The boy Druin was light on his feet, darting in between the duelling bodies and towards the place where he remembered Balin to be. Frin effortlessly kept pace even taking the opportunity to attack an orc or two along the way.

Despite the shield wall reforming around them, orcs were everywhere. The enemy had pushed their advantage and were still fighting behind the dwarven line. The sound of metal on metal and pained screams were everywhere but Frin ignored them. She was too focused on her friends.

Her fears flooded her mind. Images of Balin dead on the ground. His kind eyes staring at nothing, vacant. She saw Dwalin being cut by multiple attackers. His body mangled. When her mind came to Thorin, she saw his face contorted in anger as he choked on his own blood.

She forced the nightmarish thoughts down to focus on the boy leading her. Silently she reminded herself that they were all alive, and she would protect them. She would die before they did.

For the better part of an hour, even two, they pushed through the exhausted bodies. The dwarven line had slowly started to move backward. Druin was panting but continued to lead them forward. To their right the remainder of the shield wall tried to keep the orcs at bay, but it was useless. There was fighting everywhere with no victory in sight.

Finally, Druin's voice called out to her. "He was there." He pointed towards the centre of the line but all she could see were dwarves and orcs all entangled in battle. In the moment of stillness, Frin felt a presence approach her from behind.

With her blade in hand still dripping with the blood of orcs, she spun around. Her legs folded beneath her as she moved so her knees barely scraped the ground. As her eyes registered the gruesome legs of the figure behind her, she brought her sword around, slicing through its knees. There was a deep guttural cry as the creature fell. Its face coming in line with hers. The ugly head was tilted to the sky in pain, leaving the neck unprotected.

Without hesitation, Frin pulled a small knife from her boot and stuck it in the exposed windpipe. The once loud cry was now muffled into a gargling as the creature choked on blood. With hatred in her heart, she retrieved the knife from the struggling orc and turned back towards Druin. "Lead on." She commanded, venom dripping from her mouth. The boy was clearly startled but continued forwards without question.

As they maneuvered their way through the battlefield, the fighting became more dense. Dwarves were fighting shoulder to shoulder. Some were having trouble maneuvering their weapons to strike. The air smelled of sweat, death and blood.

Knowing her sword wouldn't be of help she sheathed the blade and grasped two dwarven daggers in her hands, which she had kept hidden in her belt. Druin pushed through the crowd. Somehow they managed to push their way out of the tight fighting into more open air. Both of them took an involuntary breath before realizing they were surrounded. Dozens of orcs occupied the space only challenged by a few dwarves.

The dwarves were fighting desperately but they were losing ground. The orcs pushed them steadily backward with heavy blows against their shields. Ahead of them, up towards the mountain on a small ridge was the pale orc. With each swing of his mace a dwarf was sent flying. He was terrifying.

"There!" Druin's voice called to her, pulling her attention aways from the intimidating figure. He was pointing at a dwarf only a few paces from them. The familiar greying hair and beard was taking on three orcs at once and he was losing.

Without a moment's thought she ran as fast as she could toward them. Twisting a dagger in her hand she threw it. With the skill of an elven warrior the blade sunk into an orc's back causing it to crumble before the old dwarf.

With the other dagger, she deflected an attack from an orc she passed by before throwing it as well. The second weapon sunk itself into an orc's thigh but it seemed too late. The old dwarf was tiring. His strength was fading as he attempted to block another heavy attack from the remaining assailants.

With her sword in her hand once more, she approached Balin from behind. In an instant she was close enough to strike. Lunging forward, she positioned her blade just over the dwarf's left shoulder. The silver blade pierced the orc in front of them in the side. At the same time to her right the final orc let out a guttural scream. Balin's sword had cut through its arm and straight into its chest.

After their foe's crumbled lifeless to the bloody ground with a dagger still in it's leg, Frin held out a hand to her friend. "You would have killed one and lost yourself at the same time." Her voice called down to him.

"We are already losing." Grasping her hand he dragged himself to his weary feet. "We cannot go on like this. There are too many."

Frin said nothing, instead just studied the dwarf in front of her for a moment. His eyes were tired, hair unkempt. Blood covered his armour and his shoulders sagged. He leaned forward slightly on his sword. Before looking away, back towards the battle she spoke. "Perhaps numbers matter." She let a soft smile creep onto her face, "but I heard skill counts for more."

"When we are outnumbered three to one?" Balin's voice was full of doubt and a hint of fear.

"Well," Frin stepped in close to him. "I've killed at least ten," she reached down and pulled her dagger from the orc's thigh. "You've only killed one, from what I've seen." Leaning into his ear she continued. "If everyone fights like you, yes we will lose, but perhaps you are just warming up."

A smirk peaked out from the corner of his mouth. "You sound like Dwalin." Suddenly there was a roar, a familiar voice cutting through the air. Balin and Frin's eyes shot toward the mountain just in time to see the pale orc throw the head of the king down towards him.

"No." Balin whispered.

To her horror, she heard the familiar yell again, drawing her eyes to the familiar silhouette. He was squaring off, alone against the towering orc. His dark hair appeared wet from sweat and blood. Wearing only a light chain mail and leathers, wielding a sword and shield, he rushed forward.

Frin couldn't help but let a cry escape from her mouth. "No!" She had to do something to stop his death but her involuntary cry had caught the attention of some nearby orcs. They rushed in towards her and Balin. Reluctant to take her eyes off Thorin she spun around in a frantic attack, catching two orcs across the chest.

When she glanced back up to where Thorin was, she saw the great orc bash his shield with an enormous mace, sending it flying. Without his shield Thorin was only able to dodge the oncoming blows. The following blow knocked the sword from his hand, the momentum sending him down the small cliff to the ground below.

Frin started to run only to be stopped by a wall of orcs. Half watching Thorin, she fought them. Desperately she cut them down one by one, but was unable to close the distance. "Thorin!" She called upward. Behind her Balin fought rapidly, also pushing his way towards the Prince.

Thorin lay on his back with no weapon as the pale orc stalked towards him. She saw the mace rise in the air. When it fell, Thorin rolled, dodging the deadly weapon. In his hand he held a branch, the mangled piece of an old tree. Just when he managed to climb to his feet, the creature released a barrage of attacks. With the branch he blocked the onslaught. Each heavy blow pushed him closer to the ground until at the last moment, Thorin reared up. In his free hand was a sword that appeared out of nowhere. With a sudden slash, he removed the orc's hand and mace from its body.

The scream the creature let out into the air caused all who heard it to pause. The orcs who had been assailing her glanced over their shoulder. She too was watching as the pale orc was dragged back towards the mountain, blood pouring from the stump where his hand had been.

Thorin lifted his bloody sword, the branch still in his off hand, turning towards her and the dwarves surrounding her. She couldn't make out the words but he roared, then charged forwards. Around her the dwarves roared with him. Balin's voice mixed with the others.

The broken dwarven line pushed forwards with a new kind of ferocity. Following along with them Frin continued to cut through the remaining orcs. After attempting to defend themselves from the invigorated dwarves they started to retreat, following their mangled leader.

When the sun had dipped behind the mountain, threatening darkness, an eerie silence filled the valley. A sea of bodies littered the mountainside, dwarves and orcs all laying together.

Tired from the endless fighting, Frin sank her sword into the still twitching body of an orc. A fast death was better than a slow one she reasoned, but she didn't care about the orcs. Around her, dwarves moved through piles of bodies. Only occasionally there would be a loud cry or the moan of pain. There were no triumphant yells or songs. Noone smiled. They had once again lost too much to rejoice.

Not far from where she stood, a tuft of blonde hair caught her attention. As she moved closer with tentative footsteps, carefully avoiding treading on flesh, she saw the bloodied face of the boy she'd lost in the fighting. His eyes were closed with blood on his face. The once shining golden hair was now a dull brown from the mud and blood.

Immediately, she was reminded of a friend she had lost long ago. A brave dwarf woman who died too soon. She too had looked so peaceful while the world burned around her.

Kneeling over him, she pried him from the mangled bodies he was laying in. Once she had him in a better position she started to look him over, sorrow filling her heart. After a moment a subtle movement caught her eye. His chest was moving ever so slightly. He was breathing.

Instantly relieved, she glanced over her shoulder. He needed help but she couldn't move him on her own. Not too far off, she could make out Balin's familiar figure embracing his brother. "Balin!" She called.

Balin registered her voice. "What?" Dwalin's voice was gruff, as he approached he led with an axe, prepared for a fight.

"This boy is alive." She stated, hearing the distrust in his voice but choosing to ignore it. "I need help to get him out."

"Come on." Balin said, pushing his brother forward.

Eventually, the three of them managed to get the boy to safety. To the East of the valley was a small encampment, used mainly for the wounded. Once there Frin refused to leave Druin's side, insisting on caring for his wounds. It was hard to escape the harsh looks coming from Dwalin who watched her work intensely.

Druin for the most part was okay. It seemed that an orc had caught him across the chest, leaving a deep gash but it would heal. Frin delicately cleaned and bandaged the wound. By the time she had finished Dwalin had wandered off but Balin still sat by the boy's bed.

"He should be alright." Frin spoke softly to Balin.

"Good." The exhausted dwarf forced a smile.

"I should leave." Frin stood, grabbing her bow which she had left leaning against Druin's cot.

"No." Balin stood, grasping her hand.

"I am not wanted here." She whispered sadly, "Dwalin made that clear."

"He'll want to see you." Balin gestured over his shoulder.

Frin paused for a moment and studied the older dwarf. There was a hope in his eyes but the stern lines of his face showed more than he would've wished.

"He doesn't." She leaned forward. "He doesn't know I'm here." She gave Balin a knowing look.

Balin's face turned mournful as he silently turned his eyes towards the floor.

"You all don't need me anymore." She offered a peaceful smile towards her oldest friend. "I gave my word long ago and here I am. If you call upon me once more I will answer, but I cannot stay. I am not one of you and you…" She looked out towards the rest of the camp. "You cannot change their minds, just as I can't. I need to find my own people."

"What of Thorin?

She released a sad sigh. "Thorin is….he's become who I thought he was."

"He is our King." Balin stated, his eyes on his hands. "Thrain is missing, and Thror is gone."

"He was always my King but now he's yours." Frin's smile was sorrowful. "Goodbye my friend." She gave Balin a small hug before walking away.

"Where will you go?" Balin called after her causing her to pause.

She took a moment to contemplate the question. She had made a home for herself. She was content there, even occasionally happy. When her eyes looked out at the remaining dwarves, she saw them embrace each other. Strangers hugged strangers. There was a community there. After all that had happened, the pain and sorrow, she knew she would never be a part of it again. Her eyes met Balin's once more. In the soulful orbs, she saw a plea for her to remain.

With a resignation in her voice she answered. "You all have each other. There was a time when that included me." She saw the sadness cover his face. "Do not feel sad for me. I've had decades to accept it, and I'll have decades more. Perhaps," she offered a crooked smile, "If there are others like me, there is only one place to look. I'll go there." She nodded to herself.

"Rivendell?"

She gave her long time friend a bow, deep from the chest. "Rivendell."