"I'd think I'd know if I were fighting an invisible enemy!"

Bilbo could have cackled then, but would have given away his hiding place.

The ring proved to be most useful in these moments, when he needed to make himself vanish. Of course, by now he knew full well it wasn't just an ordinary magic ring; it had power, great power, the kind that corrupts you. Not that a bit more darkness would have made much of a difference to the hobbit at this point.

He watched; seething as the big oaf Dwalin (who nearly landed on top of him) hauled Thorin out of the lair and into the piercing, painful sunlight. Bilbo resisted the urge to hiss like a scalded cat when the room was illuminated. Putting on the ring did dim the effect, and the hobbit was glad of it, but the brightness still bothered him; made him… afraid.

But seeing Thorin's feet disappearing into the world above and the prospect of having this whole operation come to naught was enough to give the Lord under the Hill a final surge of confidence. Creeping like a spider, and as silent as a shadow, he quickly left the store room. After turning a few lefts and a few rights he can to a stone wall. He felt along the creases delicately with his fingers until he found the right brick. He pushed it gently with his palm; the wall shifted and gave way to a narrow shaft leading upwards.

Bilbo's small size came into its own, but he was still forced on his hands and knees. Sticking the Sting back into its sheath on his belt, he crawled up the shaft; getting his beautiful red coat covered in dust and soil. But there was no time to worry about such things now. The old him used to fret constantly about handkerchiefs, brass buttons and all manner of ridiculous things.

This new, not necessarily improved Bilbo didn't mind getting his hands dirtied.

At the tunnel's end, a boulder had been moved into place to disguise the opening; Bilbo manoeuvred himself so that he could give the rock a good hard kick. It rolled away, and the hobbit emerged from the underground.

He found himself precariously balanced on a cliff edge, stones shifting and rolled away as he moved. Those fighting took no notice, being too preoccupied with the current skirmish.

The sun was too bright, too big, and it was burning a hole into his skin. His soul.

He threw his arms over his head in an attempt to block its rays, and scrambled down the slop in search for some sort of cover. The hobbit's body was shaking.

He weaved in-between unaware, dwarves, men and elves, until he came to crouch behind the body of a pony that'd been slain during the brawling. Bilbo felt a small tingle of guilt as he remembered fondly of Myrtle; who had been his first friend when the journey to Erabor began. He spotted members of his old company, the massive axe swinging Dwalin, the old wise Balin, the clever red haired Nori, and of course young Kili and Fili who were being guarded by their Uncle with ferocity.

Watching them brought a wave of nostalgia over the hobbit, seeing them fight as they used to brought forth pictures in his mind of happier times. Even when they were in mortal danger, he had them, and they had him; but most of all they had Thorin. The dwarf always managed to look regal and impressive when duelling, covered in scratches and blood, he still pulled off the air of a King. Bilbo watched him keenly as he fought his way through each of his thieves with what looked like effortless ease. So, the warrior had not left him, which only made The Lord of the Hillside more infuriated. The warrior was there, but he wouldn't do war with him!

A cry from his right caught his attention, and he saw of a young dwarf with stubble drawing his bow from atop of a boulder; Kili. He was aiming at another burly flame haired dwarf who had his brother pinned to the ground.

Tarvin.

"No!" The hobbit's shrill call was lost in the great clamour of noise in the clearing, but was load enough for Tarvin to turn his head around only to see nothing.

A fatal mistake.

The arrow pieced Tarvin's side and he gasped in pain, his limbs trembled and finally he keeled over. Fili pushed himself out from underneath him and ran off his brother in tow.

The need for invisibility irrelevant now, Bilbo frantically removed the ring and rushed to the side of his deputy, his friend. Tarvin was spluttering and blood was pouring from his mouth and gushing from his wound.

The hobbit could only think to try and stem the flow, but the arrow prevented him from pressing down fully; and he knew better than to try and remove it. Tarvin's face was quickly draining of colour, and was slipping away faster with each minute, but in vain Bilbo was trying to prevent what was coming.

"T-Tarvin!"

His emotions were spilling from his eyes.

"I'm sorry… I tried." The dwarf said gutturally, barley able to keep the shake out of his voice.

"Shhhh, don't talk." Ordered the hobbit, hands quaking over Tarvin's side.

Tarvin opened his mouth but all that came out was a strangled moan and cough, his words had left him.

The hobbit stayed there for quite some time, unwilling to let Tarvin leave the world all alone.

Eventually, the dwarf's breathing became shallower and shallower, until his chest became still. His eyes became glassy and lifeless, and started sightlessly ahead. The wound still dripped, and the red liquid had begun to be absorbed by the ground beneath Bilbo's feet.

It was over.

"Hey, little bit, are you alright?"

"C-cold"

"Yeh, it's a long walk, but hang will ya? I aint carrying you all the way back to ave' you die on me."

"W-why?"

"Shush, but don't sleep… it won't be sleep."

With a blood soaked hand the hobbit gently closed Tarvin's eyelids, and said a silent prayer that his soul would go to a nicer place.

He would not let his friend be fresh pickings for the crows, but he could not bury him now. His band was losing, and Bilbo needed to get them out, as one last favour to them all.

He searched the dwarf's pockets, until he found a silver whistle; he placed it between his lips and blew as hard as could. The sound was lofty and almost musical, and drifted through the air and beyond.

His band heard the call and stilled, uncertain, then Bilbo blew it again, and a great there was a great exodus. Every able bodied thief grabbed their ponies or simply made a run for it, scrambling up the rocky slope, falling over each other to get away. Thorin's dwarves looked astonished as their enemies suddenly decided to up and leave, some gave chase, and others shot warning arrows; telling them in not so polite terms not to come back.

"Look at them running, Fee!" A jolly voice exclaimed from somewhere.

"We let you off easy this time! Show your faces again and we'll cut your ears off!" another voice joined in the fun.

The calls of the two princes made ice crystallise in Bilbo's veins, and it only became colder when he looked over Tarvin's still face.

He should have ridded himself of those two pests when he had the chance; he had tried to be merciful, but that had come back to bite him.

The Durin line was nothing but trouble, riddled with gold sickness and entitlement. Thror had passed his curse to Thrain, then him to Thorin, and it would continue with his nephews. Thankfully Thorin didn't have any sons.

"Don't worry my friend." Whispered the Lord of the Hill. "They'll pay yet."

Bilbo unsheathed The Sting, and took a look at his reflection in its blade. He didn't recognise his own eyes; they were cruel eyes.

But fate had been cruel to him, so perhaps it was only just to return the favour. The brothers' laughter rattled around the stony walls of the clearing, and Bilbo, leaving the body of Tarvin for now, let his ears guide him to the dwaflings.

Maybe the day wouldn't be wasted after all.