Author's Note: And here is where I take a pretty major liberty with the movie plot, simply because it works better for this story. Basically, everything that happened on Ravenhill happens on the battlefield instead. I tried to make Ravenhill work, but I just…couldn't.

Chapter 36-On the Battlefield

Karra sighed and rolled over. "I'm not ready to get up." The words felt hazy and unclear. "Just let me sleep, okay?"

"Karra." The voice came hard and clear and seemed to pound itself into her brain. "Karra."

She forced her eyes open and saw a face hovering over her, its white beard hanging so low it nearly brushed her face. "Grandpa?" Her lips barely moved as she forced the word from them. "Grandpa, what are you doing here?"

"I'm not your grandfather, lass." The face seemed happy. What was it happy about? The fact that it wasn't her grandfather? As it spoke, another face appeared in her hazy circle of vision. This one had a short brown beard, and its hair was disheveled, dirty, and streaked with something that looked red.

"Who are you then?" Who were these people? What was that vague smell that hung over and around her? "Can you just let me sleep? I'm tired, okay?"

"Karra. You need help. Can you at least try to get up?" The other face spoke for the first time. "We need to get you to the tents of the wounded."

The tents of the what? Was she wounded? Why was she wounded?

"Come, Karra." The long white beard moved. "Can you stand?"

"Yeah, sure." She rolled over. "I can stand." As she moved, she felt a deep stab of pain in her side. The haze disappeared as if in a flash, and memories of the last day pierced her mind. She moaned and curled into a ball.

"Come, lassie, we'll help you." Balin put an arm gently around her waist. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. As she raised herself to a sitting position, the pain pierced even deeper into her side, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

"Are you alright, Karra?" Bofur stood to the side, looking as if he wanted to help, but didn't know how.

"I guess. No. I'm fine. Help me stand." Bofur took her other hand, and with painful, slow effort, she stood. Her head throbbed so hard she thought it might burst. With hesitation, she raised her hand and touched the side of her face. It felt sticky, and her fingers came away tinged with dark red. She closed her eyes and steadied herself on Bofur's shoulder. "Am I a total mess?" she said. She felt a twinge of pain in the side of her face as she spoke, and her lips felt stiff.

"Your face is caked with blood. You've got yourself a nice scratch there, lassie." It sounded like Bofur's voice, but she couldn't be sure.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To the tents of the wounded. They'll care for you there."

Karra took a step forward, took a deep breath, and took another step, finding, to her surprise, that her legs worked. "And where are…" As she asked the question, her eyes scanned the battlefield and she saw, looking as small as a speck in the distance, a cluster of tents. Her shoulders slumped and a wave of dizziness swept over her.

"It's alright. If you need to rest, we'll rest," Balin said.

"No, no, I'm good, I'm fine." She took another step. "The sooner we get there the sooner I can lay down again, right?" A thought pierced the still-lingering haze, and she could have slapped herself for not thinking it sooner. "What happened?" she said. "I mean…what…"

"We were victorious." Balin's eyes swept over the battlefield, covered in bodies and soaked with blood and dirty, melted snow. "If you can call this victory."

"And what…" She found herself twisting a strand of hair around her finger. "And what about the…the others…Bilbo…Kili…" She winced, almost dreading the answer. "Fili…they're all safe, I…I assume?"

"We don't know, lassie." Balin looked away. "The last I saw of Fili he was fighting beside our leader. And the last I saw of Thorin, he was facing down the great, pale orc, his ancient enemy. I know nothing more."

"We've been searching the battlefield for them since the battle was won," Bofur put in.

Karra twisted her hair even harder. "Oh." Worry clenched at her heart. She longed to see Fili again, to apologize for her blunt words. A wave of dizziness washed over her again. She forced her feet to move forward, one more step, one more step.

The tents didn't seem any nearer.

The warm, heavy smell of blood hung over the battlefield. Karra stared at her feet to keep from stepping on the bodies—the bodies were everywhere, some drenched in blood, their faces white with death. Orcs, men, elves—dwarves. All dead, or dying. She wanted to look away, to tear her eyes from the gore, but where was there to look? Everywhere there was only more evidence of the battle. She heard a squish at her feet, and looked down to see that she was standing in a pool of black orcish blood.

She leaned against Balin's shoulder, fighting back the rush of nausea. "I feel sick." The words were soft and slurred.

"It's alright, rest for a moment." Balin stroked her hair and kept a supporting arm around her waist. "Just rest."

Moments later, they were moving again, Karra leaning more heavily on the older dwarf's shoulder. It seemed like hours, and yet, as Karra looked at the sky to keep her eyes off the pervasive death on the ground, she saw that the sun had barely moved.

And still, the tents seemed no closer.

Maybe she should just lie down here and wait for someone to find her body, and carry her back to the tents.

That actually sounded really good.

A figure moved across the plain toward them. Recognition dawning on his face, Balin stopped, and Karra let out a sigh. Whoever it was, she could hug them right now.

As the figure approached, Karra saw that it was Dwalin. Dirt and grime covered him, and he held a weapon at his side. His face showed the most emotion Karra had ever seen from a dwarf. Emotion? No, that wasn't it. Sadness? Grief? Horror? His eyes were hollow, and his frame seemed slumped with something more than the exhaustion of the battle. He stood in silence before Balin.

The words came out before she could stop them. "Have you seen Fili?" she blurted out. "Where is he? What happened?"

Dwalin took a step backward as if he'd been hit. "I've seen him, yes," he said, and Karra saw his eyes flicker with something like despair. "I've seen him."

A wild fear clutched at Karra's heart. "What is it? Dwalin, what is it?"

Dwalin looked at Balin and Bofur. "Get her to the tents. She's gravely wounded."

"And just what do you think we're trying to do?" Bofur burst out. "If you're not going to help, you can just leave! No…" He shook his head, regret etched on his face. "No, I'm sorry."

Karra's heart beat so hard she thought the others could hear it. "Dwalin." Her voice rose in desperation. "Dwalin, what is it? Tell me!"

But the dwarf was gone. Driven by fear, Karra took a step forward. "Come on!" she cried. "Just come on!" In spite of her desperate attempts to draw them away, her eyes scanned the battlefield, back and forth, back and forth. She tensed, and stopped. As if in a daze, she heard Balin's voice asking her what was wrong. Her eyes settled on a still from, lying among many other still forms. With a cry, she wrenched herself from Balin's grip and ran forward, dropping to her knees beside the body.

His blond hair was stained with the dirt of the battlefield. Blood seeped from his tunic near his heart. His face was pale as death. Her heart pounding, she took his hand and leaned close to his ear. "Fili," she said. "Fili, it's me. Wake up." She squeezed his hand, and he gave no response. No breath escaped his lips. Oh no. No no no. Numbness pierced with disbelief settled over her mind, and she slumped to the ground.

She would lay here until she died with her Fili.

*Whispers, and curls into a little crying ball of contrite fangirl* Don't kill me…please don't kill me…