A fierce battle was raging on the steps of Erebor, a battle of five armies and in the midst of this battle was a she-hobbit, one Billa Baggins by name. Unseen by the enemy she rushed about slicing the legs of Orcs and Goblins with Sting, felling them to the ground before finishing their pitiful lives with a blood-lust previously unknown to Hobbit-kind.

Stopping to catch her breath, Billa glanced upward, praying to Yavanna that her companions would survive, suddenly she gave a cry, for she had seen a sight which made her heart beat strong against her chest.

'The Eagles are coming, the Eagles are coming!' She shouted, trying to make herself heard above the din of clashing steel. Surely this would be their salvation, the coming of the Eagles would ensure a triumph over the host of orcs and goblins who had sieged the great mountain.

'The Eagles! Look! The Eagles!' Her cry was soon taken up and repeated, her words spanning the length of the valley, bringing hope to those still fighting.

Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, of the Durin line heard the call and it gave him the strength to cleave the head of the pale orc Azog from its shoulders, just as an arrow loosed from Killi's bow found its way into the skull of Bolg, killing him instantly.

Unfortunately for Billa, whilst garnering hope for the light, her call drew the attention of the enemy. Her third cry of 'The Eagles!' was cut short as a black arrow pierced the flesh of her leg, the barbs buried deep, stumbling blindly, her head struck a sharp rock and Billa Baggins knew no more.

The arrival of the Eagles had signalled the turning point of the battle and within no time at all the remaining orcs and goblins were being chased down and killed.

Later that evening the thirteen dwarves of the company of Thorin Oakenshield were gathered in the King's tent, relieved as they were in the idea that they had all survived with minimal injuries, true Killi would always walk with a limp and Ori would have to find a new occupation, a missing hand made writing difficult, they were exhausted and in pain, grieving for those lost, but they were more or less in one piece, and for that they were happy.

That happiness was shattered the moment Gandalf strode into their tent, blood-stained and dirty with a desperate yet hopeful look on his face.

'Have you seen my burglar?'

The answering blankness on the faces of the dwarves served as his answer, and any hope he had held in his heart died.

The dwarves turned to each other in confusion 'was not she sent back to lake-town when the fighting commencing?' Bofur piped.

The wizard shook his head in sadness, his shoulders slumped 'Have you ever known our burglar to do anything we told her to without a fight?' a wry smile crossed his face, in marked contrast to the tears making their way down his cheeks 'she would help, that fool of a Took would not miss the fight, ran straight in with her letter opener shining, she hasn't been seen since, we found this however'.

A piece of cloth was thrown towards them and caught by Dwalin, who spread it out on the ground for all to see, though the material was rent and heavily stained with blood and gore, each dwarf recognised it for what it was, Billa's red coat.