Despite having fantasized about Mirkwood on fire many times, Thorin discovered he found no pleasure in actually seeing it happen. Perhaps it was the fact he'd lost his own home to fire that made it impossible to find joy in another losing theirs the same way, even if that individual was Thranduil.

The smoke rising in the far distance suggested the conflagration must be truly massive to be seen from Erebor. It had started raining in earnest almost as soon as the smoke became visible, no doubt Eru aiding the kingdom of his pointy eared children. From his vantage point on Erebor's front balcony, Thorin saw Thranduil come out of his tent and stare at the black plume rising over the trees. It was too far to see his expression but, again, going from his own memories, Thorin could picture it well enough. He drew back into the shadows under the overhang to watch, protected from the rain and the eyes of the elven king should he choose to look back.

Thorin wondered if the elf would abandon the men and go back to his kingdom to save it. Were the people he'd left behind fighting against the orcs? Were they fleeing? Or were they even then falling beneath the blades and arrows of the horde?

A horn sounded.

For a second the fact it was not coming from somewhere within the camps didn't register.

Below he caught sight of Thranduil whirl around, his eyes wide with something Thorin had never associated with an elf, horror.

About that time the first orcs started pouring in...from between Erebor and the camps.

Thorin's breath caught in his throat as the scope of what was happening registered.

They had been deceived.

While the main body of the army had marched directly at them, faster than expected judging from the location of the smoke, another group must have been moving even more swiftly around behind. With Thranduil and most of his elves at Erebor, focused on the army coming straight at them, the elves left in Mirkwood had probably been told to watch the edge of the forest leading to the mountain with little to no attention given to the other. It was possible even the fire itself had been set to draw attention away from the true threat. There had been no one in place to spot the contingent marching along the backside of the forest, around the tip and then down, cutting between Erebor and Mirkwood and coming in behind the camp.

Thranduil stepped forward, drawing his sword and meeting the first orc head on. His weapon sliced easily through its midsection, killing it so quickly it continued two feet before its body realized it was dead and collapsed.

As he did the rest of the contingent arrived, swarming over the camps like a plague unleashed upon the earth.

The clang of metal reached his ears, together with the scream of the wounded and dying, the sharp tang of spilled blood quickly becoming so strong not even the rain could lessen it. Thorin caught a brief glimpse of Gandalf wielding a sword and his staff simultaneously then he lost sight of the wizard in the chaos.

Adrenaline and shock vibrated through his body and the headache he'd grown almost used to vanished with a suddenness that staggered him. He stumbled forward, into the rain, until he caught himself against the railing. For the first time he became aware of the fog inside his mind, clouding his thoughts. He shook his head, trying to dislodge it, but it remained stubbornly intact.

Stubborn, his mind repeated. Bilba always told him he was stubborn.

His mind flashed to the look on her face when he'd cast her out, the eyes of his nephews as he'd banished them along with her.

Why had he done that again?

She was a traitor, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. She turned your kin against you, stole the Arkenstone and gave it to your enemy.

That was right, Thorin thought, she had done that. She'd taken his trust, his love, and used it against him.

Something in that train of thought rang false. A warning seemed to sound in his mind, urging him to question, to fight back.

He growled and shoved the thoughts away. He had no need to do anything of the kind. He was not his grandfather, or his father. He was Thorin Okenshield, a king for Durin's sake. What kind of king would he be if he couldn't hold control over his own mind?

The strange fog inside his mind thickened and the warning subsided. The voice of his nephew arguing darted through his head but was so faint he couldn't hear the words. He disregarded it as quickly as he'd done when the boy had stood before him.

He had no need of any counsel aside from him own.

"Your plan has worked perfectly, Cousin," a voice said mildly behind him, startling him. He snapped back to himself. "It's almost as though you expected just this scenario. You truly possess the wisdom and foresight of a king."

Of course he did, Thorin thought irritably, it was the role he'd been born for. He turned his head to see Dain standing behind him, dressed in full armor with a hand on the hilt of his sword. Thorin had informed him they would not fight, that the men and elves could protect themselves. Dain had responded with a sharp nod and had gone and readied his soldiers as though they'd had an entirely different conversation. Since the soldiers belonged to Dain, and Thorin didn't have the Arkenstone thanks to the burglar, he had allowed it.

Dain stepped up next to him, surveying the battle below. The camps had been taken completely by surprise. The entire area was a mass of battle. Every so often Thorin would see a flash of blond hair from an elf, a man scrambling to defend himself against attacks from multiple sides.

He was aware he was breathing heavily and his hands were flexing unconsciously on the rail, the sharp edges of stone biting into the flesh of his palms.

"Keeping a remnant back was an excellent decision," Dain continued, as though they were simply continuing the same conversation Thorin was sure they'd never had. "If we go out now we can trap them between our forces. Instead of catching us with our backs turned they'll find themselves crushed between the men and elves and the axes of the dwarves." He studied Thorin, his eyes casual. "You'll come out the hero. I'd imagine they would naturally end their aggressions against Erebor immediately in gratitude. Not only that but you'll have established yourself as a capable leader and king, one able to lead his people into battle, answering to no one but himself." He turned, almost languidly to glance at the battle. As he did Thorin noticed Dain's hand gripped the hilt of his sword, so tight his hand shook. "Of course, we'll need to hurry. If we tarry any later we'll lose our advantage, Cousin."

Another scream echoed beneath them. Dain was right, Thorin thought. He would rout the orcs and prove once and for all he was the king no one believed he could be. He would put the elves and men in their place and establish he was the King under the Mountain, Arkenstone or not.

He straightened his legs and stood, hands still gripping the railing. Blood stained the stone under his fingertips where the skin had split though he barely felt the pain. There was no time for such thoughts, not now.

He gave a short nod to Dain who immediately spun and headed inside.

Thorin followed and found Dwalin mere feet within the chamber. Dain shot an odd, unreadable glance at Dwalin, barely nodding as he strode past to wait in the corridor outside.

Thorin was about to comment on it when he became distracted by the large stand Dwalin stood next to. On it hung armor he hadn't seen in over a hundred years.

Dwalin, who was already in armor of his own, grinned and patted it. "Found it in the Treasury. Figured you'd want it."

Thorin nodded and strode forward, allowing his friend to help him strap it on quickly. "How did you know I would even need it?"

Dwalin gave a non-committal shrug. "Figured you'd want to go show those tree shaggers who's boss is all." He was silent as he fitted the pieces together rapidly, fingers moving over the latches and straps. "Dain says Bilba and the boys are gone." His voice was casual but Thorin caught a thread of tension beneath it. Most likely it was for his nephews. More and more he was becoming convinced that it was their age that had led them astray. He should never have listened to his sister about taking them.

Thorin sneered. "Two days ago. I should have suspected she'd flee back to the Shire, coward that she is. I'll admit I didn't expect her hold over the boys to be so strong that she'd take them with her but it'll be easy enough to reclaim them after this mess is sorted out." And reclaim them he would. Where he'd left the Shire little more than a beggar he'd return triumphant, a hundred or more soldiers at his back. The traitor would have no choice but to turn his heirs over to him at once. She thought him weak, that she could betray him and face to retribution.

She would soon know the error of her way.

A clamoring was ringing in his heart, a voice so loud it was nearly audible shouting "wrong! Wrong! All wrong!" Thorin crushed it ruthlessly. He was not wrong and he would not allow his heart to overrule his head, not again.

Dwalin said nothing. He finished outfitting Thorin in silence and handed him Orcrist. Thorin gave a short nod. "Let's go."

Dain was waiting in the corridor and, together, the three made their way to the front entrance. When Dain had arrived they'd managed to clear a small opening in the rock to allow his army through. It had been covered once they'd all made it in but would only take a moment or two to clear again.

They rounded a corner to the Gallery of the Kings, and Thorin stumbled to a stop at the sight of an entire army of Dwarves in full armor instantly falling to one knee before him.

They bow to you, even without the Arkenstone. Do you see? Or are you still as blind as ever?

Thorin flinched as the female voice rang in his head.

It sounded like Bilba's.

The ones who matter never needed the Arkenstone.

They never needed you to prove yourself in battle.

They followed from loyalty.

They followed from love.

They did not follow the Heir to Erebor, or the exiled King under the Mountain.

They followed you.

What do you follow, Thorin Oakenshield?

"Cousin?"

Thorin blinked and realized he'd been standing still, staring at the crowd kneeling before him.

You didn't need the Arkenstone, Bilba's voice repeated in his head. You never did.

Tell me, O King.

What have you done?

At the front of the army his Company, what was left of it, stepped forward and also dropped to their knees. All wore armor and held their weapons at the ready. The absence of three was sharp, it almost screamed to Thorin as loudly as though the missing were actually there proclaiming it themselves.

But they did it to themselves, he stubbornly argued, weak though it suddenly sounded. They were the traitors, not him.

The Bilba in his head gave no answer

Thorin headed down the stairs and took up a position in front of them, facing the entrance. Several dwarves stood on either side of the rubble they'd moved in place to re-block the gates, ready to open it at his word.

Dain and Dwalin stepped up, flanking him on his right and his left.

Thorin took a deep breath and nodded at the dwarves. Rock grated and dim, filtered sunlight struck his eyes, more light and clarity than he'd seen in some time. The sounds of battle came through, the roar of orcs and the sickening crunch of metal on bone.

Thorin raised his sword.

Beside him Dwalin raised his and roared, "Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!"

The cry was taken up behind them, until the entire chamber resounded with it.

And, with that, the army of the Iron Hills, the remnants of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, and the King under the Mountain charged into battle.

***

Bilba crouched under the bed and watched feet tromp past.

Honestly, would it kill the orcs to trim their nails once in a while?

The footsteps faded but she didn't dare move from her spot. Next to her Tilda let out the smallest of whimpers, only to have Sigrid quickly clamp her hand over the little girl's mouth. Bain lay on Bilba's other side, the only sign he was even alive the slight movement of his waist against her as he breathed.

Somehow the four of them had wound up inside Thranduil's bedchambers, stuffed like sardines under his bed. Bilba made a mental note to compliment him later on the size of said bed, if she survived...and he survived.

In the distance she could hear the faint sounds of battle and bit back a whimper of her own, borne more from worry over Fili, Kili and Aragorn than for herself. They were off somewhere fighting, trying to keep the rest of them safe. She hadn't seen them in hours and had no way of knowing what, if anything had happened.

Though the ease with which the orcs appeared to be moving through the palace of Mirkwood didn't bode particularly well.

All in all, Mirkwood had ended up being far from the sanctuary they had all hoped for.

Soon after fleeing into the forest they'd run into a patrol of elves on their way to fight the fire and the orcs that had entered along with it. Some of them had split off to escort Bilba and the Lake-town survivors to the palace. As they had journeyed rain had started in earnest, soon helping tamp down the fire as well as saturating the wood to the point that new fires would be nearly impossible to set. Still, several other patrols reported the fire was not put out nearly soon enough to prevent an immense amount of damage to the forest. From what they reported, the Mirkwood Thranduil would return to would be far different from the one he'd left.

It had taken them nearly two days to reach the palace, dogged nearly the entire way by intermittent attacks by orcs. It seemed, as the main army traveled along the boundaries of the forest, groups had broken off and entered the forest, wreaking havoc on anything and anyone they saw.

Bilba and the others had barely made it to the palace, thinking, foolishly perhaps, they would be safe once they made it. Instead, upon arrival, they'd found it nearly deserted. Those who remained reported an advance guard of orcs that had somehow snuck around the back edge of Mirkwood and come upon the camps at the base of Erebor in an ambush. Word was the dwarves had emerged from the mountain to help and, upon hearing of it, many of the elves that had remained in Mirkwood had set out as well to give aid. Bilba had felt her blood run cold at the news and had seen twin grim looks on both Fili and Kili.

From what Bilba could guess based on the times the elves reported, the surprise attack on Erebor had happened about the time she had been standing on the shores of the lake, watching Fili and Aragorn return with the last survivors of Lake-town. This meant whatever had happened was well in the past already. Even so, Bilba sent up a prayer to the Valar for the safety of the Company and Thorin. Regardless of what they had, or had not in some cases, done she had no desire to see them injured or worse.

Further compounding the bad news were the reports that no sign had been seen of Glorfindel since he'd gone to take on the Witch King of Angmar. As far as anyone knew he had failed and even now the army advanced on Erebor with the Nazgul at its head.

Bilba, the survivors and the elves had made it inside the palace with the orcs snapping at their heels. Once inside they'd found themselves besieged, the orcs quickly surrounding the walls and barring any escape. If Thranduil and the main bulk of the army hadn't been at Erebor, or if the ones who'd left after hearing of the ambush had stayed just a day or two longer things would have been vastly different.

There was no use in thinking of what might have been, however, there was only what was.

Bilba had continued to keep her mental count and, if she'd stayed true, the main body of the orc army arrived at Erebor at or just before the time when the orcs they were dealing with finally managed to breach the walls of the palace.

Everyone had scattered through the palace to hide. The elves had stayed behind, along with some of the Lake-town survivors, Aragorn, Fili and Kili, to protect their escape.

Not that there was anywhere to escape to.

Tilda sniffled beside her and she realized the girl was crying. Bilba reached out a hand and intertwined it with the much smaller one. Tilda's hand was ice cold and shaking badly in her own.

Bain shifted next to her. "I think they're gone. Should we move?"

Bilba hesitated. "I don't know," she whispered finally. "They didn't find us. We're probably safest here."

She couldn't see him but the boy's tone when he spoke next was so clear she could picture the frown on his face as clear as day. "I doubt the palace will be retaken until Thranduil returns. If we stay here we're bound to be caught eventually."

Bilba chewed her lower lip absently. Bain was young, she knew that much, though she wasn't entirely sure just how young. There weren't a lot of humans in the Shire after all and the few she'd seen in Bree on her short trip had all been older.

The thought of the trip to Bree, and her belief it had been an adventure, nearly made her burst out in hysterical laughter. If only she'd known now what she'd thought she knew then...

"What would you have us do?" she asked finally. It couldn't hurt to hear him out. She wasn't exactly the expert on being in a palace overrun by orcs any more than he was. Given where he'd grown up in comparison to where she'd grown up, however, she was willing to wager he was a bit more experienced in survival.

"They're probably all inside by now," Bain said, his voice a hiss, "and you can tell the fighting has moved farther away. If we leave now we could probably make it out and back into the forest."

"The forest isn't much safer." That was Sigrid from Bilba's other side. Tilda was still silent, her grip so tight on Bilba's hand it was a wonder her bones didn't snap from the pressure. She made no attempt to disengage it however. All she could picture was her own younger self seated on a rock with her dead parents on one side and malicious Trolls on the other.

What she wouldn't have given for someone to hold her hand then.

"There's Fili and Kili too," Bilba added now. "I won't leave them." She didn't want to leave Aragorn either but the man was a Ranger. She had no doubt he could do fine on his own.

"That's good," a voice drawled suddenly, "since we certainly weren't planning on leaving you."

Bilba jumped so hard she cracked her head on the underside of the bed. Scowling she scooted forward and managed to work her way out.

Standing up, Bilba brushed the dirt off her sleeves and turned to help the others out. "How did you even find us?"

"We saw the direction you went," Kili said, his voice oddly flat. "After that we just started looking until we heard you whispering."

"You're lucky it was us," Fili's voice came, tight with anger, "and not the orcs."