Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit in any way, shape or form.

So this is a one shot that I have been meaning to write for a while and turned out a little longer that I expected. It was a gift for a friend (who knows who they are). In any case, it is set in the movie verse right after the attack on Laketown (i.e. after the dwarves have gotten off the boat, checked each other over and so on). I'm not sure how good it is (and my dear friend who , I am not sure if it meets your expectations), but I hope it turned out alright. Enjoy.

The ashes had not yet fully settled on the lake. Snow-like flakes still drifted clumsily through the air, settling in a thick crust on whatever was caught below: the scorched and mangled skeleton of Laketown, the people gathered woefully at the shore's side, the body of the dragon that now rotted atop all the devastation it had brought before being laid low by the sheer unfailing courage of man. Through the haze of ruin and anguish hung the orange glow of fire still clinging stubbornly to life. The dim light brought forth feelings not of warmth, but of a cold, hollow comprehension amongst those who watched the same flames finally, pathetically sputter out leaving a deathly silence to fill its place.

Hapless figures moved through the swirling ash weighed down by their sluggish formlessness, mere echoes of the life that had once been. A great stagnant breeze had rolled over the water to the banks beyond moments before, the remnants of one last heaving gasp released from a colossal pair of dying lungs. Now even the air did not dare to stir. Nothing did save for the heavy breaths of the new found homeless and the grey-white ash still falling slowly to the earth.

How many lives had been lost? A hundred? A thousand? To Fili the number was too great to count.

"Mahal forgive us…"

Fili's too bright, too blue eyes were locked upon the destruction that had been wrought by the great and terrible Smaug. Bofur's words rung with an undercurrent of truth, pleading for mercy for those who alone bore the responsibility of all that had occurred. Smaug may have been the one to rip through the town devouring lives with his great maw and even greater fire, but it was them, the company who had ignored the warnings and awoken the winged serpent in their quest for gold and glory. The blood of the people of Laketown was stained just as much upon their conscience as it was upon monster who had spilled it.

Mahal, forgive us.

There was no answer from the deity or any deity at all. The charred frame of the town continued to smoulder a breath above the same liquid that could have saved it had it only been kind enough to rise up and sweep away the orange tendrils of death. Yet the water had ignored the voiceless cries for help just as the dwarves had ignored the wisdom in the words of protest Bard had spoken. They had been blinded. Blinded so much by the exhilaration that had come after breaking through their own dark depression that they had doomed an entire town.

Fili tore his eyes away from the ruins for the first time since his feet had rooted themselves upon the spot where he stood. The soot that caked his face was shaken loose as the blond dwarf moved his jaw from left to right, teeth clenching in semi-conscious worry. His head turned in tangent with his gaze seeking out the one he had sworn to watch over all those months, all those years ago. The emotions that had been chased away by shock bled back into his face beneath the mask of blackened sweat he wore. It was an irrational panic. Irrational when Fili himself had seen his brother off their vessel of escape alongside Oin, but the blond could not fend off the sudden need to reassure himself that his younger sibling was still there. To reassure himself that his closest kin was still breathing and not resting amongst the debris of the smoking town or being burnt from the inside out by poison.

A squeeze on his fingers brought the head of the blond down the last few stages of its descent. Blue eyes met brown for a moment and a lifetime, Kili casting a half smile towards his brother before turning his wide eyes back to the floating ruin atop the lake. Fili in turn twirled his fingers in his brother's hair as the latter lent against him, his own eyes flitting over those surrounding them. Twice these people had been struck by the mad fury of a dragon. Twice their homes had been ripped away, reduced to useless ash that could no more shelter than it could feed them.

"Do you think Bard and his son are alive?" The question was posed by a voice naïve in both its worry and hope, but swiftly maturing in the understanding of the horrors that were so undeniably present in the world.

"I do not know," Fili replied, his own voice weary in its terrible comprehension. Looking back down at Kili, the blond once again caught the younger dwarf's eyes. "I…"

Despite the younger's hopeful look, Fili found false hope impossible to give. There had been too much loss, too much death in too recent a time that had permanently pulled back the veils of idealism shrouding reality. No longer were they able to gaze starry eyed at the skies, to hang on to every word of the stories told by a fire's side. What was seen could not be unseen, and what was seen wove a vision of despair not hope.

"They were able to bring down Smaug," the blond finally settled on, his voice staggering on each word. "And Bard would not allow Bain to be hurt." The 'if he was able' was silent, heard most clearly in its silence by Oin who glanced up from where he twisted the bandages encircling Kili's thigh.

The half deaf healer tightened his lips and the cloth he was adjusting on his patient's leg under a wave of barely restrained emotion. Anger, fear, remorse – whatever feeling had washed over the old dwarf was, Fili himself had felt them all. They were the same emotions that had been invoked in him by their almost fiery grave. The same emotions now openly displayed on Bofur's face beside him. The same emotions that were displayed on the faces of the hundreds that surrounded them, saturating the air with the indistinguishable stench of a furious anxiety.

Yet anxiety was not the only scent ripening upon the lake's banks. A darker, fouler smell bloomed in the ashy murk that drifted above the earth and water. The wretchedness of the stench was countered by the wretchedness of its origins, shapes floating on the water and thrown against the banks, no more living than the wooden planks that accompanied them. Hands drifted through the coolness of the lake. Mouths with marble lips were spread agape in a deadly kiss. An unnamable fog rolled over the waters, the souls of those resting on the liquid surface caught within. Their faces pushed against the heavy darkness, reaching for stars they could not see in the smog-covered sky above. It was a star lit lake – a mass grave, if there ever was one.

To hold one's breath against the stink was impossible, yet Fili could not help but try. His eyes would only stay closed for so long before the need to open once again overpowered him. His ears could no more shut out the miserable sounds around him than Oin could perfectly hear. The ash in his brother's hair coated his fingers grounding him in reality. The only sense of his that failed him served no purpose in shutting out the horrific world before him. He could utter no words of comfort to the worried faces around him. No words of remorse to the glares directed at him. No words of grief for each body pulled out of the cooling waters of the lake. The blond could utter no words, but no words needed to be uttered. All he had to do was watch.

A wail broke out from the despondent crowd that hung near the water's edge. Fili's head turned to the noise, a lump in his throat forming as a woman caught up a smaller body in her arms, pulling it free of the greedy waters that encased it. She clutched at the broad body of the male, one that seemed no more than a child in Fili's eyes. The youthful roundness of the face beneath the ash spoke of one who had reached, but not passed the cusp where boy transitioned to man.

The wailing reached a crescendo, the boy's head thumping limply against his mother's chest. The burns on the bare arms were all too visible amongst the soot. The limbs had been reduced to charred flesh that would serve a good meal to the animals in the dark that preyed upon man and beast. The scavengers, however, were still waiting in the tree line for the people to leave the banks and their dead behind. The creatures worked unseen and to wait a little longer was a small price to pay for the feast that had been provided for them, freshly cooked to pick at as they chose.

The charred flesh rocked back and forth with the lap of the one who held him. Tears streaked down the woman's face, a face twisted with an anguish more potent than any other a mother could experience. Yet no amount of crying could bring back the child from the arms of the one he had fled into. The mother was left alone cradling the husk of her son, the irony of the situation not lost on Fili. The son of the town had perished where he and his brother had survived, the sons of a stranger who knew nothing of the floating town that had seen her children safe amongst the flames as it killed so many of its own.

It could have been us.

The thought ran circles inside Fili's head as he stared at the still wailing woman and the child in her arms. The dwarf's fingers unconsciously tightened in his brother's hair. It could have been their mother whose voice rung with grief around them. It could have been their mother's cries echoing in the same way Smaug's roars had before, piercing through the armor that even the hardest hearts wore as she wept knelt upon the floor of their far away home. And that would be if there had been someone to tell her of their demise.

Who will tell her if we die?

The company couldn't. They wouldn't be able to if they died alongside the two brothers as Oin and Bofur had nearly died, as Fili feared the others had.

Let them be alive, if only to have someone to tell her when we die.

Fili couldn't bear the thought of his mother, one of the strongest dwarf women he knew, breaking down in tears. What was more, however, was that he couldn't stand imagining the sight of hope on the face of one whose mind knew hope was futile. He had seen the result the burden of not knowing produced through his uncle, hardened not in the least by the disappearance of Thrain. Even his mother was haunted by the unexplained whereabouts of her father, but Fili found the initial onset of that doubt was the worst. Now he knew that the initial onset of that doubt was the worst.

The faces of those around the blond were not hollow like his mother and uncle's sometimes appeared to be. They were raw. Raw with fear. Raw with hope. Raw with confusion and longing. Nothing was hidden in the expressions of the unfortunate as they were caught in the limbo of not knowing, but hoping against all odds against a dawning suspicion named death. Hollowness was painful. Agony was torture and agony was so clear in the atmosphere Fili was trapped in. The agony of not knowing, agony of waiting, agony made more abundant as the rawness was smoothed by answers no one wanted.

"Fee…" Kili's voice was soft, pleading, trailing off as Fili loosened his fingers in his brother's hair. The mother's wailing continued as she kissed her dead son's sooty hair, anguish lost in the maw of the world far greater and far more dangerous than that of a dragon.

"Someone help!"

The cry pierced the ashy veil of the lake abruptly. The tone easily spread its shock to those trapped in the near lifeless world as it came again, picked up by another voice in turn.

"Get a healer."

By now Fili's gaze had been dragged to the small pocket of energy that had sprung unbidden from the drabness around it. Survivors were crowding around the point of interest, muttering amongst themselves as more wandered over to add to their ranks. At the call for a healer one of the younger boys had broken off and raced back towards where several of the surviving physicians had chosen to settle with what little medical supplies they could find. As he did so, the crowd separated a little to allow for him to dash past.

"Asmundr!"

The shout arose from the back of the survivors this time, conjured by the sight between gangly limbs and nosy faces. It pushed its way forward at the sight of another body spewing forth from the lake, staggering out on its own resolve. A shaking hand raised itself to a reeling head, the rolling eyes inside flaring with the widened nostrils below them. The blackened face snapped up as the voice called again. A grin showcased white teeth before twisting into agony.

"Asmundr!"

Singed hair wafted into the air along with soot, the disturbance caused as the badly burned head tracked the source of the noise. Cracked lips moved, but the fires had stolen more than the colour of pale skin. The resurrected man staggered forward another step. Hands caught him as he swayed like a drunkard, steadying his gate at the price of more pain.

"Mahal." It seemed Bofur's attention had too been caught by the unexpected arrival.

Fili ignored him. The younger dwarf blinked, something that was a close brother to relief sweeping over him. The man that had burst forth from the lake was proof that not everyone had been destroyed. Proof that hope could still be held for more survivors that had not counted on. Proof that perhaps Bard and Bain had escaped the dragon, as had others Fili found his head full of. If one had survived the fire and water than could there not be more?

The blond watched, entranced, as a young woman broke free of the people milling further away from the bank. She closed the sparsely filled gap between the first group and the second that had formed around the around the miracle man, her torn skirts swirling out like the spinning petals of a spring bloom withered by summer's scorching heat. The name she had shouted twice before fled her lips once again. A smile born from the purest of joys stretched the woman's lips from end to end.

Something bloomed inside Fili as the woman reached the man dubbed Asmundr. That something grew warmer as the less wet of the pair tilted her head up to kiss her man full on his ashy lips. The kiss was returned with as much force, the couple now seeking support solely from each other. Tears cut like a pickaxe through coal as they ran down each youthful face as the emotions, both good and bad becoming waterborne on the couples' faces. Agony and pain, love and joy flew freely from Asmundr's eyes. Relief and happiness, dismay and sorrow came from the woman embracing him.

Fili bent his head as the moment continued, brushing his lips against his brother's head as loving bliss overwhelmed him. They had survived, the pair of them. It seemed to be all that mattered, yet the blond dwarf knew it was not. He could imagine the expressions he would find if he raised his head to look at Bofur and Oin: wistfulness tainted by fear. The same expression he knew graced his brother's face. The same look that descended upon his own every time he could not avoid glimpsing the one that stood proud and tall in the face of the destruction below and within it.

Shaking his head clear of the thoughts he did not yet want to ponder, the blond dwarf felt his brows furrow as another family came to mind. Searching about he could see the elf in conversation with the healers a little while away. It was not her that had captured Fili's attention, however, and so he looked on past her to the more human crowds.

Bard's two daughters had been with them when they fled, Oin having checked them over and found them unharmed once they had landed. From there the small group of dwarves had lost sight of them, the pair running off in an attempt to find the father and brother. Fili, Kili and Bofur had wanted to go after them but all had been dissuaded on the matter: Kili by his injury, Fili by the need to stay by his brother's side, Bofur by Oin who had proved himself to be the wisest in the group of four. They were part of the company that had awaken Smaug and invoked the dragon's wrath causing the destruction of Laketown and many of those within. While they had not ventured into the dragon's lair itself, the survivors of the ruined Laketown could easily place blame upon them and like Laketown, the dwarves were defenceless against the potential wrath they could face. So the four had chosen to stay together in case the crowd turned on them, but the crowd was too caught up in its own situation to pay them any heed.

Murmuring drifted through the air like the ash, quiet thanks given to those who moved about distributing small comforts amongst the survivors. Fili watched as a girl around Tilda's age passed on a blanket to an old man, his hunched form shivering with the frozen water upon it. The girl wordlessly took the inaudible words that fell from the old man's parted lips, inclining her head politely before moving on. Her small figure struggled beneath the great weight of the blankets she carried, but her face was a mask of determination. She had a task to complete and complete it she would, that much Fili could ascertain.

The girl walked by a huddle of three women, two trying to calm the third between them. Tears of desperation ran down the third woman's face, her arms flying through the air emphasising her hysteria.

"What are we going to do?" she cried. "Where will we go? We have nowhere, nowhere!"

"We will think of something, Gudrid," one of the women at her side reassured. "We will not be left to the mercy of winter."

"Even if we can find shelter, we have no food!" Gudrid's hysteria could not be abated.

"Our ancestors faced the same problem, yet they survived. We will too." This time it was the woman on Gudrid's other side that spoke, her words more forceful in nature. "This is not the first time that dragon has wreaked havoc on us, but it is the last and we are still standing where it is not."

"The men can hunt and fish if needed," the first woman cut in, one arm wrapping around Gudrid's shaking shoulders. "The forest will also bear some plants we can cook and eat."

"But that is not enough to sustain everyone," said Gudrid. "People will starve, and we still have nowhere to seek shelter from."

The other two women exchanged glances before dropping their voices as they answered. Ingrid listened, but her tears still could not be abated. She merely hauled her charred shawl further over her shoulders in a childish attempt to hide from the world.

An outburst of closer sobbing drew Fili's attention away from the cluster of three. Turning his head, the blond searched for the source of the noise through the ash filled air around him. His blue gaze landed upon a small figure lost and alone in the chaos by the lake. It was a child, a boy no older than five years of men caked in soot like everyone, but seemingly unharmed. The wooden toy that dangled from the boy's hands was broken in half, held together by a string extending from one end of the toy to the other. Tears bled from eyes widened by fear, snot too making a trail down the boy's dirtied face. It was a dreadful sight, made more so by the possibility that the mother the boy was calling for had not survived Smaug's flames. The child could be an orphan and not know it. The thought stirred sympathy within Fili, but somebody had already moved to comfort the small boy.

"What is it that ails you, young master?"

The boy sniffed, wide eyes turned up to meet the smiling face above him. Brown eyes twinkled back at the youth, their merriment shining clear from beneath a ridiculous hat. It was with an equally ridiculous sweep of an arm that the same hat was removed in a bow low enough to reach the wear's toes.

"I can see your confusion," Bofur said. "But fear not, my young master, for I am Bofur, your humble servant and I mean you no harm."

Another sniff was all the toymaker received for his troubles, yet a curious glint had appeared in the boy's eyes. His breaths were still coming in ragged gulps, but silence now reigned over him as he was caught up in Bofur's antics.

"I have travelled a long distance so that I might be graced with the honour of serving you." Bofur's nose was still placed in a proximately to his feet that it was never meant to go, yet he continued on despite the uncomfortable position. "I have passed up the chance to be the manservant to kings and queens with piles of riches mountains high. I have rejected positions offered by the high priestesses of those in the heavens above. I have forgone elves and dwarves, humans and gods all in the search of you, my one true master.

"Indeed, it was written in the stars that I was to submit myself to the greatest man who will ever live, a man who has survived hardship and tragedy beyond measure. They told me that this man would wear a child's guise and hold in his hand his instrument of power wrought in two, and here I have found you. But, despite the stars' words and all my searching, I still have yet to find one thing; the name of my master." Now Bofur looked up at the boy from where he was doubled over. "Perhaps, my young master, you could be so kind to relieve your most humble and loyal of servants as to your name?"

"Agi."

"Master Agi." The words were said breathlessly and, if it were at all possible, Bofur appeared to bow even lower. "A name truly fit for one of such greatness." The toymaker paused. "Yet you have not answered my question, young master Agi. What is it that troubles you?"

The boy did not answer, but if Bofur was put off it did not show in the dwarf's twinkling eyes. Rather he shifted his gaze to the broken toy Agi clutched closer to his small chest, a small smile spreading over his lips in place of the concerned frown.

"Your instrument of power. Of course. Forgive master Agi, I had forgotten the task entrusted to me by the stars that I was to complete upon finding you." The dwarf finally straightened from his bow, but remained crouched in front of the boy. Gently Bofur stretched out his hands. "If you will allow me, I can mend the damage done to the object that you hold."

Despite his new lack of tears, Agi took a step back, wariness running its hand over the child's face. His gaze remained locked on the dwarf before him, arms cradling the wood they held in a protective embrace. Bofur did not withdraw his hands, however, his expression as gentle as it had begun and his voice as gently coaxing with soft words.

As Fili watched the scene unfold he was reminded of the times when the toymaker had used the same soft, coaxing words on him. Ever one to befriend a child, Bofur had been the first to address Fili as a princely warrior even before the blond came to know the duties expected of him.

Scrapped knees had come from ferocious battles with the ground in place of misplaced feet. Cries of pain had become tears shed for distant princesses who were waiting faithfully for their champion to return. Never had Fili seen the cheery dwarf without a twinkle in his eyes and a grin upon his lips as a child. As he had grown older, the blond had learned that it was not always the case with the toymaker, yet Fili had no doubt that the same effortless cheer was what was needed now in the ashes of ruin that had been left behind by Smaug.

The young dwarf watched with interest as the soot covered and tear stained boy was finally encouraged to pass his broken toy to Bofur. The toymaker carefully took the toy in his hands with a flamboyant thanks, turning it about in a swift but thorough inspection. A look of concentration that belied the usual relaxed cheeriness upon his face saw Bofur begin twisting the broken object around. First one end, then the other was delicately handled by the dwarf all while under the harsh scrutiny of the child who owned the toy.

After a few moments Bofur's hand dove into one of his pockets, roughly searching about as the fingers on his other hand delicately prodded the toy now balanced in one precarious piece on his knee. It did not take long for the toymaker to withdraw the appendage in his pocket, string and two small rod-like objects in hand. He placed the tip of one rod on an angle just above the break. Bofur's hands then went searching the ground for a fair sized rock, and finding one, began to hammer the rod through the battered wood. Once the wood had swallowed the impromptu nail, the dwarf flipped the toy and repeated the same process on the other side of the toy with the other rode.

From there he discarded the rock and removed the knotted sting already attached to the toy. Taking up the string he had previously set aside, the toymaker wove it through the top of the toy. Task completed, Bofur moved his hands to the bottom of the tunic he wore and ripped. Folding the strip of fabric lengthwise, he proceeded to draw a third rod from his pocket and tie the fabric around it. The toymaker then slipped the flag hued midnight blue through the string at the toy's neck. With one final testing spin of the wheels, Bofur presented it back to its owner.

"A mighty steed for my young master bearing his equally mighty colours."

Agi clapped in delight, taking the toy horse from the dwarf before him. He beamed up at Bofur through the soot on his face then turned his attention back to the object he held. Uncertainty glowed in the boy's eyes and he chewed his lip, looking back up at Bofur. The toymaker merely chuckled at the child's expression, his own one of kindness as he spoke once again.

"He will not break if you let him serve you, master Agi. I do believe he is eager to run about." The toymaker paused, seeing the uncertainty on the boy's face. "Does this mighty steed have a name?"

"Njall."

"Njall… Why he must be your champion then." Bofur smiled at Agi's shy nod, before turning to address the wooden horse. "Well, Njall, it seems our young master is wary in letting you roam free least you should injure yourself in service to him once more as his champion. Why don't we show master Agi that you are as fit as ever and he has no need to worry?"

The dwarf splayed his hands in a questioning manner, asking the boy to place the life of his friend in his care once again. It was with slight hesitation that Agi complied, watching as fearfully as before as Bofur placed the toy on the ground.

"Here we go," the toymaker said, the apprehension in his eyes belaying his cheery demeanour. He tug at the string leading from his hand to the toy, releasing the breath he had been holding as it rolled over the earth as smoothly as it could without falling apart. The dwarf turned his gaze back to Agi, a wide grin on his face. "It seems that Njall is ready to serve, master Agi. Now he just needs someone to lead him to victory."

The boy did not pause to snatch up the lead Bofur offered him, dragging the toy once behind him with care before increasing in speed. Agi''s laughed as he ran in circles around Bofur, the toymaker laughing with him. The laughter, however, stopped as the boy beheld the sight of a woman sweeping her son up into her arms, a loving kiss brushing the child's head.

"Mama…" One word. A magnitude of despair. Even Bofur's unfaltering mask of merriment flickered as it was struck by the anguish that accompanied the word.

"Where did you last see her?" Like the flicker of the toymaker's mask, the words were spoken with a more serious tone. "Perhaps, now that your champion has been mended and I have declared myself to be at your service, we might find your mother."

Agi sniffed, several tears making their way afresh down his face that was rounded with youth. "On the boat."

While the boy might have been blinded to Bofur's breath of relief, but the air around the toymaker was not. It swirled with the short burst of life given to it by hope as Bofur pushed his hat further back to free his gaze from its obstruction as he looked around. The dwarf's gaze was drawn back to Agi as the child continued speaking.

"Papa and I were on the other boat. We saw Mama's boat turn over and then we couldn't see her anymore." With all the innocence of a child Agi looked up at the toymaker before him unaware that there were some things even a toymaker could not fix. "Do you know where Mama is?"

"Agi!"

The shout was well timed, freeing Bofur from having to answer an unanswerable question. The worried face that pushed its way through the crowd towards the boy was equally welcome if the one who wore it could provide some semblance of comfort to the crying boy.

"Agi, what did I say about staying by my side?" The man bent to grip his son by the shoulders, paying no heed to Bofur as he moved out of the way. The man's relief was as abundant in his words as his actions, his dark eyes searching his child's face for any sign of harm only to find none.

Agi looked down at his feet, Njall clutched whole in his hands. "I was looking for Mama."

The sigh that followed made the man look old beyond his years, older than even Balin and nearly as old as Fili suspected Gandalf was. Switching the shoulder hold for a fatherly embrace, the Agi's father spoke once again. "I need you to do as I say. Stay by me, alright?" At the child's abashed nod, the man sighed once more. "We will look for your mother together. I just need to sort out a few things first."

Fili held no doubt that one of those things was how to tell the boy his mother was dead. From the dismayed expression that was so out of place on Bofur's face, it appeared the toymaker had reached the same conclusion. Both dwarves watched with unbridled compassion stirred by the sheer bleakness of the situation as the man whisked away his son into the crowd assaulted by wretched memories and wretched ash. Still, Agi managed a small wave to his self-proclaimed servant as the mended Njall trailing behind the child, two small silhouettes in the dangerous world around them.

Fili once again found that his fingers had tightened in his brother's hair, the blond dwarf releasing them fully this time round. His piercing blue gaze drifted down to the younger dwarf at his side, visions of a figure twisting in agony that could not be relieved by the most twisted of screams replaced by the sight of the same figure in flesh and blood by his side. Fili allowed himself the brief luxury of taking in every feature of Kili's beardless face before drawing himself back to the matters of a smoke chocked reality once more.

"Are you alright, nadadith?" It was a murmured question, meant for their ears alone.

"Aye," came the reply. "Nothing has changed since you last asked. Oin has seen to that."

Fili allowed his lips to twitch at the exasperation Kili showed at his brotherly enquiry that may have, if the blond were being honest, been repeated five separate times since they had landed on the lake's banks. Despite the reassurance, Fili still turned in search of the grey bearded healer who had treated the closest of his kin. It was with a shallow frown that the dwarf turned back to his brother.

"Where is Oin?"

Kili nodded to where a form laid on the ground, straight as a board and as immobile as one. For a moment Fili found his heart pounding a beat as furious as when they had fled from Smaug's devastation, yet unable to finish a single beat as the implications of what he saw fell in place. A chocking force that had nothing to do with the residual smoke still hanging in the air took over the dwarf's throat. The thought that harm had befallen one of his companions, his friends under his watch disturbed the blond, throwing him off his usual rational train of thought. A gasp of shock must have struggled free of his strangled throat, for in the next instance Fili's fears were abated as Kili spoke.

"By the woman."

Forcing his eyes from the body of which Fili did not know if it still drew breath, the blond dwarf lifted his line of sight to the figures above. It was as though a bucket of water had been thrown against his face, shocking him free of the unresponsive state he had been in as he spied Oin gesturing towards the being on the ground with the fierceness he used to speak.

"She needs help and I can give it."

"Like you helped that dragon awake?" The words were scathing, made all the more offensive to Oin as the man leaned defensively over the woman on the ground as though the dwarf was the reincarnation of Smaug.

"If that were so, then why am I here and not there in the mountain?" Oin would not be deterred, not from providing his care to one who needed it. "And if it were so, then consider it a wrong that I must by caring for those who were injured in the attack, starting with her."

The frustration on the physician's face became all the more evident as the man continued to refuse aid for his companion. As a healer Oin had all the patience of one, yet even that patience could wear thin. Pointless bravado, reckless stupidity and fear driven close-mindedness all took their toll on the grey bearded dwarf, but nothing more so than those who rejected vital treatment for patients balancing on the brink of death.

"The other healers can look at her." Human healers. The specification did not need saying and Oin, despite his deafness, heard it as clear as he had heard Smaug's roar when he was atop them.

"There is no time to wait for them. They are caught up in their own charges and she is dying. Let me help."

The man opened his mouth to spit out yet another rebuke. A third, familiar voice, however, interrupted him.

"Torin, let him do what he needs to so he can save Siv." Bard's voice was even, commanding while at the same time gentle in its persuasion.

Fili felt another bought of relief embrace him, an involuntarily experience, but not unwelcome. It sent his head reeling even further as the blond caught sight of three young faces shadowing their father's step, two females and most significantly one male. The bowman and his son had survived the flames and a separated family had been reunited. That meant one countered the many more families who would not be brought together again.

"He's a dwarf. One of those dwarves." The man Bard had addressed – Torin – allowed his voice to carry through the stifling air, the contempt in his words silencing through it as Smaug's claws had through Laketown.

"He is a healer, the same as any other-"

Bard's words were cut off by a shout from Torin as he glanced back towards the woman he was protecting from his own perceived threat, the same woman that Oin was now examining. The dwarf appeared to have paid no heed to the conversation going on above him, going conveniently deaf as his impatience outgrew his will to wait for permission. His hands were already hovering over the prone form he knelt before. A frown was imprinted on his forehead, creasing the skin there. Another frown was imprinted on his lips, the turned down corners marking the seriousness of the situation.

"I need you to move back," Oin said, his head turning towards Torin. The man made to protest, but a hand on his shoulder halted him.

"What do you need?" Bard asked.

"Water." The tone was matter of fact.

"Bain." Bard did not need to say more to his only son before the youth ran off.

Oin began his inspections of the woman again, this time being more thorough. He monitored her breathing, pressing his cheek to her parted lips. His fingers then moved to her neck feeling for a pulse. The healer's frown deepened as his fingers moved from the unconscious woman's neck to her head. The dwarf's attention shifted to the burns encasing the woman's skin. Bewilderment flitted across his face, mingling with a heightened concern. The severest of the burns appeared to run in a straight line three fingers thick across the upper arm of the woman, moving across her chest to encase the other arm. The marring of her skin did not continue over the back of her arms, and the other burns decreased in severity and consistency as they spread out from that sole point.

"How was she injured?" The question passed through Oin's trained lips, seeking answers as his hands sought injuries.

"Torin?" Bard prompted at the man's lack of answer.

"She got caught in our house. The wardrobe fell on her. I had…had to pull it off. I carried her to the boat-"

"You had to carry her?" Oin turned to accept the water handed to him by Bain, raising an eyebrow at the boy's method of transportation.

The healer nodded his thanks, setting the filled boot down beside him.

Tearing a strip off the cleaner area of fabric on his tunic, the grey bearded dwarf soaked it in the water, wringing it out once before submerging it again. Lips pursed, the physician began to delicately wipe away the soot that caked the woman. It was by no means sanitary, but it was the best that Oin could hope for in the barren aftermath of Laketown's fiery fall.

"She was unconscious," Torin said in answer to Oin's question. The man's voice, ripe with angry before, was now high-strung in desperation.

"And she did not stir at any time?"

Torin paused for a moment, thinking. "Once. Maybe twice."

Oin raised a finger to tap his ear, not because he had not heard – his hearing always seemed to be impeccable when treating someone – but, rather out of nervous habit. The frown on his brow had somewhat lessened, now a crevice rather than a canyon on the crinkled skin of his forehead. He returned to his ministrations in cleaning the woman, determination set in his healer's gaze.

"See if you can wake her," he said to Torin. His next words were directed at Bard. "If you can, I need garlic and kingsfoil, and a bowl of some sort. Preferably not a boot."

Bain curled his bare foot self-consciously at Oin's last words, his father nodding in seriousness beside him.

"Kingsfoil – pig's weed, yes? There should be some growing around this area," the bowman said. "As for the garlic, some may have survived the attack, but I would not count on it."

Oin glanced at where Torin was trying to coax his wife back into the waking world before swivelling his head to meet Bard's gaze. "I will make do with whatever you find. You had better bind that foot though," he said, now directing his words to Bain. "It would not do to cut your foot and gain an infection while traversing through the muck here."

The boy nodded, taking the length of cloth his father gave him and wound it around his bare appendage. Fili watched as the Bain made off once again, this time Sigrid and Tilda in tow behind him. The three were eager to help where they could, willing to follow Oin's instructions whatever they might be. And Oin… Where fire was a dragon's element, healing was Oin's. It had been so for the entirety Fili had known the dwarf. Despite the blond dwarf's admiration for Oin, however, his attention was diverted to the man who had first refused then accepted the physician's help.

"Please, Siv. Wake up for me."

It was a sorry sight, the man visibly heartbroken. Wide eyes blended with a pleading mouth. Burnt hands ignored their own pain in favour of tending to the ailing figure before them. A foul black substance tracked down his face, a mix of terror and anguish. The sooty tears only served to further Torin's wretched appearance as they collected at his pointed chin, disregarded by the human in place of drawing his lover's eyes open of their own free will.

"Siv, please. You cannot leave me alone like this."

Desperation was not pretty thing, not like trinkets one would by to win the affections of another. It was not unfeeling like the cold, but rather felt too much. It was not hollow like a shell, but hollowing. And it was not wretched in nature, but Wretchedness itself. No. Desperation was never a pretty thing, not like gold and jewels and glory.

He's a dwarf. One of those dwarves.

Torin's words floated at the forefront of Fili's mind. The accusation had been uncalled for towards Oin who had simply been trying to help. But if Fili were to adhere to the mistress named honesty, the accusation was not so uncalled for. Oin had intended to be a part of the company, had intended to wake the terrible Smaug with them just as Fili himself had. They had set out on their journey knowing the dangers of a dragon's wrath, set foot in Laketown knowing that there was a chance it could be caught up in that same wrath, and they had sought to continue on anyway. Blindness was dangerous. In a mine it could see a dwarf walking straight over the edge to plummet to their doom, and to their doom the company had plummeted dragging Laketown down with them.

Still, a small voice inside Fili's head questioned his role in bringing death to Laketown and the responsibility he had to shoulder for it. Yes, the blond had been with the company when his uncle had woven glorious stories about the bountiful riches tucked safely away inside the mountain, but he had not left the town to meet its fate. The young dwarf had stepped out of the boat and back onto the dock after his brother inadvertently tying his fate to that of the townspeople. He had put family before glory, red before gold.

Yet, at the same time, he had not tried to stop the others from going.

Fili sighed, his legs sinking beneath the weight of his mind. The young dwarf found himself sitting on the round beside his brother, the latter moving to lean against him at Fili's weary invitation.

"What are we going to do, nadadith?" His question sounded much like Gudrid's had, only sounding more somber and tired than hysterical.

Kili shrugged in answer, his shoulders moving up and down beneath his brother's arm. Fili lapsed into silence once more, watching the people around him as he had before.

Men and women in mourning spotted the lake's banks, their losses littering the site just as the ash did. Wails were not loosed by a sole mother, pleads not made by a single man. Anguish was shared freely and indiscriminately, and hope was just the same.

There was heart amongst these humans – that was undeniable. The same courage that had allowed Bard to slay the dragon could be seen in the faces of the people as they pulled together what little they now owned. The same unwavering faith that had allowed Bard's son to follow his father's instructions whilst facing down a fiery death without truly knowing if he would survive was present in the interactions between the survivors of Laketown. And survivors they were, descended from those who had felt Smaug's fire in Dale all those years ago, the first to experience the wrath of the dragon before even the dwarves of Erebor.

Boys Bain's age and younger ran the length of the lake's shore retrieving what they could to take back to a nest of their own making. Pots and pans, clothes and shoes, crates of sodden food and barrels of watered wine, even toys made their way onto the salvage pile tended to by the boys' ministrations. The language of home, for them, came in the form of a doll that had escaped being singed by the fire. A chance of sustenance was the tub of fish hauled up from the waters, some still flopping about with fast fading life. Every find spoke of hope, of survival, of making it to the next day alive. There was no need for the boys to be told what to do, to be directed in their activity. They had seen the task and taken it up uncomplainingly with steely resolve on their faces and stout determination in their hearts.

The adults too did not shy from work. Where the boys collected objects, women collected children lost and abandoned in the crowd. Small hands were taken and comforts imparted as lonely girls and boys were taken to where several women had stationed themselves. Youthful laughter was elicited at humorous songs. Childish crying was abated by whispered motherly words. Where gold was the lifeblood of every economy, children were the lifeblood of every civilisation. Cities could fall, but a people would remain so long as there were children to carry that people on. It had been proved for the dwarves of Erebor when they had been homeless and displaced as the people of Dale were once more. Yet children were still children, and children needed to be cared for.

It was this knowledge that Fili had no doubt was the driving force behind the women who gathered Laketown's young. Kind hearts coupled with tender hands saw the banishing of the treacherous fears that had stolen each child's innocence. It was nurturing given by women who knew that life was not yet over, who knew that this life was carried within each of their young charges they watched over.

Healers moved amongst the wounded, tending to what they could. A group of men stood together by the lake, watching as the last of the ashes settled on the ruins of their town as they prepared boats to go out and see what could be recovered, to see if there were any survivors left amongst the smouldering wood. Everywhere the people drew together, chaos being ordered as those of the now lifeless Laketown drew out from under the last of their shock. Survivors – that was what they were, each and everyone them, from the first to the last man to draw their breath atop the earth.

Survivors or not, however, Fili found himself once again wondering for the need for it all to have happened. Not just the attack by Smaug. Not just the company's incessant need to reclaim their abandoned citadel. Not just the decisions made blindly in the name of gold and glory, but the need for the journey itself.

They had been content back home, albeit not wholly blissful. What need did they have for an abandoned mountain regardless of whether or not the mountain's halls were filled with more than an abundance of gold and precious gems? What need did they have for the shelter it provided? For the history embedded in its stone walls and the might of the kings from times past bearing down upon those who walked beneath their magnificent statues? They already had a place to live, a place that provided them with shelter and comfort. They already had Ered Luin.

But Ered Luin is not our home.

Thorin's voice rang clear in Fili's head, spoken in the same stern tone the blond so often remembered from childhood and tinged with the beginnings of the same something that he had heard upon his uncle's voice before the forgotten king had left in a blaze of glory for Erebor. It was a something that Fili could not help but liken to the same off-putting wrongness that had hung like a fog around a dwarf who had, for a time, dwelt on the outskirts of Ered Luin. He had been avoided by all, the dwarf's crazed ravings outmatched only by the hardness of his eyes, a hardness harder than diamond and darker than the deepest pits of night.

Fili remembered having overheard a discussion between his mother and uncle about the dwarf. The two words that had most frequently come up had been gold and obsession, the tone in which the words had been paired even now, all these years later, sending shivers down the blond dwarf's spine. Obsession over anything was an unhealthy thing, something that his mother had driven into both his and his brother's brains over and over – obsession was unhealthy, especially obsession over things that shined and glittered gold. The fate of the raving dwarf had been evidence enough to prove his mother's worry. While Fili had never heard the details fully explained, deemed to young at the time to receive the knowledge and later occupied by more pressing thoughts, it had been impossible to fully escape the whispers concerning the matter. The dwarf had been executed over nothing short of murder having slunk into a prominent dwarf's residence only to be later found by the guards with red on his skin and gems in his hands.

Ered Luin is not where we belong.

His eyes had been the most frightening to Fili, a mad light glinting in them even as he spoke words of reason without heart. Thorin, the most noble dwarf Fili knew, the almost father Fili had come to love, speaking with a maddened air of insanity. Vicious, driven insanity unrelenting in its goals.

Mahal save us all.

The blond dwarf found his gaze being drawn upwards by a great, irresistible force. Thoughts of his uncle had made way for the thoughts that Fili had been distracting himself from to come forth. The people of Laketown might have proved to be survivors, but Fili could only hope the same truth could be said for those of the company. His uncle who had helped raise him, Dwalin and Balin who had taught and trained him – Fili knew their deaths would shake him to the core. The young dwarf could not imagine a world without the great Thorin Oakenshield to lead and protect him, a world without Dwalin to spare with and Balin to discuss the wide and varied history of Middle Earth.

Glancing towards Bofur and Oin, Fili tightened his grip on his brother. There was no doubt that the loss of Bombur and Bifur, brother and cousin to Bofur, would render the merry toymaker cheerless for the rest of his lengthy days. Nori's death would strike him just as hard, the two having bonded over their great antics to keep the mood of the company light when they could, albeit one by more shifty means than the other.

Likewise Gloin's death would shatter Oin, the loss of a younger brother every older one held. Dori too would be a great blow to the old dwarf. Despite Dori's pessimism and Oin's lack of hearing the pair had engaged in many a lengthy conversation over matters that would have the company hiding their sniffles behind laughter, hands and well-meaning turned backs. Both dwarves had been notorious in the company for hunting out those with even the slightest ailment, particularly amongst their respective brothers.

Ori too had developed a close bond with the four dwarves on the banks of the lake, Fili and Kili most of all. The three were the youngest in the company by far and because of it found themselves more often than not gravitating together. Having already known Ori from Ered Luin, Fili and his brother had no troubles in joking around with the dwarf, helping to shelter him from Dori when the latter went hunting for cold infected brothers. The cautious dwarf had been a good balance on the journey to Fili and Kili's more reckless antics, usually more happy to record the occurrences on parchment than take part in them himself.

Even the company's appointed burglar had grown on each dwarf, his small stature and timid ways countered by his immense courage and selflessness. It was the fear of losing the hobbit, of loosing anyone and everyone in the company that had continued on the that which towered above those left behind that resided in the eyes of the same dwarfs. Laketown had been utterly destroyed by Smaug's fiery vengeance. Who was to say the company had not suffered the same fate?

Terror was a horrible thing, a parasite that hungered for more. It fed and fed until it was banished or had entirely consumed the one it fed on. Fili felt that terror deep within him, welling further up towards self-destruction with every tensed muscle and grind of his teeth. The blond dwarf heard Kili whimper beside him as his locked muscles jerked his brother's wounded leg, but even that was not enough to halt Fili's shallow breaths. The company was likely trapped in Erebor or, more likely, something more chaining than stone. Fili feared that each member of the company had lost their lives reclaiming something they did not need, none more so than his uncle. But terror was also selfish and Fili feared for himself as well.

What am I to do without you? I cannot rule. Not in your place. Not without you by my side guiding me.

The burden of being Thorin's heir had not truly weighed upon the blond dwarf until now. Yes, he had been taught of the duties he must fulfill, his education carefully crafted to help him meet the expectations of being prince then king. That did not mean he had no fears in stepping up to the role.

The young dwarf feared the responsibility that would undoubtedly come if Thorin did indeed prove to be dead. Just as he was not been ready to die, Fili was not ready to take his uncle's place, to be depended on for so much by so many. He feared that he would make a mistake that could not be corrected. He feared starting a war that would see no end until all of his subjects laid dead on the fields for the scavengers of decaying flesh to have their pick and eat their fill. He feared the decisions he would have to make, to have to choose between one life and twenty. He feared the danger that came with the title of king and that he would be unable to honour those who died in defence of him. He feared being unable to produce a heir to secure his line and falling to another king who would then desecrate his people.

I need you to be alive. I cannot do this without you, not now.

If there was something to fear about being king then Fili feared it. For the blond dwarf it was too great a weight for him to bear, especially with no one he trusted with absolute completion to advise him on the matter. If Thorin were dead then Dwalin and Balin would be too, for neither would allow their king to die before them. His mother would be of some help, but it was Balin who truly knew how to navigate the politics of dwarves, Dwalin who could act as a true general to the army.

Mahal, please do not let him be dead.

Fili turned to breath in the smoky smell of his brother as terror continued to ravage him. It was all he could do to keep his face an impassive mask, blank but not quite stone.

"Do not leave me, nadadith," the blond murmured, soft words only for his brother's ears.

Kili gripped the older dwarf's hand in reply, understanding without having to ask what Fili meant. It was a human's words, however, that managed to fend off some of the blond dwarf's fear where brotherly contact could not.

"That's it, Siv. It's alright. I'm here, my love."

Torin's voice was a flame in the darkness, bright and harsh and all too real in its reality. The tongue of glowing orange moved to the gentle beat of the man's words, the passion it invoked being love not fury as was so accustomed for a dragon. Where there was love there was hope and warmth, a place where one could seek refuge from terror.

Fili found his eyes pulled towards where Oin still laboured over the woman's prone body, his gaze like a blue fish hooked on a gentle line. Only the woman's body was no longer prone. Slips of brilliant green peeked out from beneath a pale teardrop face, staring blearily up at the woman's lover. Her finger's brushed against the ground, as light as a petal was when it brushed against water. Lips parted in movement but not words came. It seemed that the bird had returned to its burnt forest yet could not yet sing its song. It did not need to, though. Love needed no song to communicate.

Torin continued to murmur to the newly woken woman as Oin smoothed a paste onto her burns. The old dwarf was focused on his work, seemingly oblivious to the exchange of affection occurring beside him. It was the same obliviousness that Fili wished he possessed as his brother sighed a sort of despondent longing beside him, blue eyes trailing the path of younger brown ones to the elf now moving about the crowd.

Fili could recognise the signs of pining love despite never having fallen prey to that aspect of the most complex of passions himself. From what he knew it engulfed a person much like terror did, only more completely than any terror could hope to do. The blond dwarf's love for his brother swallowed him even as he sat there, had always swallowed him wherever his and whatever he was feeling whether it be fear, anger, sorrow or pain. He knew that Kili felt the same way, yet ever since that elf had appeared that love had twisted into something more, something that Fili found he did not like.

The blond might have owed the elf his and his brother's life and, as such, grudgingly accepted that she was more a reluctant ally than enemy, but it did not change his aversion at the relationship that had fast developed between her and his brother. He could tell that it was no love between siblings, rather something far more dangerous that Kili had no such experience in. The young archer would be unable to tell the difference between being strung along and having his love truly reciprocated, so blind had he been rendered by his first real taste of passionate love. Fili would rather die than see his brother's heart broken, over an elf no less.

The brunette dwarf was reckless, often rushing into things before he had gotten his head screwed on the right way. How many times had Fili heard Dwalin remark on how love could cloud a mind to reason? How many times the burly dwarf had stated how a heartbroken warrior who pined for their love on a battlefield more often than not wound up dead? How many more such warriors had thrown themselves into battle to die? It was unlikely that Kili could be with the elf if she even returned his affections. He was next in line to be king right after Fili and was equally burned with audacious task of producing heirs. No dwarf would accept a king who loved an elf to rule them, let alone a child mixed between the two races. It would spur a hatred hard to quash, a hatred that could lead to violence against the subjects of it.

No. Fili did not like how things were turning out between Kili and the woodland elf. Still, it was not his place to interfere so long as the elf did nothing to hurt his younger brother. If it was meant to be then fate would let it be. Fili would make his peace with it with the knowledge that his brother would not be harmed by violence or heartbreak, but not a moment before.

Shaking such thoughts from his mind, the blond settled back into his earlier reflective state and the somber thinking that came with it. Yet once released from such a restless repose it was not easy to return to it. Distraction was the fiend Fili fought this time round, a fiend that was near becoming victorious in its mission much to the dwarf's frustration. It was the constant dull thunk of metal hitting softened wood that drew Fili's rapt attention away from his interior thoughts.

The young dwarf found his head swivelling to where Bofur sat, whittling away at a piece of wood as Fili had learned the dwarf was prone to do when focusing his thoughts. The shape of figure in the toymaker's hands was one Fili could do without seeing, a snarling mouth protruding from giant wings looking ready begin another rampage of destruction. Still Bofur hummed along a familiar tune as he was wont to do, seemingly unaware of what it was that he was creating.

There was a man who went on a journey long

Singing as he went a grand old song,

And as he sang, he sang with pride

The same old song with his every stride…

Fili did not know if Bofur had chosen the song consciously or not. It was a song about a wandering man who, in his travels, had come across a bride of gold. She had coaxed him to open a door that in turn released an insatiable monster that send him, raving mad, to his death. It was a song from Fili's childhood, one that every dwarfling knew by heart by no mere stroke of fate.

The blond dwarf felt his mind thrown back to the mad dwarf from Ered Luin and his hapless end. There was a reason dwarflings were warned of the monster that lurked in gold. It was a monster that could kill. It was a monster that had already killed in the present, the company's golden bride enticing them to open the gates to their own hellish fiend. Much like Bofur with his dragon, they had been seemingly unaware of what they had been creating. Fili did not want to consider the other possibility, one that rendered him colder than Smaug's flames could make him hot.

There was a man who went on a journey long

Signing as he went a grand old song,

And as he sang, he sang with pride

The same old song of his golden bride….

Dwarves loved gold. Dragons loved it more. The company had to have been aware, Thorin had to have been aware that they would invoke the wrath of Smaug. Yes, it was a concern they had addressed in the contract before setting off, but that had merely been words written on parchment in ink that could run off at the first soaking it got. Standing amongst that wrath's potential victims was another thing entirely, had proved to be another thing when Fili, his brother, Bofur and Oin were almost killed by that wrath's incarnation.

Fili loved his uncle, but like Kili, Thorin's own love had twisted and changed. No longer was it pure, darkness as black as orc's blood staining the king's noble soul. Foulness was a lurk there, hiding beneath the greatest dwarf that Fili knew and the blond had no idea what to do about it.

There was a man who went on a journey long

Singing as he went a grand old song,

And as he sang, he sang with pride

The same old song till the day he died...

To a dwarf gold was indeed a treasure worth killing over. To a maddened dwarf gold was a treasure worth slaughtering for. It was worth spilling blood so that they could sit upon their mountain of riches.

At this Fili felt sickened. Whether they were alive or not, the company had indeed succeeded in driving Smaug out to reclaim Erebor and its riches. When Fili entered the long lost citadel – and he would have to for he had to know if they had survived – he would be walking into a place paid for in the blood of men. He would be walking into a place where the real currency, the only currency that mattered, was red instead of gold. He would be walking into a home haunted by the ghosts who had been caught between the greed of a dragon and the greed of dwarves, between the greed of a king who was potentially, quite possibly mad.

Fili was certain that if he stepped foot into the mountain he would be walking to his doom with his brother beside him and their friends right behind them. And as he looked up to the mountain that had been the cause of it all, all he could do was pray.

TRANSLATIONS:

Nadadith = little/younger brother

For those of you who are curious about why Bofur referred to the toy horse as a champion, in Norse the name Njall means champion (if my research is correct - my apologies if it is not).

The healing stuff (i.e. garlic and kingsfoil) is information I credit to Tweetzone86. If you want to know anything more about it I suggest messaging her. On another note, I know some of it may not have been all that great or rushed, but I hoped you enjoyed it never the less. On a final note, please review and tell me what you think.