His head felt funny and foggy. His body felt hot and heavy. His stomach kept churning and twisting. He didn't feel good at all. It felt worse than his first hangover. It felt worse than the time Ovila left for years and never sent a word to him. He had to fight, but his body wouldn't obey him. He knew his skin was clammy and pale and sweating. His breathing was rasping and hoarse and shallow. He knew he was dying, but that couldn't be what was happening. He promised Ovila and he'd never broken a promise to her and he wasn't going to start now. He couldn't. Where was she? He needed her. Blearily, he looked around the small, wooden house Fili had dragged him to and tried to say her name, but his throat wouldn't obey. His mouth was so dry and his tongue was thick and heavy inside it. It hurt.

"O – O –"

"Hush, brother, you'll see her soon," Fili interrupted, voice low and pleading. Kili blinked up at him hazily and gasped for breath. "Ovila is waiting for you and you have to go back to her," Fili said fiercely and pushed Kili's hair from his pale, sweaty forehead. "I'm not telling her you're dead, you hear? I'm not dealing with her and her axes, because you got yourself killed, so you're not dying."

Kili grinned a little at the thought of his Ovila. He could almost hear her voice. If he concentrated, if he closed his eyes, he could feel her work worn hands on his skin and hear her voice in his ear and smell her hair. She always smelt of the outside, like earth and grass and sunshine. She was like the sun. He wanted her. He wanted her hand in his and her laughter in his ears and her breath rolling over his skin. Where was she? Why wasn't she here? Where was she? He stretched a hand out, searching for hers, needing hers, but he only grasped at empty space. He needed her beside him right now. He hadn't married her yet. He hadn't given her children. He hadn't taken Erebor and shown her the halls they'd saved from the dragon. Why wasn't she here?

Brown eyes fluttered closed and breathing became more laboured. Fili's voice could be heard somewhere in the distance, as though he was listening to his brother from beneath the water. That couldn't be right, though, could it? Was he underwater? He felt like he was sinking, sinking, sinking. He was tumbling through the abyss into nothingness and there was nothing for him to hold onto. His fingers just kept closing around air. Why was there nothing to hold onto? There was always something to hold onto. He'd been holding onto Fili his whole life. He'd clutched his mother's skirts and followed Thorin, attempting to mimic his uncle's majestic gait. He had Ovila. He was supposed to have Ovila. She held his hand and pulled him along and laughed. Where were they? Where was she?

Musical words reached through the heavy blanket. His eyelids flickered and something pulled him upwards, but his fingers hold nothing. A frown creased his damp brown and he forced his heavy eyes open. A light glowed above him. It gleamed and shone and was so bright, like sunlight. Only one person glowed like that and she couldn't be there. She was in the Shire, guarding Bilbo's house, but there was such a bright, warm glow and it was so close. He reached out and his fingers closed around a slim, soft hand. No. That wasn't right. Her hands were rough and calloused from spending her days butchering and wielding axes with such deadly ease. Her hands weren't soft. It was wrong, but the light was so warm and she was warm and where was she?

"No, you can't be here," Kili gasped hoarsely. "You're so far away, so – so far away," he rasped, eyes darting wildly around the room as the glow slowly faded. "Ovila."

The glow vanished and the redheaded She-Elf stared down at him, hurt and embarrassed. What was she doing here? No. Ovila. Where was Ovila? The She-Elf moved back and lowered her eyes, but he just kept looking around for his betrothed. He searched for the head of blonde hair made into neat braids. He searched for bright hazel eyes and a teasing smile. He was rewarded with nothing and heavy disappointment settled deep in his gut. He remembered now. She was in the Shire. She couldn't be here, because she was in the Shire and she wouldn't be here until they'd retaken Erebor and sent for her. He just had to wait, but waiting was so painful.

Everything just ached. The healing wounds throbbed and her pelvis was still sore from pushing out her child. It was worth it. She stood by that quite firmly. How could she not when those baby blue eyes stared up at her and her daughter cooed so adorably? She had no idea that she could produce such love. She loved her niece and her nephew, but this was something else. Her whole being was just filled with the unrelenting need to protect and love and nurture. She had never seen herself as a mother until this child was born of her love with Kili. Yes. The pain and suffering and toil was most definitely worth it. Nothing had ever been more worth this. Her whole life had been working up to this moment. She was sure of it. The reason she met Kili and fell in love with him was so that they'd make this perfect little being cradled in her arms.

The door creaked open. For the moment, it pulled Ovila's attention away from her daughter. Her hazel eyes lifted and met Beorn's stern gaze. The sternness was something she was used to and didn't concern her. She smiled at him dreamily and turned her gaze back down to her baby. Her beautiful baby with a head of dark hair and rosy cheeks. She hummed to the infant, who gazed up at her with attentive blue eyes and sucked on her own, tiny fingers. A small breath of laughter escaped the blonde Dwarf. She felt so light, despite the overflow of love sweeping through her. She felt as though she could float away on a cloud. Her smile was never going to disappear. She just knew it. All that mattered was the tiny being that was a physical manifestation of hers and Kili's love.

Her little Kilin.

"The dragon is dead."

Ovila's smile vanished and her hazel eyes snapped up to Beorn. "It's dead?" she demanded in disbelief, standing. There was a slight pull at her cervix, but she dismissed it. She'd had worse. She could cope. It'd been just over a week since Kilin was born and she'd begun doing light physical exercises. She could cope. "I have to find the others," she frowned and Kilin moved in her arms. The babe let out a small whine and Ovila's eyes moved down to her. She couldn't leave Kilin, but she had to find Kili and the others. She suddenly felt torn and her earlier elation had vanished, torn asunder with five words.

"Laketown has been destroyed, small one, people need help," Beorn rumbled. "If you hurry, if I give you passage, you will reach them before they begin to move on from their temporary settlement."

"Kilin," Ovila choked out, unable to make another word. "I can't just leave her here, but I can't take her to dragon fire and ruins either."

"The dragon is dead," Beorn smiled slightly. "Find the father of your child and take your home."

"Home is my family – not some mountain full of gold and gems," Ovila argued, but placed Kilin in a strongly woven basket and wrapped her in blankets. "I will pack and be ready to leave in an hour," she said quietly and stroked a hand over Kilin's soft cheeks. "Might I impose you further and request supplies for the journey? And perhaps some extra for the people of Laketown?"

"Of course, small one," Beorn agreed with an incline of his head as he watched her bustle through the room, packing things and checking her weapons. "Might I ask that you visit?" he asked quietly. She looked back at him with surprise, but her face softened and she smiled.

"It would be a pleasure, Beorn, thank you," Ovila promised and hesitated, before she threw her arms around him and give him an awkward hug. He was much larger than she and she looked like a child beside him, but the heartfelt intention made him smile a little. "You've been so kind – I'll ensure that Thorin acknowledge what you've done for me and for Kilin," she said firmly. "And, if he doesn't, well, we'll be having words, since he left me behind."

Beorn gave a rough chuckle and patted Ovila's tiny head, before leaving her to pack her things. It would take her time, as she was constantly distracted by her daughter, but Beorn was confident that, once he got her through the Mirkwood (and he could – he knew secret paths that could get them through in just a few days), she'd be fine. She was resourceful and strong and could regain her physical strength on her journey, especially when he put her in the boat. He was glad to have met the tiny being and her even tinier child. He would ensure their safety until Laketown and give her to those that could help her find her family. She'd find her way to Erebor and she'd have her happy ending. He was sure of that. She'd fought too hard to have anything else.

Devastation met Ovila's eyes as her small boat sailed closer and closer to the bank. Injured moaned and the mourners wailed. There was a broken, ashen town floating on the water and its refugees had made temporary camp on the banks left behind. Those refugees eyed her warily as her boat moored and she tethered it to what was left of a dock. Silence slowly fell as she gathered Kilin into her arms, slung her pack onto her shoulder, and dropped onto the muddy bank. Her strong, leather boots sunk into the mud, but she pushed forwards and met a tall, lean man with dark hair and a frowning face. She tilted her head back to meet his gaze and found herself staring into the face of a reluctant leader. He was showing these people the way with no true desire to rule.

"I have supplies," Ovila stated first. "I heard what happened and have come in search of my family."

"Supplies?" a girl echoed hopefully. "Really?"

"Yes, in the boat, feel free to search it and take what's there," Ovila promised and nodded at the young girl that was probably about her own height, but just a child. "All I ask in return is the means to get to Erebor."

"You Dwarves certainly like to barter," the man sneered.

Ovila's eyes lit up and hope filled her face. "You've seen them? Kili and Fili and Thorin and everyone?" she asked hopefully and adjusted her babe against her chest. "Are they alive?"

"We – we don't know," the man admitted with a sorrowful frown and averted his gaze from her pained expression. "We're making our way to Dale – you're free to join us, my lady."

"Ovila," the Dwarf corrected firmly. "My name is Ovila."

"Bard," the man nodded. "This way and thank you."

"If you can take me to Erebor, there's no need for thanks," she promised. "And those supplies are a gesture of goodwill from Beorn."

"Beorn the Skinchanger?" Bard echoed, following her back onto the boat with men following eagerly. She nodded and held Kilin against her chest with one arm, smiling down at the babe when she squirmed and opened her eyes. Those eyes were darkening and growing browner with each day. She looked just like her father. "You've met with him?" Bard pressed and Ovila glanced back at him.

"Beorn the Skinchanger held my hand whilst I was in labour, Bard," she laughed. Kilin cooed in acknowledgement of her mother's amusement. "He has been very kind and I can never repay him for that."

"Neither can we," Bard replied reverently at the sight of the supplies stuffed into the cabin of her small boat. "Thank you so much for bringing this to us."

Ovila merely waved off the thanks, uncomfortable, and began helping to move out. Women and girls gushed over Kilin, amazed by the Dwarven babe, and men stared uncertainly at the battle axes hanging so casually from Ovila's back. She was ready for a fight. Scars peeked out from above the neckline of her tunic and, when her sleeves slid up, some marred her arms too. There was little doubt that there were more hidden beneath her clothes. She was a fighter and it showed in the way she moved and the way she spoke and the way she held herself. Yet, she was also a doting mother. She held her child tenderly and stared at her with devotion and unending love. She was an enigma. Who had ever heard of a Dwarven woman? Let alone one that fought with a babe hanging from her front in a tightly wrapped sling?

It was decided that, for the journey, Ovila would stay with Bard and his children. It was simply safer and Bard's daughters, Sigrid and Tilda, were more than happy to help with Kilin. They told Ovila of letting the others stay with them and Kili's poisoning and near death, which sent Ovila into near hysterics of pure rage, especially when she heard about the beautiful Elf Tauriel treating him and holding his hand. The girls had just stared, amazed and slightly intimidated, as the blonde Dwarf had ranted and raved in a foreign language and fingered her axes dangerously. They had to reassure her that Kili had only spoken her name in his feverish hallucinations and she slowly simmered down, still scowling, but without the threats and insults. They liked her. She was blunt and unforgiving and was more than willing to show them how to fight while she was practicing her own skills during their journey.

There was one person that Ovila would more than happily stab a knife into and his name was Alfred. He was a disgusting slug of a man that sneered at her and her child and who she was. He used backhanded insults and scurried away like a rat when she bit back and she did bite back. There was no holding back with Ovila. She didn't know how to hold back or curb her tongue. So, she and Alfred clashed and the people that once belonged to Laketown were often amused when the snivelling creature was brought down multiple pegs by the blunt Dwarf woman. She held little patience for those that attempted to squirm their way into good favour with false words and pretences.

"Ovila, will you stay with us?" Tilda asked. She was Bard's youngest daughter and was the one that loved to hold Kilin at night when the infant was sleeping. "When we reach Dale, will you stay with us?" she elaborated at Ovila's questioning look as they climbed closer and closer to their destination. "Or will you go to Erebor?"

"If Erebor is taken and my brethren have not survived," Ovila paused and swallowed the pain that surged up her throat. No. She couldn't believe that. She couldn't believe that Kili was dead. She couldn't. "I will send word to Dain and those in Belegost and allow them to decide what's to happen."

"What about you? What about Kilin? Aren't you royalty?" Sigrid asked. She was the eldest of Bard's daughters, second eldest of his children, and was currently holding Kilin as Ovila practiced with her axes during their trek.

"No, I'm a butcher's daughter," Ovila shrugged and glanced at her daughter. "Kilin's claim is weak, since she's the daughter of the second nephew of Thorin and a girl," she explained and decided not to mention that, technically, Kilin was a bastard. "If they're gone, I would prefer to go back to Belegost and raise her with my family there."

"Oh," Tilda mumbled, disappointed. "So, you wouldn't stay with us?"

Ovila smiled a little and spun her axes easily in her palms. "I would visit," she promised. "It's the least I can do for your kindness."

Tilda beamed and clapped her hands together happily, while Sigrid, Bard, and Bain smiled fondly at the youngest of their family. Ovila gave a soft laugh and looked out across the mountains, only to stop and stare with wide eyes and an open mouth. Bard flashed the young Dwarf woman a concerned look and followed her stare, only to mimic her expression. There, nestled at the foot of the mountain, were two braziers burning brightly. Erebor was inhabited. Her family lived. Her brethren still breathed. He glanced back at her and heard a choked sob of relief come ripping out of her. Her hands flew up to her mouth and her knees gave way beneath her as her axes clattered to the stone.

They were alive.

"Kili," Ovila sobbed, a beaming smile filling her face. "Kili," she breathed and shoved herself shakily to her feet, pushing her axes onto her back. "I have to – I have to go," she laughed tearfully. "Thank you, thank you so much."

"Just visit like you promised," Tilda giggled and hugged the blonde tightly. "And take care."

"Here, take these," Bard stated and thrust a pack of supplies into her arms. "In case there's no food in the mountain."

"I'll speak with Thorin about what he owes you," Ovila promised, taking Kilin and placing her in the sling that wrapped around Ovila's own torso. "I'm sure he knows, but I'll be sure to tell him of your kindness towards me."

"You owe us nothing," Bard said sternly and smiled down at her. "Take care, young Ovila, and take care of that little one."

The people of Laketown smiled, hope filling them, as Ovila the Warg Slayer practically sprinted towards Erebor with a huge grin on her face. One name thrummed through her with every beat of her heart. Kili. She was so close. He was so close. She could tell him about Kilin and they could listen to Thorin scold them and Fili tell them 'I told you so', but they'll be okay. She had to believe that. She hadn't almost died on this journey, risking both her and Kilin, to be turned away. Kili would follow her if Thorin banished her. She needed to believe that. She needed to believe that they would survive, or what was everything for? She could have just stayed in the Shire, or gone back to her mother, but she chose Kili. She chose the life they promised each other and she believed in him. She loved him.

Kili. Kili. Kili. Kili.