It's all coming to an end... I present to you, the second to the last chapter of King and Lionheart.

I didn't have time to proofread this, so please forgive any general suckage with the grammar and/or structure of the sentences.

(All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson - except with Fheon and anything you might not recognize. They're mine.

Tauriel helped Fheon onto her feet, and she forced herself to remain standing upright despite the searing pain in her right leg. Tauriel tore a small piece of leather from her clothing and handed it to Fheon, who tied it around her knee to stop most of the bleeding. She then handed her another piece of leather; when she looked up in question, the elf looked at her neck and nodded at the still bleeding cut there. Fheon held the material over the wound, pressing on it.

She hissed through gritted teeth, and said, "Where is Fili? Is he alive?"

"He is fine," said Tauriel. "He is with his brother, somewhere safe."

Limping, Fheon walked a few steps forward and bent down to pick her sword up off the ground. Its familiar weight in her hands reassured her.

"You will have to rest," said Tauriel. "If you do any more fighting, I'm afraid it will not end well for you."

Fheon shook her head. "I can still fight."

"No, you cannot."

"I was given a mission: to protect the Company. And now I must."

"Even if it costs you your life?"

She regarded the elf with tentative scrutiny, narrowing her eyes slightly. And then she tilted her head and said in a soft voice, "You would do the same for Kili. You would die for him, would you not?"

The effect of her words was immediate and obvious. Tauriel's eyes widened in surprise—no doubt because she had not known that Fheon knew about their affections—and she looked away, pursing her lips. A slight redness appeared on her cheeks before she regained her composure. She switched her gaze to Bilbo, who was still lying on the ground unconscious, and argued, "This hobbit is a part of the Company as well, is he not?"

"Yes, that is why you will stay with him."

"How do you know that I will?"

Fheon raised an eyebrow. "You would not let him die. You are too kind for that."

The elf shook her head. "You know nothing about me."

"I know you care enough that you would become an insubordinate to Thranduil. Surely he was not the one who had ordered you to follow us to Lake-town."

At this, Tauriel met her knowing gaze. "Let me help the dwarves. You can stay here with the hobbit.

With some reluctance, Fheon replied, "It is not to the dwarves I will go."

The realization dawned on the elf's face. "Thorin?" she exclaimed. "It is madness."

"Is it?"

"You will die!"

"I have told you this already." Fheon grip on her sword tightened in impatience. "I would die for the Company… and most certainly, him." She had hoped that Tauriel, out of anyone else, would understand; her hopes were not fortified out of sheer desperation, it seemed.

The she-elf's eyes softened and the steely determination on her face wavered. She glanced down at Bilbo, and then looked to Fheon again. "Is there no way I can change your mind?"

Fheon shook her head. "I do not think so."

Tauriel nodded once and seemed to come to a conclusion. "Then I give you my blessing," she said, walking over to Fheon and placing her hand on her head. She bowed her head and closed her eyes. "May whatever gods you believe in watch over you and help you strike down your enemies."

Fheon did not believe in any god, only, perhaps, Death—but she decided against telling the elf that.

Tauriel then murmured something in Elvish, and Fheon felt an odd sort of warmth wash over her. Strength returned to her limbs, and her mind became clearer than it had ever been. The pain from her wounds dissipated slightly, but she could still feel it pricking at her consciousness, though not as much anymore.

Warily, Fheon took a step back from Tauriel and looked at her in question. The elf smiled slightly. "It is an Elvish blessing, one we give to any warrior who needs all the help he—or she—can get."

Fheon bowed her head. "Then I thank you."

"When we meet again, I truly hope it will be in this world, and not in another."

"Aye."

After a while, Fheon recalled a gesture she had seen one of the elves do in Mirkwood, during the Feast of Starlight. By memory, she imitated the gesture as best as she could. The surprise was clear on Tauriel's face, but she quickly returned the gesture. Fheon's imitation of it was crude and rudimentary, but respectable enough, she thought.

The moment was interrupted when the sound of a horn pierced through the still air. Mere seconds later, it was followed by the unwelcomed cacophony of stomping feet. Fheon turned to stare at the hill about a hundred meters away. Marching down the slope was the front lines of an orc army. The army Bilbo had been talking about.

"Go," said Tauriel, eyeing the legion with distaste. "Now, while you still have time… Go!"

Fheon whirled around and broke into a sprint. Her knee still pained her, but in her determination, she was able to grit through it. The sounds of fighting became ever louder in her ears. She followed the noise of exerted grunts and shouts, the clashing of blades, and cracking ice. The very latter disconcerted her. Despite the obvious thickness of the frozen river, there was still water beneath the surface. If either Thorin or Azog were ever to break the ice, it could change the tide of their battle. Fheon, of course, hoped the tides would go to Thorin's way and not Azog's.

As she kept running, she could not remember how or why Thorin's position had become so far from her. The last she recalled, he and the Pale Orc had been fighting on Ravenhill. Why were they so far down the river, now?

To her right, the orc army came ever closer to the bottom of the hill, where they would charge into the battle. She became worried, for the numbers of both dwarves and elves had been sorely decreased by Azog's first two attacks. She could only hope that the elves would step up, but seeing how massive Azog's third army was, her doubts became larger and larger with every step they took.

She felt like she had been running for at least a mile. Even with Tauriel's blessing running through her veins, her body soon became heavy with exhaustion. Halfway through her run, she had removed her quiver and laid it beneath a rock. It would have done her no good, for her bow was still somewhere on Ravenhill. Doing do did not help as much as she had hoped. There were not many arrows left anyway, and leaving it barely spared her any weight.

She adjusted and readjusted her grip on her sword many times, anticipating the moment when it would become less heavy in her fatigued arm. She grew clumsy, and because of the ice, nearly slipped onto her back many times.

When her vision began dimming and she thought that she would never reach her destination, there was an ear-piercing screech from behind her. An eagle's screech.

She ducked her head just in time and raised her eyes to watch a convocation of eagles fly ahead of her. They were huge; the very same eagles, she realized, as the ones that had delivered her and the Company to the eyot, where they started on their short journey to Beorn's home.

The eagles flew straight for the orc army marching down from the north, and then angled their wings for a steep dive. Lines of spears disappeared as orc after orc fell beneath the wings of the eagles.

As she watched this, Fheon felt a renewal of energy within her. With the eagles, the possibility of the orcs being defeated grew considerably fatter.

Tauriel's blessing responded to her newfound vigor, and more warmth flooded through her veins until such a point that it became uncomfortable. But Fheon sprinted on. It registered to her that the sounds of conflict, which had previously been echoing down the river, had disappeared.

There was a single, high-pitched ring of a sword hitting ice, and then wildly splashing water. The bellows of a large orc accompanying this was unmistakable. After a long moment, there came an abrupt silence.

Fheon slowly came to a halt and stared down the long expanse of river ahead of her. Her breath came out in short, shallow pants, and she could see the wisps of air escaping her mouth. Far down the watercourse, she was able to make out the speck of a figure. It had dark clothes and a dark mane of hair, and so it was surely not Azog.

"Thorin!" she called, cupping her hands at the sides of her mouth so as to double the distance of her yell. She resumed running towards him. The dwarf did not seem to hear her, instead keeping his head down, as if he was staring at something beneath the ice. Fheon realized that he was too calm for Azog to still be a threat prowling around the perimeter.

A sense of hope squeezed at her heart, and she called for him again, louder this time. "THORIN!" He was closer now. She could make out his features, distinguish what was a limb and what was his sword, notice how much more bloody his face had become.

Her eyes stung as she swallowed. She tasted blood. "THORIN!"

Finally, he raised his head and she was able to catch a glimpse of his eyes. Despite their distance, she could see the unmistakable blue of his pupils—as well as the jagged cut starting at his hairline and running down to his eyebrow.

"Fheon!" he replied.

For a brief moment, she caught the corners of his lips turn up in a smile; if it was a smile of relief or joyfulness or affection, she did not care. For her elation at seeing him again was cut short when a single high note pierced through the air, and he threw his head back and uttered a long scream of agony.

Confusion and dismay filled her, which was only replaced by anger when Azog sprung forth from the ice. Thorin fell and was obstructed from her view by the towering figure of the Pale Orc. Azog swatted Thorin's sword aside and then thrust down, aiming for his chest. But even Fheon saw that Thorin had mustered enough strength to block the Orc's blade with his own.

He pushed against his strength, and Fheon surged past her fatigue and ran even faster. Her feet felt like they were no longer touching the ground. When she was only several feet away from them, she saw from between Azog's knees that his blade was only an inch or two away from Thorin's heaving chest.

With a final push against the dark walls slowly closing in around her, and a scream of defiance, Fheon leaped off the ground and onto the Pale Orc's back.

She wrapped her arm around his large neck and brought her sword up to jab it into his shoulder. The blade roughly dug into the Orc's flesh, and he uttered an earth-jarring roar. He tried to throw her off him and almost succeeded. But just in time, she was able to insert her fingers beneath his armor. When she flew to the side, she heaved with all her might and Azog flew with her onto the ground.

She was not able to break her fall and so she rolled, bruising her hips, shoulders and elbows. She actually felt the cuts already on her body reopening, and was only able to gasp in pain. In front of her, Azog had already pulled himself onto his feet, and behind him, Thorin was on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. His sword lay on the ground beside him.

Azog glared at Fheon and advanced on her. She gritted her teeth and hastily regained her footing. As soon as she did, Azog swung at her from the side. She jumped back slightly and parried his blow, and then brandished her sword to cut at his neck. He was quick to block it, and then returned with a faster, heavier blow of his own, one that made her knees buckle.

His shoulder was bleeding through his armor, and Fheon did her best to take advantage of this, trying to move to the left and attack from there where he would be hard-pressed to defend himself, but he was smarter than any other orc. He soon found out what she was planning, and quickly began pounding away at her with all his might.

It was not his strength that was her greatest foe, she realized, but herself.

Her body was exhausted, not her will; no matter how determined she was, it was impossible to land any sort of blow when her limbs would not cooperate effectively. She could not dodge fast enough, for she felt as if she was wading through a sea of tar, and without her agility to help her, she was left to block the blows that Azog threw at her, resulting in a heavily battered sword arm and what felt like a sprained wrist.

Their fight had only been going on for the unimpressive span of a minute, and yet Azog was the one to land the first blow. His sword struck her side. It bounced off her armor, but caused a very deep dent that Fheon could feel as she moved around. The rather sharp depression caused her chainmail to rub against her gambeson, which caused her gambeson to rub against her skin. It proved to be a very consistent distraction as Fheon did her best to weave past Azog's defenses.

She managed to land a swipe on his right hip, but it did not seem to faze him. He only growled and renewed the vigor of his blows. Not long after, his sword pounded at her armor again, at the same spot it had last time.

Behind him, Fheon noticed Thorin pull himself onto his feet, only to fall back down again. His hand touched his right foot and came away bloody.

Fheon could feel the energy slipping out of her limbs; Tauriel's blessing wafting out of her like smoke from a chimney. Soon, her sword arm hung limply at her side and her knees were shaking. Her head throbbed, and the corners of her vision were starting to become a deep red. She could not form a single coherent thought.

Azog's sword came towards her from the right, and she blocked it with her blade. To her surprise, the Pale Orc brought his left hand up, as if to slap her.

With her free left hand, she gripped the wide portion of his large, white thumb. He pushed at her and she was left only to keep his hand away from her. His sword came closer and closer, and her lower lip quivered as a pained grunt escaped her.

Then Azog reared his head back before bringing it forward again, butting it against Fheon's forehead.

The sharp end of his eyebrow collided with the cut above her eyebrow, seeming to dig into it. Her brain felt like it had exploded within her skull.

Her legs gave way, but she did not fall. Azog had his hand around her neck.

Through the darkness that had become her vision, she watched as a smug smile travelled up his face. "Valar morghulis," he said. "The last words of your mother before I killed her." An orc speaking in common-tongue sounded so wrong; Fheon knew that it was not how the world was supposed to work. Yet he continued, "Enlighten me as to what it means, before I kill you too."

Behind him, she noticed movement. It was enough.

"All men must die," she said in a choked whisper, and then felt what seemed to be acceptance travel through her. "But I am no man."

The muscles in Azog's right shoulder rippled, and the only warning she received was the dull clang of her armor denting once more before she felt a sharp pain at the side of her stomach. The corners of her vision dimmed even more until she was seeing through nothing more but a small, blurred circle.

However, past the ringing in her ears, she was able to register a shout that did not come from Azog—and then there was the piercing sound of a sword travelling through armor and through flesh. In front of her, a look of horror crossed Azog's face.

Numbness had already begun to travel through Fheon's body, but she managed to look down. The end of a sword was jutting out of the Pale Orc's chest, and the tip of it was very nearly touching her navel as well. She noticed the obvious indent in her armor and adjusted her eyes slightly to be able to see the gaping hole at her side.

Azog's grip on her neck disappeared and she was falling again. But once more, hands caught her and kept her from hitting the ground. Large hands, and for a moment she grew afraid that Azog had a much more terrible fate planned for her. She blinked and, despite her heavy eyelids, was able to open her eyes again.

Thorin's face hovered above her, covered in grime and blood, but just as handsome as she recalled. Slowly, he set her down and she felt a sudden stab of pain come from her side. Tears sprung forth from her eyes, and she felt the coolness of one travel down the side of her face. More pain, and the numbness seemed to burn away, replaced by the sheer agony. Her eyes flew open and she cried out.

"It hurts," she sobbed, clawing at Thorin's hand and trying to push it away from her wound, but he was relentless.

"I know, I know," he said, somewhat crooning the words to her. His voice was gentle, yet his eyebrows were furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line, which suggested that he was anything but calm.

"Thorin, stop."

"I have to stop the bleeding—"

He stopped when she winced, and the sound of it seemed to pain him as much as a stab would. He closed his eyes and the pressure he applied to her wound lessened.

"Please…" she whispered, and then again, until finally his hand fell away from the wound, instead coming to rest on her chest. It rose and fell quickly, causing shallow breaths. Once the numbness returned, however, she reverted to breathing slowly. Each escape of air was a struggle.

Something wet dripped onto her cheek.

Thorin gripped her one hand as tight as he would a sword, and it managed to somewhat clear the haze that had settled over her mind.

"It is done," she managed to whisper. "Azog is dead…"

"I will not let you die," he said in a firm voice. Fheon's lip curled up in a half smile, and the grip on her hand tightened even more. "You think I jest? I won't lose you, not like this…"

"The elves are too far—"

"The eagles are here. They will take you to our healers. There is still hope, Fheon. When all is dire and bleak, remember?"

"Yes, I suppose… but Gandalf will not reach me," she continued, for it was as if she had not heard him. Then she paused and swallowed, tasting iron in her mouth. "Valar morghulis…" The phrase sounded alien on her tongue; she had been a child when she last said it. "… A saying from my mother."

"You said it yourself: you are no man."

"I am no fool either, Thorin." A hint of a smile touched her lips. "Human… I am human…"

The pain was gone now, supplanted by a strong sense of serenity. In her mind, she sent her gratefulness to Death. She knew that it was only by his approval that she was spending a considerably long time in her death throes.

Unhurriedly, she brought her hand up and managed to touch Thorin's face, before both his hands cupped hers and enveloped it in warmth. She welcomed the feeling, for coldness was quickly spreading all throughout her body. Some part of her discerned that he figured this out as well.

Thorin's breathing was ragged, now, and his shoulders trembled.

"The dwarves… Bilbo," said Fheon. "Keep them close… Do not undermine my and Elijah's work…"

"Forgive me for having brought you and your brother to such peril," said Thorin, his voice thick with emotion.

"I would not have changed a second… not a single moment of it… Your line will continue, as it… as it should—"

A series of coughs started at her throat and she faced the sky, aware of the droplets of blood that escaped her lips. It was then, it seemed, that the only strength she had left ebbed. Not yet… She still had so much to say. "Look for Elijah's body—in the lake… Burn us so our souls might find peace."

Another tear fell onto Fheon's cheek, but she barely felt it.

"You will be a fine ruler, Thorin," she murmured. "And you will find a new queen… a better queen… listen to her."

"I would listen to you," said Thorin, and the utter anguish in his voice saddened her.

With her remaining strength, she used her thumb to squeeze a small portion of his hand. "Then hear this… Value food, and cheer, and song, more than gold… and the world will become a merrier place…"

She found herself gasping for breath. Their time was coming to an end, and Thorin realized this, for he released a choked sob before hurriedly saying, "I will see you again. By my name and the names of my forefathers, I will find you in Valinor."

"Then do not mourn me… and look for me only in due time…" With difficulty, she brought her left hand up and placed it over both of Thorin's. "Farewell, Thorin." She noticed a hint of movement to their left, and smiled slightly. "Farewell, Bilbo…"

She looked to Thorin again. He squeezed her hand as more tears fell from his face, and she breathed her last. The faint sound of it escaping her mouth seemed to echo in her mind. Then the darkness that had long been waxing and waning at the corners of her vision descended on her, and she saw no more.

BEFORE ANY OF YA'LL COMPLAIN, there is going to be an epilogue of sorts after this, which I will publish some time next week. I'm going to fix up all loose ends there... or try, anyway.

I know most of you are going to hate me for this sort of ending, but I'm not going to take it back. Last time I did that with a story, it ended very badly for me HAHAHA

I hope you do forgive me, and enjoy this all while it lasts.

On a lighter note, there will be a reunion in the next chapter! ~With more than two people involved. ;)

Any guesses!

Have a fabulous week everyone! Cheers!