There was just as little conversation the next morning as there had been the previous day. Everyone was distracted by thoughts of Bilbo, many of them still trying to think of some way they could save their burglar. Kili walked with his head hanging, staring at the ground as he led Fili's pony along behind him. Fili had his eyes closed, his face hidden in the pony's mane. Thorin was at the front of the group, silent as he trekked onwards towards Lake-Town. Beside him was Dwalin, doing his best to comfort his friend with just his presence.

It was hard to believe that it was really all over. Smaug would continue to reign as King Under the Lonely Mountain and the Company would all go back to their mundane lives, with a single chest of bits and baubles they had found in the troll hoard to share between them. And one lonely halfling would live out what was left of his life as a slave and a plaything.

"It isn't fair," Kili murmured, and his brother made a noise of agreement.

"We'll go back for him," Fili replied, his voice tired and strained. But he didn't mean what he'd said. Thorin would never let them, and even if he did, Fili's leg would only be a hindrance to the both of them. The lads both knew that. They knew it was over. It was trying to accept it that would be the difficult part.

They were in the middle of a large expanse of flat land and dead grass when the wind abruptly picked up. Kili's head jerked up, panic surging through his chest. The last time he'd felt such a severe change in the weather, exactly like this, was when they had last seen Smaug and Fili had broken his leg.

Thorin caught on as well, stopping dead in his tracks and turning on his heel.

There was a glint of scarlet in the distant sky, just outside of the Lonely Mountain, and the Company all breathed sharply as one. Smaug.

"It seems the dragon has no intention of keeping his deal," Thorin spat angrily, and looked around for some shelter they could take. It would mean little; if a dragon wanted them dead, they would die. It was inevitable. There was a shelf of rock some distance away, a nice overhanging alcove, and Thorin pointed. "To the rocks! Go! Now!"

The dwarves shook themselves out of the horrified stupor they had been standing in and sprang into action, all running for the meager shelter the rocks would provide. Kili was still frozen in place, staring as that glimmer of scarlet grew into a blur. His hair whipped back from the wind and he let out a breath, taking his bow in his hands and drawing an arrow from the quiver on his shoulder.

"Kili, what are you doing?" Fili's voice interrupted his thoughts, pitched high and strained.

"I'm not going to die hiding under a rock like a coward," Kili retorted, his voice firm despite the way his hands were shaking.

"No one said we're going to die, Kili!"

Kili leveled a long stare at his brother. "I'm not a fool," he said softly. "And you need to get out of here, Fili. You can't fight, and…" he hesitated, swallowing. "Someone needs to tell Mum."

Fili's eyes went wide with horror. "I'm not leaving you," he argued, but Kili shook his head.

"Get out of here, Fili! Now! You don't have much time."

"Ki…"

Kili swallowed hard and met Fili's gaze. The blue eyes he loved more than anything were glistening with tears and he knew this would destroy Fili, leaving them all behind. But he would be alive. Hopefully he'd make it to Lake-town and find someone to patch up his leg, and he could send word to their mother, and…

Fili leaned over the side of the pony to take Kili's face in his hands and kiss him hard. It was fierce, passionate, protective, and Kili returned it with no small amount of desperation. When it finally broke and the blond Durin straightened, a brief grimace of pain crossing his face, there was an unspoken understanding between them.

Kili nocked his arrow and Fili drew his twin blades, and together they stood against the oncoming enemy.

X

"Fili! Kili!"

Thorin was nearly to the rock shelf when he turned back to see his nephews standing alone in the clearing.

"Get over here now!"

Kili glanced in his uncle's direction and shook his head. Even from this distance, Thorin could make out the stubborn set to his jaw, so very like his mother's, and knew there was no arguing with him.

"They'll die out there," Bofur said unnecessarily, and Thorin nodded.

"They know that," he replied heavily, and knew he couldn't stand here and watch.

Making up his mind, Thorin charged out to meet his sister-sons, Orcrist clutched in one hand. The mingled relief and determination on Fili and Kili's face to see him only strengthened Thorin's resolve.

If they were to die, they would die together. As a family.

Thorin was followed almost immediately by Dwalin, who was tailed by Balin and Bofur, and soon the entire Company was arranging themselves around the lads. No words were spoken, though there were shoulder pats and other gestures of affection and brotherhood. Even Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, Broadbeams by birth, were part of this family. While they weren't Durin's Folk, they were part of the Company, and that meant more now than ever.

"I'm sorry," Kili whispered to his brother, and Fili shook his head.

"Don't be," he replied just as quietly. "I choose to die beside my brother. And I'd rather die now with you than live on as a cripple and be alone."

Those words struck a chord with Kili, and he stood a little taller. "Du bekar," he murmured, and Thorin smiled grimly beside him.

x

The battle was over quickly.

The dragon's landing shook the ground, and though the dwarves stood firm, Fili's pony bolted, whinnying in fear. Distracted, Kili's attention flickered from the enemy to his brother, who was struggling to stay on the terrified pony.

Flame roared from the dragon's maw, swallowing up the young dwarf and making him cry out. It crackled at his skin, caught his clothes alight, and he could see nothing but red and orange and yellow. Kili hit the ground with a sound of pain and attempted to douse the flames scorching across his body. There was a loud roaring sound in his ears, making him deaf to the Company's calls for him, and when he looked over for Fili, he saw a body lying too still on the ground, golden tassels spread around his head like a halo.

Kili tried to yell for him, but there was something wrong with his voice. His face and throat stung fiercely and he found he couldn't move without hurting. Was this how he would die, on his back like a coward?

He staggered back to his feet, blind to all else but the scarlet dragon. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the pain to the back of his mind and drew an arrow. Smaug was trundling towards where Fili lay now, and panic rose up in Kili's throat. He breathed, took aim, and released.

The arrow flew true, striking the beast in the eye. Smaug howled, rearing back, and a small figure tumbled off his back. Kili's eyes widened.

Bilbo.

x

It felt like he was waking up from a long, deep sleep. The impact of hitting the ground took several moments to process, and he felt not unlike he had been startled out of a particularly realistic dream. He blinked a few times, looking about him. There was a shout from a voice that seemed terribly familiar but at the same time not at all, and he frowned at the figure moving quickly towards him.

"Bilbo!" the figure was saying. "Bilbo!"

Was...that…

His name! It was his name. And that figure, that person, he knew them. He knew them very well, in fact, this person meant a great deal to him.

Thorin. It was Thorin. Thorin Oakenshield, leader of the Company. It all came rushing back and Bilbo shivered. He was wearing finer clothes than he'd ever seen in his life, albeit a little too big. Dwarven finery. He remembered now, Smaug insisting he put them on. Oh, yes, and he was hurt. Moving reminded him of that. Three shallow stab wounds, self-inflicted. He vaguely remembered doing that to himself too, but it was distant and difficult to remember.

Bilbo looked about and his heart stopped. The dwarves looked terrible, burned and weary, and as he watched, Kili fell to his knees, breathing hard.

"Bilbo! You have to kill him, do you understand? Kill Smaug!"

The words came back to him as though from a dream, and Bilbo stood slowly, drawing his little sword from it's scabbard. The mighty dragon was writhing in pain, roaring as black blood dripped from what was left of it's punctured eye. Bilbo recognized the yellow fletched arrow and allowed himself a tiny smile.

He didn't feel like himself. He didn't really feel much at all, just a grim sense of determination to end this. And after all this, he could sleep, finally sleep.

But Smaug was not ready to give up. Now he had revenge to exact. He took his last few steps towards the fallen, golden-haired dwarf…

...And swallowed him whole.

Kili's scream echoed across the flat plain, joined quickly by Thorin's, and something quickened in Bilbo's chest. No. No. This wasn't happening. It was a bad dream.

But something was happening. Smaug's one eye was bulging and smoke was issuing from his nostrils. Bilbo realized it in a moment. The dragon was choking. The hobbit's eyes widened in surprise and mild horror as he saw something kicking from inside the dragon's throat, and a blade stabbed outward through Smaug's skin.

The dragon retched, emptying both the contents of his stomach and one exhausted dwarf. Smaug was gagging, gasping, wounded and distracted. This was Bilbo's chance.

He drew near. Smaug didn't even seem to notice the small halfling as he gripped Sting a little tighter. He could see that weak point at the joint of his shoulder and chest, the one spot on the dragon that wasn't coated in thick scales or lined with gems and gold.

"Kill Smaug!" Kili's voice echoed in his mind. Bilbo took a deep breath and plunged his sword deep into the beast's chest.

And then he blacked out.

x

"Bilbo! Fili!"

Kili was back on his feet and sprinting, pain forgotten for the moment as he raced towards them. Smaug was dead, his corpse still oozing out black blood, and Bilbo had done it. He was filled with a strange combination of euphoria and panic for his brother and for the hobbit.

"Don't touch the dragon's blood!" Ori's voice echoed across the field. Kili had to hide a smile; his friend honestly looked ridiculous, ash smeared across his face and his ruined, oversized robes flapping about him as he ran towards them.

Thorin, who had just been about to kneel in it, stopped immediately, looking back at Ori. It was a good thing the scribe had reminded him. "Of course," Thorin murmured. "It can be lethal."

He swallowed hard, gazing at the little hobbit who was lying in a pool of the sticky black stuff. It was smeared across his face and his hands were coated in it. He wondered if Bilbo was even still alive. At the least, the blood had been known to cause instant unconsciousness, but in some cases, it had killed, the poison seeping into its victim's skin.

An idea coming to him, Thorin shrugged off his traveling cloak and carefully scooped the hobbit up with it, gently cradling him in his arms and dropping to his knees. "Oin, check if he's still breathing."

Kili was torn between Bilbo and Fili, but eventually his loyalty to his brother won out. Tired, covered in burns, Kili staggered to his brother's side. The stench was horrible, but Kili was beyond any of that now. Gently, he touched Fili's shoulder. The sick-spattered dwarf opened his eyes, giving Kili a weak smile.

"Kili, you're hurt," he croaked, and Kili shook his head.

"It's nothing," he replied. "It'll heal. Are you alright?"

Fili nodded. "Could use a bath," he said with a weak laugh, and Kili smiled tightly before glancing over at the rest of the Company, now crouched around Bilbo. Fili followed his gaze.

"Is he going to be alright?" Fili asked, and his younger brother gave a helpless shrug.

"He killed Smaug for us. That dragon blood is all over him, not to mention his injuries from before, and he was under the dragonspell for a while. Who knows what that'll do to him?"

There was a weak cough from the bundle in Thorin's arms, and thirteen pairs of eyes widened in surprise as Bilbo blinked awake.

"I don't suppose there's any tea?" he croaked.

The Company didn't stop laughing for a long time.