All rights belong to PJ and JRRT.

Huge thanks to Nikolai and Calenithlon for the actual translations from English to Khuzdul or Sindarin (or vice versa). My Khuzdul would not be as good without them! The verse in this is something my dear Mellon, Calenithlon, wrote based off some Tolkien writings and kindly allowed me to use. Don't hate me by the end of this chapter… (Definite tissue warning)

Chapter Thirteen

Thorin looked up just as he saw the eagles fly overhead. And by Mahal, was that Beorn with the eagles? Perhaps they would survive this after all. The onslaught of orcs from the north had dwindled on their position and the five dwarves had a chance to gather themselves before they were attacked again. "Dwalin!" he called out and the burly warrior was at his back in an instant. "Balin?"

The white-haired dwarf appeared behind him and asked, "Where are Fíli and Kíli?"

"We're here, Balin," the called and appeared from near an outcropping.

Thorin took a deep breath in and blew it out and he looked them over with a critical eye. Once he assured himself of their safety and that they were relatively unscathed, the dwarven king looked around the area once more. Dís would have had his hide if there was anything more than a scratch on them. "Donnabelle?" he asked suddenly, looking back at his nephews, sword-brother and advisor.

"We haven't seen her or Azog," Fíli replied, moving to his uncle's side.

"But the elf princeling took out Bolg," Kíli added.

It was with that comment that the five dwarves were joined by said elf prince and the she-elf captain. Thorin nodded at the two in thanks for their support. "Come on, let's search the area. Azog must be up here somewhere." He didn't add that he wished with all his heart Donnabelle was not up there and somehow still alive. But something in his gut was churning. He had dread deep inside that he would find something he was not going to like.

THTHTHTH

The battle was over not long after the eagles and Beorn arrived. Then the clean-up began. Nori made his way back to the main gate of Erebor and smiled when he saw his brothers there. He rushed over to make sure they were both all right.

"Stop it!" Ori complained. "Dori's already checked me over."

"Yeah?" Nori asked with a grin. "So he didn't notice you got your ear sliced open?"

"Well, he has now," the youngest Ri brother grumped, pulling away from Dori's fussing. "Thanks for that, Nori."

"He's fine, Dori. It'll heal," Nori said, turning his attention to the oldest brother. "Or would you like us to fuss over you? I notice the new cuts on your face." Dori pulled away from Ori, yet the three of them smiled slightly, relieved that they had all managed to survive the battle. "Have you heard from anybody else?"

"Bofur, Bifur and Bombur were here just moments ago. But…"

Nori closed his eyes. That trail could only mean one of the company didn't survive the battle. "Who?"

"Óin," Ori replied. "The others are with his body." Nori nodded slowly and felt his lower lip tremble. Óin had been a good friend and an excellent healer. When he next looked at his brothers, they knew he'd want to go to the body. Dori and Ori led their brother to where their fallen companion was.

Nori looked around the five others that were gathered around Óin's body and realised that not all of the company of Thorin Oakenshield were there. "Where's Thorin?" he asked quietly. "Has anyone heard from them?"

Dáin, seeing the gathering of Thorin's company around the body of the healer, moved to the company. He heard the thief's question and answered, "Haven't heard a word from them since they went up Ravenhill."

Nori set his jaw and his eyes fell on Óin's still form. Slowly, he approached Glóin and knelt beside the weeping dwarf, offering his quiet support. The others followed his example. They would get through this like every other time they faced challenges: as a family. Albeit, they were a dysfunctional family and fought fiercely with each other. But if any person outside their group dared challenge one of them, that person would be faced with more than one angry dwarf seeking retribution.

But the seven surviving members of Thorin's company couldn't grieve properly for their fallen brother when first Bifur spotted Balin coming toward them, and then Bombur spotted the white-haired dwarf. Soon the others and Dáin noticed Balin coming toward them. The company was happy to see the advisor had survived, but their joy quickly faded when they saw the dwarf's bleak expression.

"Who?" Dáin asked. Balin paused in front of the group and he felt a tear slip from his eyes. "Not Thorin?"

The ageing dwarf shook his head and he opened his mouth. But he couldn't get words out passed the lump in his throat. His eyes were drawn to the still face of his cousin. Losing Óin on top of everything else that happened on Ravenhill was a little much for Balin to hold onto his composure. He tried once more to speak, yet he couldn't really explain all he wanted to. What was he supposed to say about the selfless little hobbit that had given up everything for the sake of a chance of reclaiming a home that wasn't hers? Who had fought so valiantly to see that Azog the Defiler stayed dead? But in the end, he didn't have to say a word to the company. Thorin, Dwalin, Fíli and Kíli joined the rest of the company at the gate. Each of them was silent and grim.

"No," Bofur said quietly as he realised who wasn't with them. "Not Donnabelle."

Fíli and Kíli couldn't bring themselves to look up at the rest of the company. And with those two being extremely quite was telling to the rest of Thorin's company. They were never silent. They had never been afraid of looking anyone in the eye either. The last time they'd been like that was after the death of their father.

The Ri brothers looked at each other and then over the five dwarves that had been up Ravenhill. Perhaps they were mistaken and Donnabelle wasn't really gone. After all, there wasn't a body and shouldn't there have been a body if Donnabelle was truly dead?

All surviving members of Thorin's company were drawn to their leader and the white knuckles of his hand that held the short elf-blade that belonged to Donnabelle. The haunted look in the King under the Mountain's eyes said it all. There was no hope of the hobbit lass surviving whatever she'd faced on Ravenhill.

"Donnabelle?" Nori asked and the dwarf's voice broke.

"She fought Azog," Fíli responded. His voice was a whisper and the others could hear it crack as he spoke. "She faced the Defiler with just her small blade."

"We found the letter opener embedded into the Pale Orc's chest," Kíli added. He sounded like a lost teen on the verge of tears. And one look at his face was all the company needed to see that he was crying.

"And the Arkenstone in a pool of blood by the orc's cold dead body," Dwalin finished. And the company was shocked at the roughness of the stoic warrior's voice. They should not have been surprised because they all knew how much the small hobbit had come to mean to the warrior. How much she meant to all of them. And if Dwalin was barely holding it together, the news was not what any of them wished to hear.

The silence that fell over the company was broken when Dáin picked up on what Dwalin had said about the Arkenstone. The Lord of the Iron Hills turned to glare at Thorin, not caring about the tears streaking down his cousin's face.

"Your thief had the Arkenstone?" Dáin asked, outraged that the crowning jewel of Erebor's great wealth had been in the possession of a non-dwarf.

Thorin narrowed his eyes and turned to face his cousin from the Iron Hills. He did not like the tone Ironfoot had used when talking about his hobbit and wife. "Do you have a problem, cousin?" the dark-haired king asked. His voice was cold and hard (but also had an undercurrent of pain to it) as he said, "My 'thief', as you so aptly named her, deserved that stone. She was more than the thief that stole my heart. She was my wife and I gave the Arkenstone to her."

The company knew that he hadn't, and had been unaware that the hobbit actually had the stone in the first place. They also knew their king was right. If anyone deserved the Arkenstone, it would have been the person that held the heart of their king. Thorin glared one last time at Dáin before he stalked off and into the mountain. The company followed after their king, knowing that they would be back to take care of their dead.

Óin's loss would be felt by all of them, and especially by Glóin. But with Donnabelle's death as well, they all knew that they would be feeling both of their friends' deaths for months, if not years, to come. None more so than Thorin.

Because, as Ori brought up later, the hardest part for them wasn't the fact they had lost two very dear friends to them that day: Thorin had also lost the chance to meet his mizimith. For they had all forgotten in the heat of the battle that Donnabelle's death not only snuffed her life out but had also taken with her the child she carried.

THTHTHTH

The first week after the battle was a nightmare for all that were involved. The dwarves of the mountain honoured Óin's death and laid him to rest within the mountain itself. The other dwarves who lost their lives in the battle were stripped of their weapons and armour before they were burned. The men and elves dealt with their own dead while all of them piled the orcs together and burned the filth from all memory. And as the company of Thorin Oakenshield scoured the battlefield in the clean-up, they found no sign of the little hobbit they loved. They searched the tents of healing as well, yet did not recognise any of the wounded. All they feared that was left of their burglar was the sword Thorin brought with him from Ravenhill and the Arkenstone they had found next to the Pale Orc's body. The elves soon returned to the Woodland Realm while the men of Dale and the dwarves turned to the mountain for the winter.

Their burglar was not found amongst the wounded and her body was never discovered. Each member of the company found that the hardest thing to deal with. They were not sure of her final fate and were unable to really put her to rest as they wanted to in the halls of the dead. Two weeks after the end of the Battle, Thorin called the company together and led them down to the royal crypts. He carried with him the small blade their hobbit had wielded in her final battle and had Dwalin bring the Arkenstone. Fíli carried the blue baby blanket Donnabelle had bought back in Lake-town. The others within the company had also brought a small memento of the hobbit lass they'd loved and lost.

Thorin stopped in front of the tombs of his forebears and drove Sting into the rock in front of them. He stepped backward and allowed Fíli to place the folded baby blanket at the foot of the sword. Then Dwalin laid the Arkenstone on top of the blanket itself. Bofur and Bifur each placed a small carved toy with the stone. Bombur had brought a ladle. Ori attached the picture he'd drawn within Mirkwood to the sword. Nori placed a set of his lock picks on the blanket. Dori had knitted a pair of baby socks. Glóin found Donnabelle's pipe. Kíli had made a flower crown out of the dried flowers Donnabelle had collected along their journey. And Balin placed a bead right next to the Arkenstone and the two wooden toys. On the bead was the ruins for 'beloved sister and friend'.

Once Balin stepped back from the small pile of treasures that seemed inadequate to summarize their burglar's life, Thorin began singing. His voice was rough and cracked in places as he tried to hold back his tears.

"Farewell, we call to hearth and hall!

Though wind may blow and rain may fall,

We must away ere break of day

Far over wood and mountain tall.

Our foes are dead, behind us dread,

Beneath the sky shall be our bed,

Until at last our toil be passed,

Our journey done, our errand sped.

We must away! We must away!

We ride before the break of day!

Return at once to halls of stone,

Where Mahal calls the warriors home.

Lay down your sword, your shield, your burden,

For the mountain is won,

But not the line of Durin.

We must away! We must away!

We ride before the break of day!

Farewell, we call to hearth and hall!

Do not weep for I did not fall.

The other dwarves joined in throughout the lament. There was not a dry eye among them as they said a final farewell to their small, brave hobbit. They all knew they would feel her loss, and the loss of Óin, for years to come. Each and every one of them was desperately trying not to weep for her loss. They knew that with Donnabelle's death, the line of Thorin Oakenshield also ended. There would be no sons of Durin born to him. Thorin swallowed hard and he allowed a few tears to slip down his cheeks. Yet he did not allow himself to break completely. He would save that for when he was truly alone. His eyes travelled over each of the items the company brought with them to remember Donnabelle, trying to commit each to his memory.

Just before the company began to head back to the surface, Thorin said quietly, "Sait ashrugal kurdu ig-gundul abadaz ablîk mahaziluh makyilhi kurdulz." Here lies the heart under the mountain. May her memory live on in the hearts of all. The eleven other dwarves echoed their king's second sentence, knowing that they would forever carry the memory of the brave hobbit within their hearts till their dying day. Thorin paused at the entrance of the catacombs and waited for the other dwarves to leave. Once he thought he was alone (Balin and Dwalin waited for their king a respectful distance away), he whispered, "Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal, amrâlimê."

The twelve dwarves that had journeyed together to reclaim Erebor with two others found it hard to move on after the clean-up was complete. They turned to their own halls and began the long process of rebuilding Erebor to its former glory. Donnabelle's death hit them all in different ways. Fíli and Kíli found it the hardest to move on after they came to love the small hobbit as an extra 'mother' and aunt, so they threw themselves into learning all they could about ruling a kingdom without dealing with the emotional trauma the battle had on them. Bifur, Bofur and Bombur threw themselves into their respective trades: Bombur as the head chef of Erebor's kitchens with Bifur and Bofur as toymakers and storytellers. Dori fussed over the company that was left: especially Ori, Fíli and Kíli. He also dedicated what free time he had to outfit each of the company with new cloaks that told of their tale. Ori threw himself into his books and the library under the direction of Balin. Nori wasn't seen for weeks, setting up an elaborate spy network within the halls of Erebor. If anything was worth knowing, Nori was the first to find out. Balin worked as an advisor, note taker and general organiser each and every day until he was too tired to think of anything other than sleep. Dwalin trained with the warriors under Dáin's command that were wintering in Erebor's halls. Glóin, suffering from the keen loss of both his brother and the hobbit he had begun to see as a little sister, threw himself into organising the treasury. At Thorin's command, of course.

All of the company lent a hand to the restoration efforts of the mountain as well. First to the living quarters and other main habitable places they needed and then to the mines.

The only one that did not seem affected by the deaths of Óin and Donnabelle was Thorin. At least in the public eye. He did not allow himself to break down in front of his subjects; he thought that it would be weak to show his emotions in front of anybody. Those in the company knew him well enough that he'd only ever break down in front of three living souls: Balin, Dwalin or Dís. The others he allowed himself close to and for him to truly show his grief to were all gone. Balin and Dwalin were too busy with their own grief to see how much of a strain their king was under, or that Thorin did not have an outlet for his grief. And Dís, well, she would be on her way from the Blue Mountains with the last caravan of the autumn (if all went well), nearly a full year away.

THTHTHTH

It was in the early parts of the late winter, two months after the Battle of the Five Armies, that rumours began to spread within Erebor. No one was sure who started them. The dwarves said that the stories came from the men while the men said the opposite.

Rumours told the tale of one courageous little hobbit and how she had been the driving force behind most of the quest. When the tales began filtering back to the company that travelled with the lass, they could not deny that they had truth to them. But not a single company member really remembered the times they had spoken up in defence of their Donnabelle. They were unaware they were being used to start the rumours.

And the tales grew and spread, based solely on the truth of their journey and the loyal defence of the fourteenth member's character done by the grieving company that was left behind. The tales told of how the smallest member had hidden her true gender for the first few months of their journey based on knowledge that if the company really knew she had been a woman, they would have denied her a place amongst them. That she found a family with each and every one of them, despite the fact they were from very different backgrounds and races. How, despite having been a slave to men and elves, she still managed to forge an alliance with them for the future benefit of Erebor.

And as the stories spread and were added to, attitudes began to change. Ever so slowly, the dwarves of Erebor learnt that there was more to other races than what had happened in the past.

Because if one small courageous child of the West could give up everything to see the dwarves reclaim their home and face her past while looking to the future, then shouldn't they learn to look beyond the past? Not forget it; never forget it, but try to forgive?

AN: Khuzdul Translations:

"Mizimith" is "little gem."

"Sait ashrugal kurdu ig-gundul abadaz ablîk mahaziluh makyilhi kurdulz" translates as "Here lies the heart under the mountain. May her memory live on in the hearts of all." (Special thanks to my two translators for this, it was a challenge for them!)

"Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal" is "May we meet again with the grace of Mahal."

"Amrâlimê" is "my love."

(and there are still two more instillments to this story... it is not quite complete YET)