Author's Note: Someone told me that this story reminded them of the song "For Guinevere" by Heather Dale. Go look it up, it's beautiful.

Date: TA 2800, very early in the year

Thorin: 53 years old

Lina: 50 years old

"Will you remain with us, Lady Firehammer?"

Thrain gazed down at the female warrior standing in the crowd before him. He used the name she had earned in battle, the name of "Firehammer." The gathered crowd was now informed of Dain's offer to give those who asked it shelter. If the heroes of the Battle of Azanulbizar turned away now, there would be little hope that the line of Thrain would survive.

"I will, My Lord," she answered, bowing. Lina moved to stand behind the king and his family, showing her support for them. Other dwarves followed suit. Kira, Dwalin, and Balin were among the first after Lina. Too few joined the group behind the king. Most were now willing, after thirty long years to settle permanently wherever they could find welcome.

"I wish the rest of you safety on your journey," Thrain said finally, looking with sadness upon those who were choosing to abandon their people. The crowd bowed, many with pain and sadness in their eyes, and left.

Lina watched, her throat tightening with pain and grief, as her own mother followed the group travelling to join Dain in the Iron Hills. She could not blame her mother for her choice. Life on the road was hard. The poverty in which the dwarves following Thrain lived was bitter and harsh. One old warrior who had survived the battle had volunteered to take care of Lorina for the rest of her days. No, Lina understood that her mother had chosen what was best for her, but it did not make the hurt leave.

She turned away from those who had chosen to leave and gazed around at those who were willing to stay. Most of those staying were survivors of the battle, covered in scars and missing various body parts, but all were loyal. They were a motley crew. One dwarf, a toymaker, still had the head of an axe embedded in his skull from the fighting. The healers had been far too afraid to remove it. Dwalin and Balin's cousins, both scarred from the fight, had chosen to remain with Thrain. A handful of females had stayed. Most of these had not participated in the battle. Dis stood loyally at her brother's side, still mourning for her lost brother.

Thorin, now referred to as Thorin Oakenshield, looked up as Lina glanced at him. He was barely keeping his anger in check as most of those who had followed his grandfather out of Erebor now turned to leave.

The dwarves who had made the decision to stay with Thrain and Thorin began to return to the homes they'd built in Dunland. The king limped stiffly away from the group, his daughter helping him walk. Lina knew it was time to return to her forge, to repair the damage done, to begin this new part of her life. She paused beside Thorin, her back to the still visible retreating dwarves. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"At least the dwarves with you have something those leaving do not have," Lina murmured, "Loyalty, honor, and a willing heart." She squeezed his shoulder before moving back to her dwelling beside the forge.

The young smith glanced at the battered armor hanging on the wall of her home. It was in better shape than most of the armor the dwarves had scavenged from the corpses of their kin. Anything that was repairable had been brought to Lina's forge for that purpose. What was too damaged to use had been placed in another pile which Lina would pick through to find what pieces had salvageable material in them still.

The work would take some time, and would not be easy. Physically, sorting the armor and weapons would be easy. However, the emotional toll the task would exact from her would be high. Lina had caught sight of Ona's armor the day the first pieces had been brought in. The memory of her companion's death had kept her from being able to move for several minutes, her eyes burning with tears. Ira's armor was so destroyed that it could not be repaired. The way her friend had died sent tears spilling down her face. Those bringing in the armor had obviously been just as painfully affected. Many had tears streaming down their cheeks as they worked. All of them had lost someone in the battle. To see the armor of their loved ones empty, blood-stained, and battered was nearly as painful as seeing the bodies.

There had been so many bodies, too many to bury with honor and dignity. None of the dwarves had enough tombs carved from the rock to bury them properly. Even if they had, there were not enough left living to carry the dead and the wounded back. Lina had been unconscious when the decision to burn the dead had been made, so she'd not even been able to say a final farewell to her friends. All she had left were her memories of them. At least they had fought and died with honor.

Those living were left behind to carry with honor the memories of their friends, their family, their husbands, and their wives. That burden was a heavy one to bear. One first had to get past the grief and pain the memories caused. For some the load was far too great. At least a handful of dwarves had utterly vanished since the battle's end, most of them noncombatants.

Lina could only imagine what they had done. Her own strength and pride would not allow her to give in to the despair that had fallen upon them. Her force of will alone was all that had made her walk this soon. Dwalin and Balin had carried her back to Dunland on a stretcher. It had been several weeks after Lina awoke before she could move about on her own. Even now walking was still painful. The bone had knitted together for the most part, but it was difficult to find any position save for lying down which did not cause her pain. Yet Lina could not allow her pain, no matter how severe, to prevent her from doing her duty to the king.

It had a taken a few days, but, soon after Lina began to appear among the other dwarves, many had developed a new respect for the female warrior since the battle. They called her Lina Firehammer now. Apparently the sight of her flaming war hammer devastating the enemy had been embedded in the minds of many a dwarven warrior. None of the surviving warriors begrudged Lina her position now. They had seen her in action and doubted her no longer. Some among the noncombatants had still voiced opinions against her in the first days after the surviving warriors had returned. Those opinions had been silenced quickly with sharp looks from any warrior who overheard the comment. At least among the people she cared the most for, Lina was no longer an outsiders. The Battle of Azanulbizar had ensured that.

It took her a while to get used to her new epithet. The name was awkward on her tongue, but she was expected to use it when introducing herself now. It was a mark of respect that she had been given the name, and not to use it would be an insult to her people. Now she was given honor of par with some of the highest ranking dwarves.

No longer was she simply Lina, that quiet, scarred, and talented craftswoman. No longer was she Lina, the would-be warrior, the lady smith. She was Lina Firehammer, hero of the Battle of Azanulbizar. She had become someone, someone important, and someone whose opinion mattered and whose voice was listened to. That gave her hope.