A/N: Hello folks! Sorry for late post. Also, sorry but this isn't really a chapter. As some of you are aware of, I'm taking my As this year. Considering my failing grades, I'm putting all writing to a halt TEMPORARILY until my As are over. The full Chap 20 (Part 2) will only be out somewhere in Dec.

I'm sorry :(

Here's Chap 20: Part 1, a short one focusing on Bilbo. TRIGGER WARNING: PANIC ATTACK (somewhat-description of.) I tried to portray it as accurately as I could. Please provide feedback and point out anything I've gotten wrong/anything unrealistic, and I'll fix it (sorry in advance). I'll like to learn more about panic attacks too, if any of you are willing to share/educate this wee plebeian!

The tenses are kinda all over the place too - pretty much confused myself with the past-present tenses and all. I APOLOGISE! Point out the errors and I'lll fix it (in Dec) as well :)

Thank you all for your reviews, favourites, follows and support ;^; I'll be back - eventually.

Chap 20: Part 1

Bilbo slipped away before it was too late, thoughts whirring and emotions fluctuating. Thranduil told on him. Thorin would suspect. He would be exposed, they would hate him, turn his back on him, kill him-

He slipped off his ring, face pale as he shuddered. Smaug would be left undefeated, and who would avenge his family now? Who would protect Ryadher if he came after her?

He was going to die, she was going to die, they were all going to diediediediedie--

He can't breathe. He can't breathe.

He lurched towards a wall and slid down to the ground. His heart hammered erratically against his rib cage, too fast and too loud and too, too, much. His lungs screamed for air; throat constricting, breaths coming out in short, shallow pants.

He was going to fail and everyone was going to die and it would all be his fault.

The noise hollowed out until all he could hear was his heartbeat that was still too fast. Pressing a palm against his chest, he closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down.

His senses were overwhelming-

He muffled a low moan, and instead tried to tether himself to the fire that was ever-present in all Vilyahíni.

He is fire. He is of the Vilyahíni. The Children of the Sky never gives up - not even when their birthright forsook them and the skies were stained with the colour of their suffering.

He took a few shuddering breaths. When he dragged a hand across his face, his palm came back glistening with sweat and tears. He tried to think of his family, Ryad, Elrond, and the Baggins. He tried to think of the peace of Rivendell, the feel of fire, and the sweet rush of wind and air. Bit by bit, his muscles relaxed.

He is fire. Fire is life. Fire burns, hot and bright and deadly, burning a literal path when there is none for it. Fire thrums and fights and never, ever, gives up.

He continued taking deep breaths even as his breathing evened out. Everything was going to be alright. It was just the ring's effect, the ring's games; it was all lies, and it was going to be alright. They accepted hobbit-him, so maybe they could accept dragon-him? Bofur said he would. Bofur does not lie. Even if they found out (which he would do whatever in his control to prevent), even if they ostracised him, it was okay, because he is fire and he will bear it out.

He is fire. Fire survives.

Finally, his heart no longer felt like it was trying to leap out of his skin. His surroundings came back into focus. The corridor was still empty, and he was hit with intense relief at having no witnesses. Exhaustion and nostalgia crept up to him. Slowly, he exhaled.

Reaching for the fire deep within, he drew out a sliver, wrapping it around his fingers. The flame was comforting, like the warmth under his (mother's) wing, snuggled up next to his brood-mates. It was a remnant of all he once had. It was a reminder of all he stood for.

(He missed them. He missed them oh, so, much.)

He closed his fist, allowing the flame to extinguish. Bilbo let his head drop back against the wall and sighed, familiar weariness settling deep within his heart. This time, however, it was kept at bay by an almost-forgotten warmth that felt like his mother's lullaby.

He is fire, and he will be fine.

He will be fine.

Well. That's it. Comments? :)

have a happy National Day! XD See you all in Dec! (sorry)

-littlesparrowkeet