You guys, I'd love to honestly apologize for making you cry but… I can't really. Because I was quite anxious about this scene and I'm somewhat glad that it's appreciated and had an effect on you. Thank you all so so much for your wonderful feedback and for letting me know that I did Thorin's death some justice. Truly, thank you.

Now, there's not much of this story left to tell but there are still a few Chapters and I do hope you will enjoy those as well ;)

"He looks like he's asleep."

Gentle fingers brushed a grey strand of hair from Thorin's forehead and Kíli smiled a little. Their uncle lay in state, peaceful and beautiful, in his old chambers. They had dressed him in his finest garments, silver and dark blue, the satin jerkin showing the crest of Durin, the rings on his fingers glistening and around his neck hung the heavy silver necklace with the key to Erebor attached to it. He smiled as if all the harshness of the world had been lifted off his shoulders and he had finally found his peace.

Fíli stood on the balcony, looking out onto the snow covered Desolation of Smaug. Though he was relieved that his uncle had left without remorse or regrets, he found it hard to deal with his death. He hadn't just lost his uncle, the Dwarf who had been like a father to him, since his real father had died, he was now burdened with a task that seemed way too big for him.

He was still pale and tired most of the time. Óin's medication, though working brilliant wonders, wore him out quickly and his fear of pain called forth an unhealthy poppy seed intake once again and whilst Óin took offense in Fíli's preference of Elvish medication, Dwalin made fun of him again. And Fíli let him, for he was sure that Dwalin needed some way to vent his grief. The old warrior had barely spent any days in his life without Thorin close by and this goodbye was hard on him. Maybe harder even, than it was for Fíli and Kíli. He had spent the hours since Thorin's death in the company of Bofur, Bifur and Nori, drinking to Thorin but he barely said a word.

One after the other, the company had said their farewell to their leader and King and it had been a most heart breaking sight. While Dáin had sent the majority of his Dwarves home to the Iron Hills again, he had stayed behind, wishing his cousin a heartfelt farewell and he had asked him to send greetings to his father Náin, should he see him in the Halls of Waiting. Ever since, he had stayed close by to the boys, soothing and comforting them whenever they needed it and it was Dáin's presence that made the pressure on Fíli bearable for the young Dwarf.

"Don't you think?"

Fíli snapped out of his thoughts when his brother stepped onto the balcony besides him.

"Huh?"

"I said he looks like he's asleep. Do you think they will burn him as well?" Kíli looked back over his shoulder to the laid out body of his uncle, concern drawn on his features.

"They won't burn him", Fíli muttered, pushing some snow off the balustrade. "He should have a grave in the catacombs where his forefathers lie. I don't want him to burn and disappear like that."

If Kíli had any tears left, he would have shed them for his brother in this moment. Though strong and seemingly unfazed, Fíli suffered silently and he felt alone and abandoned with a task he couldn't deal with. And Kíli understood his brother's wish to have Thorin close by still, only so that he could, from time to time, go to his grave and ask him for advise. For even though Thorin had made many mistakes in his life, he had been the one true King for Fíli. The one Dwarf he had looked up to the most.

"If that's your wish they'd have to follow it, right? You're the King now", Kíli showed a crooked smile.

"No, I'm not!" the sudden outburst made Kíli flinch. "I'm not! And I don't want to be! He was supposed to be the King! Not me! It was him who suffered, it was him who fought for this, it is him who deserves this! Not me! Never me!"

When his brother broke down in sobs, Kíli felt most helpless. He carefully pulled him in a loving embrace, unsure of what to say so he silently let him cry for a while, wishing there was something to say or do to help ease his brother's pain. Hurt over somebody's death was a different kind of hurt to the one Fíli felt and Kíli understood, though he didn't feel it himself.

"He trusted you with this. He believed you are ready and I believe that too", he carefully clasped his brother's cheeks, looking into his blue eyes with a small smile on his lips. "He's left us, knowing that you would honourably fulfil this task and he was right. He wants you to do this, nadad. You and nobody else."

Fíli's answer got stuck in his throat when suddenly a strong wind gushed from the grassland, bringing a refreshing chill. The snowflakes danced around the brother's, whirled around them like flower petals in the spring and the breeze filled their lungs with the clean, fresh smell of winter and the promise of a new beginning. It carried the snowflakes high, high in the sky above and blew the curtains of Thorin's bedroom up, filling the room with the same hopeful scent.

They didn't need to say anything to know that they were thinking the same. And they took it as a sign from their uncle, a sign of good fortune, a sign that it was time for a new era to begin. A sign, that the Dwarves of Erebor would prosper once more in times of peace, finally back in their beloved homelands. And they looked at each other and a small smile played on Fíli's lips, while his younger brother chuckled and finally threw his arms in the air, enjoying the dancing snow whirling around him.

Two days later, the Dwarves were stirred up by the sound of wheels trundling across the icy bridge and when they pulled the Gates open, they gaped at the sight before them. Countless carts lumbered across the frozen grassland, packed to the brim with chests, sacks and cases, safely tucked under canvas. Sturdy highland cattle and large goats pulled them and walking besides or riding upon them were Dwarves. Hundreds of Dwarves. And amongst them were many familiar faces.

The unlikely caravan was led by a cloaked figure on a small, sturdy black pony, puffing and snorting in the chilly winter air. The figure was dressed in thick boots, a long leather tunic and a corset above a leather vest. A long dark coat was draped around the shoulders, shimmering in the same navy blue fabric that Thorin's jerkin was made of and on the chest, the crest of Durin was embroidered with silver yarn. Fíli and Kíli slowly stepped out on the square before the Gates, gaping in wonder and when the figure pulled off the hood, their hearts began to beat violently in their chests.

The black hair was laced with silver grey strands and held together in a long, artistic braid that reached down to her hips and it was decorated with claps of silver and sapphire and her blue eyes shone bright in her beautiful face. She dismounted her pony and when she recognised the boys, a warm smile spread on her lips and tears glistened in her eyes.

"Amad!" Kíli was the first to rush to her and he flung himself into her arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck. When she reached out for Fíli, the youngster didn't hesitate for a second and followed his brother, embracing her in the same loving fashion. And Dís held both her sons tight, relieved and happy to see them alive and well.

It had been months since they had left the Blue Mountains to go on this dangerous quest and every day since, Dís had waited for news and signs, praying to Mahal and leading the Kingdom in the Blue Mountains, for she had been the only one left there. The daughter of Thráin, of course born with the same innate pride that had driven Thorin on in his life, was a tough but gentle soul and a born Queen, leading her people with utter surety until their rightful King would take her place again. And she had waited and waited and when the news of Smaug's death had reached the Blue Mountains, Dís hadn't hesitated for a second. The journey was hard and tiresome but when she had first set sight on Erebor again, her beloved home that she had to leave when she was still a girl, her heart had been pounding in her chest, for not only her home lay before her, but also her sons, that were more precious to her than any Kingdom or treasure ever could be.

"My boys", she smiled, looking at them and even though they had changed, they were still her sons. She traced the faint scars on Fíli's face, plucked a little at Kíli's finally growing beard and smiled while tears of joy ran down her face. "You sure have grown up in those past months."

Some time later, sitting at the hearth in the Hall of Thrór with a warm, refreshing cup of grog in hands, they told her of Thorin's death. Dís felt her heart shattering into little pieces but she clung to the thought that at least her sons were still with her. They led her up to Thorin's chambers but she asked them to wait outside so she could say her farewell alone.

As she stepped to her brother's bedside and gazed at his smiling face, memories flashed up in her mind. Memories of the loss of her grandfather, her brother, her father and her beloved husband and once again she felt abandoned and alone, knowing for sure that she would never get used to this pain that every loss in her life had brought her. But she was Thráin's daughter, strong and proud and her pride had carried her through many hard times.

"So you have left me too, now", she muttered, gently stroking her brother's cold cheek. "I had hoped it wouldn't be so soon. Goodbye my love. And thank you. Thank you for looking after my sons. They will make us proud, like you have made our father proud."

She leaned over him and kissed his forehead, bidding him farewell and when she left his chambers, she looked at her sons, a strong smile on her face. And Fíli and Kíli looked at each other and they understood and when Fíli reached out for her and pulled her close into a loving embrace, Kíli by her side, resting his head on hers, she finally gave in and cried into her firstborn's shoulder like she hadn't cried in years.

The Dwarves settled down in the Halls of Erebor again. They began to rebuild and clean everything, moving back into their old houses and stores and every day new travellers arrived. Bilbo watched in wonder, for he had no idea that the Longbeards were so many and so loving and lively and whenever he wandered the streets of Erebor now, it did not feel like an empty, silent graveyard anymore. For the first time since 170 years, life filled the Halls and corridors again and torches were lit on every corner, spreading welcoming warmth and the smell of forges and kettles wafted through the many streets and song and laughter filled the air. It was an overwhelming buzzing and turmoil and wherever Bilbo went, he was greeted and welcomed, offered food and drink and toys and jewellery and he finally understood why the Dwarves had been so eager to reclaim their home. For a marvellous home it was.

The four finest craftsmen of Erebor worked for two days straight without sleep or food and they forged a marvellous coffin, made from black marble with golden handles and Durin's crest carved in gold on the lid. They bedded Thorin in it and the coffin rested before the throne for another three days, so the Dwarves of Erebor could bid their beloved King farewell and present him with many beautiful gifts. He was then carried down to the vast catacombs of Erebor and buried amongst his forefathers, great and glorious and though this goodbye was hard on the two youngsters, they smiled when they looked at their uncle's grave. He was finally home, where he belonged. A true King under the Mountain.

In the evening, a large banquet was held in Thorin's honour. The Hall of Thrór was crammed to the brim and the Dwarves that couldn't fit anymore, celebrated in the countless corridors and adjacent Halls. Massive boars were roasting over fires, torches lit up the Halls and beautiful banners wafted from the high walls. The small Hobbit was most overwhelmed. Though it was a funeral, it felt more like a celebration, merry but utterly respectful and he learned that Dwarves mourned differently than Hobbits. They had said their farewells, they had lamented in silence and now it was time for them to gather and sit together and drink to the glorious dead, their beloved King that had passed away too early but not in vain.

They told stories of Thorin's greatness and laughed and remembered their King in the most cheerful ways and suddenly, Thorin's death didn't hang so heavy and burdening on Bilbo's soul anymore. He sat with Fíli and Kíli, gaping at the unusual beauty of their mother and he blushed badly when Dís turned to him, smiling and he recognised the confident shimmer of her blue eyes, for he had also seen it in the eyes of Thorin.

"Master Baggins, I believe I need to apologize in my brother's name for all the inconvenience he made you endure", she laughed and Bilbo blinked, his cheeks and ears burning with heat. "I do know very well how much of a bullhead he was."

"Ah no", the Hobbit quickly waved her words away, blushing so badly that Kíli and Fíli had to bite down on their tongues, not to laugh. "No no, it was no bother really. I- I mean it had honestly only been a few times that I nearly died! Not even worth mentioning!"

"So you were right after all", Dís looked at her sons. "He is a sturdy little creature for sure. By Mahal, Master Baggins why the surprised look? My sons surely have told me a great deal about you already, all very pleasant, I must say. I heard they destroyed your house?"

"Destroy- well they didn't exactly destroy it. They made a bit of a mess but-", before Bilbo could finish his sentence, he was cut off by a victorious "Hah!" that came from Kíli.

"He admitted it! He finally admitted it! No use denying it anymore Bilbo! It wasn't too bad after all! Not even half as bad as you have made it out to be!"

And Bilbo blushed even harder and muttered incomprehensible things into his cup of wine and Dís and her sons laughed wholeheartedly, though without any spitefulness. They were soon joined by Dáin and Dís seemed delighted to see him again as well, for even though Dáin had never been as close to her as he had been to Thorin, they were childhood friends as well and hadn't seen each other in years. Soon Dwalin and Balin sat with them as well and it probably was the merriest gathering that Bilbo had seen in a long while. He sat between Fíli and Kíli and all three of them curiously watched and it slowly began to dawn on them, that they witnessed something precious here.

For it was not mere friendship that bound Dís, Dáin, Dwalin and Balin together. Many years ago, they had suffered through the same losses and the same dangers. They had seen the same things and they had grown up with the images of battle and death, something only they understood and shared. Being reunited over Thorin's death surely was a pitiful reason but nonetheless they found safety in each other's company and their laughter resounded through the Hall of Thrór. Each of them knew that Thorin was sitting with them, listening to their tales and smiling quietly and they drank to him, reviving a friendship that had slept tightly for a long time.

When the meals were finished and the tables cleared, some Dwarves brought beautiful instruments and when they began to play, the most glorious melodies filled the Halls of Erebor. Bilbo and the youngsters had settled down by the massive hearth, drinking wine and chatting amongst themselves and they looked up and smiled when they noticed Bofur and Ori approaching. It might have been uncommon the past, but this night a new era really did begin. For in this night, princes sat with miners and merchants and they laughed and drank together, toasting the beautiful friendship that had formed between them. The boys told their mother of Ori's unmatched bravery, making the timid chronicler blush badly and Bofur had soon overwhelmed Dís with his charms and a well-mannered kiss on the hand. After all these months of hardship and danger, the many battles and fights, the Dwarves of Erebor were finally at peace again. And their voices echoed through the Halls and across the snow covered desolation of Smaug as they sang to Thorin one last time.

Farewell we call to hearth and hall!
Though wind may blow and rain may fall,
We must away ere break of day
Far over wood and mountain tall.

To Rivendell, where Elves yet dwell
In glades beneath the misty fell,
Through moore and waste we ride in haste,
And whither then we cannot tell.

With foes ahead, behind us dread,
Beneath the sky shall be our bed,
Until at last our toil be passed,
Our journey done, our errand sped.

We must away! We must away!
We ride before the break of day!