I heard the orcs before I saw them; their war-drums cracked the silent air, and their armored boots rang against the frozen earth. The elves shifted uneasily outside; the light armor they wore clicked against their bows, or their neighbors' arms. Inside, I stood between Thorin and Smaug, the others behind us and dressed for war. A full army of dwarves led by Thorin's cousin marched towards us from the opposite side as the orcs, and just behind them came the men who marched out of sync in armor that did not fit. Bard led them, grim-faced as ever; I hoped for his safety with all the desperation of a child. No one spoke. Fili and Kili looked like actual princes, like adults, and though Ori's brothers looked to be trying to shelter him, he stood just as tall and proud as the others.

Smaug squeezed my shoulder; he wore no armor. He would, after all, fight as a dragon, not a man. Thorin, at my other side, wore the armor of a king. He looked distant and untouchable; he'd always carried himself like royalty, but crown atop his head carried a strange, certain weight. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes as the noise outside grew steadily louder. When I opened them, Thorin was in front of me instead of beside me, holding out a rather intricate, pretty mail shirt.

"Thorin?" I asked, and he shook his head, glancing at Smaug.

"I found this while helping to search for other usable armor. It is mithril; it can be pierced by no blade or arrow. I know that you are no warrior, but I would have to stay safe in the coming battle; take it."

"How could I?" I asked, soft, glancing at all the others, and Smaug snorted.

"You are the only one small enough for it. In any case, I'd prefer you remain alive as well for various reasons. If only I thought the flight would be gentle enough that you could hold on, I'd keep you with me in the sky." Under the weight of his and Thorin's stares I could do nothing but don the armor, though I felt a bit silly with it on, the way it fell loose around my neck and hung almost to my knees. Still, it was easy to move in, so light as to feel almost nonexistent, and it obviously settled everyone greatly to see me wearing it.

Outside, the elves let their first arrows fly, and at Gandalf's call, my dwarves began to march outside, Thorin strong and noble as ever at the head of the group. Smaug held back for a moment, taking me tightly into his arms and pressing a kiss to my lips as soon as the dwarves were too far away to see him do it. He felt tense.

"Be safe, Smaug," I murmured, and he laughed.

"I am a dragon. You are the one who should be wary, little hobbit; when I return, I expect to find you well here." I said nothing; I didn't want to lie to him, but I wouldn't simply sit there if I thought my help was needed. Smaug laughed again, shaking his head, bitterness hanging about him like a fog. "At least return quickly when the battle is done so I don't have to be aware of how many Orcish blades you dived in front of for those dwarves." I smiled, hand light on his cheek.

"Be safe," I said again, taking one more kiss before he strode from the fortress. Without fanfare, his human shape melted away to the dragon again, and he took flight. I counted to five before I slipped on my ring and ran outside to find the company.

I felt my heart pounding bitterly as soon as I stepped outside; I hadn't realized how much sound the mountain had muffled. The orcs fought without care for themselves, using their numbers to swarm the other armies, dying in droves yet replacing each orc that fell with three others ready to fight. I couldn't see the end of them, and Sting felt small and fragile in my hand no matter how excitedly it hummed.

I breathed deeply, swallowing, hoping to loosen the tight ache in my throat. Metal clanged wildly against metal and flesh and bone, and at that moment, I wouldn't have been surprised if all of Middle Earth ended. An elf fell dead at my feet, and the orc that had killed him roared like an animal, uncontrolled and primal. Thoughtless, I swung Sting. The orc fell, and the world that had been in slow motion sped back to normalcy. I jerked Sting free and started running in the direction I'd seen my dwarves march, killing what orcs I could as I ducked under wild swings of swords and stray arrows. I still felt a few hit me, tearing through my jacket and shirt and bouncing off the mithril coat. I tried not to think of how quickly I'd have died without it and the ring.

I heard my dwarves before I saw them; their battle cries were rather… distinctive, after all. I smiled to myself; Smaug's fire arced through the sky over a new squadron of orcs in the distance. I ducked between a human's legs and on the other side found my friends fighting and cheering as orcs fell around them. I ducked into the fight, helping where I could, and followed them wherever they walked.

It seemed as if things would be alright, for a time; I kept any of them from being snuck up on, helped keep them from being overwhelmed, but then… then they split up, some staying to fight and some going to investigate a signal flag on a hill. Somewhere, Smaug roared and another plume of flame lit the sky.

I felt as if I were tearing my heart into three, but in the end, I followed the group that left with Thorin and prayed it was the right choice. I expected it was as soon as we reached the hill's peak; it was eerily silent, like death, and there was no sign that an Orcish signaler had ever been there. That it was a trap sparked in my mind at about the same time as it did Thorin's; I jerked my ring off to speak at about the same time that he opened his mouth.

Every last one of them looked horrified; during better times, it might've been a bit funny. As it stood, Thorin only said what I'd been thinking, and I nodded, eyes flashing around the craggy, icy hilltop. There were so many places for orcs to be hiding, to be waiting to ambush us; I disliked the paranoia and wondered how long my friends had had to suffer it. Thorin almost had Fili and Kili split from us to explore a small cave system, but the idea of splitting up frightened me, and though it almost surprised me, Thorin listened when I advised against it and had them remain with us instead. Slowly, as one unit, we crept forward, me slipping my ring on again as we walked; if they were to surprise us, after all, I thought it best that we had one of our own, however slight a help I might've been.

Despite expecting the ambush, it still surprised me when it happened. As though they wore rings of their own, three orcs appeared in front of us from nowhere, the pale orc Azog leading them. They didn't bother speaking, rather falling on us with weapons immediately. Dwalin, Fili, and Kili took Azog's underlings, while Thorin himself drew the massive orc himself away from them, determined to fight him alone. A strange mix of pride and annoyance swirled in me; Thorin Oakenshield was the stubborn, hard-headed epitome of every dwarven stereotype I'd ever heard in my life, but despite myself, he'd become one of the greatest friends I'd ever known.

I followed the two in silence, Sting curled tightly in my hands, though for a while I only watched, as it seemed that Thorin was going to win. The orc didn't fight fairly, though, and soon Thorin had been knocked to the ground, the orc ready to bring the heavy stone on a chain he'd been fighting with down on Thorin's head. I lunged forward, Sting held clumsily in front of me, and buried the short-sword in the orc's leg. He roared, and Thorin took the moment to roll out of the way instead. The stone struck ice instead of flesh, and I heard it crack ominously.

Azog swung the blade of his arm wildly, trying to strike me blindly, and the stone arced through the air a few more times, always striking the ice. I couldn't pull Sting free, and even if I'd left it, I couldn't have gotten through the barrage of blows. The ice cracked again. Thorin jumped to safety, probably expecting that I'd long since done the same, and I squeezed my eyes shut. The ice gave way; for a moment, Azog stopped attacking, and I tried to use that moment to push off his body and climb free, but doing so told him where I was. His arm dug into my lower leg, and I couldn't hold back a scream.

Icy water flooded my mouth, and my whole body felt numb but for the screeching pain in my leg. When my eyes opened, I saw nothing but swirling blue, shadowed by the ring. There was no sense of up or down, and my lungs burned. I couldn't think. I grabbed my leg, trying to free myself, but I couldn't tell if Azog was above me or below me and my thoughts grew evermore frantic. I could think only that I would die there, until I felt hands curl around the back of my shirt and pull me up.

I screamed again as the blade left my flesh, blobs of black blurring my vison. The frozen air felt like more little knives under my skin. I coughed for what felt like hours and coats piled around me, loud voices speaking all at once until they were blurred into one mass of fear and desperation and worry. For a moment, the air around me sizzled, before my body finally gave in and I fell unconscious.

When I awoke, the first thing I noticed was that I was warm, and someone was clutching my hand as if it were the cure to every ill of the world. The next thing I noticed was that my leg felt as if Smaug had stepped on it whilst in his natural form. I groaned, eyes opening slowly, and the world around me at last took shape.

I was back in Erebor, settled atop multiple bedrolls and wrapped in layers of blankets. A fire crackled nearby, and I heard soft chatter I couldn't quite make out. Smaug was beside me, human-shaped once more, my hand clutched tightly in his own. Though I expect he didn't precisely want me to hear it, I heard him take in a sharp breathe. One of his arms was in a sling, and I saw the edge of a crisp, white bandage just under the collar of his shirt.

"I seem to remember telling you to make it back here before me, so that I could pretend you weren't throwing yourself in front of Orcish blades. Please do correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe a frozen hillside, soaking wet with a hole in your leg, is quite the opposite of that." Even smiling felt like an effort, but I couldn't resist the need.

"And I seem to remember telling you to stay safe, yet there you sit with what I assume was an injured wing and chest. I suppose neither of us were too adept at following the other's orders this day," I said, my voice so low and dry that even I hardly recognized it. Even so few words made my throat throb. Smaug laughed; it sounded as if it hurt him too.

"You're right, I suppose, but that makes me no happier at how I found you. I thought you dead," he said, and I squeezed his hand. I felt stiff, but even shifting my hurt leg made pain spark from the wound to the rest of my body.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't let anything happen to them, Smaug, but it's over now. All of the Company is here as well?" He nodded. I smiled again, letting my eyes fall closed once more. "Then everything will be alright now. We've done it; they have their home back. That was all I wanted." Smaug's hand clenched mine a little tighter.

"Yes. Rest, alright? The dwarves asked that I fetch them the moment you stirred, but I don't think you're fit for the party they've planned just yet. You'll see them the next time you wake, my foolishly noble hobbit." I wanted to respond, to joke and tease as I knew I would've the day before, but sleep dragged me down too fiercely. The last feeling I recalled was a soft press of lips against mine, and a soft whisper I might've only imagined. "I only hope they manage to prove worthy of the ending you've won them."