A/N: Okay, this is it. The moment you've all been waiting for (and, for some of you, dreading). The battle will kind of start in this one, but the main bulk of it will be next chapter. I apologise for the slight delay in this post - I've gone back to college now, so uuuuggggghhhhh. :) Anywho... ;)

Big thanks to PrimusNobility for following! :)

Review Response(s):

CrystalVixen93: Thanks, as always, and here it is :)

Dreamer4life16: I MISSED YOU TOO! Ehe, it's nice to have all your weird and wonderful comments back. Yes, Kili and Fili are little gems. Yes, Thorin is a stubborn little shit sometimes. And yes, I know you don't want anyone to die. If it helps, you shall find out in four days (provided everything goes according to schedule, anyway). And thanks for the vote of confidence - yes, I have a heart. No, I don't like it being torn to shreds. Use that as comfort, if you'd like. But whatever you do, DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE ME. Nope. Nuh-uh. Don't you go saying goodbye. The world may be cruel, but you can handle it... ;)

ro781727: She'll find it, though he's not exactly happy with her about it.

'It has always been this way. Death is followed by birth. To reach paradise, men must pass through inferno.' ~ Bertrand Zobrist (Inferno, by Dan Brown)

Chapter 35:

Things were quiet that day, for the most part. They could hear the bustle of activity and the clanging of metal resonating from Dale, and everyone was tense with anticipation. But nothing happened - there were no armies at their doorstep, no battles to speak of. A single rider came their way from the city, stopping beyond the reach of any arrows, and remained stationary for at least ten minutes. The whole company had stood in silence and watched him from the top of the walled entrance, every one of them knowing that he was a scout - mapping the area, finding whatever weaknesses could be found. Thorin had ordered they break the bridge leading up to the main gate, so that they would not be disturbed by intruders in the night, nor by an open, frontal assault. They all knew that a war was coming, even if it had not yet been officially declared.

They were almost grateful to be greeted the next morning by the sight of the armies of the elves and men, for at least it meant that the wait was over. Alana was to the side, leaning against the wall of the mountain with a frown on her face. She knew she probably should be stood with Thorin, but she could see the dark veil over his eyes again, and didn't want to be so close knowing he was so lost. She became tense when she noticed Thranduil and Bard making their way through the ranks of the elven army, the elves stepping aside to let them pass. The wide, sweeping antlers of Thranduil's elk mount made for an impressive sight, but only managed to make the already insufferably haughty elf King look even more obnoxious.

The horse and elk headed closer to the main gate, and Alana was unsurprised when Thorin drew an arrow and fired it at the feet of the beasts, halting their progress almost immediately. He drew another arrow and pulled the string taut. "The next one I will put between your eyes."

Alana sighed, closing her eyes in resigned exasperation as she heard the echoing sound of dozens of arrows being drawn and notched at once, and then sheathed again a second or two later.

Thranduil's smug voice was unmistakable, and Alana fought back a sneer at the mere sound of it. She kept her eyes closed. "We've come to tell you that payment of your debt has been offered... and accepted."

Alana frowned. Payment? What? Thorin seemed of the same mind, because he snarled, "What payment? I gave you nothing! You have nothing!"

"We have this," came Bard's calm voice, and almost instantly there was an uproar amongst the dwarves. Alana's face twitched, but she kept her eyes closed, simply listening.

"They have the Arkenstone!" Kili hissed. "Thieves! How came you upon the heirloom of our house?! That stone belongs to the King!"

A sigh escaped her once more. So Bilbo had made his choice. She hadn't been lying when she'd said she trusted him, and she knew his intentions were good, but if Thorin was not of his own mind there would be very little anyone could do when he learned just who it was that had handed the jewel over to the so-called enemy.

Bard's voice remained as even as ever. "And the King may have it; with our good will." There was a pause, and Alana was once again tempted to open her eyes, but she didn't. "But first he must honour his word."

"They are taking us for fools," came the low reply, and Alana sighed yet again. "It is all a ruse; a filthy lie." She jumped when his voice suddenly thundered over the surroundings, and her eyes snapped open before she could stop them. "The Arkenstone is in this mountain! It is a trick!"

"I-It's no trick." Bilbo's voice was so small next to the power behind Thorin's yell, yet it cut through the eerie silence just as effectively, if not more so. Innocent, brave little Bilbo Baggins stepped forward, his expression tight, but resolute, and somehow completely without fear. What had happened to the little halfling who had been so hesitant to leave his door? At what moment had he become so different? And how had she been so slow to notice? "The stone is real. I gave it to them," the hobbit continued, refusing to cower under the weight of Thorin's stunned stare.

"You..."

"I took it as my fourteenth share," Bilbo explained calmly.

Thorin scowled, that fury becoming more evident now. "You would steal from me?"

"Steal?" Bilbo physically balked at the mere idea. He shook his head. "No, no. I may be a burglar, but I like to think I am an honest one. I'm willing to let it stand against my claim."

"Your claim?" Thorin repeated with a sneer. "You have no claim over me, you miserable rat!"

"I wanted to give it to you," Bilbo added hurriedly as Thorin began to take a step forward. "Many times, I wanted to, but..."

"But what, thief?"

Bilbo's face hardened, and he clenched his jaw. "You are changed, Thorin! The dwarf I met at Bag End would never have gone back on his word. Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin!"

Something in that caused Thorin's rage to flare anew, and for the first time, Bilbo allowed himself to show his utter terror. "Loyalty?" Thorin repeated, his voice almost soft. "Do not talk to me of loyalty." He turned to the others. "Throw him from the rampart!"

Never had Alana felt so horrified than in that moment. There was no sign of her Thorin in the shell that was his body. The sickness had claimed him completely.

Or... perhaps not.

When his eyes met hers, she saw something hidden far enough in their depths that only someone who was looking for it would have seen it - honest, genuine panic. It was like he said - he was in there somewhere, fighting, but his body was acting of its own accord. He was begging, pleading, for someone to stop him.

So she did.

The second he turned back towards Bilbo, she pushed away from the wall, striding towards him and carving a path between the rest of the company. Thorin raised a hand, whether to strike Bilbo or simply grab him, Alana didn't know. She didn't wait to find out. Her own hand shot out, catching his wrist and stopping him bare inches from making contact with the hobbit.

Thorin turned to her and snarled, his face twisted with anger, but she could see the relief there too; deep, deep down. It only proved that he really was in there, that she wasn't just seeing what she hoped to see. "Let go," he ordered, his voice low and threatening.

"I will not," she replied with an equally commanding voice. "I won't allow you to do something you will later come to regret."

"You would turn against me?"

Alana rolled her eyes. "I'm not turning against you, Thorin. But Bilbo is your friend and ally, as well he is mine, and I will not allow you to harm him." Over Thorin's shoulder, Alana saw Bofur ushering Bilbo over the edge of the wall. The hobbit protested at first, but a sharp glance from the Ranger had him relenting. He was over the edge and scaling down the side of the wall before Thorin had even noticed something was happening behind him. He scowled at her, but she beat him to speaking. "You may not like that I acted now," she murmured, letting her face soften in the hopes it might somehow break through the mask he was wearing, "but one day you will thank me, that I can promise you." Then she leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, feeling some of the tension in his frame melting away for a moment. Then she turned her eyes to the condescending gaze of the elf King, and to Bard's one of… wistfulness?

Thorin turned back to the front, then blinked. Alana followed his gaze, and saw the familiar pointed, grey hat of the wizard who'd left the company just outside Mirkwood. She felt conflicted when she saw him, part of her wanting to hold onto the anger and betrayal she felt by the fact he had shared her family's secret without their consent, but she was just so damn relieved to see him there that it was difficult. Alana hated holding onto grudges anyway, and Gandalf had been her friend for almost the entirety of her life. But part of her still feared that Thranduil would somehow use their heritage against them - and so for now, she decided that cold detachment would be the best course of action.

"You're not making a very fine King under the Mountain, are you, Thorin?" Gandalf asked, voice as soothing as ever. Alana felt herself releasing a pent up breath, hoping that the presence of the wizard - whether desired or not - would bring about some order to this mess.

"I would curse you, Gandalf," Thorin snarled, making her stare at him in shock. "Curse you for ever burdening us with your presence! Never again with I have dealings with wizards - or Shire rats!"

Alana sighed. "Thorin…" He pretended not to hear her, though at this point it was almost the expected response.

Bard then called up to him. "Are we resolved? The return of the Arkenstone for what was promised?" Thorin's face darkened, and he glanced towards the ridge to the east. A feeling of dread settled in the pit of her stomach. "Give us your answer," the man beseeched. "Will you have peace, or war?"

Thorin's face lowered for a moment, but then a raven landed with a squawk in front of them, and something about him changed. A hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. Then, with a voice that was low and powerful, and with eyes full of hate and pent-up fury, he declared, "I will have war!"

Almost immediately, the thundering sound of hundreds of feet on the ground echoed over the land, and Alana glanced to see a heavily armoured dwarven army heading towards them. At their lead was a figure sitting on what looked like a ram, as heavily armoured as its rider. The dwarf himself was broad-shouldered and strong, with thick, red hair.

"Dain!" Balin called in relief, and the dwarves in the mountain cheered at the arrival of their kin and comrades from the Iron Hills.

Alana couldn't bear to move her gaze from Thorin's face, his eyes filled with dark satisfaction. At length he seemed to notice the eyes on him, and he tilted his head to stare back at her. He seemed surprised to find the suppressed sorrow in her eyes; the disappointment; the fear. "Oh, Thorin," she murmured, shaking her head. "What have you done?"

Thorin opened his mouth to respond, but another, heavily accented voice cut him off before he could speak. "Good morning!" Alana blinked at the faux-cheerful voice, it being somewhat higher-pitched than she'd been expecting from such a wall of a being. "How are we all? I have a wee proposition, if you wouldn't mind giving a few moments of your time. Would you consider… just sodding off! All of you. Right now!"

"Stand fast," Bard called to his people, most of whom were shaking in their boots at the sight of the angry dwarf Lord.

"Come now, Lord Dain!" Gandalf called, Bilbo trotting along at his side, staring up at Dain with curiosity. She couldn't help but smile at that - no, he most certainly wasn't the same hobbit as the one who had answered the door to thirteen dwarves, a wizard and a woman; but perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing.

"Gandalf the Grey," Dain greeted, with a hint of disdain. "Tell this rabble to leave, or I'll water the ground with their blood!"

Alana felt her jaw drop. "Did he just…? Did he…?" Thorin glanced up at her again, a perplexed expression on his face. Alana scowled. "The bastard just stole my phrase!"

For the first time in days, Thorin looked like he wanted to laugh. He managed to stop himself though, whispering in return, "Given that he is somewhat older than you, atamanel, I fear it is you who did the stealing." Alana just shot him a half-hearted glare, and was glad to see the desire to laugh flare in his eyes again.

"I will not stand before any elf!" Dain cried suddenly, and Alana got the feeling she had just missed something very important. "Least of all this faithless woodland sprite. He wishes nothing but ill upon my people. If he chooses to stand between me and my kin, I'll split his pretty head open - see if he's still smirking then!"

Thranduil tutted. Genuinely tutted, as if he were dealing with a child in the middle of tantrum instead of a full-grown, fully-armoured, furious dwarf Lord. "He's clearly mad, like his cousin!"

Alana snarled, for while it was a relatively weak insult on the elf's part, it was still meant as such, and she didn't appreciate her friends and family being belittled. Thorin's hand encompassed hers, a silent reassurance and a plea not to act. Her rage settled to a low simmer, but her eyes remained like fire, glaring at Thranduil in the vain hope that it would send him to an early grave.

"You hear that, lads?!" Dain shouted to his men, completely unaffected by the slight. "Come on, let's give these bastards a good hammering!"

Alana's eyes widened when the elves settled into an effective but obviously aggressive formation, shields down and spears pointed at the dwarves, who themselves seemed eager for a fight. Such a war was a long time coming, Alana mused grimly, but she didn't think she'd be there to witness it when it happened.

From within the ground there suddenly came a horrible quake, and then three large beasts burst from the soil. Their great maws crushed the rock as if it were no more than a few breadcrumbs, and then turned and slithered away over the hill. From within the holes left behind came a swarm of orcs, all decked out for war. A low-toned horn suddenly split the air, and Alana whipped her head towards Ravenhill, only to see a large, crudely-made signal on top of the towering structure. A flash of white had her baring her teeth, for standing by the signal was none other than Azog the Defiler.

A war cry sounded from the dwarven army. "The hordes of hell are upon us! To battle! To battle, sons of Durin!"

Alana remembered, in that moment, something she had once been told by Lord Elrond not long before her official departure from Rivendell when she was twenty: "You are a daughter of Kings, and there will inevitably come a time in your life when you will have only two choices; you can either fight, or turn and flee. Fleeing is easy. But is it right? Is it what your ancestors would implore you to do? When you reach that point in your life, where you have only two choices before - that is when you will prove whether you are worthy of the title you hold."

Her face hardened, and without a word she headed back into the mountain. "Where do you think you're going?" Thorin called after her, but she didn't so much as slow down. There was a hint of a threat to his voice, warning her against doing anything he wouldn't like, but she was beyond caring. She was not his to control - she was not anybody's to control. And she had made a choice.

It didn't take long for her to arrive in the armoury of the dwarves. Most of the armour was metal and heavy, not to mention far too small for someone as tall as her, but she had to find something. In the corner of the room were two tall wardrobes, one with a missing hinge on the left-hand door. She yanked them open, smiling to herself when she found chainmail armour that had clearly been made for warriors of the race of men. She picked up a set, pulling off her cloak and her armoured vest, before tugging the chainmail on over her tunic. She then pulled the vest back on, tightening the buckles to ensure it wouldn't come loose. Alana turned, picking up a fresh set of knives and slipping them into any spare crevices in her clothing. There was every chance she would be disarmed at some point in this battle, and she refused to go without a second option. She filtered through the weapons available, trying to find a bow that had a looser string than the one she'd been given by the Master of Laketown, and once she found it she also picked up a quiver so full of arrows that it was almost bursting at the seams. She then double-checked her sheath and belt, hanging from which was the elven blade she'd snagged during their escape from Mirkwood. Following that, Alana picked up a pair of half-metal, half-leather pauldrons and slung them over her shoulders. The metal was unrelenting, and the weight was foreign, but she knew she had to ensure she was properly armoured before charging out to battle. Then, with a final glance around her, she picked up her cloak and folded it, heading out of the armoury again.

She ran into the company not far from the gate, ignoring their looks as she dropped her cloak on the ground where they'd been sleeping for the last few days. "Alana…" Kili's voice was strained with concern, and he frowned as he looked over her appearance. There was no confusion in his eyes - he knew exactly what she was planning, where she was going.

"You will not leave."

Alana rolled her eyes. "You will not stop me," she countered, meeting Thorin's eyes with her own, each equally as stubborn as the other. "I'm going out there, whether you do or not."

"You will not leave," he repeated, with more force.

Alana scowled. "You do not command me, Thorin," she snapped back. "Not in matters such as this. I am fighting, and that is final. Your presence at my side would be much appreciated, believe me, but I am not staying here."

She didn't let him speak again before she had turned around and was marching towards the gates. She gave Fili and Kili pats on the shoulder as she passed, sending them each a reassuring smile that probably didn't do much to make them feel better, but she was not going to flee from this. Lord Elrond was right; she was a daughter of Kings. Now it was time to act like one.