They were closer. So much closer and standing ahead of us. It was like in films, where the two opposing sides stand on either end of the battle field and wait. From here I could see their faces - ugly, marred and angry. There was so many of them. Two many to see the end of the army. We had watched as they approached, and now we stood.

Thorin took a step forward, Kili grazed a thumb over my palm. 'Stay close to me,' he murmured, so fast and so quick that I almost didn't catch it. I only had a small moment to glance up at him before Thorin was shouting.

'For Erebor!'

There was a beat, and we shouted back, mirroring Thorin's words.

I saw Azog, as I whipped my head around to look madly at the Orc army. Azog, riding on a Warg as he shouting something, mouth moving, to the roaring army behind him. We screamed at each other, our two armies, and then it was happening.

And we had charged forward, a surging force. I hadn't thought of the actual charge, but it was terrifying, fast, horrible. I was at the front, meaning those who were faster than I quickly overtook me as I drew my sword and tried so desperately to keep my eyes glued on both Kili, Fili and those snarling beasts that ran toward us the moment we took flight.

But I got lost. I got lost in the army that overtook me, and before I knew what was happening we were colliding with the Orcs. They fell into our ranks with retching snarls and filthy swords that swiped and stung.

I had been scared. So, so scared.

In a fit of panic and revulsion, I whirled around with Snowthorn and stuck her into the first Orc that came my way. It cut into his belly, slicing into the grey, slimy looking skin. The blood was more watery that I thought it would be, pooling from the wound as he had looked at me and I had looked at him, hand shaking harder than ever.

You can't care, I reminded myself. You have to keep going. Find Kili.

I did keep going. I saw who was friend and enemy and I ignored the scrapes that were cast onto my cheeks and the various attempts to end my life that came from wailing Orcs. Everything was so fast and bloody and, God, there had been so many ending grunts and final breaths all around me, pressing in at all sides and I was alone.

'Kili!' I had screamed, right into the madness.

I had been in a mass of death, blood, rain and dirt. Snowthorn stood in front of me, level with my eyes. I slashed at anything that looked Orc or Goblin like, anything that swung at me. My armour was heavy, my muscles screamed, my cheeks were wet with tears, my palms red raw with blisters. I couldn't tell how long I had been on my own, how long it had been since we had surged forward.

In the haze of it all, I had seen Thorin. The first familiar face in what seemed like hours and hours. He was filthy and bloody and ferocious looking.

No. In the haze of it all, I had seen true horror.

Thorin, standing before Bolg. The son of Azog was rearing with his weapon, mouth moving and tongue lashing, sharp teeth biting into the bleeding skin of his own lips. Thorin stood before the beast, as tall as he could be against the seven foot giant. I wondered if Azog was dead, if Thorin had killed him - if Bolg was as intent upon killing the Heirs of Durin as his father had been.

I had known it was Bolg that Thorin stood before, simply because of how Thorin stared with horror and determination.

My vision was momentarily blocked as something hurled at me in my distraction, a grey and black blur of snarling and wailing. Although the Orc already had an arrow dislodged into his shoulder blade, I struck it and the blood matted my hands. I moved quickly, pushing and jabbing and twirling toward Thorin, feeling the nicks of sharp edges pull at my cheeks and neck and arms.

When I saw the King once again, he was raising his sword arm, just as Bolg raised his. He was a King, then. Defender, Warrior, King. His mouth was open in a scream that I did not hear, a roar of rage and effort as he swung his sword, aiming for Bolg's shoulder. Everything was slow, my eyes trained on what was happening, on the King, my King.

Because no matter what Thorin's faults were, he was my friend and my King. The idea of him dying in that instant set my stomach dropping and a desperate need for it all to end. All of it, because otherwise my friends, my Kili - they all might die.

Thorin's sword swung, but just as Bolg's own weapon was nearing Thorin, the Orc changed his direction and moved swiftly to the side, allowing a Warg to spring from the depths of the battle and onto Thorin. The King let out an inaudible tell and dropped under the weight of it, and I was reminded of what Azog had done to Thorin after the Goblin City.

I screamed.

Bolg's mouth twisted into a sick smile, pleased at his trick. For a moment he watched, before ripping the Warg away from the heavily injured Thorin, mouth twisting into what resembled a grin. Thorin did not move. His sword lay beside him.

I had heard Kili and Fili before I saw them.

Even through what was happening, I couldn't help but be so desperately relieved that he was alive and still fighting. He charged and he pushed his way to Thorin, Fili by his side.

Shouts of anger, of horror, of disbelief. Others were there too. I thought I saw the form of Gandalf, staring past a flurry of fighting Orcs, but he was ducking before I could so much as catch his eye, to beg him to do something.

Kili and Fili, side by side, had thrust themselves into the fight.

They were at Thorin's side, throwing themselves into the battle, throwing themselves at Bolg with determination and fury, their faces masks of horror and remorse, the kind that breaks into a persons soul and makes them fight even more. And they had. Oh God, they had. And so had I, swinging my way toward them, cutting and jabbing with no real skill.

You have to reach them, Millie.

It was only then that it occurred to me that Thorin might be dead. Gone. The thought struck me hard. Why was everyone still fighting? Why was no one turning, dropping their weapons, listening to the silent breath of Thorin, King Under the Mountain? Mourning the loss of the King, the King who fought to reclaim his home from Smaug.

But Kili, my Kili, fought in the middle of the battle, in the clearing with Bolg where no other person dared to stray. The fight carried on around that area, fast moving and horrible. And Fili, with his mass of hair, sticky with blood, his blue eyes shining with the thought of his fallen Uncle.

But when other Orcs found their way to Kili and Fili, the world stopped, the silence fell, and I knew, I knew, what was meant to happen. They would die by Thorin's side - die protecting him. But no. No.

I pushed the Orc that I was fighting away from me, not caring about the knife that cut into the skin of my palm.

The Line of Durin will not be so easily broken.

As I had moved froward to run, to burst through the army that surrounded me, I was caught on the arm by Dwalin. The Dwarf was covered in gore, and he sneered at me, moving to elbow an Orc in the face. 'No!' he roared. He knew as well as I did that Thorin was probably dead, that his friend was dead. But still, he was stopping me. Stopping me from this suicide mission.

'Kili!' I sobbed, yanking away from him. 'Fili!' They would die. Didn't he understand? 'This is why I'm here!' I couldn't save Thorin, just let me save them.

Dwalin pulled me back more, right to his chest. Both our swords found the Orc that came from the right, a crouching, tripping mess. We were teacher and student. Elves pushed around at all sides, Dwarves sent by Dain, all had come to our aid. 'They can fight!' he shouted. 'You'll get yourself killed, khuzd! Fight here, stay away and I will protect-'

But I had looked over to where Kili and Fili fought, and the little Orcs drew nearer, and Bolg's weapon drew high, high above the brothers who flanked their fallen Uncle, and a Warg stood by Bolg. Arrow were shot into the air and landed around the fighting brothers. 'No,' I choked, not caring about my own death. All that mattered was their lives, their futures. I was brought here for a reason, and if this was it, then so be it.

So I had pushed myself forward, feet slipping against the wet ground, tears pouring down my face. I ran, ignoring Dwalin's shouts, and maybe some others - maybe they saw too, maybe the Company had all stopped to stare in horror at the fallen King. At the fighting Heirs, protecting their Uncle with shield and body. And the girl trying so desperately to do good. A sorrowful sight, indeed.

Snowthorn bashed anything out of the way, and I hardly knew whether it hit friend or foe. I tripped into the fight, my eyes wide, my sword raised.

I thought of everything I could, of memories of home, of Middle Earth, of seeing Kili for the first time, his smile stretched, an ale in his curled hands. I wondered what it would have been like; a life with him. A life without danger, without worries, without death. We might have had children. I might have wandered the markets of a rebuilt Dale. I might have seen Erebor new and beautiful and there. I might have seen places of fiction. I might have held a newborn baby. I might have met Dis. I might have laughed again, cried, tasted my favorite food, pointed to something in the distance and held Kili's hand and looked at him and, oh God, he was so beautiful.

He would cry, I knew he would. He would scream at me for what I had done, scream at ears that could not listen. I could only hope that he would live happily, that he would remember me and know that it was okay to move on. I knew he wouldn't, of course. But I had hoped that he would.

And, God, I'd hoped he knew how much I loved him. I hoped Ori would give him the letter, and he would know, he would see, he would smile. A world without Kili smiling was a world not worth living in. Fili would, in the end, put his sorrows at ease. They looked after each other, those two. All they had needed to do was live.

And with these thoughts on my heart, I had thrown myself in front of Bolg, knees buckling as I ducked in front of Kili, who had pushed himself in front of Fili in a fit of rage. The brief glance that I got of him showed dirty cheeks and a clenched jaw and then wide, scared eyes as he saw me. Fili flanked his left side, feet digging into the mud by Thorin's fallen form. Orcs peeled toward them - us.

I thought I heard the brothers shout my name, though a hush fell as the realization came to so many that Bolg, son of Azog, was about to end the Line of Durin, to avenge his father. He had killed Thorin, and he would kill the last Heirs.

Well, he would try.

Snowthorn found Bolg's weapon halfway, blocking the blow that would have killed the distracted Kili, and my arms screamed, bones creaked and cracked. I thought of my training session with Kili. I thought of Kili. The Dwarf who stood behind me. The brothers who stood behind me. I stared at Bolg, my mouth open in a silent scream, the pain just too much.

For him, I thought. For all of them.

Despite my screaming arms, I had drawn away Snowthorn, metal scraping against Bolg's own sword. The beast had started forward, but a form that looked suspiciously like the bear Beorn threw himself toward the Orcs back, taking his distraction as a chance to crush the giant Orcs body with his own furry one, sharp teeth sinking into the pale, marred flesh. Bolg's roar was drowned out by the sudden pouring of Orcs, Goblins, Elves, Dwarves and Men - all of them running so fast that I lost sight of anyone familiar, of anyone I knew.

But the arrow was already in my stomach.

An Orc, perhaps, had seen me threaten their leader and had retaliated. They had drawn an arrow, and they had shot it. The arrow had found its target, anyway. A sharp point, embedded deep into my stomach. Blood spreading like a hand print beneath my clothing and armour.

I remember sounds. I remember my sharp, choking breath, shocked at the pain. I hadn't expected it to hurt so much. Death, I mean. I had known that, if I would die, it would be from an injury like the one I had gained, but it...it hurt. It struck me, how much the pain caused me to lose control of any muscle, any effort left within me.

Snowthorn fell to the ground, and with a startled look at the gaping a Bilbo, lost in the crowd of battle, I fell to my knees.

I thought I heard yells, ordering anyone to make sure Thorin's body was protected - and 'Millie? Where is Millie?'- I wondered if he was still alive. I hoped he was. I prayed he was. I knelt there, amidst the carnage, and I was dying and they didn't know.

I didn't want to do it alone. I was scared, so afraid.

I tried to get up, but I was forced to the ground by pushing and shoving. Something dribbled down my chin when I coughed, and my troubled mind took a moment to realize that it was blood. Warm blood - tasted of iron, pooling around my tongue.

That meant internal bleeding. That, or I had bitten my own tongue in the midst of the pain.

I looked down. The arrow looked odd, coming out of me like it had. Out of place. Bloody. Blurred. By tears. By a fuzzy picture that had sound and being and- and made me feel like I needed to sleep.

I was so tired.

I had been pushed onto my stomach and the arrow screeched in protest. I rolled onto my side. I stared. I cried. Dirt in my mouth. Blood in my mouth. Salt and water in my eyes. Feet against my arms, pressing, bodies making up the ground beneath their feet. My shaking hands finding a long, wooden arrow. Hurt. Make it stop, oh God. I'll die now. Make it stop. It burnt, it stung.

I can't remember how long I had lay there, feeling the pressing of heavy feet against every part of me. I felt hot all over. Hot, then cold. The screams were the worst. People dying all around me, blood falling from the sky like rain and landing on my face. Bodies fell next to mine, Orc and Man, Dwarf and Elf. I whined, my eyes too heavy to open, my body burning too much to move.

I was just another fallen body, at the end of the day.

Death took its time.

In the haze of it all, I had found solace in half solid memories. These were hallucinations brought on by the poison in the arrow, which also explained the burning. The coughing up of blood was internal bleeding. I was dying. I was remembering. I was reliving something to get me through this burning, this poison induced hell.

The taste of apples, the feeling of hands in mine, the smell of perfume in my parents room, my fathers cold hands after he'd defrosted the car windows on a winters morning, the clattering of plates in the evening, Kili's stubble beneath my palms, Dori's admonishing voice, the campfires in the woods, my ringtone, slamming shot glasses onto a tabletop, Thorin's rare smiles, Nori sneaking Ori some extra food, Balin calming one of Dwalin's fits of rage, Kili looking at me with his eyes dark and his hands on my face.

My mother. My father.

The sun, rain against a window at night, wind, clouds, splashing sea against the rocks, sand between my toes.

Cats purring, the smell of cut grass, rustling leaves.

Wind chimes and rain.

'This is why I love you,' said Kili, drunk and reckless and talking to me on a flight of stairs in Laketown. 'I love you'. I'll never hear him say it again. 'I love you'. I should have listened to him say it a million times more. But he would say it again, even if I would not hear it, because he was alive. He had to be. I was brought here to save him and I had.

'This is why I love you'.

I only knew that now.

And I love him.

My eyes sliding shut. The pain ebbs away, the shouts drift into echoes, my hand falls against the mud. I think of his face, tough and dark. His hair, soft and brittle. His hands, sliding over my skin. His kiss. His heat. Him. Only him. Only ever him. Kili. Kili.

And I love you.

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