Part Two: Bilbo and Company

I counted the years as they passed by, and when fifty more came and went, the thing I had long been waiting for occurred: the Company of Thorin Oakenshield came to take back the Mountain.

At first I hadn't been sure that anything was going on, because birds had been pecking at the Mountain before and causing echoes, but then, as Smaug lay asleep, I felt a slight shift of air near one of the passages – a passage from which no air currents had ever come before.

Had Bilbo finally come? Was my captivity at its end? After all of my waiting... had the time truly arrived? It seemed too soon.

I lay silent and still, pretending to be asleep, and a little while later Smaug woke up, sniffed, and let out a stream of flame in a burst of anger. Then he turned to me, mouth glowing and eyes bright and terrible, and demanded, "Did you see anyone!?"

"No," I replied honestly.

"Someone has taken a cup – the one you used to drink from, twenty years ago!"

I remained quiet as he went off in a long rant, spitting harsh words and more flame, and then he snarled at me to bury myself in the treasure, piling it on top of me so that no piece of me could be seen, and he flew out of the hall in a fury, screeching out his anger.

All was silent in the hall, but I could hear the beat of his great wings and the roars he let loose. I kept still and silent until Smaug returned. When he was back, he rushed about the great hall and looked at each mound of gold to see if anything else were missing. When he could spot nothing but the single cup gone, he pulled me out with his claws, dragging long, thin scratches along the back of my thighs and my stomach. "Did any come down while I was away?" he asked madly, shaking me.

"No," I answered. "I saw and heard none."

"There were several horses," he muttered, putting me down at last. "They cannot flee on foot, else I will find them. They are yet hidden, but when I discover them, I shall devour them! I smell Dwarf, my treasure, and you shall taste it ere the snow falls!"

I didn't reply, thinking not only that there was no way I'd ever eat another humanoid creature, but also that Smaug would be dead by the time the first snow fell.

"You will sleep beneath my wing," he commanded. "I do not wish for this thief to steal you."

He tucked me beneath his wing, holding me tight against his too-warm body. If I had been human still, I would have been sweating like mad. As it was, it felt merely a bit stifling. I couldn't help but resent Bilbo for not having waited another day, because then I would have gotten to go outside once more before I faced possible death.

Because who knew what Smaug would do to me in his madness?

When next Bilbo came, I was astounded by his quick wit. He stood against Smaug blow for blow in a battle of wits, and Smaug was several millennia old! But then the Hobbit said something, something which I could recall him saying in the book (elvish memory was long, and my past could be recalled in clear detail) but which got a very different response from the one I'd read: "You don't know everything, O Smaug the Mighty," Bilbo said. "Not gold alone brought us hither."

Smaug reared up in a fury, spouting fire in the direction of the voice as he snarled, "The Princess is mine!"

"Who?" asked Bilbo, sounding entirely baffled.

Smaug settled down quickly after that, yanking me closer to his body as he hastily retorted to Bilbo's earlier statement in the manner which appeared in the book: "Ha! Ha! You admit the 'us'," he taunted. "Why not say 'us fourteen' and be done with it, Mr Lucky Number? I am pleased to hear that you had other business in these parts besides my gold. In that case you may, perhaps, not altogether waste your time."

And things went back on course after that, though I suspected that Bilbo had not forgotten Smaug's brief fury about a certain other reason for coming to the Mountain. I hoped that it wouldn't change anything; in fact, I hoped that my very being here wouldn't alter events.

Except Bilbo, who could not keep from a smart quip as he left in the book, did the same here – and added more, besides: "Well, I really must not detain Your Magnificence any longer, or keep you from much needed rest. Ponies take some catching, I believe, after a long start. And so do burglars – and Princesses, once they're rescued."

The sound Smaug made at that was more fearsome than any before: the dragon lost it completely. He dove for the tunnel he'd guessed Bilbo had come from and tried to claw in after the hobbit, snapping his jaws and snarling after poor Bilbo. When he did not hear the sounds of someone suffering or dying, he let loose another angry roar and turned to face me. I stumbled backwards, trying to get away, but he was a dragon and about a thousand times bigger than I was. "You will not leave with that thief," he hissed. "If you take one step out of this Mountain, I will make your death slow and painful. Do you understand, Carmen?"

He hadn't used my proper name in so long that I was startled at the sound of it, so unfamiliar did it seem to my ears. I snapped up to attention, standing tall, and vowed, "I will not take one step out of the Mountain, nor will I leave with the thief" whilst thinking that I would take several hundreds or thousands instead and that I would perhaps leave with Gandalf.

"You will not leave whilst I still live," he growled threateningly.

"I won't, Master Smaug, I promise."

"Good," he said.

Then he took me in his claws once more and carried me over to one of the smaller rooms surrounding the great hall, where he dropped me without warning. I fell to the ground and scraped my hands slightly, but was otherwise uninjured. I looked up just as the mighty doors slammed shut, closing me in. From behind it I could hear the sound of scraping, and knew immediately that Smaug was burying me in. There was nothing I could do to stop him, stubborn as he was, and nothing I wanted to do, besides. He'd be dead soon enough, and then I would be free of this room – and of him.

I couldn't help but feel a little frightened at that thought.

There I sat for three days, ear pressed against the door in an attempt to hear any noise the Company would make. I couldn't be sure that Smaug was dead, after all. My coming might have changed something. Maybe Bilbo wouldn't have noticed that empty patch of under-belly over Smaug's heart, or maybe Bilbo hadn't been able to escape the dragon's wrath. Or maybe Smaug had killed the entire Company and was even now laying waste to the land surrounding the Lonely Mountain. And what if that thrush had never heard Bilbo speak of Smaug's weakness? Bard wouldn't be able to shoot him dead, and the dragon would return. Then life would go back to normal, as it had been for the past hundred years.

I wasn't sure if that'd be a bad thing.

I knew Smaug. I knew his moods and how to soothe him for the most part, and how to avoid him when he was unreasonable. The rest of Middle-earth... the rest I knew nothing about, except for what Smaug had told me and what I could remember of the map I'd glanced at a century ago in The Hobbit. I had nowhere to go in all of Arda, no place to call home. The stars had soothed me all those years ago, and all the years since, but what if they were wrong? What if I didn't live long enough to dance and run beneath them? There was a battle coming, the Battle of Five Armies, and if I were for some reason forced to leave the Mountain before its conclusion (if the dwarves kicked me out), I would likely be killed. No one would be there to protect me.

After three days of silence, I finally heard the sound of the Gate closing and being barricaded while stone was worked. Smaug, I knew, never barricaded the door – he didn't need to. He couldn't work stone, either; he just blasted it with his flame or smashed it if it ever got in the way. This meant the dwarves and Bilbo had returned, which in turn meant Smaug was dead.

I took a few moments, maybe an hour or more, to just breathe, to calm my racing heart and still my trembling limbs.

Smaug was dead, and I had forever to look forward to beneath the starry skies.

I gathered myself and banged my fists on the door, shouting, "Open the door! Please! Let me out!"

Faintly I could hear a shout made beyond the door, and the sound of murmuring voices. I slammed my fists harder into the door and yelled myself hoarse. Even when I could hear the sound of the treasure being moved, I continued to shout and pound on the door, feeling a bit hysterical at the thought of seeing people for the first time in a hundred years. Tears were streaming down my face, caused by my tumultuous emotions: a mixture of joy, relief, fear, and anxiety.

The door was pulled open, and I blinked as the bright light of torches fell upon me. I heard several gasps and a few exclamations, and when my eyes finally adjusted I spotted thirteen dwarves and one hobbit gaping at me, eyes trying to remain on my face but inevitably slipping down every now and again.

And that's when I remembered that I was naked, something which hadn't bothered me at all past my first year in Erebor. Modesty was a learned trait, one that could be unlearned if given enough time. A hundred years was more than time enough – it was even longer than the time I'd spent clothed as a human.

Despite having grown used to my nudity, I immediately felt embarrassed and covered myself. I leapt behind the door to hide my body while my head poked out so I could examine the people standing in Smaug's lair. They still hadn't moved, except to turn their eyes to look at me. "H-hello," I greeted shyly, nervously.

Bilbo was the first to move, startled by my speech. He jumped a good foot in the air and flew away, returning not even a minute later with a bag, which he rifled through for a pair of trousers, a shirt, a vest, and some suspenders. His small hands shook as he handed them to me, politely pointing his reddened face away. I gingerly took the clothes from him by stretching an arm around the door, and then I hid behind it and hastily pulled them on.

It took me a little while to work out how to wear them (which was the front, how to do up all the buttons and attach the suspenders) but when I finally managed, I stared down at my clothed body in fascination. It was strange to wear clothes again after so many years without, now that they seemed nothing more than an unnecessary luxury. The material seemed to scratch my skin, and it felt itchy and stifling and constricting, but I knew it would be improper for me to walk about naked now that there were people here – and it might cause something even more unfortunate than abduction by an asexual dragon. Not that I thought the dwarves or Bilbo were rapists, but, well... they were humanoid males, in any case. Like with Smaug, I didn't want to take any chances with these new people I was confronted with.

When I was dressed and I'd run my hands along the material for a little while, marveling at it, I peered around the door and then shifted slightly out from behind it. I stared at the people standing in front of me, who stared back with utter confusion. Then Bilbo cleared his throat and asked, "Are you the Princess Smaug spoke of?"

"Yes," I replied, and then unnecessarily added, "I've been here a hundred years now."

"You're an Elf!" one of the dwarves exclaimed, sounding slightly disgusted.

"I guess so," I said.

"What do you mean, you 'guess so'?" another asked.

I was a bit overwhelmed at being questioned by Dwarves, a people I'd only read about and later heard about from Smaug (mainly long soliloquies on how tasty they were). I didn't think I should mention anything Smaug told me... though the dwarves might be flattered that they tasted better than Elves...

"I don't think we should press her," Bilbo ventured. "She likely hasn't spoken to anyone but Smaug for a long time..."

"I haven't," I admitted. Suddenly a thought occurred to me, and I blurted out in question, "Is the sun up?"

"Nay, it is night," a dwarf replied.

"Oh," I sighed sadly.

"Why?"

"I haven't seen the sun since I came here," I answered. "Master Smaug – I mean Smaug, just Smaug now... – he only brought me out at night, and even then it was only once a year. Actually, you entered the Mountain the day I was meant to go outside... do you think I could go now?"

"Of course, lass," a kindly-looking dwarf replied. "We aren't dragons; we won't keep you locked up!"

I beamed at him and, without offering another word, sprinted off in the direction of the Front Gate, leaping up the narrow steps three at a time until I stood at the very top, where nothing blocked the outdoors. I breathed in deeply, spreading my arms as though in flight, and the wind tore at my hair and borrowed clothes. The stars greeted me merrily, twinkling down on my upturned face, and I shouted out a hello to them, and then, in true elvish fashion, I burst into song:

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky!

When the blazing sun is gone,
When she nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

Then the traveller in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and tiny spark,
Lights the traveller in the dark,
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star!"
(** Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star – lullaby)

"I've never heard that song," someone said from beside me.

I jumped and turned around to face Bilbo, staring at him through wide, unblinking eyes. He shifted slightly from foot to foot and fiddled with the buttons on his coat, unnerved under my wide, unblinking gaze. I'd forgotten how quiet Hobbits were supposed to be able to move – his moments were quieter than my elvish ears could catch!

"My mother used to sing it to me," I offered at last, blinking.

"It's a lovely song," he assured me.

I nodded, then turned back to stare some more at the sky and the vast, open vale before me. I wanted to jump in the river and swim; I wanted to sprint through the empty dale; I wanted to climb the trees I could see in the distance; but, most of all, I wanted to dance in circles, spinning faster and faster until all the world blended together and I was surrounded with colours other than silver and gold and stone.

"Are you hungry?" he wondered after a while.

"Oh, yes," I answered. "Master – I mean Smaug locked me in there three days ago, when he left. I haven't eaten since."

Bilbo looked properly horrified, hobbit that he was, and he set off down the stairs right away, calling back, "Then you must eat something at once!"

But when we got to the food supply, the dwarves didn't want to share. "She's an Elf," one said, as though that were reason enough.

"She's starving," Bilbo snapped in reply. "She's gone three days without food! We can't let her starve to death!"

He was such a dear. But I didn't want to cause a ruckus, so I said, "It's alright, I still have some of mine left. You're welcome to share it, Barrel-rider, and your friends as well."

"What sort of food?" the hobbit wondered, looking curious yet weary all at once.

I saw immediately that he was thinking of something along the lines of Man or Dwarf, so I told him, "I still have some mutton and wild boar. It's all smoked though, I warn you. I've had to cook it that way to help preserve it, so Mast-Smaug didn't have to go hunting so often."

"Mutton and wild boar!" the dwarves exclaimed, sounding friendly at last.

I almost snorted at that, then I led them to the place I stored my food. It was a large cupboard with a fireplace nearby, and also a well. Beside the well, on a rickety old table, sat a magnificent cup, the last one Smaug had given me to use before his death, and a golden bejewelled plate.

"That is my grandfather Thror's cup!" a dwarf I now knew to be Thorin shouted, picking it up with a greedy gleam in his eyes, one I had often seen in Smaug's as he looked upon his hoard or upon me.

"Then you may drink from it," I offered. "The water in the well is still good, though it is cold."

He turned to me angrily and growled, "You drank from this cup? It is the cup of the King under the Mountain! None but he may drink from it!"

I stared at him as though he were nuts, then enunciated, "Smaug gave it to me; I wasn't about to refuse. It's yours, though, so do with it what you will."

"And what of the gold you wear?" he demanded.

I blinked in surprise, looking down at myself as I spotted the sparkle of gems and the shimmer of silver and gold. "I'd almost forgotten," I muttered to myself.

"Forgotten!" another dwarf cried. "You wear riches fit for a king, and you have forgotten?"

"She is a princess," Bilbo reminded them.

I didn't bother correcting him; it might help me if they believed me to be royalty of some kind. Besides, I was so accustomed to being called 'Princess' that I barely thought anything of it anymore. It was just as much my name as Carmen and 'treasure', really, after the many years I'd been called it.

I turned to my cupboard and opened it up, showcasing the large amount of meat that sat upon a number of golden platters. I took only one out and gave it to the dwarves, picking up a single fair-sized piece of boar for myself, and passed another of the same size to the kind hobbit. The dwarves looked disappointed, so I explained, "I don't know how long you're planning on staying here, but if you're as short on supplies as I reckon you are, it's probably best to save the rest. It won't go bad for a while yet."

A few of the dwarves nodded in agreement, and some even thanked me for sharing, but Thorin stood there and stared at the jewellery I wore until a white-bearded dwarf pulled him away. I was feeling a bit territorial about the stuff, since I'd been wearing most of it for nigh eighty years (when Smaug had first started rewarding me with treasure). I didn't want to part with it; it felt like it was a part of me, and the treasure felt more natural than Bilbo's clothes did, that was for certain.

I abruptly recalled that I hadn't actually been introduced to anyone, which could be dangerous should I slip up, and I quickly told Bilbo and whatever dwarves were listening, "I'm Carmen."

"Sorry?" Bilbo apologized after swallowing a mouthful of smoked meat. Then he added, "This is very good!"

I smiled wryly and said, "Much better than my first meal... And I said 'I'm Carmen'. It's my name – you could call me Carm, though, if you like. My – my friends and family used to call me that, before... well, before."

"Oh! Where are my manners? Bilbo Baggins, at your service! My companions are: Bofur, Bifur, Bombur, Nori, Ori, Dori, Oin, Gloin, Balin, Dwalin, Fili, Kili, and Thorin. Thorin is King under the Mountain, and Fili and Kili are his nephews and Heirs Apparent."

"Nice to meet you," I mumbled, feeling nervous under so many gazes in the bright torchlight.

"So what's this about your first meal?" a dwarf – I believe it was Bofur – asked, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen after Bilbo's introduction and the dwarves' 'At your service's (half-assed or absent, for the most part).

"Oh," I sputtered, "I don't – I don't think it's quite appropriate for the dinner table."

"Come on," the one introduced as Kili urged. "We're dwarf-warriors, not maidens!"

I gave him a dry look, which he understood immediately (because I'm a maiden, obviously) and began to look sheepish, but I humoured him all the same. Partly because he was Thorin's nephew, and partly because he was a member of the Company – either way, being polite would maybe get these dwarves to let me wait out the coming battle within these strong walls.

"He threw down a deer's leg and expected me to eat it raw," I stated plainly. "When I told him uncooked meat would make me ill, he set it alight until it was charcoal."

"Well, we eat mother's cooking all the time," the other brother joked, "and it can't have been much worse than that!"

I gave him a smile, feeling pleased that he'd not pitied me and instead joked. It almost felt normal, if you forgot the fact that he was a Dwarf and I an Elf – and that we were in the Lonely Mountain just before the Battle of the Five Armies.

The dwarves were a bit friendlier after that, especially Thorin's nephews and Bofur and Bombur, who'd asked about my manner of smoking the meat. He got a great laugh out of the many failures I told him about, and it made me beam to know that I could still interact with people and get normal responses. My social abilities hadn't really been stunted, since I'd had Smaug to talk to and he was a master of conversation, but I'd been deeply afraid that I wouldn't be able to speak properly to other people. I thought that I might say something that would offend them, or make them think me strange, but I'd grown so weary in what I allowed to leave my lips that I rarely made any of the dwarves angry.

My favourite person, by far, was Bilbo. He was kind and thoughtful and he oftentimes distracted the dwarves when the interaction got to be a bit too much for me – especially when Thorin came over to me and gripped me by the shirt, demanding, "The Arkenstone! The Arkenstone! Where have you hidden it?"

I shook my head and tried to pull away from him, but he was stronger than I and held fast, even bringing me closer to his mad eyes. "I don't have it, and I've not looked at it much at all," I quickly answered. "It makes me feel greedy, and I don't like it."

What it really made me feel was utterly terrified, because the stone played such a crucial role in The Hobbit and I hadn't wanted to affect that. So I'd left it well enough alone, hidden wherever it was since last I saw it seventy years ago. The piles of gold had been shifted as Smaug rearranged the 'furniture', so I didn't actually know where it was.

"Where did you last see it?" he demanded.

"It was near the place Bilbo came in," I lied, "but Mast-Smaug has moved things about since then, in his wrath."

Thorin let me go and rushed over to the pile nearest the hidden entrance, which was actually the pile that was farthest away from where I'd last seen it. My eyes met Bilbo's, and from the look on his face I knew that he knew I'd lied to Thorin – and I knew that he had the Arkenstone hidden in his pillow. Not that he knew that I knew, I don't think, but he suspected I knew something.

I went over to him and casually (as casually as possible, given the circumstance) asked, "So, there are armies gathering?"

"Yes," he replied faintly. "Armies of Men and of Elves have entered the valley, likely come to demand some of Thorin's gold."

"And your gold," I reminded him. "From what you told Mast-Smaug – Smaug, Smaug, Smaug, not Master anymore! – you have a fourteenth share in this. Don't you care that they're after it?"

"I'd just as soon as give them my share if it would keep us from fighting," he confided.

I smiled, and I could tell that he sensed some secret behind the expression because he eyed me suspiciously, but I just shook my head and commended, "Then you're a wise person, Bilbo Baggins."

He blushed and stammered, trying to wave off the compliment, but he was both sufficiently distracted from my slip and praised as he should be. I'd liked Bilbo when I'd read the story. He didn't mean to come on this adventure, and yet, despite his fear and his desire to return home, he plowed through and pulled off many amazing feats while he was at it (and all the while yearned for his arm chair, handkerchiefs, and tea-kettle). The fact that he often complained and whined during the first part of his journey just made him more human, more believable. How many could go on such a quest and not miss the comforts of home? Bilbo was very real, and he was a hero because he didn't let his discomfort and fear control him. He was the definition of the 'underdog', of the unlikely hero, and I admired him for it.

"Actually," he announced loudly enough for the dwarves to hear, "I'd like for the treasure you wear to be taken from my share of the hoard."

I stared at him in silent awe, feeling gratitude like none I'd ever felt. This was why Bilbo was my favourite: how many other people could give up riches to make a stranger happy? I threw my arms about the hobbit and hugged him close. "Thank you," I whispered through tears. "I want to be rid of this place, but I didn't want to part with these, given though they were by Smaug. They're as much a part of me as my hair is anymore."

"Then I'm glad," Bilbo said, patting me awkwardly on the back.

I pulled away and gave him a watery smile before heading back to the Gate, to climb up and breathe the fresh air – and watch the sun rise, as it turned out.

The sky, once black and blanketed with stars, began to turn into a deep navy and paler still as dawn drew near. The stars vanished, whispering their goodbyes, and the sky shone clear and pale. I stared unblinkingly at the eastern sky, watching and waiting until a bright light flashed in the great distance and shone in my eyes. The sun was rising, and the cool morning rays bathed the earth, creeping closer and closer to the Lonely Mountain. The light rose steadily, and I stared at the valley before me as the sunlight ran swiftly forward, faster than any bird, and it soon reached me.

I closed my eyes and sucked in the chilled air of dawn while sunlight bathed my pale skin. A smile covered my face even as tears filled my eyes, and, once more, I began to sing:

"Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right

Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right
It's all right"

(**"Here Comes the Sun", The Beatles)

"Do Elves sing every time they feel emotions?"

I turned to Fili, who I knew would die in the coming battle, and shrugged while wiping my eyes. "I wouldn't know," I admitted after a moment's silence, "I've never met another Elf."

His eyes rounded and he sputtered, "Has Smaug kept you here since you were a babe?"

"I was twenty-two when I got here," I replied, avoiding a direct answer.

I didn't want to have to tell anyone about my whole 'otherworldliness' – at least, not until after I saw Gandalf. He was a wizard, so he could probably help me. I still had that bit of elven-wrought mithril in my nose, so maybe he could discern something from it. If he had the power – and if a hundred years hadn't passed on Earth as it had here – I might be able to go back. My hopes were not high, but anything the wizard could tell me was welcome. Knowing for certain that I could not return would stop the flood of 'what ifs', in any case.

"Erebor has been your home for all your life, then?" Fili questioned.

"If you want to call a dragon's lair home... It's yours now, though. I'll be on my way soon enough – except, I heard that there would probably be a battle, and, well, if you wouldn't mind... I was wondering if, maybe, I could stay here until it was over?" I requested haltingly.

Fili couldn't exactly grant me sanctuary, he wasn't Thorin, but he was Heir Apparent and the King's nephew. He might be able to convince Thorin that I ought to be allowed to stay while the fighting was going on, and then I could leave when the battle was won and the goblins and wolves were either killed or run off.

"You would have to ask my uncle to grant you refuge," Fili answered carefully, "but I will speak to him on your behalf."

"Thank you."

I stayed out there for a long time with Fili at my side, until my keen eyes spotted Men and Elves in the distance, just specs on the horizon, but they were coming forward. I ducked down immediately in an effort not to be seen, and whispered to Fili, "Don't tell them I'm here!"

"Why?" he queried.

"The elves might try to take me with them or something," I hissed. "I don't want to go to Mirkwood; it sounds like a horrible place!"

Thorin appeared behind me, just in time to hear my hushed plea to his nephew, and he glared down at my crouched form with suspicion. "Are you from Mirkwood?"

"No," I denied, "but Bilbo has told me a little about it, and it was more than enough to convince me that I do not wish to live there."

"Do you know these elves?"

"No, I don't know any elves from Mirkwood or Rivendell – or even Lothlórien or Mithlond, which Smaug has told me a bit about."

The King bent his head a little, to better meet my eyes, and he inquired, "If you truly are a princess, from which kingdom did Smaug take you?"

"America," I half lied.

"I have not heard of it."

"It's gone; I don't think I'll ever see it again..." I trailed off, and then stated firmly, "These elves will not know me. If you would grant me sanctuary until the time this quarrel is over, I would be in your debt."

"And why should I harbour an Elf?" he challenged.

My mouth opened and shut soundlessly as I tried to think of any argument in my favour. The only one I could come up with was that I'd asked, and that if he were kind at all, he would grant me my request. Unfortunately, Thorin was a Dwarf and I an Elf. While Bilbo, his nephews, and Bofur and Bombur were friendly with me, he himself was not. I still hadn't forgotten about the cup or the Arkenstone incidents, either.

"I – what if I'm killed? What if they kill me?" I questioned breathlessly. "I'm safe here, at least, and – and I've shared my food with you!"

"You have also lived without leave in my Mountain," he countered.

"But what if they shoot me, or stab me – or burn me?"

"That is not my problem," he snorted. "Elves claim to treat one another with great kindness. Let us see how hospitable these Wood-elves are to one of their own kin."

I blinked quickly to dry my dampening eyes and swallowed the lump that tried to lodge itself in my throat; I fisted the tails of my borrowed shirt and my nails cut through even that material to dig into my palms. "You'll turn me away?" I whispered.

"Uncle," Fili interrupted, "she's a victim of the dragon's greed. She says she has been here since she was but a babe, and this has been her home for many a year."

"And yet it is not her home at all – she did not even know the location of the Arkenstone!"

"She herself was part of the dragon's treasure," his nephew stated a bit cunningly.

Thorin was about to reply, but then his gaze was pulled back within the Mountain, in the direction of the dragon's hoard, and madness seemed to fill him once more. He turned to me, dragon-sickness in his eyes, and examined my form, taking in my long hair, the delicate point of my ears, my face and neck and body, all the way down to my dirty, bare feet. As he looked at me, his greed-filled eyes would fall on the jewellery given to me by Smaug and gifted to me by Bilbo. He stopped especially long to stare at the stud in my nose, which glowed silver in the light, and at the mithril circlet that sat upon my head – and especially at the small red stone that was cradled in the delicately carved vines above my brow.

"You would take her as part of your share?" Thorin asked roughly.

My eyes flickered over to the younger dwarf, who had seemingly turned to stone. Fili watched his uncle with shaded eyes, and his face was hidden from me. I held my breath as the air filled with tension. Thorin had just asked if Fili would possess me, like an object, like I wasn't even human (humanoid).

"Would you?" Thorin repeated.

Fili cleared his throat and his eyes darted over to my still form. Then he faced his uncle once more and nodded. "I would," he declared.

"And if I said I wanted her?"

Fili almost took a step back, but his voice was steady as he replied, "Then she is yours, if you should desire her, for it is your right to choose before me, Uncle."

Thorin frowned at his nephew for a short while before he nodded abruptly and proclaimed, "She is yours. Do with her what you will, but do not allow the elves to see her."

"Of course," Fili obliged, bowing.

The young dwarf gently took my arm and guided me down the stairs. "What will you do with me?" I queried faintly.

He stopped walking, making me pause as well, and, without looking at me, he answered, "I don't know."

"Then why did you do that? I thought I was free, and now – now I'm objectified once more!"

"If I had not said I would take you," he coolly explained, "then my uncle would have sent you away. You wished to stay within the Mountain until the men and the elves end their attempted siege, and so you will remain."

"What about after?" I wondered.

"If there is battle and I should live, then we will discuss it."

"And - and if you die?"

I hadn't wanted to ask that, especially since he would die if the story followed its proper course, but it was something I needed to know because of his upcoming demise. When he died, would the other dwarves try to keep me here, or would they let me go, seeing that only madness had caused Thorin to ask Fili such a question? I didn't want to stay in Erebor, no matter how familiar its darkness was to me. I desired sunlight and grass and trees and the sky, the stars, not cold, hard stone devoid of life.

Fili clenched his jaw and refused to look at me as he asserted, "Then it is up to my uncle and the rest of the Company to decide your fate."

I was left alone after that, to sit in the morning light and stew over my precarious position. Thorin would die, as would Fili – and Kili – and there would be no one to head the Company as King under the Mountain, which meant that I'd either have to contend with the rest of them for my freedom or escape into the night like Bilbo would soon do with the Arkenstone.

Bofur and Bombur would no doubt agree to let me go, and I couldn't see Ori being cruel – he was still young and a bit innocent, despite this adventure. Balin might decide it wise to let me go, but, then again, he and Nori might want to use me as leverage of some kind against the elves of Mirkwood.

The rest I wasn't too sure about.

Dori was polite enough, though he stayed out of my way, and Gloin appeared rather leery of me. Oin could go either way, though he'd likely agree with whatever his brother decided. I couldn't understand a word Bifur said, so there wasn't any way for me to guess about him. As for Dwalin... he would probably follow his brother as well.

Bilbo, if they counted his vote, would be entirely against keeping me locked up.

So that was four for sure out of eleven, or three out of ten if Bilbo was not included in the bargaining.

If they didn't agree to let me go, I'd have to run. It was too bad I couldn't ask to borrow Bilbo's magic ring!

Thorin greeted the elves and men in his proud way, yet none returned the greeting. They turned away and Thorin glared at their retreating backs until he could no longer see them, and then he appointed Nori as watcher and went back into the Mountain to search for the Arkenstone some more. Most of the dwarves followed him, either to stare mindlessly at the treasure or to help him in his search, but I stayed where I was, and Bilbo soon joined me.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm sure Fili won't – do anything untoward to you. He will probably let you go once this storm blows over."

"Yeah," I mumbled, sounding doubtful. "If he doesn't," I whispered in quiet admission, "then I'll escape. I don't know where I'll go, but I'll figure something out."

"But that would be dangerous!"

"Probably," I agreed.

"Didn't you want to stay here to be safe?" he asked, aghast.

I huffed out a quiet laugh and wondered, "Why should I stay? Because it's familiar? Because I have no home of my own? No, when this gathering of clouds has burst, I'll be off somewhere far, far away. It might not be easy, I admit, and it scares the life out of me to think about, but staying here isn't an option. I'd be passed down generations of dwarves like some family heirloom if they kept me, or like a pet cat or a slave... No, I couldn't stay here."

Bilbo was silent as he furrowed his brow in thought. He considered me and the surrounding halls, and then he quietly suggested, "You could come with me, if I live through this. The road home to the Shire passes through Rivendell, and you could live there if you wanted. It's nothing at all like Mirkwood: the air is open to the sky, and most of the windows don't even have glass or shutters. I'm sure Lord Elrond would take you in. If he doesn't... then you could stay with me in Bag End – until you make other arrangements, I mean."

"Oh, Bilbo," I sighed, "you're the kindest person I've ever met."

He turned red and stuttered a bit, but eventually managed to clear his throat and change the subject. We spent the rest of the day chatting, and he told me all about the Shire and how he spent his days there. Occasionally I would share with him a few of my experiences with Smaug, but I made sure to stay away from the scarier ones and stuck close to the humorous or witty exchanges the dragon would drag me into when he was awake and in want of conversation. Bilbo quite enjoyed hearing about the wise people Smaug had met (and subsequently killed, though I made no mention of that), and I liked hearing about his peaceful home and life.

I also ate cram for the first time, and while the taste left something to be desired, it was bread, not meat, and that made me happy. Bilbo watched on in amusement as I waxed poetic over the piece he gave me. "I'm rather sick of it myself," he confessed, "and I'd trade you my cram for the meat you cooked if I could!"

"Deal," I claimed immediately. "You eat the meat, I'll eat the cram. Ye gods, I have not eaten anything but meat in a century! Blech! I think I might become a vegetarian..."

"A what?"

"A vegetarian: someone who eats fruits and grains and vegetables, but no meat at all. Animal products like eggs and milk and cheese are acceptable, but nothing else is."

"The elves in Rivendell served us a vegetarian meal," he shared. "The dwarves were rather unhappy about it until the meat finally arrived. I think they waited a bit on purpose, just to tease us. They're a jolly folk and very kind, but sometimes a bit too cheery, if you get my meaning."

I nodded, remembering clearly the teasing words the silly elves had sung as Thorin and Company entered the hidden valley. Elves could be a bit callous when it came to words, it seemed to me. I didn't much understand how they could joke so lightly about things that made others uncomfortable or upset – but, then again, I had lived for an incredibly long time and oftentimes it was only the small joys or comforts I got that sustained me while I stayed in Smaug's lair. Elves probably had their own way of dealing with immortality, and being cheery jokesters was likely the key to maintaining their sanity.

Evening came, and sounds were heard loud and clear outside the Mountain: elvish song and cheer echoed in the valley below us. A thought occurred to me then, that the elves and men had decided to wage psychological warfare on the dwarves. By the looks on the Company's faces, it was working splendidly. Then Balin, seeming to come to the same conclusion I did, turned about and sought the treasury and dragged a few other dwarves with him. They returned with golden harps and wind instruments, and began playing them straight away.

Their song was proud and spoke of victory and the revival of their old halls, which cheered Thorin, but this song did not match the joy of the elvish music in the dale. I kept back, watching as the King spoke with the Company, all of them wondering when Dain would arrive from the Iron Hills with his army. Bilbo and I shared a look at the talk and the song, neither of us enjoying the thought of having open war at our doorstep.

It couldn't be helped, though, for the next day the men and elves came again and Thorin turned them away twice, not in the least convinced that he owed the men of Lake-town or the Elvenking a thing. I agreed that the Elvenking didn't deserve a cent at this point, since he hadn't offered aid to the dwarves when the dragon had first come and he'd imprisoned the dwarves earlier, but Bardhad killed Smaug, and surely he deserved something.

To be honest, I thought they were all a greedy lot and should just be thankful that the dragon was gone and they could now all live in peace. Bilbo agreed with me there, when I muttered it, but Thorin rather furiously stated that there would only be peace when the elves and men went away – but especially when the elves went away. I tried not to flinch at that, but wasn't really able to suppress or hide my reaction.

Long days were spent in the hoard, with the dwarves picking and choosing their share of the treasure while Bilbo and I watched on wearily. Fili would sometimes look at me as he no doubt wondered what he'd do with me when all was said and done. As of yet he hadn't asked anything of me – in fact, he'd left me alone for the most part, speaking to me no more. It made for some awkward experiences because Thorin insisted I sleep near his nephew's things (as I was, supposedly, part of the dwarf's share) and the dwarves argued about my worth and how it would detract from Fili's fourteenth. I didn't know if I should be insulted or not, since some dwarves said I was worth little, and others said I was worth a fairly large amount, while still some (Bombur and Bofur and Kili and Ori) said that it wasn't right that I be named part of the treasury, even if I had been considered treasure by the dragon.

Thorin issued a Mountain-wide threat to dispose of any who would find and keep the Arkenstone to his – or her, he said with suspicion – self. Bilbo looked ill when he said so, and I was reminded that soon the hobbit would flee like 'A Thief in the Night', as the chapter was titled, and bring the Arkenstone to Bard and the Elvenking. I didn't know when it would happen, but I wanted to pull him aside and tell him not to say anything to anyone about my presence here. I didn't want the knowledge to disrupt anything.

I caught the hobbit alone two days after Thorin's warning.

"Bilbo," I begged, "whatever you do, whoever you speak to, do not mention me. Please."

He gulped and fingered his front pocket, where he kept his magic ring. He shook his head wildly and looked around to be sure no one was near us – and no one was, because I'd made sure of it – and only when he was sure we were alone and out of earshot did he dare ask, "What is it you think I will do, and whom do you think I will speak to?"

I smiled a Mona Lisa smile full of secrets and said, "I know you have it, and I know you're going to go down in the valley to speak with Bard and the Elvenking."

"H-how?" he stuttered.

"You learn to read minute expressions when you're at risk of being burned alive or eaten," I informed him dryly, "and you've had guilty written all over you since Thorin mentioned that thing. Not to mention, after the talking raven gave its news about Dain's approach, you looked doomed. Now, you look resolved. So I'm telling you to please not mention me, whenever it is you go and to whomever you speak."

What I didn't tell him was that the main reason I could read him so well was because I already knew what he'd done and planned on doing. I might have learned to read Smaug, but that didn't directly mean I could read Hobbits or Dwarves or Elves or Men just as well. If I hadn't known about Bilbo's plan to the exact detail already, I probably wouldn't have mentioned anything – or I might have mentioned something at the wrong time and ruined everything.

"You won't tell?" he wondered meekly with his hand in his pocket.

"I promise I won't," I swore.

"Do you think that – that I'm doing the right thing?" he inquired.

I looked at the hobbit then and saw that even though he was resolved, he was also scared. He was scared to be going out alone in the dark, to face Bard and the Elvenking alone, and he was scared to be going behind the backs of his friends, betraying them. He was between a rock and a hard place: did he stick it out with his friends and starve, or did he try to prevent a likely bloody fight?

"There is often a choice between what is right and what is easy," I paraphrased Albus Dumbledore before going on to quote him, "A wise man once said, 'It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends'. What you're planning is not easy, Bilbo, and it requires you to do something your friends will not like. But I think it's the right thing to do, if only because your intentions are pure."

He looked simultaneously relieved and disappointed; relieved that I supported him and disappointed that I did not try to stop him from doing something he knew would earn the ire of his friends, if they ever found out. "You speak kind words," he lamented, "but I fear they may lead to trouble."

I chuckled a bit and said, "I stand by what I said. And if this road leads to trouble, then let it be brief."

We shared a smile and then casually separated, heading in different directions to pretend as though we hadn't had a conversation. No one knew that we had spoken alone that day, and I was glad of it, for when the dead of night arrived, Bilbo got up and went to relieve Bombur at the gate. When the dwarf came down into the Mountain, where it was warm and dark and all were asleep except for me, I knew that Bilbo had gone and I silently wished him the best of luck.

Bilbo came back before midnight and woke Bombur, who thanked him quietly and then woke Gloin for his turn at watch. I lay silent and still as though in sleep, observing them through my open and unblinking eyes. They wouldn't be able to tell the difference between wakefulness and sleep on me, so I was safe if they caught sight of my eyes. Bilbo curled up tightly in a ball, both for warmth and for comfort, and I felt my heart go out to him at once. He'd be right about thrown out of the Mountain come daybreak, the poor dear.

Morning came, and the dwarves all gathered along the top of the Gate or at the base with ears perked. I stood behind Bilbo on the stairs, subtly pressing a hand against his shoulder in a show of support. I wouldn't be able to speak up if I wanted to remain safe in the Mountain when the goblins and the wolves came, so I had to let him take the fall by himself – and he would, for it was in his character and he would have done so anyway, regardless of my presence.

When Thorin shouted down to the elves and men, "How came you by it?" he slowly turned inward, toward the inside of the Mountain, and toward me.

I nearly tripped down the stairs in my shock and fright, so fearsome was his expression, but Bilbo saved me by squeaking, "I gave it to them!"

My hand squeezed his shoulder lightly before I let go and stepped back. The hobbit turned to me with understanding in his eyes, and I looked at him with apology and shame in mine. If I were stronger, I would stand by him. I would leave the Mountain with him and say, "Fuck the dwarves!" But I wasn't stronger, so I didn't. I was too scared of the coming battle, too terrified at the thought of wolves and goblins, beasts I had only read about and heard tell from Smaug.

And I wasn't ready to leave Erebor, truth be told. I wanted to be outside and free; but, at the same time, I wanted to crawl beneath a mound of gold and hide like I'd done sometimes when Smaug was in a mood.

Thorin threw a conniption – and very nearly threw Bilbo off the wall, to my absolute horror. He picked the hobbit right up and held him above his head, ready to send him to his death, when Gandalf spoke and somehow managed to convince Thorin to let Bilbo leave without coming to harm – except for retracting his fourteenth share of the gold. Then the King turned to me with a snarl, but Bilbo quickly interrupted the new attack of psychosis: "She had nothing to do with this! She didn't know I had the stone, and didn't tell me to do any of what I did!"

No, I'd just suggested he go through with it. I was still an accessory to the crime – but Thorin didn't need to know that, and Bilbo didn't want to jeopardize my safety. I gave the little hobbit a hug and told him to be safe, and then he was sent down into the arms of the men and elves and wizard. But, much like what happened with Smaug, Bilbo could not keep his head when it came to his goodbyes: "Farewell!" he cried. "We may meet again as friends! Have hope, Carmen!"

Thorin threatened him off again, and the people at the Gate retreated once more – but I heard, on the wind, Gandalf's voice asking Bilbo, "Who is Carmen?"

I mentally cursed and prayed that Bilbo would keep his mouth tightly closed. If he mentioned anything about my being an elf, and especially about my being given to Fili, I was nearly one hundred percent certain that the elves would be of a different mind entirely than merely waiting out the dwarves' reply to the trade for the Arkenstone. Bilbo had better heed my request and remain silent – or, at the very least, refrain from telling them I was an elf. If he didn't... there might be outright war before the time was right.

I was brought back down to the treasury and told to stay put and to keep away from the Gate so that none could sight me. Thorin was furious, and madness gleamed in his eyes, the dragon-sickness fully having a hold on him. I sat on the pieces Fili had chosen, leaning against the pile with crossed arms as I followed the King with my eyes. I wondered for a moment how Thorin would have behaved around me had we not been within this mountain, within this hoard where the dragon's scent and magic lingered. He might not have been the kindest, but I suspected that he would have at least been accommodating and courteous.

I would never fully see Thorin as he ought to have been, free from the illness brought on by the dragon's long presence in the Mountain and free from the greed the gold evoked in him, until his last moments.

A few days after Bilbo left, horns were heard above the ground. We all hastened to the Gate, as the sound meant Dain had finally come from the Iron Hills. For the dwarves this meant they had back-up, and for me this meant the Battle of Five Armies was about to begin. I hung around at the base of the great doors, wondering if I ought to just go back to the hoard and wait this out there. Men came to the gate, to make one last plea for gold, and they were sent away in a rush of arrows.

In some ways I admired Thorin's Company. They stood by their King regardless of his madness, so loyal were they – but so stubborn, as well. They planned to wait for Dain to send for more dwarves so that they'd have more than enough to beat both the Elvenking and the Lake-men, but their plans were for naught. Darkness came swiftly, and bat-wings were heard flying overhead while wolf and goblin cries sounded in the near distance.

Not a single member of the Company had expected it (indeed, none but I had conceived such a thing), and they all stood indecisively as the sounds of battle came from outside. At last Thorin stood and lifted his sword high as he cried, "I would see this Mountain in the hands of Elves ere I saw it in the possession of Goblins and Wolves!"

The dwarves around him rallied and fetched their armour and weapons, quickly readying themselves for battle. As Thorin directed the dwarves to destroy part of the wall in order to let them out, Fili turned to me and advised, "You had best hide yourself in the treasury; find a weapon and be prepared to fight should goblins or wolves breach the wall when we are through."

I stared at him, and knowledge crushed me for an instant as I realized that this was the last time I would see him – or Kili and Thorin, for that matter. Rather impulsively, I wound my arms tightly around his shorter frame and hugged him tightly. "Good luck," I managed to choke out.

Then I was running through the halls and down the stairs as I made for the hoard. When I was within the room, I lit up all the wall torches and rifled through Fili's pile for the short-sword I knew was there somewhere. I found it at last and then ran to Ori's pile and picked up the lightest coat of mail. It was still too heavy for me, though, so I had to either put it back or risk getting myself killed by being unable to move quickly. I wondered for a minute if I ought not to stand my ground and face any coming enemy head on, but then I figured that hiding would be best – I could hide until I spotted my foe, and then I could take him by surprise.

I waited and waited in silence, barely daring to breathe because I had no way of knowing whether any wolf or goblin got into the mountain, since Tolkien had never written about it. My waiting was in vain. No goblin or wolf came, and a full day later, when the battle had long since passed and the wounded had been tended and the dead gathered for burial, footsteps echoed down the halls toward the hoard. I heard no voices, and I tensed while they drew nearer and nearer.

At last, five figures entered the hall. I watched them from behind a large pile of gold, hidden in the shadows. The torches had burned down quite some time ago, but they still gave off a soft glow. I had placed myself in a spot without any flame behind me, and I made no shadow and no sound, so none of the five could see me – though I could see them.

Balin was in the lead, and I was mighty glad to see a familiar face. Though I hadn't much spoken to him, and I rather suspected he would have quickly used me for leverage against the Elvenking if he needed to, I recognized him as being intelligent and loyal to his King. We weren't friends, and we'd barely spoken but a few words to one another, but I knew him, unlike the other four.

I recognized Gandalf with his hat and Bard with his bow, and there was one I believed to be the Elvenking with a crown of holly upon his head. The final dwarf I did not know or recognize, but I suspected him to be Dain, the one who would rule Erebor now that Thorin was dead.

I bit my bottom lip and remained motionless and silent as Balin presented the dragon's treasure to them. I thought the whole thing was rather odd, since I had assumed that the dwarves would not let any elves into the Mountain – but then I heard Balin call for me, and I knew that this was the reason the Elvenking had been allowed inside.

"Princess Carmen," Balin called, "it is safe now: the goblins and wolves are killed and those that fled are being hunted even as we speak. Come, for these great leaders wish to speak with you!"

What would they do if I did not come? They would probably search for me, and then they might not react as well as they might if I came forward myself. I took in a deep breath, which was heard by the Elvenking, for he turned his gaze in my direction, and then I straightened my shoulders and stepped out from behind the pile of gold. I was still hidden partially in the shadow, and they could not fully see my form, but my skin glowed and caused the jewellery I wore to shimmer. I heard Bard gasp while Gandalf, Dain, and the Elvenking merely sharpened their gazes. I watched them inspect me, and only came forward at Balin's beckoning.

"Where's Bilbo?" I asked immediately, wondering why he was not here. I had thought my hobbit friend would come retrieve me; it was quite unlike the kind fellow to abandon a friend when it was not necessary or for some greater purpose (like peace).

Pain and regret flashed in Gandalf and Balin's eyes, and Balin lowered his slightly as he quietly informed me, "We have not found him yet."

I clenched my teeth together, telling myself that he would soon be found and be no worse for wear aside from being an icicle and having a nasty headache, but it was hard to believe when these five stood before me in the halls of the Lonely Mountain. Tolkien had never written about this, as the events were completely unknown to Bilbo – not to mention I was not a part of that story. I had no real way of knowing if he really was just laying unconscious and invisible on some rock on the mountainside. I hoped so.

"Then there's no telling what happened," I forced myself to say, though it sounded slightly hoarse to my own ears.

Bilbo definitely couldn't die. He was such a wonderful person! Middle-earth wouldn't be the same without him: that was for certain. He had to be alive. He just had to.

"Fili is dead," Balin announced, "and so is Kili. Thorin lies dying even now."

I closed my eyes, partly to hide what knowledge they might find and partly because I was sad to see the two brothers go. They had been young and full of life, cheery and kind to me even though I was an elf within their mountain. I swallowed the tears that tried to fall, calling myself a coward for not having done something, or said something that might have helped. I would have been useless in battle, though, and what use would my words have been for them? They might have taken away hope, or given hope, or caused them to fight harder still, or weaker – or avoid fighting altogether, and then the battle might have been lost without the inspiration Thorin had brought to both men and elves in his last stand.

No, there hadn't been anything for me to do that wouldn't have altered the conclusion of the story.

"He wishes to speak with you," Balin finished.

"Then we will speak," I uttered. Then I pleaded, "Please tell me people are searching for Bilbo. He might have been overlooked, small and quiet as he is – when he wants to be."

Gandalf cracked a slight smile at that, and assured me, "There are people searching, Lady."

"Good," I sighed, returning his smile with a faint one of my own.

Then I turned away from them and made for the exit.

I paused at the doorway of the treasury, feeling heaviness in my chest as I realized that this would likely be the last time I would look upon Smaug's lair and gold, the place I had lived for an entire century. I turned back to look at the room, eyes flying over the gold and the walls and the ceiling and floor. I remembered my arrival, the terror I'd felt, and how I had somehow adapted to the constant presence of fear. I remembered eating and drinking while Smaug watched on or dined with me. I remembered talking to him, and sharing my world with him. I remembered our conversations and the way he'd lure me into divulging secrets I hadn't wanted him to know. I remembered his wrath and avarice and the way he used to look at me at times as though I were the most rare and exceptional treasure in his entire hoard.

There was much pain and fear in this great hall; but, there had also been moments where I'd felt almost safe and comfortable.

Smaug had brought me outside to experience the night, and he had adorned me with gold and silver and mithril and jewels. I suddenly felt terribly sad that he was gone, dead. He'd been the first creature to speak to me here, to introduce me to this world. I held no love for him, truly, but somehow an odd sort of fondness had grown in me, despite the burnings and the tail lashings and his claws.

I smiled an odd smile, wry and full of amusement and sadness and relief. I was feeling grief for the dragon, for the creature who had imprisoned me here, the one whose demise I had long awaited. He was dead and gone, but my memories of him would live forever.

I wondered if this was what having Stockholm syndrome was like.

I also feared the wide world now that it was open to me. The things I'd dreamed about and remembered were within my grasp, and I was faltering before it. I briefly wished that Master Smaug would fly into the room and laugh at the five who stood beside me. Smaug would kill them and eat them, and then he would ask me if I'd ever really believed he could be killed, or that I could ever be free of him. And I would say, "No, Master Smaug. I promised you I would not leave, and I have not. I knew you would return." Life would return to normal after that, and I'd smoke meat and do whatever my Master requested of me, be it singing or speaking or dancing or sitting atop a mound of gold for him to admire me upon.

I blinked and the vision was gone. I stood in a dragon-less hall, with a Man, an Elf, a Wizard, and two Dwarves beside me. And Thorin was waiting to speak with me.

I took one last look at what had been my home (and it had been, insane though it may seem) and left the treasury behind.

Up and up we climbed, through stairs and across halls, until at last we came to the Front Gate, whose doors were gaping open. There was a path before me, leading out of the Mountain, and I slowly placed a hesitant foot on it while the dwarf-guards watched on with bewilderment as one more person left the Mountain than had entered. I took one step forward and recalled my promise to Smaug that I would not take a single step outside of Erebor. I took another, and my promise remained unbroken. Bilbo was not at my side, so that vow too was kept.

Smaug was no longer alive, and I was taking the first two of many steps outside of the Lonely Mountain.