A Very Respectable Hobbit

by TheThirdStar

Bilbo Baggins is going on an adventure and along the way he might just learn that being respectable isn't all it's cracked up to be. A look into how Bilbo got to know and befriend the dwarves and maybe, just maybe, come to care for one in particular. Slow burn Bagginshield, rating may change.

25. Chapter 25

A/N So this chapter was a huge bitch to write which is why it took soooooo looooonnnngggggggg. Sorry for the wait and I hope you guys enjoy :)

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Bilbo felt as if there were a heavy cloud surrounding his head. Every sound was muffled, the objects he knew to be in front of his eyes seemed like nothing more than smudges. He heard but didn't hear. He saw but didn't see. All the hobbit knew was that he hurt.

He thought he might've been led towards a horse. He thought he might have been lifted onto a saddle and that they had started off back towards camp. But he really couldn't be sure. It was like he was in some strange, terrible limbo. Not awake and yet neither was he asleep. He was conscious but absent, like the Bilbo Baggins riding in front of the flame-haired elf was separate from him. Like his mind found the splitting sensation in his chest so horribly unbearable that it had shut down, divorcing itself from reality.

Bilbo just wanted to be done. He was tired, so very tired. He wanted the sun burst out of existence, he wanted the birds silenced, he wanted the man, wizard, and elves riding beside him to go far, far away. He wanted to be alone. The hobbit wanted to press his fingers against his throat, feel the cut on his skin as his blood rained down his wrist. He wanted to see the red coat his hands if only to remind himself that he was still alive, that maybe if the wound was split open then he could concentrate on something other than what he felt in his heart.

Thorin was gone, gone, gone.

The ring had devoured Thorin. The ring Bilbo he had given him. Why… why should he be allowed to walk away from the man he loved, from the man he killed, with nothing more than a scratch. All that was left of his friend was an angry husk, filled with rage and greed and so much pride.

Where was the smile Bilbo had grown to love?

Where was the begrudging kindness, the gruff laughter, the dwarf that cared so deeply for the troubles of others?

'Gone,' a voice whispered in his ear, 'down to the deep and the dark. Lost to the abyss, drowning…'

The hobbit clenched his eyes shut.

'Dead,' it hissed, 'killed by trust, slain by love. He never even saw you coming, traitor. He saw betrayal in everyone. Everyone but you…'

'No,' Bilbo thought desperately, 'no, no, I didn't…'

'Oh but you did,' it purred with dark malice, 'a knife in the dark, a knife in the back. Little Bilbo Baggins who stole the king's heart and stole the king's life.'

'No…' The hobbit's fists clenched on the edge of the saddle, feeling a dry sob wrack though his body, 'that's not…'

The voice let out a laugh like rusted metal.

'Little Bilbo Baggins who only wanted to help when all he did was hurt. The man who lived while his lover died, a fair trade don't you think, thief?'

Then the hobbit had to laugh. Live? Was this living? In all he years he had never known living to hurt so much. But dying….

This was exactly how he imagined dying might feel. Slow and painful. Alone and cold. Unfair and unwanted. Like winter without a sun, a summer without warmth. It felt wrong.

Bilbo felt a pair of hands lift him down onto the ground and opened his eyes. Tauriel was staring at him, her brows drawn in concern as her mouth moved. Moved and yet the hobbit couldn't hear a word she said, unable to do anything more than look back at her blankly.

He saw Bard dismount his horse and walk over to them. He and the elf exchanged a quick word before he knelt down so his eyes were level with Bilbo's. The bowman's deep voice sounded like it was whispering from miles away. Bard reached up and placed a hand on the side of the hobbit's face. Bilbo jerked back at the contact but felt sound and color crashing back around him like an angry storm.

"Bilbo…"

He blinked. Once, twice.

"Yes?" he replied softly, wincing as his throat moved and sharp pain flooded his mind. Bilbo raised his hand with a jerking motion to cover his neck.

"Why don't you come back to my tent? I can take a look at your neck."

The hobbit eyed Bard wearily, "No… no, I don't want…."

He didn't want it to be looked at. He didn't want it to be healed. He deserved every moment of sharp pain from the cut Thorin had given him. And it was… it was the only thing even slightly distracting him from the sickly soft voice whispering dark thoughts in his mind.

Bard's face softened slightly, "You can't just leave that untreated."

"Don't be an idiot, halfling," Tauriel snapped from above them, her eyes narrowing.

The bowman shot her a small glare before glancing back towards Bilbo, "Do you remember when you treated me, Bilbo?"

"Of course I do." The hobbit's voice was a low rasp, "it wasn't… wasn't so long ago."

"Allow me to return the favor then," Bard placed a hand on his shoulder.

Bilbo was about to take a step back and… run maybe. Leave this place, leave these people if only for a little while. Bard seemed to sense the hobbit's thoughts and tightened his grip.

"Let me help you, Bilbo," his dark green eyes flashed with determination before softening, "please."

The hobbit stared back at Bard for a few silent moments. He was weary and knew his legs wouldn't carry him that far or fast. Bilbo's shoulders slumped as he gave his friend a small nod. Bard stood up, keeping his hand on the hobbit, and started to guide him towards the shabby tent Bilbo had slept in the night before. He saw Tauriel had crossed her arms and followed just a step behind them.

"Shouldn't you be guarding your king?" Bard glanced at her with a dark brow raised slightly.

"Yes. But I told the halfling I would not leave his side." She raised her chin in defiance at the bowman.

Bilbo let out a sigh, "I'm no longer in danger, Miss Tauriel, you don't need to babysit me."

The elf's hard blue eyes flicked down to his face as Bard muttered something that sounded like a gruff chuckle and 'Miss Tauriel…'

"Just because you no longer have a sword pointed at you doesn't mean you're no longer in danger." She frowned at him, "You're a fool if you think I don't know that look."

Bard turned his heard to look back at her, "I will stay with him."

Tauriel shot him an acidic smile, "and so will I. You are not my king or my prince, you have no authority to command me."

The bowman raised a hand in defeat, "I wasn't looking for a fight. I just don't want Legolas complaining to me later about how I stole his best guard."

"That is Prince Legolas to you, human," the elf sneered.

Bard rolled his eyes as he followed the winding patches of grass between tents, "He doesn't seem to mind how I address him."

Tauriel's face flushed as she shot the bowman another angry glare, "That is because he is both kind and generous." Her tone said those qualities were of the 'to a fault' variety, "Even to those who don't deserve such respect."

"Whatever you say, Miss Tauriel," Bard turned his face forward again as they reached the tent. He held the flap open and ushered Bilbo inside, Tauriel pushing past him, chin still raised high.

Bilbo stepped into the tent and made for a rickety wooden chair that rested in the corner. He sat down in a boneless slump and closed his eyes, shutting out the sound of Tauriel rather inexpertly trying to a pick a fight with Bard. He stared at the canvas blankly, trying to think nothing at all and failing miserably. He wasn't sure what was worse, listening to these people who had no idea the pain that was digging deep, jagged grooves into his ribs or the idea of being left alone with nothing but his own thoughts.

The hobbit suddenly glanced up at Bard who was trying to find some healing supplies while Tauriel glared at him, her arms crossed defensively. He recalled something the bowman had told him back in Lake Town… Bard had told him his wife had died, his wife had been killed, hadn't he? Maybe… maybe he would understand.

Bard seemed to find what he was looking for and walked over to the hobbit, bandages and some potted mixture in his hand. Crouching down to kneel in front of him, Bard took off the lid of the jar, dipping his fingers into the mixture then bringing them up to the hobbit's neck. Green eyes widened slightly as he examined Bilbo's throat.

"There's… there's bruising here as well," Bard's gaze shot up to meet Bilbo's. "What happened to you?"

The hobbit knew what his friend must have been seeing. The now dark hand prints that rested on his skin like some horrible necklace, but he… he couldn't bring himself to recall his encounter with Thorin in the treasure room on top of what happened today.

"How did you feel when your wife died?"

Bilbo's voice was so quiet it might have just been a whisper caught on a breeze, but he could tell Bard had heard him, the man looked as if he had just been slapped. Normally the hobbit would have tried to be considerate, normally he never would have even thought to ask, but he had to know.

The bowman considered him for a moment. His mouth was set in a hard line as he started to apply the balm to the hobbit's neck.

"She didn't just die, she was killed." Bard began slowly, his voice had a stained quality to it now, "why do you ask?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Tauriel stepped further into the tent, her footsteps making no sound even as she walked.

Bards eyes shifted to her face briefly before coming back to rest on Bilbo. His face was mostly blank except for the telling lines between his brows that had grown more severe.

The silence stretched further until Tauriel let out a huff. "The halfling just lost his love. Look at his face—"

"Enough," Bilbo choked out, his face blanching and a sudden eruption of fresh pain that seemed to spread from his neck throughout his whole body. The ache in his chest split open all over again and it was all he could do not curl in on himself, away from their eyes.

Bard shot the elf a glare, "Be quiet or leave, Tauriel."

She looked between them, her face reddening, "I… didn't mean…" The elf opened and closed her mouth several times before lowering her eyes. "Sorry," she muttered and went to sit in silence on one of the other wooden chairs.

Bard brought his hand back up to resume rubbing the balm on the hobbit's neck. Bilbo flinched away again, shutting his eyes, shutting his ears, shutting his mind.

"Bilbo," he heard the bowman's gruff voice say gently, "may I finish?"

The hobbit kept his eyes and mouth closed but didn't feel Bard's fingers.

"I'm not sure I can describe how I felt when she… when she died."

Bilbo's eyes snapped open and he saw Bard was looking at him with understanding and pity in his face.

"It was... I felt like a hand had reached in my chest," he brought his fingers to touch at his leather-clad chest, tapping lightly where he heart lay beating within, "and ripped it out."

"I… hurt, more than any sword wound or arrow. All the happy days I had pictured in our future turned to ash and all I could taste was my own bitter rage, my guilt. Her death was my fault," Bard's hand clenched into a fist over his heart, "and I live with that every day. In the beginning there was not an hour that went by where I didn't see her in my mind, torn and broken. Twisted and mutilated."

"I lost myself to rage and grief," Bilbo's mind leapt immediately to Thorin.

"I felt guilt, Bilbo, so much guilt and no amount of ale or blood made me feel any less. It… broke me. I couldn't understand why she had died and I, worthless and tainted, had survived."

"I wished for death every day, every single day, until… until I didn't, I suppose."

Bard lowered his hand down to rest on his knee.

"I started to think that… that she wouldn't have wanted me to die. Liana would have wanted me to live, but not as I had before. She would want me to be better. So I started to help people, help Lake Town and in my work I… I certainly didn't find forgiveness but I found purpose, I found my penance."

"Each morning when I woke I would feel my pain start to try and take me again, but each evening when I went to sleep, I could look back on that day, on how I made life better for someone else and it was…. easier."

The bowman looked at him, no smile on his face, no reassurance in his eyes, but there was honesty. And that was all Bilbo wanted.

"Some days are worse than others, but you learn to live again, Bilbo. You learn to move forward because it's the only thing you really can do. And one day… if you're fortunate, you may find someone else that becomes not just a reason to move on, but a reason to be happy again."

Bard's gaze was steady as he spoke, "but my story is not yours, Bilbo Baggins."

"Thorin is still alive. You are still alive," the bowman said softly, "don't give up yet."

The hobbit found his voice, though it sounded broken even to his ears. "He said… he said he would kill me if I came back."

"The dwarf does not deserve you," Tauriel appeared to be able to hold her tongue no longer, "he is cruel and greedy."

Bilbo felt as if he had been punched in the cut, "he isn't."

The hobbit looked up at Bard, at the only person who might understand, "I did that to him, I gave him a cursed ring and it – it twisted his mind."

Bilbo's eyes fell down to his shaking hands, "I killed everything good in him."

"No," Bard said shortly, "I don't believe you knowingly gave him the curse. It was not your fault, Bilbo."

The hobbit let out a bitter laugh, "Does it matter if I gave it to him knowingly? I gave it to him."

"There are powers at work here much greater than any one of us," the bowman's voice was firm, "the dwarven rings are ancient, their magic is ancient. If even the wizard couldn't resist its will, it was no fault of yours that Thorin wasn't able to either."

"So we were doomed from the start? Some dark magic lurking in a ring was pulling our stings, controlling us?"

Bard didn't seem to have an answer to that.

"That is a nice thought," Bilbo grimaced, "that none of the blame lies with me."

He let out that cold laugh again.

"Nice, but false. I made my choices. I gave Thorin the ring and I gave the Arkenstone away," the hobbit wanted to tear out of his skin, "everything Thorin said was true. I betrayed him and I paid for it. Am paying for it."

The bowman let out a small sigh before shifting his gaze down to Bilbo's neck, "May I?"

Bilbo just shrugged.

"I know how you feel," Bard started rubbing the balm in again, "and I know that guilt. I know just how useless it is to try and convince you not to feel this way right now. Nothing I say or anyone else says will really make a bit of difference."

Bard started to wrap fresh linens around his neck, covering the cut and the bruise.

"But in the end," he tied the ends of the bandage together, "everyone is responsible for their own actions. What do we have if not our choices? You made yours and Thorin made his. You might have given him the ring but he chose to put it on, you cannot blame yourself for that."

'But I do,' Bilbo thought bitterly as he tentatively touched the bandage, 'I do.'

Bard stood up and placed a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "You should get some rest. Use the cot again. I know it's not much, but it'll have to do."

He made to walk out of the tent before he looked back over his shoulder, "Are you coming Tauriel? It is evening and war will be upon us tomorrow, we have plans to make."

"I…" the elf glanced between Bard and where Bilbo still sat in silence looking at his hands.

The hobbit looked up and saw that she wanted to stay. Why, he had no idea, but he seemed to have inspired some strange sense of loyalty in the elf.

"Go," Bilbo jerked his head towards the door, "I will… rest…"

"Are you sure, halfling?" Tauriel said as she stood.

The hobbit nodded, not wishing to use his scratchy, quavering voice anymore than he had to. Tauriel gave him one last look before walking over towards where Bard held the flap of the tent open.

"We'll be back later tonight, Bilbo," Bard said as he ducked out of the small opening. Bilbo caught a flash of the red setting sun before the flap swung down again and he was in darkness.

He got up slowly and moved over to the small cot, laying down atop the brown scratchy blanket. He was finally alone now and it was somehow both better and worse than before. Bilbo no longer felt like he had to hold anything back, to hide the feeling tearing away at his mind, but there was also no barriers now. Nothing between him and the tumult of dark, twisting thoughts that had grown steadily more and more terrifying.

There was a small candle in the corner of the tent, flickering and sending shadows curving along the floor. In Bag End, Bilbo had always thought the shadows cast from his candles look like little dancing figures, merrily playing against the walls. Now he couldn't help but think they looked haunting. Sinister almost, like dark claws reaching out to take him.

He shut his eyes, but all he could see now was darkness. Behind his eyelids there were no shadows, but there was not even the small light of the candle. Bilbo's eyes snapped open, trying to shove his thoughts back into the deep of his consciousness. He wanted… he wanted to go. To just – just run somewhere, feel the beating of his heart and concentrate only on the rhythm of his breathing. But where would he go?

The camp was full of strangers that were preparing for war. He could hear their shouts and the sound of an army worth of footsteps right beyond the walls of the tent. Bilbo was sure he had never been around so many folks in all his life, but he was equally sure that he had never felt more alone.

Thoughts of Thorin filled his mind. He thought of the knife against his neck, the future he had the audacity to imagine for them. He heard that voice in his head whisper admissions of his guilt and accusations of his betrayal over and over again. What was left for him now? Bilbo felt helpless and weak, like all the warmth had seeped from his body and all that was left were shards of ice scraping against the inside of his skin.

The hobbit lay there, waiting for something to occur to him, waiting for some miracle, some solution to make itself known. That's what happened in all his stories. The hero would always have a low point, a point where he could choose to go back. What made them heroes was that they always chose to keep moving forward, to do what was best.

But… he wasn't in a story. This was reality, not some page in a book, meant to entertain or teach. This was life and in life bad things happened for no reason at all. People make mistakes, people love and lose, people betray one another and there's no mystical force that punishes the wicked and rewards the worthy.

And even if this were some tale from an old book, Bilbo wouldn't be the hero. Thorin was the hero. An exiled dwarf king who had seen his home and his people destroyed but did all he could to protect those who remained. He was a father with no sons or wife, only nephews and a sister, but he loved them just as fiercely. Thorin had bled, had suffered, had gone through trial after trial simply because he wanted his family, his people, to live in peace and happiness.

Bilbo was… he must be the villain then. What other role could he play in Thorin's life now? Where did thieves and traitors fit in between the thin pages of those fantastic tales that lay in his library? Where did those who poisoned the one they love fit?

His hands curled into fists.

Bilbo knew he deserved to feel like this, to feel as this despair weighing down his limbs and his mind. All the villains in his story suffered at the hands of the hero in the end, forced to pay for their wicked deeds. But in all the books he'd read, in all the tomes that had filled his nights since he'd been old enough to make sense of the words, he'd never read a tale where the villain had done what they'd done for love. The hobbit couldn't recall a single tale where the hero had been brought down by a friend who had never had never harbored any ill will.

He lay there for hours, unable to move, only to sink further and further into his own thoughts. Bilbo ceased to hear anything from outside the tent, from outside his own mind. All he could do was stare listlessly at the dark canvas top of the tent while guilt and helpless sadness tangled in his mind like think, thorn-covered vines.

When the flap of the tent opened slowly he didn't even register the noise until he heard someone address him.

"Halfling," Tauriel's voice swam into his ears.

Bilbo didn't turn to acknowledge her. He wasn't even sure if she was real, maybe just a figment of his churning imagination. The elf walked closer until she had stopped beside the cot, her fair face now in view.

"I came to bring you word," she looked down at him, her face calm but there was a somber quality to it.

The hobbit sat up slowly, raising a hand to clutch at his pounding head, "what is it?"

"The orcs will be here at dawn, they make their way north along the river."

Tauriel crossed her arms in a way that Bilbo was starting to feel almost familiar. "There isn't much longer to wait, the soldiers are preparing for battle. We will make our stand with the dwarves of the Iron Hills on the south end of the valley."

"Why are you telling me this?" The hobbit looked up at her, his face twisted into a grimace that reflected the turmoil in his heart.

"I just thought…" Tauriel glanced away for a moment, "that you would want to know. I know… I know how hard it is to watch and feel unable to help."

"I think I've done enough helping," Bilbo let out a bitter laugh, "will you be fighting Miss Tauriel?"

The elf sat down lightly beside him and gave him a small nod, "I am the head of the King's Guard, it is my place to protect Thranduil and his son, to give my life for theirs if necessary."

"Do you think that's like to happen?" His voice was almost a whisper.

He hoped she picked up on what he had tried to say but couldn't bring himself to voice out loud. He wanted to know if they had a chance, if there was any hope that they – that Thorin – might make it out of this alive.

She gazed at him silently for a moment, "There are dangers in every battle, halfling. One stray arrow, one too many opponents… many things can go wrong."

Bilbo felt his stomach twist uncomfortably, "but can we… can we win?"

"The orcs, they fight…" She trailed off as she started at her pale hands, "they fight with ferocity and without mercy."

Tauriel's eyes shifted to meet his and Bilbo saw the same fire in those bright blue orbs that he had seen every day in Thorin's, "They are driven by hate and malice. A love for blood and battle."

The hobbit thought of Azog's white face, his sharp teeth, and felt fear course through his veins. What hope did they have against such a foe? Everything he had done, he had done to make sure the elves and dwarves and men fought together. But what did it matter when their foe knew no fear, knew nothing but where to place the next killing blow?

"But we fight for our homes, halfling. We fight for our lives and the chance to see the next dawn come. We fight for out future on this earth. No matter how many of those beasts arrive on the field tomorrow, we will show them the true meaning of courage. Our will to survive is stronger and we will die to protect what is ours."

Bilbo stared at her, wondering how someone could be so calm talking about dying. How someone could sound so ready. "That doesn't bother you? That you might… might not make it?"

Tauriel let out a small laugh, "Of course it does, halfling, don't be stupid."

"But you—" he started before she raised a hand to cut him off.

"I don't want to die," the elf stared back at him, "but some things are worth dying for."

"Your king? And Legolas?" Bilbo felt something shift in him and he… he felt like he understood her a little bit more.

Tauriel nodded, "Especially them. He is—" she paused for a moment, "they are worth everything to me."

"Do you love Legolas?" Bilbo almost raised a hand to cover his mouth; he hadn't meant to be so forward and was about to apologize when he heard her start laughing again.

"You aren't the first to wonder, halfling," Tauriel raised an auburn brow, "but no… Not in the sense you mean."

"I – sorry, I didn't mean to…" The hobbit trailed off.

"I suppose I did once, a long time ago. How could I not?" She gave a little shrug, "He is beautiful and kind and a prince. I think half the court was madly in love with the king's son but he… he has never really reciprocated the advances to my knowledge."

"We were raised together, he and I. But," Tauriel leaned back on her hands, "Legolas is a Sindarin prince, I am Silvan. It would have been… frowned upon."

Bilbo frowned, "There are different kinds of elves?"

"There are many types of dwarves and men." Tauriel rolled her eyes, "why would there not be of my kin?"

"I don't know," the hobbit shrugged, not even sure himself why he found the notion odd, "I always thought that your people were… better, I suppose. Above such notions."

The elf smiled at him, "Well, you certainly won't find any of my kin living in squalor as you might with other races. There is not such disparity to be found amongst the elves, but you would be a fool to think we are above prejudice."

"Is it…" Bilbo didn't want to pry but he found it near impossible to not cling to anything that might distract him, even if it was only for a moment, from the terrible feeling inside him, "is it hard for you?"

Tauriel shrugged again, "it is not without its difficulties. In the beginning of my time among the King's Guard, there were some who did not agree with my appointment, but I have fought every day since to prove them wrong. King Thranduil would not trust his protection to me if I were not the best."

The hobbit felt a spark of envy underneath all of his misery; she seemed to have a confidence, a sense of self that he wished he might posses too. Tauriel certainly wasn't the… friendliest person he'd ever met, but she knew who she was.

The flap of the door suddenly swung back and Gandalf walked through, the strap of a leather pack held in his hand. Tauriel had automatically reached back for one of the swords strapped to her back, but stopped suddenly when she realized who it was. Bilbo… Bilbo wouldn't lie to himself. Some deep, dark part of him still wanted to blame Gandalf for everything that had happened and the sight of the wizard made a flash of anger course through him.

"Bilbo," the wizard began in his low voice before his eyes flicked over to the elf, "and Tauriel. So this is where you have been hiding, Thranduil was asking for you."

The elf shot up at once and Bilbo half expected her to correct Gandalf on using the Elvenking's proper title, but Tauriel gave him a respectful bow instead.

"Mithrandir," her face betrayed no emotion, but her tone was one of deference, "I came to see the halfling before the battle."

Gandalf nodded to her, "Good. Since you're here already, you'll do nicely."

She raised a brow in question.

"Azog has made better time than we were anticipating," the wizard stepped further into the tent, "the orc host will be here within a few hours."

"What?" the elf took a sudden step forward, her eyes widening, "have they called the march?"

"Within the hour," Gandalf looked solemn. "The dwarves have already started towards the edge of the valley."

"Bilbo," the wizard turned his gaze toward the hobbit and he saw regret there, "you will not be safe here." Gandalf's eyes lowered towards his bandaged neck, "I have already put you in enough danger, I will not let you face this battle."

"But I—" Bilbo had no idea, no idea, what he was going to say or even why he felt the sudden overwhelming urge to stay and fight when he knew he would most likely perish if he did.

"I have your pack and sword," Gandalf held up the leather bag.

"How?" the hobbit knew the last time he'd seen it was at the camp they had made within Erebor.

Gandalf raised a bushy, gray eyebrow as if to say 'Wizard, remember?'

"Tauriel will take you to the edge of the forest. The northern pass should be well guarded and much safer than the one you took before. I will find you a horse, but you must make haste before the orcs arrive."

The elf's eyes widened, "I cannot leave now! I need to be with my king—"

Gandalf raised a hand and Tauriel's voice seemed to die in her throat, "If you leave now, you will be back in time. I will tell Thranduil of your task, but it must be now."

The elf stared for a moment, but conceded a small nod before turning her face down towards Bilbo. "Grab your things, halfling, we must go."

The hobbit couldn't move his legs. He – he couldn't just go, not now. He… could he leave without seeing Thorin again? Could he just leave without seeing Fili or Kili or the rest of the company? Could he leave without seeing his friends ever again? He hadn't known what he was going to do, but he never imagined that he'd have to decide to soon.

The wizard seemed to guess why Bilbo hesitated. Gandalf knelt in front of him, his voice earnest and pleading, "I know why you would stay, Bilbo. But I have done you enough harm. It would give an old man peace to know despite every wrong I have dealt you, I was not the one to lead you to your death."

The hobbit stared back at him. He… he should go. He knew he should go. Thorin said he would kill him if he ever saw Bilbo again. Fili and Kili and the rest of the company probably thought him a traitor anyway. His friends hated him, Thorin hated him. He was no warrior, no tactician. He wasn't even all that brave. Bilbo knew the only thing he would do once the fighting started was get in the way. The hobbit felt the pain in his chest roil in guilty sorrow.

Bilbo Baggins didn't belong here. He didn't belong in the company of heroes and great warriors. He didn't belong with such brave, good people as Bard and Legolas and Tauriel. He didn't deserve the friends he'd made on the way to Erebor, all he deserved was to return back to Bag End with a broken heart.

He nodded and Gandalf let out a sigh of relief.

Bilbo slung on his pack and strapped the sword belt around his waist, quickly following Tauriel and the old wizard out of the tent. The night was dark but all around him he saw soldiers sprinting from place to place. There was a palpable nervous energy that made the air seem to almost quiver before his eyes. He thought he might've even smelt the fear, but then again, it might just have been the expressions on every face he saw. Few had the determined calm of Tauriel, but the elves at least seemed disciplined enough not to let their feelings show. Bard's men, however, were not seasoned fighters as far as he knew. They were traders and townsfolk, farmers and hunters.

'They're all dead,' Bilbo thought almost numbly as they dodged their way around the rushing soldiers.

Gandalf led them to the same horse pen as before. Tauriel quickly mounted her dappled gray steed as the wizard disappeared for a moment only to return with a sturdy brown pony. Gandalf helped him onto the saddle, handing Bilbo the reins before turning to face Tauriel.

"Ride hard and ride fast, you do not have much time."

The wizard looked back at Bilbo, "Follow the northern pass through the forest. If the battle goes well, I will find you when I can. If not, you will be at Thranduil's court in a few days, they will give you aid."

As the hobbit looked at the old man who used to sell him the most fantastic fireworks, looked at the man who had befriended his mother and given him such joy as a child, Bilbo suddenly felt all the anger he'd harbored towards Gandalf leave him. The wizard looked so very weary and he wasn't… he wasn't made to hold onto anger. He'd already lost enough friends in the last few days; he didn't want to lose another.

Bilbo leaned forward and gave Gandalf a fierce hug, "Stay safe."

The wizard stilled for a moment before raising his arms to grasp Bilbo back, "you as well my friend." There was a tired sort of relief in Gandalf's voice.

"We need to go now," Tauriel said urgently, wheeling her horse around.

Gandalf let go of him and pulled away. Bilbo gave him one last smile though it was more reflex than any sort of happiness before they made their way out of the camp. He wasn't sure he'd ever feel happy again.

Half the tents already seemed to be packed up so they didn't need to ride long before their horses reached the boundary of camp. Bilbo looked over and saw that dwarves had already started marching down the great road that ran towards Dale. Their plate armor made them look like stars littering the earth as the low moon reflected off the metal. In the distance, far past Dale he could see small dots of light.

'Torches,' he thought, 'orc torches…'

They rode in silence away from the camps, over the valley hills and towards the borders of the great forest. Bilbo could tell his companion was eager to return to her king as Tauriel urged her horse forward. The hobbit's pony had much shorter legs than her mare but Bilbo did his best to keep up. He had no desire to keep the elf from where she was needed most.

As they made their way away from the Lonely Mountain and away from danger, Bilbo could see the hints of dawn start to peek over the trees. The orb illuminated rolling storm clouds on the opposite horizon, but for the moment, the red sun rose.

Tauriel kept looking over her shoulder as if to monitor when the battle was going to begin, but they had passed over a particularly large hill near the start of their ride that obscured most of the valley; though it didn't stop her from trying. Bilbo felt another pang of guilt when he saw her face had lost its calm blankness, her jaw was clenched tightly with worry.

'Even when I'm trying to leave,' the hobbit thought to himself with scorn, 'I'm still hurting someone.'

The forest curved away from them in a great arc but he could see even from a distance that there was a break in the trees where a path might start. The beginning of the end of Bilbo Baggins' marvelously atrocious adventure. Another page turned, another day past.

The sun was beginning to rise higher now, just above the trees and Tauriel pushed her mare into a swift gallop. The gap grew closer and closer and Bilbo thought he could hear the sound of a horn somewhere off in the distance. The storm clouds that had seemed far away an hour ago were close now, so close that he could smell the dampness on the air; a slight tingle racing across his skin that meant thunder was coming soon.

It had started to rain when they reached the trees and Tauriel pulled her reins, whispering something to her horse that made it go still. The elf turned to look at him with an odd expression on her face.

"I…" she began awkwardly, "am not well-versed in goodbyes, halfling."

Bilbo gave her all the smile he could manage and knew it must've looked just as weak as he felt. "You hardly know me, Miss Tauriel, no need for dramatics."

Her mare stamped on the ground with nervous anticipation, "This path will guide you to my city. It is well guarded and safe as you'll get in the forest."

"Thank you," he murmured, "really, you have been far more kind than I deserve."

The rain dripped down her face, curving down the side and over the frown set firmly on her lips, "You will stay safe, halfling. I'll be most displeased if I learn you met your end falling off your pony or something equally idiotic."

Bilbo looked at her for a moment and decided that he liked the elf. For all her fiery temper and unique way with words, Tauriel had a good heart and it would sadden him if he learned she got hurt in the battle to come.

"You as well, Miss Tauriel. Watch out for those stray arrows." Bilbo heard a crack of thunder from somewhere over the hills, "you should go back to your king."

Her worried frown momentarily broke into a smile. "Good luck, Bilbo Baggins, may we meet again under better circumstances."

The auburn-haired elf pulled her steed around and with a low whisper into the mare's ear; she was off again, a gray blur racing away from him.

Bilbo sat in the rain, the water drizzling down onto him. The darkness of night started to fade but now the clouds were obscuring the light of the early dawn sun. His pony shifted beneath him, clearly unsettled by the low thunder and flashes of lightning. He turned his pony around and started into the depths of the forest.

As he plodded down the path, Bilbo was grateful that while the trees above blocked the rain, they were still mercifully thin enough that the gloom he had known from his previous journey through this forest was absent. There was an almost eerie stillness as he rode forward and the hobbit felt the creeping cold of complete isolation start to build in his mind.

For the first time since he had set out from the Shire, Bilbo was well and truly alone. There were no dwarf brothers on either side of him, yelling at each other and taunting their uncle from far enough down the line to avoid his wrath. There was no Bofur whistling as he rolled a blade of grass over his teeth. No Ori trying to sketch the landscape as he tried his best to stay on top of his pony. No Glóin shouting praises about his lovely wife or Balin patiently explaining some oddity of dwarvish customs.

What cut him deepest, what tore away at any semblance of being 'okay' Bilbo had managed to feebly construct over the last day, was that there was no Thorin. There was no familiar fur-trimmed blue coat swaying slightly in front of him. There was no opportunity to spur his pony forward and ride beside his friend.

He would never again look over to see those dark blue eyes gazing back at him. He would never hear Thorin's deep, gruff voice or see his look of shocked indignation when Bilbo did something absurdly un-dwarflike. He would never feel Thorin's arms around him or look at the dwarf's smile and know that meant his friend was one step closer towards finally being able to live again, to be free of his burdens and his sorrows.

The hobbit leaned forward until his forehead resting against his pony's warm neck as it cantered forward, not seeming to even notice the lack of direction anymore. He felt his chest wrack with shattered breathing. Bilbo's face was wet but not from tears. He had used them up already. All the hobbit felt was the now familiar and horrible ache spread through his body again. Bilbo let go of the reins and brought his hands to his chest. He knew he couldn't claw the feeling out; he'd tried that already. Bilbo's fingertips pressed into his chest as if the pressure could somehow relieve the pain but he knew on some level the only thing he was doing was adding a fresh set of bruises to his body.

His friends were out there right now. Fili and Kili and Thorin were out on the battlefield fighting for their lives and their homes and their futures while he rode away to safety.

He was a coward, a coward of the worst sort.

'But he said he would kill you,' a voice whispered in his mind, 'Thorin will finish the job, finish cutting your traitor throat if you go back.'

Bilbo's fingers dug in deeper.

He wasn't needed there. Every single dwarf in Thorin's company was a consummate fighter, perfectly capable of defending themselves. The last thing they needed was some bumbling hobbit that they probably hated stumbling over himself.

'All it takes is a stray arrow,' Tauriel's voice swam through his head.

'Or one too many opponents.'

Bilbo thought back to the night Thorin had faced Azog. He thought of the gashes that ran deep and red across the dwarf's back, of the purple marks that marred his friend's flesh.

Azog would be there; he could be facing Thorin right now.

His friend was probably the best fighter Bilbo knew and he had still almost died that night. The only reason Thorin was ever alive was because…

…Was because some foolhardy, stupid hobbit hadn't taken a moment to think about how woefully untrained he was and ran sword first into an orc.

'He doesn't need you,' the voice said dripping with malice, 'he never needed you.'

Bilbo sat up slowly.

But… Thorin did need him. He had needed him since that night the company had come knocking on his door. Of course how Thorin needed him had changed the longer they journeyed together, but even with all his flaws, even though Bilbo had failed him in the end, he knew Thorin needed him just the same as he needed Thorin.

'He'll kill you.'

'He'll slice you open, let you bleed out on the ground and laugh as your corpse turns cold.'

Bilbo felt that ache, that awful, gnawing, biting ache start to change. Start to grow warm, grow hot like dragon's fire.

'And so what if he did?' Bilbo felt the burn of determination, of purpose start build, 'so what?'

He had saved Thorin's life once. He had been ready to die facing Azog when the dwarf had been barely more than a friend to him. In that moment Bilbo knew he had to go back. He would go back and find Thorin, he would protect him in this battle the way he protected him on that hill as the fires blazed around them, death waiting eagerly to swallow them whole.

And if Thorin… if Thorin still wanted to kill him when all this was done, then he would gladly accept his fate. At least that would mean that his friend was still alive. What would be worse, what would be unbearable would be walking away now, would be not knowing if he might have even made a small difference in protecting his friends.

Surely if one stray arrow could take a life, then one untrained hobbit could save one.

This was a bad idea. Probably one of the most foolish and dangerous ideas that had ever had the misfortune of entering his brain, and yet… it was seemed so obvious to him now. He couldn't live with himself if he left Thorin, if he left his friends. He couldn't just – just go back again, back to Bag End like nothing had ever happened. He couldn't go back to gardening and reading his old books as if he had never left. Not now that he knew what it meant to truly, irrevocably, and wholly love another person.

Bilbo pulled the reins of his pony, steering it around quickly and pushed his heels in hard. The pony took off back down the tree-lined path, hooves beating a steady rhythm into the ground.

"Go faster!" He almost shouted at the pony over the sound of rolling thunder, "faster!"

His heart had picked up speed, Bilbo's nerves on edge but for the first time in what felt like forever, that ache had started to recede. He still felt the guilt, that terrible feeling of knowing that he had betrayed Thorin, but instead of making him limp, instead of paralyzing him, pulling him deeper and deeper into despair, Bilbo Baggins felt it pushing him forward now.

He would protect Thorin with everything he had. Bilbo wouldn't make up for his wrongs by running away, by never showing his face again. The hobbit would fight. He would fight for Fili and Kili. He would fight for the company. But most of all, more than anything else in this world, Bilbo would fight for the man he loved. Thorin had Erebor, had his family, had the future he had longed for right in front of him. What would hurt Bilbo infinitely more than seeing the look of hatred on Thorin's face, than dying by Thorin's blade, was knowing that the dwarf had been so close and Bilbo had done nothing to protect that hope of redemption.

When he finally broke out of the edge of the forest again, it was morning. Though the dark clouds had done their best to obstruct the sun, there was enough light for it to be past dawn.

What hit him first were the sounds. Though they were distant, the hobbit could hear the sounds of battle horns blaring in the distance. The rain was coming down in sheets all around him, making it hard to see anything more than a few yards in front of him with any great detail. A shiver ran up his spine as cold wind rushed down the hill, over his now wet clothing and skin.

Bilbo urged his pony up the steep slope of the large hill that blocked most of the valley from view. Unless the fighting had moved significantly father north, he would still be far above the thick of the battle. His mount's hooves slipped on the muddy ground as it struggled to move forward. Once he reached the top of the hill his view of the valley was unimpeded.

And what he saw filled him terror.

He couldn't see well due to the pelting rain, but where he expected to see the green, iron, and brown of their forces, he saw only black. He prayed, prayed that it was simply his distance and the weather preventing him from making out any other color, but he couldn't fight fear welling inside him that this fight might be distinctly in their foe's favor.

Urgency and panic washed over him in a sudden wave. What if Thorin had already… What if…

'No,' Bilbo shoved the thought to the back of his mind, 'I can't think like that, not now.'

He kicked the sides of his pony and took off at a gallop towards the sounds of battle, the sounds of death.

When he had ridden in the night with Tauriel it seemed to him that a whole lifetime passed while they made their way from the camp, but now as he pushed his pony faster and faster, the mass of bodies didn't seem quite so far away. The closer he got, the more he could make out through the rain. The battle had spread out from what must have been in the beginning.

From what he could tell, their forces had been pushed back and fought in pockets against the steady onslaught of orcs and goblins. There were wargs too; he could see their hulking forms standing taller than the rest of their kin. Where the borders of Mirkwood jutted out in a great curve looked to be where the fighting was thickest, though there was no absence of soldiers from the trees, over the great road, and to the edges of where Bilbo knew the Celduin flowed.

How he was going to find Thorin in this, he… he hadn't even the faintest idea, all he knew was that he needed to go. He needed to push faster, faster, faster or he might not get there in time.

Bilbo stayed as close to the trees as he could manage, following their border. He squinted through the rain, finding that following the sounds and the smells were more reliable than his eyes. And they were horrible. He could hear shrieks and shouting now. Who was making them the hobbit couldn't tell, but he imagined that if the terrible stench of death and blood was anything to go by, the wails and fierce cries were emanating from both sides.

Suddenly a cloud shifted above him and the rain stopped. For a short moment, Bilbo could see unimpaired. The ground was dark, so very dark and so very red. Though he wasn't level with the closest pile of bodies, the hobbit could see that the rain had washed the red and black blood together, swirling it into a thick coating that covered the ground.

Bilbo was close enough now that if he kept riding, he would have been on the nearest elf archer in less than a minute. He needed to find Thorin but the fighting was too thick for him to get a pony through, much less a pony unarmored and untrained to withstand the terror of battle. The hobbit made a split-second decision and hopped off, his feet slipping in some grotesque combination of mud and blood.

Bilbo pulled the pony's reins so it faced away from the battle then elbowed it in the side. It took off, startled, and galloped away towards Erebor. He had ridden the pony for only a few hours, but as he watched it fade into the rain, he hoped that it knew enough to stay far away and safe.

There was a whistling in the air and something whooshed past his ear, barely missing him by an inch. A black, crudely made arrow stuck in the dirt a few feet away from him with a wet thump. Bilbo spun around but took no time to look where it might have come from; his only thought to sprint towards the cover of the trees. If he stayed just inside the border, he could still see the battle and hopefully remain out of the worst part. He knew Thorin would be where the fighting was fiercest and so that was where he would go.

Bilbo barreled through the brush, praying that no one would follow him and made his way as quietly as he could through the trees. If the hobbit had truly taken the time to absorb what was happening just barely to his left, he most likely would have done something highly counterproductive like faint or start retching violently on some poor shrub, but all that filled his mind was Thorin.

Bilbo sprinted through the trees, the sounds of battle raging all around him. Metal cried out as it slammed together, grinding and scraping like many teeth of some large beast. Shouting and cursing and wailing all rose up to the sky like a cacophonous prayer, answered only by the deep thunder. The hobbit hardly even looked at the ground, too focused on trying to catch a glimpse of someone familiar to him, someone who might know where to find Thorin.

Bilbo ran and ran until he saw one of Bard's men fall back through the trees, two vicious looking orcs forcing him to leap away from their violent slashes. The hobbit skidded to a halt, slipping on the wet leaves and mud.

The man ripped off his helm and the hobbit could see there was blood pouring from a cut on his forehead, obscuring one eye as he tried to dodge strike after strike. One of the orcs let out a sneering laugh as it swung wide and high, casing the man to stumble back, his foot catching on a root and sending him down into the mud with a muffled crash.

The other orc cackled and they advanced, raising their crude blades. Bilbo saw the man's good eye open wide but just as one of the orcs was about to bring down its sword, the man rolled out of the way and brought his own steel up to catch his foe right in the center of its chest. The orc let out a shriek and stumbled away, the sword still imbedded deep in its torso.

For one shining moment, Bilbo could see the man thought that he had won, thought that he would survive if only for a little while longer. What Bard's soldier didn't see was the other orc about to stick him through and he now had no means of defense.

"Watch out!" Bilbo cried in terror but it was too late.

The orc's rusted blade shot forward and buried itself deep into his back. The man's brown eyes widened as he looked back at Bilbo. For a second he only looked surprised until his eyes flicked down and saw the point sticking out of his chest. He let out a weak cough, blood spilling from his mouth.

The hobbit covered his own with shaking hands, bile rising in his throat.

The man coughed once more, but as soon as the orc pulled out its blade, he just slumped forward. Completely still, steadily leaking more red onto the ground. The orc turned to face Bilbo, its black lips pulled back to reveal jagged brown teeth. It raised the sword to its mouth and licked a long strip along the flat edge, tasting the blood.

The hobbit stumbled back and feebly drew Sting from its scabbard. He tried to remember the stance Dwalin had taught him, tried to remember anything at all useful, but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of the dead soldier.

"You'll make a tasty snack," the orc sneered at him, advancing on him slowly.

Bilbo wrenched his eyes up and raised his sword in both hands, "Go back!" He tried to shout but his voice sounded weak even to him, "Go back or I'll – I'll cut you! I swear I will!"

The orc let out a dark laugh as it eyed Sting incredulously, "With that little thing? I'm not so sure ya will."

Bilbo tried an experimental jab but the orc just laughed again as it swept his sword aside. It swung in a wide arc and the hobbit could do nothing more than try and jump back. His foot landed in a wet patch and he felt the ground leave him.

The hobbit struggled to get back to his feet but the orc kicked his legs out from underneath him. His foe sneered at him and Bilbo realized that he was being toyed with. A flare of anger filled him and he swung out wildly from his position on the ground. It wasn't a skilled strike by any measure but the orc hadn't been expecting it. Bilbo felt sting slice through the edge of the orc's leg as it let out a snarl and limped back a step.

"I'm goin' to skin ya alive for that," the orc growled with the man's blood leaking down the side of its mouth, "and then I'm going to take you apart limb by limb."

Bilbo tried to sit up and land another strike but the orc was expecting him this time. Even with an injured leg, his foe was much faster and much better trained than him. The orc's blade met Sting and it knocked away the hobbit's elvish steel with ease and placed a hard kick at Bilbo's hand. His hand released at the sudden pain of the orc's steel toe jamming into his fingers and Sting went sailing in the air, landing a few feet away and out of reach.

The hobbit made to scramble after his sword but the orc kicked out again, this time connecting with the edge of his face. Bilbo felt his lip split open as his neck jerked back. For a moment his vision went black as the hobbit landed face first in mud. He pushed himself up on shaky hands.

"Good," the orc's voice was dark and violent, "I like it when they fight back."

Bilbo felt a boot on his back and push him down into the mud again with a sharp kick. "Makes everythin' much more excitin' and –" another boot to his stomach, "it makes me starvin'."

The hobbit thought he might have swallowed an entire mouthful of mud at this point. He reached a hand underneath his body and felt Fili's dagger there. It wasn't very large but he knew the blade was sharp. Bilbo tried to pull it out as slowly as he could; not wanting to alert the orc that he had any more means of defending himself.

He felt a clawed hand grab his arm and flip him onto his back roughly. The orc had crouched down next to him and Bilbo felt the edge of its bloody sword press into the bandages on his neck. The orc had a disgusting smirk on its ugly face and Bilbo could smell a horrible stench emanating from its mouth.

"Ya done fightin' vermin?" The orc pressed the blade in harder and Bilbo felt whatever scabbing that had formed there break under the force.

Bilbo felt anger course through him. He was not going to die here. He was not going to die in the mud, on his back, killed by some nameless orc. The hobbit glared at it as he yanked the dagger out of its black sheath.

"Never," he hissed and was about to plunge the unseen dagger into its ribs when there was a thunderous growl from behind them and something big and clawed slammed into the orc, sending it flying into a tree.

Bilbo lay there stunned, knife in hand and staring at where the orc had just been looming over him. But now there was no orc, there was a massive bear, rearing up onto its hind legs before letting out another roar and swiping at his fallen foe. In one swift motion the clawed paw separated the orc's head from its body with a horrible tearing sound.

Bilbo would have felt bad at meeting such a painful end if it had been anyone, anything, else. But at the moment he was finding it rather difficult to feel anything but stunned relief that the orc was dead. That was until the bear rounded on him. The hobbit scrambled back, raising the pitifully small dagger in a shaking hand.

The bear ambled forward until its blood covered face was inches from him and sniffed. Bilbo clenched his eyes, his heart thumping painfully in his chest, and prayed that his end would be quick.

There was a dreadful moment of silence as Bilbo imagined the multitude of ways that those sharp claws and teeth could kill him when he heard a familiar voice.

"Hobbit?"

Bilbo's eyes snapped open and in front of him now was a very dirty, very nude Beorn. His yellow eyes shown from his face but otherwise the man was covered in all manner of mud and orc bits. His hands dripped black blood as he held one out to help Bilbo to his feet.

"I thought you smelled familiar," Beorn grumbled in his low, gravelly voice.

"Beorn?" Bilbo's eyes went wide in shock. There had been a bear there a moment ago. He was sure he hadn't imagined its hulking form or furious roar. "How did you…" the hobbit trailed off weakly.

Beorn raised a brow and Bilbo thought he might just throw up when he realized a piece of orc flesh was dangling from it.

"Skin-changer." He said like it wasn't at all abnormal that he could turn into a bear, "I thought the wizard had told you."

Bilbo shook his head, still trying to absorb the fact that this man was not just here at the battle, but could change into another form entirely.

"I wondered where you were." Beorn walked over to where Sting lay in the mud and grabbed it by the hilt, before turning back and holding it out to Bilbo.

"Didn't seem much of a fighter last we met," Bilbo shoved the dagger back into his belt then took Sting lightly into his hands, "but you didn't seem smart enough to let that stop you neither."

The hobbit stuck his sword back into its sheath, his mind finally starting to think at a less sluggish pace. "Have you seen Thorin?" Bilbo asked his thick voice with desperation.

"That stubborn dwarf, what didn't know to hold his tongue?" Beorn wiped a bloody hand on his bare leg.

"Yes!" Bilbo couldn't keep the spark of hope from swelling within his chest.

"Wizard told me to watch his back." Beorn pushed his wet, wild black hair out of his face, "he sprinted off searching for the pale orc as soon as the battle started with a few other dwarves. I tried to stay with them but the fighting was too thick."

Bilbo felt his heart clench nervously.

"I think I might've seen that white orc down the field somewhat, most like that's where your dwarf will be."

"Can you take me there?" The hobbit said with sudden urgency. He had to get to Thorin as quick as he could.

"You want to go there?" Beorn said incredulously as he eyed Bilbo's neck and small sword.

"I need to find Thorin! Please, Mister Beorn, I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."

"I respect the fact you want to fight," the yellow-eyed man looked down at him with a frown, "but you won't last long out there, hobbit. Courage will get you only so far, I can't protect you with that many orcs around."

"I'm not asking that you protect me," Bilbo's mouth was a thin line now, his face set with determination, "I only need you to get me to Thorin, I can take care of myself after that."

He knew Beorn heard the lie. Bilbo could spout all the brave words he wanted, he was likely going to die if he went out there with no more armor than his singed coat and nothing but Sting to protect him.

But then a thought hit him. He didn't just have his sword. He had his ring. Bilbo was reluctant to use it now that he'd seen the damage these magic bands could do, but being unseen was just about his only defense at the moment.

Beorn stared at him for a moment, sizing him up with those eerie eyes of his. Bilbo's eyes were firm, his voice determined. He wouldn't not be stopped here, not when he was so close.

"If you won't take me," the hobbit's hands clenched into fists, "I will go by myself."

Bilbo started to walk past the large man when he felt a hand shoot out and grasp his arm.

"Slow down, you idiot," Beorn grumbled from beside him, "I'll take you, just…"

Bilbo glanced up at him form the corner of his eyes.

"Make sure you don't do anything foolish," Beorn let his arm go, "I can't guarantee that you or I will make it to your dwarf alive. I promise you I'll try, but this is war, hobbit."

Bilbo nodded stiffly.

"People die, there's nothing either of us can do about that."

Bilbo nodded again trying not to think about just who Beorn might be referring to, them or Thorin.

Beorn turned to face the edge of the trees, shaking out his limbs and cracking the bones in his neck.

"When I shift, get onto my back."

The hobbit saw the air start to shimmer around the man's muddy skin. Beorn let out a feral growl as black fur started to spurt out of his arms, his fingers turning into sharp claws. Bilbo watched the transformation with stunned amazement. Beorn fell to his hands and knees, his back arching and growing until there was no longer a man beside Bilbo, but a massive black bear.

The bear swung his massive head towards Bilbo and made a jerking motion towards his back as Beorn lay as low to the ground as possible. The hobbit scrambled forward and grabbed onto the thick fur on the bear's neck. He hauled himself up rather unceremoniously and soon enough was sitting with his legs straddling either side of the thick neck right at the juncture of Beorn's shoulders. Bilbo dug his hands deep into the fur and laid down flat against the bear's neck as Beorn started to run forward, breaking through the trees into the battle raging beyond.

If Bilbo thought riding horses and eagles to be a discomfort, those experiences were nothing so terrifying as riding on the back of a bear. With no saddle, Bilbo could only cling on for dear life as the bear's weight shifted from paw to massive paw.

The hobbit peeked over Beorn's head and the sight made his stomach roil. There were bodies, hundreds of bodies littered across the ground, almost like a second layer of grass on the valley's floor. There was barely room to maneuver with all of their forces combined. Soldiers on both sides stepped on their brothers and foes alike, the dead serving as little more than a soft layer of flesh that they fought upon and died upon.

The smell hit him next. However strong it was when the hobbit had been running in the forest, it was infinitely worse now. The rank stench of death coupled with the sounds of screeching steel and the wounded would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.

Beorn shot forward, carving a path through the fighting along the edge of the trees. The men, elves, and dwarves quickly ran out of the charging bear's path while Beorn tore through orc after orc with flashing teeth and claws. Bilbo wanted to draw Sting to help fend off their foes on either side but his hold on Beron's back was precarious already so all he could do was cling on tighter and hope he didn't fall.

A large orc with an even larger spear let out a shout in its guttural tongue and jabbed wildly. Beorn roared and reared back onto his hind legs. Bilbo yelped as felt the bear shift beneath him. The shifter dodged the second stab of the spear to his face, twisting his neck as the blade passed and grabbed the shaft in his teeth. With on swift crunch, the spear was broken.

Bilbo was now half facing the rest of the battle and in the split second before the bear lowered back down to his front paws, the hobbit saw a flash of pale white further down the field. It was Azog, it had to be!

Beorn's neck lunged forward, his jaws snapping around the orc's neck and with one shake, Bilbo heard the sounds of bones snapping before a limp body was tossed aside.

"Beorn!" the hobbit cried out over the din, "he's down there!" Bilbo pointed down the field where he'd seen the pale orc fighting near the edge of the trees.

The great bear's yellow eye shifted back to see where the hobbit was pointing. Beorn nodded in understanding and pushed forward to where Azog was. Where Thorin would be fighting.

They continued on, barreling through and fighting those that were foolish enough to stay in their way. Bilbo had a few close calls with arrows whizzing past his head, but for the most part, the orcs seemed rather more concerned with the giant black bear mauling his way through their forces and rather less with the small hobbit hanging on to his back.

Beorn tore and bit with such ferocity, Bilbo thought that the orcs might have started fleeing from just the sight of him. They fought and fought for what felt like hours. Bilbo's eyes were fixed on the brief flashes he caught of Azog atop his white warg. He was going to make it to Thorin. He was going to make it and nothing could –

The bear let out a blood-curdling roar and Bilbo was flying through the air.

The hobbit looked up from the ground, dazed. The world seemed to be spinning around him. Beorn had an arrow sticking out of his shoulder and another slightly further down. Bilbo's eyes widened in horror as he saw three goblin archers start to circle around the bear.

"Beorn!" Bilbo called out, he needed to warn his friend!

One of the goblins let loose a black arrow and it hit the bear in his other shoulder. Beorn let out another roar and ran forward, mauling his foe with raking claws. The other two goblins took the bear's distraction to shoot two more arrows. One narrowly missed but the other buried itself deep into one of the bear's back legs.

Another archer ran into the circle and then another.

"Beorn! There's too many –" Bilbo shouted, panic and dread making his blood run cold.

The bear turned to back him and growled, jerking his head towards where Azog fought not far from them.

'Go!' he knew Beorn was trying to tell him, 'Go now!'

But he couldn't… He couldn't just leave.

Bilbo stood up shakily and pulled Sting from its scabbard again. Beorn saw the sword and let out another roar that shook the hobbit to his very bones.

'Go!'

He saw the bear tear through two of the archers, before growling at him again.

Bilbo glanced between the archers and at Beorn. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment then forced them open. Blue eyes met yellow, and then Bilbo nodded.

He spun on his foot and hoped with all his heart that the roar he heard behind him was not because of another arrow.

The hobbit started to push forward through the armored clad legs of soldiers. He was short, short enough that he seemed no even to register Bilbo slipping and dodging past their feet. He felt armored knees and sharp boots pushing into him and more than once was pushed down into the bloody dirt. But he was close now, so close to Thorin he could practically feel it.

The hobbit heard a fierce cry echo out over the sounds of battle. Bilbo felt his face blanche and his veins run cold. In his heart he knew it was Thorin. He elbowed and shoved his way forward now, not caring if he hit friend or foe. That didn't matter, nothing mattered but Thorin.

Above the heads of the fighters all around him, Bilbo saw a great white warg leap and then crash down, he saw the flash of a bloody mace swinging down.

"No, no, no!" Bilbo cried out desperately.

The hobbit broke ran through just in time to see the spiked mace connect with Thorin's chest, sending the dwarf to the ground in a heap.

"Thorin!" he shouted, dread clawing its way deep into his chest, and he saw two very familiar dwarves let out twin cries and run towards their uncle.

Something heavy connected with the side of his head and for a moment Bilbo saw nothing but black, Sting falling limply from his hand. Staggering forward, the hobbit brought a shaking hand up to his skull and felt blood starting to pour from his temple. Bilbo spun around just as an armored hand gripped his coat and dragged him up so his feet were dangling over the ground.

"I remember you," the orc snarled through bloody teeth. It rode atop a dark brown warg that growled furiously at any man, elf, or dwarf that might've dared to approach.

Bilbo blinked as he struggled against the grip. His feet kicked uselessly against the orc's leg and the side of the warg. His eyes grew wide when he recognized the familiar spiked neck armor. It was Azog's second in command.

"Let me go!" Bilbo struggled again, trying to turn around so he could see what was happening to his friends.

"An' why would I be doin' that? Do I look stupid to you?" The grip around Bilbo's collar tightened.

"Azog will be wantin' your head, half-man," the orc brought a wickedly curved blade over the warg's neck and up to the hobbit's; "I'm going to rip it from your neck."

Bilbo felt fear coursing through him but then he heard another shout from behind him.

"Kili! Kili get up!"

His friends needed him, Fili and Kili needed him. Thorin need him, damn it!

Bilbo kicked out with his leg and dug his foot into the side of the warg. It snapped its head backwards, body twisting to get at whatever was causing the pain. The orc jerked sideways, still holding tight to Bilbo, but distracted enough that the hobbit could reach his belt and pull out the black dagger.

He brought it up in one swift motion and buried the steel deep into the orc's chest. It cried out and let its arm fall a foot before gripping even tighter. Bilbo yanked the dagger out and plunged it into the side of the warg. The creature let out a yowl and twisted again but the blade had sunk deep through its ribs and lung. The hobbit pulled out the dagger then sunk it in over and over.

The warg staggered sideways then let out one last howl. Bilbo felt the orcs arm start to slump as it died but before he could free himself from the grip, the warg teetered for a moment then fell. The hobbit felt the rush of air around him and for a second he thought he might be able to roll away before the creature crushed him. He was only half right.

Bilbo felt the ground rush up to meet him and he hit hard. All the air in his lungs whooshed out as both warg and rider collapsed almost on top of him. One of his legs was caught firmly underneath the immense weight of the beast. He kicked and kicked, trying to free his limb but it was too heavy. He tried to wrench it out but could only let out a cry of pain when he felt the armored thigh of the orc dig into his ankle, digging deep through his skin.

"Kili!"

Bilbo rolled onto his stomach so he could see, twisting his covered leg at a painful angle but what greeted his eyes was infinitely worse than any pain he could imagine.

The dwarf brothers were standing in front of Thorin's still body, shielding it from sight. Azog sat casually atop his warg only a few feet in front of Bilbo, staring at them with his ice blue eyes as if he weren't even all that interested in what was going on. Three goblin archers had positioned themselves in front of their leader and let loose another bolt.

Fili swung up, his swords knocking one of the arrows out of the air, his face was slack with horror as he watched his brother fall down to one knee, three arrows sticking out of his body. One buried deep in his thigh, two more in his chest. Kili let out a little cough, blood starting to leak down his chin. The young dwarf quickly fired two shots from his own bow, hitting two of the orcs right in the center of their foreheads.

Fili moved in front of his brother, raising his twin swords. Bilbo could see he was bleeding from his arm the right side of his face, turning the dwarf's golden hair to a deep, shining red. He saw the last goblin start to pull back another arrow, but Fili let out a an angry shout and in a flurry of movement had somehow reached down to his boot and let a dagger fly, the small knife buried itself deep into the goblin's neck and the wretch fell to the ground in a slump.

Azog took one look at them and laughed his low, cold laugh.

"I knew Durin's blood ran weak, but I did not think you would offer up such a pitiful challenge."

Fili threw another dagger, but Azog simply knocked it out of the air with a sneer.

"You cannot win little dwarf," the pale orc brought his enormous mace up to rest against his shoulder, "I will tear your apart. I will sink my teeth into your bones. I will bathe in the blood of Thorin Oakenshield and take his head for my prize."

"You will never," Fili growled, his teeth bared in fury, "touch my family again."

The young dwarf pulled another dagger from his sleeve but this time he didn't aim at Azog, he aimed at the warg. Fili's steel flew fast and true through the air and hit the creature right in the face. The warg died instantly, slipping sideways onto the dirt but Azog merely jumped off with more grace than Bilbo had ever seen in its kind.

The orc eyed his mount distastefully as if the weakness of death offended him.

"You will die slowly for that, dwarf scum." Azog's voice was cold and calm. The pale orc tilted his head back and his blue eyes flicked to something over Fili's shoulder.

"Fire."

Bilbo saw it a split second too late. Another goblin archer had been positioning itself behind them, an arrow trained on the back of Fili's head.

"Fili!" he shouted in warning, his body going cold, cold, cold as ice.

But he wasn't the only on to shout his friend's name. Kili had shot up in an instant and pushed his brother aside. The air seemed to go completely still as Fili stumbled forward and Kili fell into the mud. The arrow had hit him in the back, deep enough so Bilbo could see the sharp head pointing out of his chest.

"Kili!" His brother cried out with such pain in his voice Bilbo thought he heart might have shattered right there.

"Kili," Fili seemed to forget there was even a battle waging around them, "no, no, Kili."

"I'm –" Kili let out a wet cough, Bilbo could hear the rattle in his breathing, "I'm fine, Fili."

Fili sank down to his knees, his swords falling from his hands with a soft thump into the mud. He reached out a shaky hand and touched his brother's face.

"Kili, no –" Fili's face was almost blank, like the horror and pain tearing through his mind and body was too much, far too much than could even be expressed.

"Protect Uncle, okay?" Kili coughed again, "and mother. When you –" blood dyed his chin red, "—when you see her again…"

"No, no, you're—" Fili pulled his brother's head up into his arms, "you're going to be fine you idiot, we're going to get out of here, we're going to see mother again, we're going to say sorry for just leaving a bloody note, but we're going to do it together."

Kili brought up a pale, shaking hand to grip his brother's, "Okay."

"You and I, Kili" Fili's body started to shake, "you and I. I won't –" he wiped away the blood, "I won't let you go running off without me. Not now, not ever."

Kili smiled up at Fili, his teeth stained red, "Okay."

The young dwarf's eyes started to flutter shut.

"No!" Fili wailed, pulling his brother tighter, "no, no, Kili not now. Kili don't leave me, please don't leave me, no, no, no…"

"I'm not…" another cough, "I'm not going anywhere, stupid. Just got to… to sleep for a second."

"I – I swore to protect you, you're my little brother, I need you Kili," Fili started to rock gently, "I won't let you get hurt anymore I promise, I promise, just – just give me another chance. Please, please don't leave me."

Kili brought his hand up to touch Fili's face. "You've always protected me," another rattling breath, "it was time… time that I protected you, huh?"

"Kili," he groaned, "Kili. Fight it, fight it please. I can't – I can't live without you."

Kili smiled at his brother again and this time it was sad. Sad because Bilbo knew in his heart that was the only truth they had ever really known. Fili couldn't live without Kili anymore than Kili could without Fili. They were one, mind and soul. In every single moment of their lives that had been a blessing, but right now, as Kili lay dying in the mud, his blood pouring out of him in small rivers, it was tragedy.

"I know."

Kili's voice was so soft, Bilbo almost didn't even hear it. The younger dwarf's hand slipped down from Fili's face and fell limp to rest on top of his chest. Kili's face was stuck in that sad smile but his eyes… his eyes were empty now.

"Kili?" Fili shook his brother gently, "Kili?"

But there was no answer now, only silence.

Fili let out another wail as he pulled Kili into his lap, curling around him as if to protect his little brother just one last time.

"No, no, no…" Fili moaned in a terrible chant as he rocked back and forth, "no, no, Mahal please, no… Give him back, Mahal, give him back to me."

Bilbo felt blank. Felt hollow as if this was a dream and he was floating over some dark, impossible abyss. Kili was… no, he couldn't be, he couldn't. Kili with his bright smiles and so much life. Kili who just wanted to grow a beard, Kili who wanted more than anything to be like his uncle and to be worthy of his brother. Kili…

"Disgusting…" Azog purred as he stepped forward, "Ending your line will be a mercy."

Fili didn't hear him though, or if he did, he didn't respond. All the dwarf did was continue rocking his brother's head, chanting a string of quiet prayers. "No, no, no, give him back to me, give him back…" The dwarf seemed past crying now, past getting up, past anything except holding his brother.

Bilbo saw Azog start to raise the giant mace and he seemed to jolt awake again.

"Fili, Fili!" The hobbit shouted, "get up Fili! He's right behind you!"

The dwarf made no motion, didn't even look up, just continued his doomed prayer.

The first blow slammed against Fili's back with a dull thud. The dwarf didn't yell, didn't scream in pain, didn't even move. Fili slumped for a moment, but then continued to gently hold his brother's head.

"No!" Bilbo cried out in desperation, "No, Fili get up! Get up! You have to fight!"

The hobbit started to claw his way out, twisting his leg, pulling it as hard as he could and ignoring the pain shooting up to his knee.

Azog raised the mace again and brought it down in the same place. Fili curled over his brother, coughing out thick, red blood. Bilbo knew his ribs were broken, his back was broken, the spikes on the mace had punctured deep holes that were now seeping blood.

"You have to fight him, Fili!" Bilbo cried out, half sob, half shout, "You have to fight back!"

But Fili couldn't hear him, no more than he could feel the mace crushing his back again and again.

He gave one last, great pull and the hobbit felt something snap as his foot came free. He clenched his teeth as burning pain lanced through his ankle.

"Weak." Azog sneered, hitting Fili again.

"Weak, weak, weak!" Blow after blow rained down on the dwarf but all he did was cough again and resume his rocking.

Bilbo staggered up to one foot, grabbing Sting as he fell forward. The hobbit spat out a mouth full of mud. He clawed at the ground, pulling himself closer and closer. There was pain, agony and fire twisting all around his ankle and in his throbbing head. But all he could see was Azog's broad back, nothing more upon it than scars.

Anger filled him, so much anger and pain that Bilbo couldn't see straight. This beast would die; this beast would die in a blaze of pain for all he had done. For everything he had done to Thorin and now… for what he had done to… to Kili, to his friend.

The mace rose and fell, rose and fell, each time forcing Fili to slump just a little father forward.

Bilbo crawled in the mud and the blood and the rain. He could see the white back in front of him, glowing like a beacon amidst all the black. The hobbit reached Azog and stood up shakily on one leg, pointing Sting right where he wanted his blade to go, right to the heart. Though he wasn't even sure if the beast had one beating under all that malice and hate.

Steel tore through flesh, past bone, past lungs, and sunk in deep. Bilbo might've have yelled as he buried the sword up through the pale orc's lower back and through its chest. He might've twisted Sting, might've relished in the surprised grunt Azog let out as he looked down at the red point sticking from his chest. He might've even laughed as the orc stumbled to the side, fell down into the mud and looked up at him.

The pale orc looked up at the hobbit and said, "You…" before the grip on his great mace loosened and Azog the Deflier fell dead onto the ground.

He might've done any number of things but everything rushed out of him when he opened his eyes again. Fili, Kili and Thorin were in front of him. None of them smiling, none of them laughing, none of them angry for betraying them. Just still.

Fili's back was almost bare now, bloody and torn from the mace. He was covering Kili's face with his body, arms caged around his brother.

"Fili?" Bilbo choked out, "are you…"

But he couldn't finish. He couldn't….

Fili was fine, of course he was, just… just resting was all.

Bilbo reached out and gently touched the dwarf's shoulder, careful that his fingers not brush any of the gashes there. Bilbo tried to step forward, forgetting his ankle and fell when he felt white-hot pain lance through him again. The hobbit stumbled forward and crashed back down into the mud.

When he wiped the fresh wave of blood from his temple out of his eye and the mud from his face, Bilbo felt his heart break.

Fili's chin was covered in blood, twin to his brother's in its red, wet shine. Bilbo pulled himself up onto the side of his leg and reached out a shaking hand to push the now crimson hair out of the dwarf's face. His blue eyes, his friendly blue eyes that had smiled at him for so many months now were hollow. There was no spark, no… anything. All they did was point down at Kili.

"Fili…?" Bilbo felt the tears start to run down his face. He knew the dwarf wouldn't answer him, couldn't answer him anymore.

"Fili… please…" Bilbo choked, he couldn't… couldn't do this alone…

"Kili…" he looked down at the younger dwarf, his vision blurring as he tried to blink away the tears.

But all Kili did was smile up at his brother, his hand resting on Fili's leather-clad one.

They were silent. They were still. They were… they were…

A groan came from the body not a foot from him.

Thorin.

Thorin was alive.

The hobbit looked up and saw they were close to the edge of the forest. He could get them all to safety, he could do it. Then he would get Gandalf and the wizard would help Fili and Kili. Gandalf had magic, he could – he could heal these wounds.

Bilbo tried to stand but his broken ankle and head wound made him fall back down as soon as he even gotten to one foot. The hobbit crawled over to Thorin and looked at his face. It was covered in cuts, and there was blood leaking out of the mail on his chest. Bilbo pressed his face to the dwarf's chest and…

There, there was faint thrum of life. Thorin's heart beat weak and slow but he was alive. He had to get them to safety. Bilbo slumped against the dwarf's chest for a moment and just listened. Despite the battle still raging around them, despite the death, the destruction, a heart still beat deep inside Thorin.

Bilbo tried to sit up again but his vision started to grow black, his head pounding worse with every moment that passed.

'No… no, I can't… not yet…'

He gripped the front of Thorin's coat and started to pull. The hobbit shook his head, trying to clear it, to get to his damn feet and save them all, but his body wouldn't respond. Not anymore.

He pulled and yanked, but Thorin was too heavy, too much weight for him to bear. Bilbo slumped down against the dwarf, sobs wracking his chest. He had tried, tried so hard…

The hobbit felt the black start to swirl around him again, his ankle burning and throbbing.

He reached out with fumbling fingers, and found where Fili and Kili's hands lay against each other. He pushed his fingers underneath Fili's so his lay on top of both of theirs and squeezed them in comfort as he had so many times before. Bilbo brought his other hand to touch Thorin's face.

The black was almost all around him, he couldn't see… couldn't…

Bilbo felt his head fall forward onto Thorin's chest. If he died, well… that was the plan wasn't it? If not here then it would have been after the battle at Thorin's own hand. Maybe this was… Maybe this was better, in it's own sick way. At least he was going to die protecting his friends, protecting Thorin. He'd messed that up though, like he had messed up everything lately but… he was paying for it now, wasn't he? At least he'd taken Azog down with him, tore a hole right through the orc's chest.

Thump… Thump… Thump…

Bilbo moved his ear so he could hear Thorin's heart better. It was beautiful to him, the best song he'd ever heard. It was selfish he knew, to covet the sound as he died. He didn't deserve this one last comfort as the world went dark.

Thump… Thump… Thump…

But he couldn't help it. No more than he could help loving Thorin with all his heart. No more than he could stop the pain of Fili and Kili, of betraying his friend. If he was dead then… dead men didn't feel this horrible ache, did they? Dead men didn't feel as if there was a gaping, raw, mess of a hole where their heart should be, did they?

Bilbo fought the black for one last moment so he could look up at Thorin's face.

"I love you," he rasped in a whisper.

Bilbo squeezed Fili and Kili's hands as he turned his ear back to Thorin's chest.

Thump… Thump… Thump…

"I love you and… and I'm… I'm sorry…"

The world went dark.

---

His head hurt, his body hurt, everything hurt.

Bilbo heard voices around him, though they swam through his ears and he couldn't make out any of the words.

He blinked once. Twice.

He was on a bed, he thought. There was a soft light in the corner of the room… no, not room, a tent.

'The battle!'

Bilbo shot up and immediately regretted that decision, his vision going black once more as he hissed with pain, falling back onto the cushions.

"Bilbo! You're awake!" the voice sounded relieved.

"He's awake!" The voice called, "go get the wizard."

The hobbit let out a groan and tried to sit up more slowly this time. A hand placed itself gently on his chest and pushed him back down.

"Don't be doin' that so quick, you hear?"

Bilbo looked up and saw Bofur staring down at him with a kind, slightly exasperated smile.

"Bofur?" Bilbo cried out, happy to see his friend with little more than a sling on his right arm, "Bofur what happened? Did we – did we…"

Bofur smiled at him again, "Aye, laddie, we won."

The hobbit felt relief wash over him. They had won; somehow, someway they had won.

"And the… the rest of the company?"

Bofur's smile turned sad as he looked away.

"We were losin' for a while there. I don't think anyone expected their forces to be so… numerous. But after you killed Azog they sort of… were losin' their center, I'm thinkin'. There was no direction so they got all sorts of disorganized and we were able to push 'em back, laddie. But…"

Then it all came back to him. Tauriel, Beorn, Thorin, Azog, and then… Fili and Kili…

"The lads are… are…" Bofur trailed off, his voice tight and Bilbo knew.

He nodded stiffly and looked away, trying to hide the hot tears that were coming down his face. The ache was back, the ache that made him want to claw inside his own chest and rip out his heart, rip it out and throw it away so that he would never have to feel anything so horrible ever again.

His friends were dead. Fili and Kili were dead, gone from the world just like that.

"The rest of the company is mostly all right, dependin' on who you ask, but Master Thorin is…"

Bilbo didn't think he had any heart left to break, didn't think he could take any more of this pain.

"He's alive, laddie, but he'd not doin' too well. Master Gandalf thought he might be gettin' a bit better but when he learned about his nephews he just sort of… went all quiet. Dwalin was sayin' he's… he's lost the will to live."

"I need to see him, Bofur." Bilbo sat up and swung his legs off the bed. He almost fell forward as his vision went gray but Bofur leapt up to catch him.

"Aye, I know, laddie. Just let me go get the wizard and –"

"No," Bilbo hissed as he stepped down, forgetting that his ankle had broken. "No, Bofur please, I need to go now."

"He ain't goin' to be happy 'bout this…" Bofur muttered but nodded just the same. The dwarf stuck out his arm and Bilbo took it. They made their way out of the tent slowly, the hobbit having to hop on one leg even with Bofur's assistance.

"He might be restin' now, laddie," Bofur glanced at him from the corner of his eyes.

"I don't care." Bilbo was just trying not to think. Trying not to think of Fili and Kili, tyring not to think that Thorin was dying at this very moment.

They made their way down several tents into a slightly larger one than he'd been in. The canvas that adorned all of them was a pale, starched white and he knew they must be in the healing tents.

Bofur pulled the flap aside and they hobbled through. Bilbo came to a sudden halt when he saw Thorin in the bed. The dwarf's eyes were shut and his breathing was shallow and had a wet quality to it. His chest was wrapped tightly in linen bandages, red starting to seep through in some places. Like Bilbo he had a more wrappings around his head and one of his arms was in a sling much like Bofur's. The hobbit's eyes fell on Thorin's left hand which lay against the sheet and there was nothing there. No ring, no evil gem glinting back at him wickedly.

Bilbo felt a bitter relief race through his veins. It was gone, gone from Thorin. Though he couldn't help but think it was all too little, too late.

Bofur helped him limp to one of the makeshift wooden chairs that sat beside the bed and as soon as the hobbit was seated, excused himself from the tent.

There was no noise now except for the sound of Thorin's breathing. The hobbit scooted his chair forward until he could rest his arms upon the side of the bed. Bilbo hesitantly reached out and grasped the hand that was no longer ensnared by the ring.

He didn't… He didn't know how Thorin would react. If he would still be mad or – or worse but that didn't even seem to matter to him anymore.

"Thorin?" Bilbo spoke gently, giving the hand a small squeeze.

Fingers twitched and the dwarf's eyes fluttered open.

Thorin's blue eyes were bloodshot and looked about as hollow as the hobbit felt.

Their eyes locked and for a moment there was nothing at all. Thorin took in a shallow, rattling breath and exhaled a sob. His looked away from Bilbo, tears starting to run down his face into his beard. Thorin tried to turn away, turn his head away from Bilbo's gaze.

"Thorin…" the hobbit gripped the hand in his tighter.

"No…" Thorin moaned out still trying to twist his head away, "no, don't look at me…"

"Thorin, stop it, please," Bilbo stood up as best he could, resting most of his weight on the edge of the bed. "Do you… do you want me to leave?"

He thought the answer might kill him as surely as any sword. If Thorin said yes then… that was it.

"No," Thorin turned his eyes on Bilbo and for a moment they flashed bright, "No, I… can't bear to see you…"

Bilbo felt his stomach twist violently.

"I can't bear to see the hatred on your face…" Thorin's voice was quiet and raspy with injury.

The hobbit reached up and placed a hand on Thorin's cheek as the dwarf winced away from the touch, clenching his eyes shut. He had… he had not been expecting that.

"Why would I hate you, Thorin?"

The dwarf let out a bitter laugh.

"Shall I count the reasons? I almost killed you, Master Baggins. I wanted to kill you, I named you traitor, I… cursed you, scorned you, sent you away because I was too weak to resist a ring. How could you not hate me?"

"Bilbo," he replied shortly.

The dwarf's eyes snapped open, but they stayed trained on the adjacent wall, "I do not deserve to use your name."

"Yes you do. Look at me, Thorin," Bilbo gently twisted the dwarf's face, almost too aware of his friend's injuries. Blue eyes slowly moved until they rested on his face.

"I was the one who gave you the ring, I was the one who ruined everything. I was the one—"

"No," Thorin shot out again, trying to sit up and starting a chain of painful coughs.

Bilbo scooted forward and placed a hand on the dwarf's chest, trying to calm him. The heart beneath his fingers felt so weak now.

"No," he whispered, "none of this was your fault, none of it. I did it, all of it, it was me. I betrayed you, I abandoned you. I am the reason my nephews… my nephews..."

"Thorin—" Bilbo tried to speak again but was cut off once more.

"I have already lost your love, Bilbo. Please, I cannot take you thinking…"

Thorin's face clenched as he arched his back in pain.

"You have never lost my love, Thorin," Bilbo whispered as he stared at his friend, "and you never will."

"How—" the dwarf moaned, desolation written all over his face, "how can you even look at me after all I've done?"

Thorin's eyes fell to the bandage around Bilbo's neck, "I deserve to die, I deserve to die alone."

"You have never deserved that, Thorin. I love you because you are kind and selfless," Bilbo gently turned Thorin's face back to him again, "I love you because you are strong and you have fought all your life for your people and your family."

"I love you because you are the best man I have ever known and don't ever," Bilbo tightened his grip on Thorin's hand, "think what that ring did to you makes me feel any differently."

Thorin looked at him, almost in shock, for a few silent moments. More tears started to run down his face.

"I don't deserve your love, Bilbo. I never have. I never should have…"

"What?"

"I never should have tried to come back home."

Bilbo felt his heart clench. Erebor was… so essential to Thorin that hearing him denounce it made the ache in his chest grow even stronger.

"Erebor is mine, but at what price? Fili and Kili are… are dead," the word caused a fresh set of wracking sobs that turned into coughs, "and I hurt you, I hurt the person that I…" Thorin gazed at him with such pain in his face, Bilbo almost wanted to look away, "that I love most in this world. I wanted Erebor for my nephews, for their future… I wanted Erebor only if I could share it with them. And - and with you."

The hobbit clenched his teeth, trying to keep the wetness from running down his face, trying to keep the horrible ache away.

"You… you can, Thorin, you'll get better and then we can—"

The dwarf laughed softly, but this time it was more sad than bitter.

"I am not getting better, Bilbo."

The hobbit wiped away his tears then glared at the dwarf angrily. "Don't talk like that, Thorin. You are going to get better and you are going to show me every last blasted hallway in your damn mountain."

A small smile crept onto Thorin's face. "That is a wonderful dream, Bilbo. But that's all it is—" he coughed again, "a dream."

"How can you say that? After everything we've been through, you're just going to give up? I know –" he wiped away more tears "I know you're stronger than that, Thorin. You would never let a few wounds keep you down…"

Thorin pulled his hand from Bilbo's grasp and brought his shaking fingers up to Bilbo's face, cupping his cheek. The hobbit closed his eyes, feeling the hot wetness run down his face, and pushing his face further into Thorin's touch. He felt a thumb gently wipe away his tears.

Thorin placed his hand under Bilbo's chin and weakly tugged until the hobbit realized what he wanted. Bilbo pushed himself onto the bed, awkwardly clambering on with a broken ankle until he was resting on the edge, propped up by an arm, his face level with Thorin's.

The dwarf reached his head forward slowly until their foreheads were touching. Thorin tilted his mouth forwards so their lips met for a moment.

"I would have loved you until mountains crumbled, Bilbo Baggins. I would have loved you until the sun rose in the west and set in the east. I would have loved you until all the seas turned to dust."

Bilbo gulped, his throat painfully tight and no words seemed to come out.

"I wanted to show you my home, I wanted us to grow old together, I wanted… I wanted so much…" Thorin trailed off.

This time it was Bilbo who placed the kiss on Thorin's lips. If he couldn't speak then he would just have to show him.

"I wanted to love you for the rest of my days, Bilbo." Thorin coughed and a trickle of blood spilled out the side of his mouth, "I suppose that is this only wish I will fulfill."

The hobbit pressed his forehead into Thorin's, disregarding the pain that shot through his skull, "Thorin… please…"

He didn't know what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Thorin to keep fighting, to not give up, to – to… he didn't know. He knew the dwarf's injuries were bad, bad enough that even Gandalf thought Thorin was going to die. He knew the pain of Fili and Kili's passing had worn down whatever strength his heart had left to fight. No one, not even Bilbo, could heal Thorin's wounds, of body or heart, but he couldn't bring himself to think even a second into the future.

"I am tired, Bilbo, my…" he brought a hand up to rest on his heart, "I hurt."

When the dwarf's fingers pressed into the cloth, he saw a red flower bloom onto the linen and knew that Thorin's heart hurt for more than one reason. Bilbo nodded slowly, he didn't… he didn't think he could go through this alone. But he had to.

"I love you, Thorin Oakenshield," he kissed Thorin hard on the lips. Tears and pain and sorrow. Joy and happiness and love. All of it coursed through him like a raging flood. Thorin kissed him back just as fiercely, bringing the hand up from his chest to tangle in Bilbo's hair.

For a moment they were one and whole and nothing bad had ever happened. For a moment they were back in Erebor's halls after they had learned of Smaug's death and the whole future seemed bright and glorious and infinite. For a moment they were together, Thorin and Bilbo, and nothing else existed in the entire world.

And then they weren't.

Thorin let out another pained coughed and slumped back against his pillows. His body trembled with the pain of his hacking. Bilbo settled down in the crook of Thorin's arm, resting his head half on Thorin's chest and half on his shoulder. The dwarf brought his arm to rest feebly around Bilbo. The hobbit reached up and laced their fingers together, holding on as tight as he could.

They lay together in silence as Thorin coughed and coughed. Bilbo closed his eyes and listened to the dwarf's heat beat. He didn't know how long they lay there, it could have been hours, it could have been days, but he hoped it was years.

Thump… Thump… Thump….

The beat was faint, fainter than it had been when they'd been lying in the blood and mud of the battle. Bilbo edged his ear closer and tried to clear his mind. Tried not to focus on anything but Thorin.

He wanted to cry, to weep and beat his hands against the dwarf until Thorin promised him to stay alive. He wanted to scream and shout and just expel all of this – this hurt inside of him. It wasn't fair, none of this was fair. Thorin was back with him, back in his arms and that blasted ring was off but they wouldn't be together.

They wouldn't grow old, they wouldn't watch Fili and Kili lead the dwarves, they wouldn't spend countless days doing nothing more than mapping each other's minds; learning and loving and living. There was no time anymore. Each sharp, cruel breath he heard Thorin's lungs struggle to take in was testament to that fact.

His love was in pain, so much pain and there was nothing in the world he could do to stop it. The ache in his chest was different than it had been when Thorin had called him traitor. That had been sharp, like the jagged edge of a knife carving him to pieces and every moment had seemed to be an exercise in agony.

This pain was… inevitable. It was imminent, shadowed on the horizon. It was so great Bilbo could scarcely do anything but watch in a numb sort of horror as he felt it steadily draw closer like some massive wave. He knew when it reached him he would drown. He would be buried by the enormity of it all and never have a chance to reach the surface for all his wild struggling.

Thump… Thump… Thump…

There were so many things he had wanted to discuss with Thorin. There were so many memories he wanted to make, he wanted to tease Thorin, he wanted to wrap himself in the dwarf's coat and just feel safe once again. Most of all he had wanted to show Thorin that the dwarf could be loved. That there were people in this world worth trusting, worth handing over your heart to and telling them to keep it safe.

Bilbo had thought that person could have been him. He wasn't a great fighter; he wasn't that brave, or even really all that wise. But what he did have was a good heart, a heart worth trusting. At least, he had thought he did. It barely seemed to matter now. Whatever he had been before, Bilbo Baggins was no longer. His heart was shattered, imperfect, broken. Each failure, each betrayal, each death had chipped away at it and now he… he didn't think he could love again.

Thorin held his heart when it was whole and complete and so very ready to give itself away. Thorin held it still, even now that it had been torn. Thorin would hold it for the rest of Bilbo's life.

The hobbit had thought himself content before he went on this crazy adventure with a wandering group of raggedy dwarves. He had thought waking up in Bag End and going to sleep in the very same bed each night was all it took to be happy. He was comfortable, he was safe, and he was respectable.

Thump… Thump…

Bilbo thought of Thorin's face, shining and bright, smiling just for him and he knew that whatever happiness he'd felt in Bag End was an ignorant fiction. He hadn't known what happiness was before he'd met Thorin. He'd known what it meant to be safe, in both mind and body. Safe but sheltered.

Thorin had shown him what it meant to love. What it meant to want someone so badly that you would do anything, anything to keep them safe even if that meant casting aside your own well-being. The dwarf had taught him that his happiness lay within Thorin's smile, Thorin's laugh, Thorin's boundless strength and will.

Now as the dwarf lay weak and broken beside him, Bilbo horded those moments close to him. They were precious, the most precious things he had ever owned or would ever own in his life.

Thorin took another rattling breath in and his hand started to go limp in Bilbo's; but the hobbit just squeezed back harder. He had sworn to be Thorin's strength. He had… promised that to Kili. He had promised so many things to all of them, even himself, but this seemed to be the only one he was like to keep.

He was no wizard, he was no healer even though had played at one on their journey. Bilbo Baggins could fight no more battles, nor could he raise anyone from the dead. All he could do now is be with Thorin. Be with his love until… until…

He would not cry. He would not weep. Not yet.

He would be strong, damn it. Strong for Thorin, strong for himself. There would be a time to fall apart. To watch the pieces of his life fall from his numb fingers and feel nothing but aching sadness as they scattered to the past, to happier times. But not now.

Thump… Thump…

Bilbo looked up at Thorin's face, at his closed eyes, his drawn brows, and sickly pale skin. The dwarf looked gaunt now, almost hallow. Pain was dug into the lines of his face. Life had not been kind to Thorin Oakenshield and it seemed that death would be no kinder.

The hobbit wanted to… wanted to cup his hands around the dwarf's face and kiss him until there was nothing left in this world. Until dust and ash piled up around them, until the sun died and the moon disappeared into the dark of night. He wanted Thorin so badly it made his chest feel like it was about to crack open and shatter into dust itself. But Thorin was no longer his. Not completely anyway. There was a part of him that died with Fili and Kili. A part of him that just… couldn't live on even if Bilbo was there every day for a lifetime.

Tragedy had burrowed itself deep into the line of Durin and today it would claim its last. Death was a hungry god, Bilbo thought bitterly, and it cared nothing for those left behind. Those who linger in its wake, cursing death for taking, taking, taking.

Taking everything but them too.

Bilbo reached up and gently traced Thorin's lips with his finger, then moved to his nose and his cheeks. Down his chin and touching his neck gently. The hobbit would memorize every last detail about Thorin, every last curve and dip. Every tiny piece of perfection about the dwarf would belong to Bilbo's memory, to his steady, broken heart.

Thump…

Bilbo brought his hand down next to his face and rested it gently over Thorin's weak, almost still heart. The only part of his friend that would belong to him forever. The only piece of Thorin he could take with him when he left this place.

The hobbit felt the enormity of it all wash over him and for a moment he couldn't breath. This was love. This.

Love was Thorin looking to him. Asking, pleading Bilbo to teach him how to trust again. Thorin had needed to know that he was worth loving. That he wasn't so scarred and burned by the cruelty of life that another being could look upon him with anything more than cool indifference. He needed to know that there was something more than revenge, something more than stone halls and ancient treasure.

"You are worth it," Bilbo muttered into Thorin's chest.

"Hm?" the dwarf barely whispered, his blue eyes blinking open slowly.

"You are worth loving, Thorin."

The dwarf looked at him for a moment and then a smile broke out of his face. It wasn't big, it wasn't wide. But it was bright, like the shining sun in the sky or the biggest ember in the fire. It was heat and warmth and safety. But most of all, it was love.

Thorin closed his eyes again and gave Bilbo's hand a squeeze, that smile still resting on his face.

Bilbo listened for the next heartbeat, waited for the next thump in Thorin's chest, but it never came.

The hobbit pressed his ear in hard.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

But all Bilbo Baggins heard was a yawning silence as the tears started to pour from his eyes.

---

Okay so I know a lot of you guys (pretty much everyone) wanted me to not kill them. I won't go into a huge novel length essay about why I am keeping the plot pretty much the same. I was teetering back and forth for a really long time but what it came down to, I think, is that Bilbo's story to me is not a fairy tale. If you look at the book with a pair of sparkly Bagginshield lenses it is really tragic. Like holy shit Niagara Falls is pouring from my face tragic. Which, in my slightly masochistic tendencies, I happen to enjoy. It feels more real to me and, while I enjoy fix-its as much as the next person, a huge part of why I love Bilbo's character is that he does have all this shit happen to him and he still lives on and he still cares for Frodo.