There was hardly any hope left for the company now. What awaited them was not the gold in Erebor, but a dragon. Not home and peace, but death. Bolg, the son of Azog The Defiler, was hunting them. He knew what lay beyond that land. Beyond the lair of Smaug, was the kingdom of Angmar. Take Erebor, and the dark lands would be theirs. War was upon them. The dust aroused by the approaching armies could be seen from where they stood. Thirteen dwarves and a hobbit, against an army of orcs, wargs and goblins. The wizard wasn't present at their side. No, there were more serious matters to look into. The fortress of Dol Guldur was no longer empty. The last they had heard of the Grey Wizard was when he had sent them a warning of the danger that was fast approaching them. Thorin's kin wouldn't risk their lives either, unless he possessed the Arkenstone. The King's Jewel. A proof of his right to rule Erebor. The wood elves too would spill no blood over it, for now, the mountain would neither give the Jewels of Lasgalen to the Elvenking, nor would it fulfill to the Lake-men their promised wealth. Not while the beast still lived there. It was a lost cause, and yet the dwarves couldn't turn back. Not after knowing that they managed to escape from the Elvenking's clutches to be met with great disappointment, but they had made their choice. They would defend their homeland to their last breath. It was a matter of duty and honour, after all. They would go down fighting, but they would never let the dark forces take over. They would never bow to him.
The mournful silence that lay upon them was interrupted the harsh cry of battle. Saying their farewells, reminiscent of their last moments with their loved ones, the looked at their comrades one last time. A silent thanks and promise to meet once more, in this world or the next. With a strong warcry the dwarves drew their weapons one last time. Arms they had procured from Lake-Town's armory. Some day, their homeland would be regained, and for that future, blood would be spilled today. The dwarves, and their lone hobbit ran into battle. Each of them fought like ten orcs. Bilbo took many of the enemy hordes by surprise, attacking from behind, swiftly and stealthily, but they were outnumbered. Not just by the orcs and goblins, but by the dragon-fire. Smaug had awakened, and he served no master but himself. Orcs, goblins, wargs, and even the little creatures that lived nearby, were burnt alike. The lake would burn as the prophecy foretold. Lake-Town would come to face the same doom once more, but not before the dwarves. Smaug the Terrible would have his revenge, and that day, he did.
None lived past that day, but one. The ring that had taken countless lives before him, had kept him alive. It had 'saved' him, but not his friends. His brothers. Balin, the one who had always trusted him, and whom he trusted. The one who had taken on a troll all by himself, so that Bilbo could see the sunrise the next day, and yet the kind dwarf himself wouldn't be able to do so anymore. He was gone. Fili, Kili, the cheerful lads. Some of the company had played the decoy. They had earned the wrath of Smaug, so that the others could live. Ori, Dori, Nori, Gloin, Oin, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur. All of them had laid down their lives. And Thorin. Thorin was not to be found ever since. For the first time, in death, he had eluded them, leaving Bilbo much more devastated, if that could ever be. Bilbo never knew what he thought of him. Just that he meant much more to him. Much more than just a leader, or a friend. They were his family. The once famous company of the thirteen dwarves was now legend. He had joined them as the last of their company, and as the last one he remained. He would move on, alone, with nobody to turn to. With nothing but his hobbit-hole and all the food. That was all he had ever wanted when they had begun their fateful journey. He had wanted to return home all along, but now, he wished he would have just one more day with them. Just one more day to thank them and to tell them how sorry he was for everything. Just one, but death is cruel that way. He would go back all alone, spare the sapling he carried back from Erebor, and even that would bring back bittersweet memories of those who changed his life forever. The tree he had planted in his garden would be a reminder for all those who lived there after him. A reminder of that fateful day when thirteen noble dwarves had sacrificed their lives to reclaim their home, but more so, to save their friend, and brother. They had died, to save him.