"When I'm grown up, I'll show that old dragon what for!" young Kili declared, swinging his thick arm so hard he nearly toppled himself and brought his aunt down with him.

Marryn righted herself and kept Kili on his feet with a startled laugh. The young dwarf was growing bigger and stronger by the day, as evidenced by his grip on her hand.

"You couldn't kill a whole dragon by yourself, stupid," Fili said from Marryn's other side, swinging a willow branch as if it was a fine, dwarven-made sword.

He was too old now to want to hold Marryn's frail hand, but he walked close beside her nonetheless. His beard was growing in more and more as he aged, still rather patchy but a handsome color.

"Yes, I could," Kili retorted confidently, "I'd slice right through his wormy neck while he was sleeping."

"He wouldn't be sleeping," Fili argued, "a dragon can smell a dwarf from miles away. He'd be waiting for you and gobble you up as soon as you walked in the door."

Kili considered this, stroking the beginnings of his own dark beard.

"I would have a bath the night before so he couldn't smell me" he said finally.

Marryn's eyes crinkled as she laughed.

Kili looked up at her, wounded.

"You believe I could kill the dragon, don't you, Aunt Marryn?" he asked weakly.

"I have every bit of confidence in you, my brave lad," Marryn replied, "Maybe someday, with a lot of hard work, practice, and help from the other dwarves, you'll kick that dragon right out of the mountain."

She winked silently at Fili so as not to further the argument. This seemed to satisfy both of them, for they walked along silently for a while.

Kili watched his brother for a moment and decided that he needed a willow-branch sword of his own. He let loose Marryn's hand and quickly selected one from the ground.

"What happened to your beard, Aunt Marryn?" he asked, placing one hand back in hers and swinging the branch in the other, "Did you cut it off?"

Marryn grinned. "I never had a beard. Human women don't often grow them."

Before Kili could say anything, there was a rustling off the leaf-strewn path. Someone or something was breathing shakily.

"Fili," Marryn hissed, thrusting her hand out toward him, "stay close to me."

Fili obeyed, clutching onto Marryn's skirt in fright. Marryn reached down into her boot to pull out a small dagger. This she held out in front of her while her eyes searched the woods.

The harsh breath and crunching of leaves continued towards them. A hoarse voice whispered something unintelligible.

Kili and Fili yelped as a figure stumbled onto the path and collapsed.

Marryn gasped as she recognized the fallen stranger.

"Nár!" she called, kneeling beside him.

His eyes were open but unfocused.

"Thrain," he whispered, "I must speak with Thrain."

"Nár, it is I, Marryn," she spoke clearly, "Can you hear me? Can you rise and walk?"

"Marryn," Nár gurgled, looking at her, "I must speak with Thrain."

A pit formed in Marryn's stomach. She turned to the two young dwarves.

"Fili, run to the mine and fetch your grandfather and your uncles. Kili, you stay and help me," she directed.

Fili nodded soberly and sprinted back down the path. Kili approached cautiously.

"You would not have known him," Marryn explained calmly to the boy, "but Nár is a friend to your great-grandfather, the king. The two of them left on a journey before you were born."

Nár continued to breathe with difficulty, occasionally whispering Thrain's name.

"Nár," Marryn said, "Where is King Thror?"

"No," Nár shook his head, "I must speak with Thrain. The king is dead."

Marryn's mouth hung agape.

"Nár," she said again, "What happened to King Thror?"

"I must tell Thrain," Nár insisted, "The king is dead."

"It cannot be," Marryn whispered.

A moment later, Fili returned with Thorin, Thrain, Frerin, and a host of other dwarves in tow.

Thrain moved forward.

"Nár," he said, "Can you hear me? It is Thrain."

"Thrain," Nár coughed, "King Thror is dead, slain by Azog."