quiet and let me save your life." Please, let me save her.

The world around him was chaos. Dwarves and men, weapons and boots, horses and ponies. Thorin didn't care. He would be angry and bellow about justice after she was safe. After her blood was washed away and the pain was gone from her face. After she slept, then he would hunt down her attacker and tear him apart with his bare hands.

"We need to get her into the Mountain." When the female dwarf had gotten there, he wasn't sure, but there she was. Vaguely familiar. He thought he knew those braids, but there was no name to go with the face, not in his mind, anyway. Not right now. Into the Mountain. Into the Healer's Hall. But that would mean moving her. Moving her was dangerous. Not moving her was more dangerous.

"Get a wagon. And blankets."

"Yes, sir."

Thorin later tried to recall how long it took to get back to Erebor. Dale was in an uproar, which made the going slow, though the mass of people parted the instant they knew the wagon carried the injured Queen.

The female dwarf, the one with the familiar braids, she stayed with them. She kept touching Billa's stomach, which upset Thorin quite a bit. He tried to shoo her away, but she kept coming back. Whatever she was saying, it couldn't be important. It couldn't be as important as paying attention to Billa.
His burglar occasionally opened her mouth, murmured something. he quieted her. He would protect her. He would save her. He had to.

"She's lost too much blood."

Oin looked like he'd just swallowed an under-ripe lemon and was only tasting it now that it had lodged in his throat. The Healer's expert hands were steady as ever, though his eyes looked markedly wet. Thorin had to swallow anger at the older dwarf, clenching his fists.

"What's that mean? You can't patch her up? She's had worse before."

"Not this deep." Oin looked grave, and the lemon must have made the words taste especially bitter. "And not when she was ready to give birth."

"Give birth?" The King Under the Mountain tried to stop his heart from exploding in his chest. "What-?"

"She's in labor, you idiot." The female with the familiar braids was scowling at him. Was she allowed to do that? "If you want either your wife or your child to live, then get out of my way."

The wailing of a newborn cut the air.

There was something particular about the crying of a newborn that set it apart from the cries of older, less wet infants. Thorin burst through the door, too anxious (and frightened, if truth be told) to wait any longer. the female was holding a decidedly bloody-looking infant in her arms, and Oin was bending over Billa's terrifyingly still frame, his ear to her mouth.

"Billa!"

Thorin stumbled forward, his world starting to go numb again. No. No, she couldn't do this. The relief that pierced him when he saw her chest rise and fall with the breath that kept her alive was tempered by the amount of blood smeared over the bed, on Oin's arms, on the female's front, pooling on the floor. Too much blood. Oin looked at him and shook his head slightly, eyes already dimming with grief.

"No. No, Billa, you can't." He grabbed her hand. It felt cool.

"Thorin." The name was hardly more than a breath, but he heard it. He heard it, just as he heard the labored beating of her heart, and the squeaking cries of the baby.

"I'm here, Billa. Damn you, you're not allowed to die. You can't. I need you."

"Thorin," she breathed again. She was trying to open her eyes, eyes glassy with pain. "Take... take care of her."

"No, Billa, don't say that."

"Athila... her name... is Athila."

"Please, Billa."

"My time," she murmured, trying to look at him, and eventually giving up, letting her eyes close.

"Billa, don't you dare."

"You'll find me."

"Billa Baggins, I swear-"

"I... love you. Always have." A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips.

"Billa." It was a plea. A desperate, sad plea. Thorin knew he was begging, and didn't care. Anything was better than losing her. He could feel her slipping away, and it left a hole too big for his chest to contain.

"I'm... sorry."

"I... I love you too. Please, Billa... don't leave me."

But it was too late. Her last, shallow breath left her half-open mouth... and she didn't breathe in again. Her face was still, fixed in a look of pain. Thorin's world stopped spinning, and the chaos inside him exploded.