The sadness continues.

I know you all want to kill me, or smack me with fish but let's just wait and see where we go from here, okay? Okay. :D

Chachi544: Well, I guess I'll just go and hide then, because you'll definitely want to smack me with that fish after reading this...

Akilah Swiftblade: Well… I guess I deserved that. I know Bombur doesn't die but it's just… he was there and… I'm evil. It's true. Smack me with any fish you like.

MidnightTales357: *clutches fish and runs away*

Thanks to all of you for your (very angry and very depressed) reviews! BorysBorys, filimeala, Miriel Tolkien, KeriPotter, sassygirl9811, Kuramalover86, huntressofartemis101, CordeliaWho, My mother is a koala, Eruwaedhiel95, Teshka, Hiding in the Shadow (I know, I'm sorry :/), LadyAmazon, drwatsonn, lynnelay, Guest, Adalyn, desolationofdurin, Dalonega Noquisi, kaia and FleurSuoh!

I'm sorry for doing this to you guys. But it's a war, people die.

Though I still hope for your forgiveness :)

The war was won.

The enemy was defeated.

After the eagles had joined the battle, victory had been on their side. And after having learned that their two leaders, Azog and Bolg, had been slain in the fight, the few remaining orcs and goblins still alive had slunk back into the holes whence they had come.

Dwalin remembered hearing the eagles' mighty caws as he had been fighting, sounding loudly over the field that was now lying in dead silence before him.

Yes, they had won the battle, but at what price?

Countless men, elves and dwarves had died. Thorin, his king, his friend, was lying on his deathbed, demanding to see the hobbit – whom they had still not found – before he made his final journey to the halls of his forefathers. They had found Fili and Kili lying close by their uncle, both so close to death that even now it was unclear what fate would decide for them. Oin couldn't tell whether the two princes were strong enough to survive the grave wounds they had suffered or whether they would follow their uncle into death. They were both lying unconscious in a different tent than Thorin's at the moment, though to Dwalin they seemed lifeless whenever he went to see them. But they were not the only ones the company had to mourn and Dwalin felt his heart heavy in his chest as he thought about all they had lost.

The bald warrior had taken to search the battlefield for survivors after the fighting had ended. He had been determined to search for his friends as soon as Oin had finished bandaging his arm that had been injured during the battle. A day had passed since he had started, and still they hadn't found every missing member of the company. Dwalin had found both of Ori's brothers lying dead on the ground the day before, and it had broken the large warrior's heart as he had brought the news to the youngest Ri-brother that was now the only Ri-brother. He'd had to watch Ori break down in sorrow and could do nothing to comfort him.

They had found Bifur, as well, a bit earlier this day. Bofur had spotted his cousin first, and he had called Bifur's name in vain as they had gotten closer, for the wild-looking dwarf was now lying calmly on the rocky floor, his eyes closed forever. The axe that had once been in his skull had been missing, and only after a little while they had found it sticking out of the head of a dead orc instead. Bofur had cried for a long while, and Dwalin had held his shoulder for the whole time as he did.

Still, the hatted dwarf was searching alongside him now, for he didn't want to pause until he had found his brother. Bofur still had hope for him, though Dwalin doubted that anyone they had not found by now was still alive after the time that had passed. There had been no trace of Bombur yet, and neither had they found Tarya amongst the fallen.

That was, until Dwalin's eyes found a large form lying a little distance away from where they were currently searching, and he quickly called for Bofur as he headed in that direction. The bald warrior's heart was thumping heavily in his chest as they came closer, and he could see Bombur's familiar round body, dried blood sticking around the wound where he had undoubtedly been pierced by a sword. Dwalin swallowed tightly and he shortly had to close his eyes as Bofur let out a desperate cry, falling to his knees beside his dead brother.

The hatted dwarf clutched Bombur's face in his dirty hands, tears streaming down his face as he looked at the redhead's calm features. It almost looked as if he was sleeping, Bofur thought, as he let his sorrow run through him and past his lips. Dwalin stood and stared for a moment until he couldn't bear it any longer and he had to turn away, looking into another direction as the loss of yet another companion let his heart sink in grief.

It was then that he saw it, a small patch of grey in the chaos of armour and corpses, and while Bofur stayed with his brother as several others came to help carrying him down to the camps, Dwalin slowly walked closer to what he'd seen.

When he was merely a small distance away anymore, Dwalin recognized the form of a large wolf lying motionless on the floor. It was the Amarok that they had seen in Thranduil's palace, the bald dwarf realized after a few seconds, though he would not have recognized it. The wolf's once silky fur was now dark and matted with blood and dirt, and Dwalin could see several deep wounds on the animal's body. It wasn't breathing, Dwalin realized as he took another step closer, before his eyes suddenly landed on the small figure that lay half next to and half beneath the grey animal.

"Oh, khael…" Dwalin murmured almost soundlessly, his sad voice lost in the wind that blew over the quiet battlefield as he looked down at Tarya's lifeless form. Her eyes were closed; one of her hands still loosely wrapped around one of her knives as the other lay scattered on the floor a few feet away. Dwalin slowly crouched down next to his little wolf girl, carefully brushing a few strands of matted hair out of her dirtied face. Tarya didn't move. Dwalin couldn't see a trace that she was still breathing. Pressing his lips together, he carefully lifted the big grey wolf away from her body, only realizing then that the animal had apparently been shielding her as it had drawn its last breaths.

Dwalin cautiously moved Tarya's body then, and as he slowly turned her on her back, his heart skipped a painful beat as he saw the arrow that was buried in her stomach, the shaft broken in half and sticking out of her body with an almost cruel simplicity. The burly dwarf clenched his teeth together tightly for a moment as he forced his gaze away from the wound and up to the Amarok's face. He could see the tracks that tears had left on her dirtied cheeks, her face and hair stained with blood and grime. Dwalin could only imagine her tears as they had run down her face while she had lain dying on the battlefield, completely on her own. Someone should have been there, he thought bitterly; he should have been there.

The dwarf swallowed past the lump in his throat as he shifted slightly after a few more moments before he carefully took her in his arms, gently lifting the Amarok off the rocky floor as he stood. Tarya's body was limp in his arms, and her head lolled on his arm as he turned to the rest of the search party.

"Over here!" he called to the few elves that had accompanied them, his voice raw as they looked over. He motioned his head to where the grey wolf still lay on the floor. Dwalin did not have a particularly fond memory of the grey Amarok, but the dwarf was sure that Tarya had meant more to this wolf than he had initially thought. After all, it had died by her side, its snout slightly grazing Tarya's hand as it shielded her lifeless body. It had not saved her but it was definitely worth something, Dwalin thought, as he walked past the elves without giving them a second glance and down to where the camps lay.

The way back seemed awfully long, and to Dwalin it felt like it took an eternity until he reached the healing tents, the whole time painfully aware of Tarya's lifeless small body in his arms. Grey clouds were gathering in the sky above as the bald dwarf quickly headed for the tent he knew Oin would be in.

As he approached he saw Bilbo sitting alone by the entrance of another one, crying heavily into his hands. Bilbo was dirty, his clothes a bit torn, and a big bruise was adorning his forehead and it didn't take Dwalin more than a few seconds to realize that the hobbit was sitting in front of Thorin's tent, for he knew this particular one all too well himself. He had spent the whole last night with Thorin, and as much as it had pained him to do so, he had said his farewells to his best friend during that time. There was no more hope for the dwarf that was his friend as much as he was his king, and Dwalin knew it, as did Thorin. They all knew it by now, and as it seemed, the hobbit had now found out as well.

The bald warrior would have stopped, would have asked where Bilbo had been all this time, for they had searched for him a long time upon Thorin's request. But he could see that the hobbit was probably too shaken by his newest discoveries to give an answer.

Bilbo glanced up as Dwalin walked past him and the bald warrior shortly caught the hobbit's gaze, though he averted it quickly and unconsciously wrapped his arms a bit tighter around Tarya's form protectively as he carried the Amarok a bit further and into another tent. He heard Bilbo scramble to his feet and follow him only moments later, still sniffling loudly as he entered the tent behind him.

Dwalin came to a halt after he had entered, his gaze shortly trained on the two figures that lay motionless on two separate pallets close by each other. They were both pale like death itself, no sign of life in them apart from the shallow lifting and falling of their chests. Oin looked up from where he was just reattaching a tight bandage around the wound on Fili's chest as he became aware of the bald warrior's presence in the room. The healer's face paled slightly upon seeing the lifeless figure in Dwalin's arms and he quickly got to his feet, motioning the bald dwarf to lay her on a small pallet that lay in the opposite corner of the tent. Dwalin did so after a short moment's hesitation, a part of him unwilling to let the Amarok out of his arms. She was so small, so fragile, the large dwarf thought as he carefully laid her down. They had dragged her into all of this, and now she was dead.

He could only stand by as Oin slightly pushed him out of the way and pressed two of his large fingers to the Amarok's neck, at the same time leaning his head so close to her face that it blocked Dwalin's view of her for a few moments. The large dwarf heard shuffling behind him, though he did not look away from Tarya's lifeless form as the little hobbit came to stand next to him.

"Is… is she - ?"

Bilbo's voice was hoarse from all his previous crying and even now tears were streaming down his cheeks silently. The hobbit could not bring himself to utter the words out loud. She could not die, he thought, not her as well.

The hobbit remembered very little of the battle, for he had fallen and hit his head quite early into the fight. He had lain unconscious, rendered invisible by his gold ring until he had woken by people calling his name. Only a few hours ago had he truly come to understand the aftermath of the battle. Bifur and Bombur were dead, as were Dori and Nori. Fili and Kili were as close to death as one could be, only clinging to their lives by a thin thread that could snap at any moment. Thorin was lying on his deathbed. There was no more hope for him. Bilbo had still been talking to the dwarf-king only about an hour ago, after he had learned that Thorin had wanted to speak with him before he died. With great fear Bilbo had entered the tent, and with great sorrow he had left it. Thorin had made peace with him, had commended his bravery and his good character as he had held his hand. He had apologised for his harsh words and deeds, and Bilbo could still hear Thorin's deep voice echoing in his ears as he recalled the king's last words to him.

"If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world," Thorin had said before his eyes had closed and Bilbo still felt tears burning in his eyes as he recalled his words and looked at Tarya's motionless body at the same time. The Amarok was one of the best people that Bilbo had ever had the pleasure to meet and now she was lying here, fallen in a war that she should never have been part of. None of them should have been part of it, Bilbo thought and swallowed tightly as he shortly glanced over to the unconscious princes on the other side of the tent. Too many lives had been taken by this battle.

It was at that moment that Oin pulled back from Tarya, his brows drawn together in a tight line as he looked up at Dwalin and Bilbo.

"She still has a faint pulse," the healer said quite loudly, snapping both the large warrior and the small hobbit out of their thoughts as they looked at him in disbelief. Oin motioned urgently with his hands in reply to their looks. "Fetch me some water and bandages, quickly! We might yet lose her if we don't hurry."

Bilbo couldn't even blink before Dwalin had stormed out of the room and the hobbit stood awkwardly for only a few moments before the big dwarf came back rushing into the tent only a few minutes later, a bowl of water and a pile of bandages in his hands. He rushed over to Oin, handing him both items before the healer pushed up Tarya's clothes as far as possible. He had to rip a part of it in order to get it past the broken shaft of the arrow that was still embedded in her stomach. Bilbo felt his stomach turn as he saw the extent of the injury.

"This is a mortal wound," the dwarven healer mumbled quietly as he revealed the large purple and yellow bruises adorning her sides, his eyes widening slightly upon the sight. Bilbo didn't have to be a healer to know what these bruises meant as Oin gently felt the expanse of them. "Most of her ribs are broken. Together with the deep wound from the arrow she… By the way it pierced her, she would have choked on her own blood."

Bilbo shivered at the thought as Oin continued without seeing his reaction. "I don't understand how she is still alive. She could not have survived this."

"Unless someone shared her pain," a deep voice suddenly spoke from behind them and they all jerked their heads around to see none other than the Elvenking standing calmly by the entrance, Gandalf and a familiar red-haired elf by his side. The three of them simply stared at the elves and wizard as Thranduil entered the tent; his blue eyes cool as he returned their gazes. Though his expression changed somewhat as his gaze fell upon the Amarok that lay motionless still.

"What do you mean by that?" Dwalin asked gruffly, crossing his arms as he positioned himself somewhat defensively between Tarya and the Elvenking. Thranduil merely shot him a short look before he glanced back at the Amarok. Oin, however, had caught on by now.

"It is what she did with Kili, isn't it?" the healer asked, though his question was not directed at the blond elf who looked at him rather quizzically but towards Tauriel who stood silently behind her king with Gandalf. The redhead just nodded quietly before Thranduil answered.

"Arkin, it would seem, found her and shared her pain. He saved her life by giving his in exchange."

"Arkin?" Dwalin asked, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. This time it was Bilbo who answered him.

"The grey wolf," the hobbit said. "Well, Amarok. They were akin, him and her."

Dwalin merely shot Bilbo a quizzical look. His eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the hobbit's words before he glanced back at the two elves that stood there still, observing their exchange silently. It was Tauriel who caught the burly dwarf's gaze and gave him a sad smile that he didn't return.

"The wolf gave his life for his daughter," the red-haired elf said quietly, her gaze soft as she looked at Tarya. Dwalin merely watched the redhead without saying anything. He wasn't quite sure what to do with this new information. That was until Thranduil raised his voice once more.

"I suggest you see to it that his sacrifice has not been for nothing," the Elvenking spoke slowly, his voice low and yet not as hostile as it had been many times before. It had taken a sad tone and there was now a strange softness mingled within it, as a rueful look mirrored in the elf's pale blue eyes. Oin simply nodded and upon this gesture Tauriel moved forward and came to stand by him.

It was only then that Dwalin noticed the small bunch of weed in the redhead's hand, white blossoms adorning the stalks.

The days that came next passed in a strange numb and sad blur.

The grey clouds in the sky had brought cold wind with them from the north, and while the dead and the last few survivors were recovered from the battlefield by elves, dwarves and men, it had begun to snow.

Dwalin was sitting by himself on a small boulder a little distance away from the healing camps. The bald dwarf was staring silently out onto the field that the snow was slowly starting to bury in a thin white blanket. It was cold but Dwalin didn't care. What bothered him was the awful silence that had settled over the lands and that the snow only intensified. It wasn't a comfortable silence; it was a cold one, one that spoke of death.

It was not too far from where Dwalin was sitting where they had found Thorin after the battle a few days ago, and all the big dwarf could do was stare out into the distance, his mind numb with the loss that was weighing down his heart.

Thorin had died the day before, had drawn his last breath with as much pride and dignity as he had always possessed. Dwalin had even seen a small, rueful smile playing in the corners of his friend's lips. A smile that had been seldom enough as it was, and that he would never get to see again until they would someday reunite in the halls of Mandos. A part of Dwalin was happy for his friend, knowing that Thorin would see his brother again, his father and his grandfather. His mother. Thorin would see Vìli. And of course, he would be with Bombur and Bifur, and Nori and Dori.

A shuddering breath fell from Dwalin's lips as he thought about those that were left behind.

They had lost friends and brothers. They had lost family. They had lost their king, a heritage that would now fall upon a young dwarf that was not even awake to know what had happened. Neither Fili nor Kili had awoken during the last days, and though Oin was confident that the princes would regain consciousness again in due time, it was more than heart-breaking to think that the two young dwarves would wake up to find out that their uncle was dead and that Fili was now King under the Mountain whether he wanted it or not. Dwalin knew that both Fili and Kili had loved their uncle like a father, for Thorin had been there for them ever since they had been little dwarflings. He had been there after their father had died, had helped raising them and had taught them everything he knew about fighting, about diplomacy, about Erebor. Dwalin couldn't remember how many times Thorin had to tell the story of their lost home to two curious little dwarflings before bedtime. It broke Dwalin's heart to know that after all this time that Thorin had dreamed of reclaiming their homeland, he would not be there to see it flourish once more.

Footsteps behind him ripped the large dwarf out of his thoughts and he blinked a few times, only now becoming aware of the thin layer of snow that was covering his form. He stood abruptly, brushing the cold white snowflakes off of his coat roughly before he looked up and saw Bilbo standing there. Dwalin shortly wondered whether the hobbit felt cold at all with his bare feet on the snowy ground but he did not have any time to ponder that thought, for Bilbo spoke urgently as soon as he had his attention.

"He is waking!"

Dwalin merely drew his eyebrows together in silent question. Bilbo waved his hands in the direction of the camp.

"Kili!" he explained hastily, "Oin thinks he is waking up!"