Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit.

One of the more trickier chapters hence the delay in updates. So sorry.

The first half of the chapter take place during OldMarie's trip back to Erebor then the rest is ... that moment I've been dreading. Please read, review and enjoy.

The cart's rattling had been constant throughout most of the journey, but the last jolt in the road made the sleeping hobbit bounce in her seat and woke her completely from her nap. It was a sad thing when the highlight in her day was now having a decent nap rather than thinking of the next chapter to write. Marie righted herself and bit back any groan of protest her body gave to the jolt. She was sitting in the back of one of the small supply wagon's the dwarves had brought on the journey to Rivendell, having created something of a small nest for herself when it became too hard for her to walk.

Her bones shook and clattered like cookies in a glass jar, painfully at first but she had grown accustomed to the aches of her body. She was well passed her dues of age related ailments. In the months following her departure from Rivendell it was like time was racing to catch her before the caravan arrived at the mountain and Marie was becoming a shadow of her former self. She could hardly move about without aid or a watchful eye in case she crumbled, her hair turned as white as snow and her skin had dried and withered, resembling a well written page of her book. Hardly proud anymore but the hobbit still maintained her dignity, which in Gloin's opinion was stubbornness.

He was seated next to the driver of the cart behind her's and she had often glanced out the back to make sure they were still trailing along behind them. Sure enough Gloin was still there in deep conversation with a young dwarf whose beard looked to have only just grown in properly.

Gloin looked over at her and smile. "Ah, you're finally awake Lass. We're just out of the old Greenwood."

"Oh thank goodness." Marie sighed. Mirkwood still held its strange power even after all this time and Marie had no desire to feel that lost again. With a good grip on her cane Marie carefully lent out the back of the wagon and saw the silhouette of the Lonely Mountain.

A fresh pang of discomfort hit her in the chest. This would only grow more frequent the closer the caravan got, a fact Marie had accepted when they had passed over the Misty Mountains and the floodgate of memories opened. The path was starting to head upwards, the beginning of the ascent up the slopes of the Chard Hills, as they were called by the dwarves that had returned to Erebor. For all the green and wildlife that had returned to the land with Smaug death, the hills on the mountain's far west side remained barren and void of new growth save for the thorn bushes that bore dry and brittle branches. A reminder of the past to caution the future. The road was new and well worn in Marie's eye, no doubt from those who travel westward to the Blue Mountains to trade.

"We have to make a stop at Ravenhill. Hugen here needs …" But all Marie heard was 'Ravenhill' and the rest of what Gloin said was lost. Her hands began to shake and she tucked them into her shawl to hide them.

Ravenhill.

Not Ravenhill.

Marie wasn't ready for this.

Was she ready for any of this at all?

Now was not the time to second guess this decision, not when it was almost at the end and she had waited sixty years to say it. The shaking subsided to just her left hand, a promising sign that she was not on the verge of hysteria. It was just mild shock.

Ravenhill came into sight. It was indeed very different from sixty years ago, with completed walls and new thick wooden structures, painted the colour sand with red tiled roofs. But regardless what was actually there, Marie couldn't help but see ashened ruins and falling snow.

No this place will never change for her. Here was one of her most precious and yet pained memories.

She could still taste the blood on her lips.

xxxxx

"THORIN!"

The frigid wind of the north went still in the following seconds of Thorin's reckless decision. Marie felt the air in her mouth, in her lungs and in her gut turn solid and foul as his name left her lips. He had let Azog stab him. He had let Azog stab him! Why!? Azog, not without his own slight surprise at his nemesis' sudden and apparent defeat, curled his lip with glee but with a sudden swift thrust, Thorin cut his victory short by driving Orcrist up into his chest. Azog gave a gasp akin to the sound of being choked.

Thorin had finally landed a fatal blow on the Pale Orc, at the cost of his own flesh.

Marie wanted to shriek, cry bloody murder, give any further verbal response to such an idiotic decision but the last of her voice was lost and all she could do was stare, mouth gaping like a hooked fish.

Thorin used Azog's momentary shock to flip their positions and Marie had to roll away or be crushed by them. Thorin kept a firm grip on his sword handle so that Orcrist remained lodged in Azog's chest. Azog's blade however slipped out of Thorin with a sickening plop as blood pooled from the wound and dripped down over his tunic. With the Orc's back to the ice Thorin pushed his sword further in until Marie felt the ice crack as the tip went through Azog completely and into the river's frozen surface. The Orc convulsed and twitch beneath Thorin and looked as though he was trying to say something, but choked on a mouthful of blood.

Thorin did not move, or broke his gaze. He watched Azog take his last few pained breaths.

Marie too watched with a sick satisfaction as the Pale Orc finally went slack, never again to draw a cursed breath.

Once sure of his enemy's definite demise, Thorin groaned in pain and staggered away from body, leaving his sword still protruding from the Orc. Marie wished to be faster in her attempt to get to him but her injured wrist made it difficult to get up.

"Thorin! Don't move." As soon as she made it to his side Marie reached for the wound. They had to close it and fast. "Oh my ... Stay still you've lost too much blood. Thorin stop moving." But the dwarf did not listen to her pleas and staggered towards the waterfall's edge.

"I have to see ... have see. With my own eyes."

Marie didn't know just what he meant or if was the blood loss making him ramble, but all the same she wrapped one of his arms over her shoulders and helped him walk. Her own injury was screaming at her to stop but like a fool she ignored it and focus on the laboured breaths Thorin took. Azog must have nicked his lung. Together they made it to the icy ledge and saw what remained of the battle below. The Eagles had broken up to bulk of the Orc armies that now scattered about without direction or purpose. The horrible malformed bats did not match the sheer size of the Eagles and the remaining allied forces pushed the Orcs out of Dale and into the east.

Thorin's chest shook and Marie struggled to stop his weight from tipping backwards. She frantically tried to keep him awake and steady but to no avail. The dwarf's knees gave way beneath him and Marie couldn't stop his fall.

Marie rolled him to his back and tried again stop the bleeding, her trembling fingers slick with blood. Thorin's voice hitched as he tried to speak. "Enough Marie. There is nothing to ..."

"No. Don't say that. You so much as think of finishing that sentence I will find a frying pan and beat you senseless."

It pained him to laugh but he did so, "Please Marie. It's useless."

"No Thorin. You're going to live."

"I wish to part in peace ..."

Mare shook her head. "Stop that you stubborn clothead you're not .. no I refuse to ... no, no you are not ..." Her voice trembled like Thorin's as she stumbled over her words. It was only when Thorin gently pulled her hands away from his wound and she had stopped rambling did she realise that she had started crying, hot tears trailing down her face and neck.

He was right, there was nothing they could do.

Thorin was dying.

The snow around them turned from white to red as Marie tried to make it as peaceful as circumstances allowed. A hard task when one hand was injured and tucked into her middle and the rest of her wanted to shake with sobs. "Can you move at all?"

"My arm ... it's ..." Thorin drew a shuddery breath and strained to shift himself, "My left side feels ..."

"No don't move. If it hurts don't ..."

"I can't feel it."

Thorin's hand went to her chin, nudging it so that she was looking at him. "My words at the gate ... I would take them back a thousand times over." His knuckles brushed the length of her jaw and across her cheek. "Forgive me. I was so blind."

Marie locked her hand around his wrist to keep him there.

"I could have given you rarest of gems to adorn your hair, the purest of gold chains and rings or even moonlight robes that would shame the stars. But all would fail to compare to your smile."

Marie sucked in a breath and noiselessly laughed. "You're delusional."

"Perhaps I am. Perhaps I have been enchanted by you Mariellena Baggins since I stepped through your door and now I see sunlight in your eyes when you look at me, so pure and beautiful."

What a sight must have been, all ruddy red from the cold and crying with dirt and dried blood dotting her skin like abnormal freckles, yet Thorin proclaimed her to be beautiful.

"I wish I could have made you happy."

"But you did Thorin."

"All I did was lead you into such peril."

"For that I am glad. I have seen many wonders both terrible and beautiful. I've touched the sky and explored the depths of the earth, which is far more than any hobbit deserves."

Thorin smiled yet his eyes were sad. He weakly tried to wipe away her tears and catch new fallen ones. "Go back to your books, your chair, your garden ..." His hand sagged in her grip as the rest of him grew heavy. Marie clutched him even tighter, like holding him would prevent the inevitable. "Plant your flowers. Watch them grow." He looked above them at the sky, peace settling over his eyes and Marie panicked. She wasn't ready.

"No no no no wait Thorin. Wait I ..." She release his limp hand and took hold of his face, injured hand and all. "Please don't leave me."

Her hair fell like a curtain between the world and them as she leant down and pressed a trembling kiss to his lips. The moment their lips touched Thorin gave a sharp intake of air before softening and returning her kiss. Marie wanted to hold on to the moment forever just so that she knew for certain that it was real, even if it was so terribly bittersweet. They parted slowly but stayed close, unable to completely break apart. Marie curled up into his side with her head tucked into his neck, her good hand clutching at his coat.

Being so tightly pressing into his neck, she felt his dimming pulse and the vibrations of his deep voice as he muttered three little words. They came as a sigh on the wind with all the force of a storm, rocking Marie to her very core.

"I love you."

xxxx

By the time Dwalin had finally felt with last of the goblin mercenaries and re-enforcements had made it up the hill, it was too late. The dwarves both company and Iron Foot, found their King dead, the Pale Orc impaled on his Elven blade and the small burglar huddled over Thorin's body.

The setting sun turned the sky a mournful purple and shone gold light on his now forever peaceful face. The company came closer to be sure while the Iron Foot soldiers remained distant with their heads bowed in duty bound grief. Bifur sunk to his knees and began a long string of dwarven words and groans with Bofur and Bomber holding his shoulders. Oin and his brother knelt as well, but held themselves strong and bowed their heads and their axes at their feet. While Dori comforted a crying Ori, Nori helped Balin as he collapsed against a boulder with shuddering breaths. Only Dwalin dared to draw closer. Marie raised her head and looked to him. Her eyes were red and her tears had long dried up on her skin. She couldn't cry anymore. When asked what had happened, Marie simply responded with "He died for the ones he loved."

Far off to the shadows, Gandalf lingered back in deep remorse. He knew that there was always a price in war, but that never made paying it any easier.

By the barest margin, the battle had been won.

But not without great loss.