The battle was terrible beyond words. Bungo watched from a safe distance, hidden behind a rock, as armies clashed on the valley floor. Dwarves fought alongside elves and men against the tide of goblins. The air was filled with the sound of weapons and screams and the howling of wargs.
Bungo did not want to fight. He was a hobbit, not a warrior. But when he saw a group of goblins climbing towards the spot where Thorin stood, fighting desperately, he knew what he had to do.
He ran. He ran straight towards the goblins, his little knife in his hand. He did not think. He did not plan. He just ran.
He reached Thorin just as the goblins did. He stabbed and slashed, not knowing what he was doing, just trying to protect the dwarf-king. And somehow, miraculously, he held them off long enough for help to arrive.
But it was too late for Thorin. The dwarf-king had been wounded, a deep gash in his side. He fell to the ground, and Bungo knelt beside him.
"Thorin," he whispered. "Thorin, don't die."
Thorin smiled—a sad, tired smile. "I am glad you are here, Bungo Boffin. I am glad you came on this adventure. You have proved yourself a true friend, and a true hero."
Bungo wept. He pulled the Arkenstone from his pocket and pressed it into Thorin's hands. "I took it," he said. "I'm sorry. I took it, and I didn't tell you."
Thorin looked at the gem, and his eyes softened. "Keep it," he said. "Take it home with you, and remember me. Remember the dwarf who learned, too late, that friends are worth more than gold."
He closed his eyes, and he was gone.