When I woke up with my face mashed against the dirt to the sensation of stabbing, blinding pain in my head I promptly wished that I could just roll over and die just to make it stop.

"Holy hell what the fuck just hit me?"

Closing my eyes for a second, I took a deep breath as my stomach heaved and with arms like lead, pushing against the dirt. When at first nothing happen, I opened my eyes and strengthened my will, demanding my body obey. Like usual, it did and I gingerly pushed myself to a sitting position, fighting the urge to heave from my rolling stomach. Disoriented, I groggily stared at the dark blurring figures around me that were swimming dangerously in and out of focus. I automatically squinted to make out the details and immediately regretted this decision when I felt a sudden, sharp ache lancing through my temples. Curses and whimpers escaped my lips as the violent bout of nausea came back with a vengeance; I barely had enough time to bend to the side before I retched miserably on the ground my scant meal from hours ago. "Well that sucked. Note to self: never do that again."

I wiped my mouth on the back of my sleeve. The last time I had felt this sick was after I had fell off a barn trying to catch a crow that had stolen my pen and landed on my head. I had deeply, deeply regretted that decision the next morning when I woke up with a cow mooing in my face.

Slowly, very slowly, I painstakingly crawled to the nearest rock and propped myself upright. I shut my eyes in relief and forced myself to take deep, even breaths through my mouth. Little by little, I felt my stomach settle, at the same time my awareness came rushing back to me. I remembered yanking my swords free, then wildly celebrating the arrival of the Eagles, and then…oh.

Calling myself three kinds of idiot in five different languages as I carefully reached out to touch the side of my head where the hot, pulsating pain was radiating from, expecting my fingers to come away with blood. To my surprise, I felt a large dent in the smooth leather of my helmet, forgetting I was wearing one for once. It was pure luck that the helm was built well enough to keep me alive. I could not think of a more humiliating death otherwise: Ariana, killed from a blow to the head because she was too stupid to look up when she knew full well that rocks were raining down.

Just imagining all the jokes the Dwarves would have made at my expense…

At the sobering thought of my Dwarf companions, I was suddenly reminded that Kíli was waiting for me and the need to find Thorin. I absolutely needed to move. Right. Now!

Still streaming with curses, I gritted my teeth and used every ounce of my will power to push away all the aches and pain I was feeling. I managed to stumble clumsily to my feet after a couple failed attempts and as I stood there, wavering unsteadily on my feet like a newborn filly, I noticed, belatedly, that I was empty-handed. I looked around briefly in panic, winced at the painful stiffness that flared from my neck at the motion, and breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted the familiar sight of silver and not too far away.

Beads of sweat were collecting against my brow and rolled down my face and I raised a hand to wipe my forehead. Feeling warmth I looked at my hand and saw scarlet red. Grimacing I thought, "Damn, must have gotten cut too."

And to make matters worse, the edge of my helmet was now digging painfully against the cut, causing fresh blood to dribble unpleasantly along my face. I removed the dented armor and dumped it unceremoniously on the ground in a fit of frustration. Staggering over to my swords, bending over to pick them up was almost my downfall but through sheer stubbornness I straightened with them in hand.

The world around me was quickly devolving into a disturbing, swirling mess of muffled sounds and colors but I ignored them as I moved forward like a woman possessed, taking great care to avoid tripping over the numerous dead that lay on the field or slipping on the blood-slicked earth. I was dimly aware that despite my best efforts, my focus was slipping away alarmingly and my thoughts were beginning to tangle together in disarray. My mind kept replaying my Dwarven friends' expressions – shock, hurt, anger – when they found out that I had willingly given Bard the Arkenstone.

I had never hated myself so much at that moment for making Thorin look so – betrayed and so unspeakably heartbroken, like I had reached into his heart and crushed it with a sledge hammer – and I wished desperately that there had been another option to stop the war. I would have done whatever it took if it meant never seeing Thorin like that – eyes hardened, quickly to cover up any vulnerability he had let slip.His expression was tightly guarded like he should have known that it was too good to be true to have finally found some semblance of happiness. I recognized his pain as my own from years of being the same, until I had met him. It hurt my heart to see it.

It seemed like I had been given a second chance to make amends by helping my friends on the battlefield and I would have to be a fool not to take it. I was many things, but never a fool. I just wished I wouldn't be arriving too late.

0o0

The pressing feeling of urgency was fueling me to keep going east to where the Company was fighting. I had no idea how long I had been walking, I just knew that I needed to get to – Thorin, who was so warm when I had kissed him outside the secret door. Thorin, who loved me despite being a sarcastic brat. Thorin, who looked at me with so much wonder and devotion, like I was the most important person on Middle-Earth, when I really wasn't anyone important.

I staggered, nearly slipping on some blood and righted myself as my thoughts returned to Thorin.-I was not the one who carried the hope of his people in reclaiming their homes, their dignity, their lives. I wasn't the one who started this whole mess of a quest while being aware that their success depended on getting rid of a dragon, of all things. It was Thorin who was stupidly brave. Thorin, whose quiet presence could inspire such loyalty among his people. Thorin, who deserved to be loved, to have a home.

And I would do anything just so that Thorin could smile as freely as he did that time we had played in the mud at Beorns. Even betray his trust.

I wiped at the blood that was running down the right side of my face in mild disgust. "I must look quite the sight," I thought fuzzily, grimacing at the throbbing pain from my head and from the cut. "I'm covered in dirt and blood, reeking of sick and staggering about the battle field like a drunk. It is the mark of a true warrior."

Laughing like an idiot under my breath, I nearly tripped on my own two feet. The bouts of dizziness were coming more frequently and I caught myself before I lost my balance. Pausing I struggled to find my focus amidst my jumbling thoughts and the spreading headache, but it was getting more difficult with every step. At the sight of a large group of Dwarven soldiers heading determinately towards the south, my shoulders sagged in relief. "The Company must be near the head of the crowd," I thought hopefully. Determination filled me as I hefted my swords up in shaking hands and made to follow.

0o0

Sure enough, Thorin Oakenshield was at the front of the charge, face twisted in a snarl while locked in a ruthless four-way battle between three Orcs: one who wielded an impressive looking scimitar and the other who was, oddly enough, that damn pale-skinned Azog and wielding a mace. The third was another pale Orc that was just a touch shorter than Azog and weilding a sword, he seemed eager to just sit back and watch Azog and the other Orc take on Thorin.

Although the Dwarf was agile, I could see even in my dazed state that he was obviously out maneuvered in the face of a two-frontal assault. Whenever Thorin blocked a blow from one Orc, the other would quickly attempt to take a swing at him. This barrage of non-stop attacks did not leave any time for Thorin to do much except to react on pure instinct. However, I knew damn well that it was not in the Dwarf's stubborn nature to be cowed into taking a defensive stance. I watched dazedly as Thorin took every opportunity available to mount aggressive counterattacks with broad, sweeping swings of his own ax, fighting in a reckless fashion. "A bit too reckless," frowning as I wondered suspiciously, trying to put my finger on why something felt…off.

Realization finally hit me like that boulder and I felt my heart drop. Thorin was fighting like he had nothing to lose…as if he did not care whether or not he survived! He wanted to die!

Fury unlike anything I had ever felt bubbled through me like lava; it brushed away the creeping effects of numbness and it sharpened my dulled senses to my chaotic surroundings. "Didn't Thorin realize that he was so much more important – to his people, to the Company, to me – than to be recklessly sacrificed in battle like this? How could he not see that?" And to think, I went through hell to protect Thorin, including that whole cursed business with the Arkenstone, only to have that thrice-cursed Damn! Dwarf! King! Willingly off himself in a fight!

Then something flashed into my eyes and I looked down. My petrified wood pendant had escaped my shirt and caught my eye. Slowly I raised my hand and gripped it. Mom's voice rang through my mind, "When you need strength, call on us. We can help you, but once. At great need." By now I had paused long enough for a tide of Orc's to clash with the Dwarves between me and Thorin, and I needed to get to him!

The larger Orc took a swing of his scimitar to cleave the Dwarven king's head in two, but Thorin was ready for this. He quickly brought his shield overhead while he slashed at the Orc's exposed legs. His attacker let loose a howl of outrage and agony as he buckled to the ground with bleeding, torn knees. Using the momentum of his previous swing, Thorin brought his ax downward and beheaded his fallen foe in one elegant, fluid motion. This victory was short lived, however.

My heart clenched in a vice. The Dwarf was not fast enough to evade the pale Orc's mace to his chest and he was sent skidding harshly along the dirt floor. Visibly winded and face screwed in pain, Thorin had enough strength to raise one shaking hand to wrap around his aching ribs. He struggled to get back on his feet but he had obviously been too weakened. The pale Orc grinned in malice, smug in the knowledge that he had bested the Dwarven king, and without taking his eyes off Thorin, he slowly went to pick up his fallen ally's scimitar. I called, with every fiber of my being, for help.

The other pale Orc that might have been Azog's son, came up with a menacing club of metal beside Azog, laughing at the fallen Dwarf. Azog muttered something in his harsh, guttural sounding language and he raised his arm over his head to bring down a killing strike. I saw resignation in Thorin's eyes and...

No.

Before I could register what I was doing, strength hit my like a thunderbolt and I cut down a group of Orcs in front of me in an instant. Weaving between Dwarves I sliced through the Orcs they fought easily, barely registering Dwalin's surprised face for a moment before I was past him. Then my left sword was flying and embedded itself into the chest of the laughing Orc and I had launched myself from the sidelines to boldly position myself in front of the Dwarven king. I got a sense of de ja vu for a second before my mind become occupied. I was right under the oncoming scimitar as I thought furiously, "It will be a cold day in hell before I am willing to watch this damn Dwarf die for the sake of battle honor! This self-sacrificing bastard isn't going to kick the bucket without a fight!"

I flung my remaining sword up to parry. But the other Orc wasn't as dead as I had thought and as it was falling forward it swung with it's remaining strength at my leg. I heard the sickening snap and staggered beforeIheard another sickening wet snap as blade and mace connected, followed by the sensation of unbelievable, fiery pain licking along the length of my right arm and left leg. Distantly, I thought I heard someone let out a choked scream.

But even with the agonizing pain, even with the knowledge of my on coming demise, I was not going down. Not without a bloody fight! A noise came to my ears and I hardly recognized my own agonizing scream as I grabbed my sword from my broken arm before I dropped it. Locking my right knee I swayed, trying to balance and used the sword as a cane for a moment to regain my balance.

Azog's eyes widened when his mace was knocked off course but I did not care. I was too busy fighting to breathe through the agony that flooded into every part of my body, lighting all of my nerves on fire, making me burn from the inside. Gasping desperately, I felt myself pale to a sickly shade of white. I did not think I could draw enough air into my lungs to scream a second time as I stayed on my feet, which shouldn't have been possible. Azog then saw the fallen Orc at his side and let loose a furious scream.

The combined pain from all of my injuries threatened to overwhelm me and dimly registered that I choked down a mad, hysterical laugh that threatened to claw its way out of my throat, but I don't think I succeeded very well from Azog's bewildered look. The Orc was rapidly coming in and out of focus and all the noise around me had been reduced to a dull roar. It was taking everything in me to hold my position. But the look on Azog's face, the furious pain...seemed to amuse me because I laughed again. "Ah, the hell with it." And with the last of my strength, swung.

It shouldn't have worked.

I shouldn't of had the strength.

But as I watched in a haze, my sword cut through Azog's remaining hand as he swung at me and I watched as Azog roared in pain and clutching the stump with his metal claw. Dimly, I registered that I had let my sword slip from my grasp and that my left hand was cradling my injured right wrist. I wished I could remember when that had happened even though I couldn't do anything else but to keep breathing as Azog lunged with a roared and slammed his clawed hand into my chest.

Gasping in shock I dimly heard someone yelling my name. I could only stare at Azog as my foe's expression unexpectedly turned to horror. A deafening roar came to my dull ears. Azog stumbled back, yanking his claws free and I smacked into the ground, but I could still watch Azog try to scramble away.

An abnormally large, angry bear, "it's Beorn the shape shifter, you ninny" I told myself, was lumbering towards the Orc and with one mighty lunge, the Orc was pinned beneath the great beast's weight. The whole fight had taken on a surreal quality, and I wasn't even sure if what I was seeing was real anymore.

I was too busy holding on to that last thread of coherency even when my vision was starting to fog over. The burning pain I had felt was now concentrated in my chest, bringing back the intense sensation of nausea. I grimaced, really not wanting to throw chunks again and I could feel my skin pull from the dried, caked blood along the right side of my face.

Thinking someone was calling my name I was jolted out of my haze at the soft touches on my shoulders, only to realize that I was looking up into Thorin's blue eyes. My hazy thoughts, "When did he get here? He looks worried..."

Thorin's face went in and out of focus as relief filled me, "He is safe. Thorin is safe. He is safe."

He was talking, I could see his lips moving slowly at first, then more frantically but I could not hear what he had to say. Black spots had started to appear in my vision and I tried to blink them away with no success. I supposed I should have been a bit more worried about myself, but the sense of relief from seeing Thorin alive was so overpowering. I could not help but smile softly at the Dwarf. I had wished so desperately, with every fiber of my being, that Thorin would be safe since the beginning of the battle.

And there he was, kneeling over me with that stupidly endearing brow furrow of his, lips moving again and again to get me to understand his words. I wondered what made him look so panicked but all I could think was, "Thorin is safe, everyone should be fine, everything should be fine. Thorin is safe."

I really wished I could understand what the Dwarf was saying though. I had always liked hearing Thorin's voice, it was soothing in a rough sort of way. Then suddenly I could and Thorin begged, "Please Ariana, I'm sorry. Please don't leave me." Tears leaked from his eyes, falling on my face and down into his beard.

Slowly I raised my unbroken hand and pressed it to his cheek, realizing what was happening to me and knowing that there was nothing anyone could do. I said softly, "Not your fault, Thorin. I'm sorry...and I forgive you."

He bent over and gently pressed his lips to mine. When he pulled away I murmured, "Don't be too hard on yourself. You are still the King I always knew you were."

He pressed his forehead to mine and grasped my hand to his cheek but suddenly I was so tired. The fiery pain had finally burned itself out in my body, only to give way to a tingling numbness that was spreading through my veins like wild fire. Everything felt so blessedly cold and I felt like I could just float away to sleep for a long, long time. I whispered with my last breath, "I love you Thorin." Thinking, "I just want you to be happy."

With that last thought swimming around in my head, my vision tilted and darkness rushed in rapidly to meet me.

0o0

Darkness was all around me and for some reason I could see myself. Holding out my hands I gazed at them as I realized that I had no pain. Flexing my hands I looked around curiously, knowing I was dead and surprised that I wasn't bothered by the thought. It did bother me though to find that I was all alone.

I suddenly jumped when a familiar voice said behind me, "Ah Ariana. Hello." Spinning I gasped in surprise and delight. Seeing Gandalf behind me made me feel better but he looked different. Instead of his gray outfit he was dressed all in white and his gray hair and beard were as white as a clouds. He smiled at me, his blue eyes twinkling, "I have a proposition for you."