Her arrow had left the string before Bard even hit the ground. The shaft sprouted from the attacker's shoulder. The man let out a strangled cry and stumbled back. Bard dropped to his chest, the black arrow rolling dangerously close to the edge of the tower.

"Father!" Bain screamed, launching himself at the ladder. Tauriel nocked another arrow, but the boy had already clambered onto the platform, blocking her shot at the ambusher. By the time Bain knelt beside his father, the man had recovered from the blow Tauriel had dealt him and lunged for the boy.

"Rhaich," Tauriel swore. She could not risk the shot. But it seemed she had underestimated Bain. He snatched the black arrow from where it had fallen and lifted it in defense. They battled as Tauriel closed the gap between herself and the tower, trading her bow for her knives in preparation for close combat. She could not imagine who would be fool enough to attack them even as they sought to save Lake-town and all the people in it. The fire that crept up the sides of the hall only served to fuel her anger and drive her ever faster towards the fight.

Bain and his opponent were struggling, both grasping the black arrow as they tried to push the other down. Tauriel ducked as Smaug swooped over the building, his wingtip grazing the peak of the tower. His body, which passed only ten feet above her head, emanated heat like a gigantic coal lit by some unearthly flame.

Two deft jumps levered Tauriel onto the platform; she did not even need to use her hands, which was lucky, as they were occupied by her knives. Her feet straddled Bard's crumpled body when she landed, just behind Bain. She could see the assailant clearly now; a mortal man with dark hair, a drooping moustache and eyebrows that joined over his nose. He wore heavy black robes and a rather square hat, hanging askew on his head. He did not have the bearing of a warrior, nor did he appear to have a weapon. His face was screwed up and red from the exertion of fighting a young boy. Tauriel did not recognize him, but she did not need to recognize someone to kill them.

When he glimpsed her over Bain's shoulder, a shudder of fear passed over the man's brow. With a yell he shoved at Bain with all his might, knocking the boy off balance. Tauriel jumped aside as Bain fell, landing on his back across his father's body. The black arrow slipped from his grasp, flying towards the railing. Tauriel dove for it, trying to pluck it out of midair, but she moved too late. The Elf watched in horror as it glanced off the railing and soared over the side, plummeting down towards the roof underneath.

"No!"

The cry came from Fili's throat as well as her own. She turned to see the dwarf throw himself from the walkway.

"Fili!"

He skidded down the side of the roof on his back. For an awful moment she thought he would simply sail off the edge and into the blaze—at the last second he caught himself on the outcrop of a dormer window jutting from the side of the roof. He clung to it, lying flat against the slanted roof, while the black arrow caught in the gutter a few feet below. Fili tried to trap it between his feet, but it was just out of reach, and if he let go of his handhold there was no guarantee he would make it back up. There was already no guarantee.

Tauriel jumped down from the tower and lay across the walkway on her belly, scooting as far over the ridge as she could go without losing her balance. She stretched out her arm, holding her bow out to Fili.

"Here," she said. "Use this to get the arrow!"

He took it with his free hand. The arm that he had hooked over the ridge of the dormer window was shaking—she did not know how much longer he could hang like that. Her concern was well-placed: when he reached down to snag the fallen black arrow with her bow his grip failed him. The dwarf went sliding down the rest of the roof. He jammed his heels into the gutter and grabbed the shingles of the roof to keep himself from toppling.

"I've got the arrow!" he yelled.

"You fool!" she said, scarcely believing he had not gone over the edge. She was sick with relief and fury. "What does it matter, if you cannot get back up?"

"We'll get him back up."

Tauriel quirked her neck. Bard was next to her, copying her pose; he got down on his stomach with his legs draped down the side of the roof. His nose was obviously broken.

"I'll hold your feet," he said, "and lower you down till you can reach him. I won't let go of you, I swear it."

"Do it." Tauriel pulled herself forward gradually, bracing herself against the roof so she would not go shooting down it as Fili had. Once she felt Bard's fingers tight around her ankles, she let herself go completely, and found herself stretched flat against the slope. Even with her arms extended at their full length, she could not make it to Fili. She could see the fire encroaching higher and higher on the building, her whole body suffused with sweat. They did not have long.

"The arrow," she called to him.

Fili cottoned onto her idea at once. He raised the wicked-looking weapon, closing the gap between them. It was long enough that she could easily grasp the body of it, but her slick hands slipped on the metal. With a curse, Tauriel gritted her teeth and wrapped her fingers around it in a contortion that would keep it from slithering out of her fists. Once she had a good—or at least sufficient—grip on it, she nodded to Bard.

"Pull us up!" She refused to doubt the man's ability to do so: he had to pull them up, pure and simple.

The black arrow cut into her skin as Bard heaved. Tauriel felt a new set of hands on her calves and realized that Bain was helping, too. The men groaned as they dragged the Elf and the dwarf upward. Tauriel's shins scraped against the ridge of the roof, her shoulders threatening to pop out of their sockets from the burden of Fili's weight at the other end of the arrow.

Then Bard's hands were on the black arrow, and together all three of them reeled Fili onto the walkway. The dwarf lay on his back, coughing, as Bard relieved him of the arrow and sprinted towards the windlass, with Bain his faithful follower. Tauriel scanned the premises for the attacker, but the dark-clad man was nowhere to be seen. She remembered the fear in his eyes when he saw her. He was not expecting me. The thought made her smug in spite of herself.

Fili pushed himself up.

"Mahal," he gasped. His voice was raw. "I thought I was going to die. I've never been so sure about anything."

"You may yet," Tauriel said. She waved at the inferno around them. The dragon made another pass, as if subconsciously punctuating her statement. "Especially if you continue to lie about! Give me my bow, at least, if you are going to stay here."

She was pleased to see he had recovered enough to give her a withering look. He slapped the bow into her palm.

"Hannon le." Tauriel was fully aware the dwarf would have no idea that it was merely a thank-you. She got to her feet, her legs complaining after the thorough stretch they just experienced, and headed for the tower. This time the only people waiting for her there were Bard and Bain. The one-man ambush had well and truly fled, though to what end, Tauriel could not say. "Who was that man?" she asked. "Is there need for me to pursue him?"

"No." Bard was busy slotting the black arrow into the windlass. Tauriel eyed the contraption with wary skepticism. "He's one of the Master's stooges—following a set of imbecilic orders, no doubt. He's a misguided buffoon, but he's not evil."

"That misguided buffoon nearly killed us," Fili said, joining them on the platform. "I'm personally in favor of Tauriel taking him out."

"If I see him again, I will do so without hesitation," Tauriel said.

"Be my guest," said Bard, "though I think the fire will probably do the job for you." He cranked the windlass, pulling the wires taut and drawing the black arrow back. There was a cold, matter-of-fact click when the arrow settled into position. Tauriel's eyes swept the burning skies, and placed Smaug at the far end of town, joyously blasting the bridge that led to the mainland.

"How will you slay him with one shot?" Tauriel asked.

"The stories say that Girion loosened a scale on Smaug's left breast, and left a vulnerable hollow there. If it's true, that is where I will aim my shot."

"Stories?" she said in disbelief. "You have one chance and you trust it to common legend?"

"Legend is born of truth," Bard said, unperturbed by her reaction. "Besides, I have little else to trust." He took his place behind the windlass, grasping the handles of the mechanism. Tauriel studied his proud profile, his gaze dark with intention as it focused on the ruinous drake. He turned to Fili suddenly. "Except for you. I do not know you well, dwarf, and you, lady Elf, I know not at all, but I need your help." His eyes flicked back to Smaug, who had risen into the air and was wheeling towards town. "I need you to leave me." He held up a hand to stem the flow of objections. "You've already helped me far more than I could have hoped. But you gain nothing by staying now. I am here, the windlass is set—all I am missing is the dragon. And he will not be long in coming."

"I'm not leaving you," Bain said vehemently.

Bard ignored him and looked straight at Fili instead. "I need you to take my son with you." He raised his voice a few notches when Bain sputtered in protest. "Drag him, if you must. Whatever you do—keep him safe, or as safe as you can." At last he turned to his son, whose face was streaked with sooty tears.

"Father, I can't," he stammered. "I couldn't even think it—"

Bard took Bain's head in his hands, leaning down so their noses were only inches apart. Bain fell silent immediately, arrested by the intensity of his father's stare. Tauriel and Fili averted their eyes, an easy enough task—there was plenty to worry about elsewhere. The fire was gnawing at the gutter of the roof where Fili had stood only half a dozen moments before. Tauriel wiped her brow with her sleeve, though it was little more than a conceit. The burgeoning heat only wetted it again. The Elf had already begun to calculate their escape route, which would be a thorny one. They could hardly return the way they had come, as the lower levels of the house had already been consumed and the interior would be impenetrable. They would have to be more creative than that.

"You must do this for me, Bain," Bard said. "You have already proven your bravery twenty times over this night. You must do so again by leaving me."

"How's it brave to run?"

"Your sisters need you. Sigrid and Tilda will be watching for you. If I don't—if something goes wrong, I'll need you to look after them. Can you do that? Bain, promise me. Will you do that?"

Bain scrubbed at his tears. "I will, Father. I promise."

"Good." Bard folded his son against his breast. "I love you, Bain. Remember that. And your sisters, too—tell them."

"Tell them yourself." Bain balked defiantly. "Please try—" His voice cracked.

"I'll try. Now go—hurry!" Bard pushed the boy towards Tauriel, glancing across town. Smaug was advancing quickly. "There's a balcony on the other side of the hall." He gestured to the other side of the tower, where the walkway continued on to the end of the roof. "It may yet be of use to you. Go!"

Fili moved first. He seized Bain by the elbow and towed him over to the edge of the platform.

"Tauriel," he said. "You're the cleverest. You should lead."

The elleth locked eyes with Bard. The grim-faced man nodded.

"Go," he said again, wearily. "Go, and do not think of me."

Tauriel laid her palm across her chest, a mark of respect. She bowed her head in farewell. Then she strode to the edge of the tower, pinwheeling her legs over the railing and touching down on the walkway below. She looked back to make sure Bain and Fili were following and then began to run. Unlike at the other end, there was no door or stairwell that led down into the hall on this side. When she reached the end of the walkway, she peered over the edge of the roof. There was the balcony that Bard had mentioned, perhaps a floor below, and to her amazement, a slender stairwell threaded out from it, like a line of teeth along the wall. Fire worked at the steps in patches, but she thought they could make it through, if they did not delay.

"Make haste!" she called to the boy and the dwarf, but her command was redundant—they were only a breath away. "We have a long drop ahead of us, but we must hurry, or there will be nothing left to drop to. Follow me!"

She jumped without faltering. For her the distance was merely a trifle; she made much farther leaps at home. She was more concerned for the other two, who had neither her innate skill nor her centuries of experience. As soon as she landed she looked up—Bain was waffling, only his face visible overhead.

"Jump!" she cried, the word misshapen in her constricted throat. The flames were wolfing down the far railing, and Tauriel could hardly breathe for the smoke that encircled her.

Bain jumped, or Fili pushed him—it did not matter which. He nearly crumpled from the force of the impact, but Tauriel dragged him up again, pulling him out of the way when Fili hurtled after him. He crash-landed rather spectacularly but bounced back onto his feet with the speedy vigor that Tauriel had come to expect from dwarves. They were made of something durable, she had to give them that.

"Cover your mouths," Tauriel said. "Whatever you do, do not stop, and do not lose me!"

Shielding her face with her sleeve, Tauriel started down the stairs. The wood sagged with every step she took, threatening to buckle. She moved as quickly as she dared, taking a head-on approach to the fire that leapt up around her. She slapped out the flames kindling in her tunic, but she had not been born with enough hands to extinguish every spark.

She hit the ground running and spared a glance over her shoulder at Bain and Fili. The pair raced after her, beating their clothes frantically. Knowing there was nothing more she could do for them now, Tauriel gave herself to her flight. Her legs worked desperately beneath her; her lungs and throat screamed as she tried and failed to draw breath. She was suffocating, to say nothing of burning—she could feel the peppery kiss of flames as they grew like new buds all over her body. She was running through a nightmare, a forest of fire, where leaves were sparks, and they fell in a perpetual autumn. The world seemed to close in around her, bright and hot and hideous, and in what she was certain would be her final moments Tauriel's thoughts fled to her home, the cool shade of Mirkwood that she had left behind for this feverish ending. She thought of Legolas, and how he would feel when he learned of her death, but even with that in mind she could not regret what she had done—not when she remembered the people she had saved. Not when she remembered Kili, and what he had said to her not even hours ago.

I do not know if I could have loved you, Tauriel thought. She imagined he could hear her, wherever he was, if he was even still alive. I do not know. I wish that I could have discovered the answer for myself.

Her limbs felt heavy. Her strides were growing more sluggish, and her mind was clouded, her skin was sizzling—

She was halfway into delirium when she saw a chasm open up before her, a great rift in a burning land. It was long and black and moved strangely in the light. It took Tauriel a moment to realize that it was water, one of Lake-town's many canals. She could not even process her relief. All she could do was run, run towards it and pray for sanctuary from dragonfire.

As requested, a longer chapter :) Don't worry, there will be a Kiliel reunion very soon. Thank you all for sticking with me, whether you've been reviewing or reading silently-either way, I appreciate your support of my humble little ficcie.

Love always, Quill