Ha ha! Thought I was gone for good for this fanfic, eh? Well, not a chance!:D So turn those frowns upside down, unless it's to shed a few tears for a certain beloved character.

Confession: I actually waited for the extended edition of BOTFA for this scene. Did you know it's rated R? At first, I was like "No way! This started out as a children's novel, and even Return of the King, most violent of the LOTR movies, wasn't that highly rated", but then I saw orcs and wargs literally being torn to shreds by war machines, and then I was like, blank-faced, "Oh. Right."

And now for the final part at long last! Thank you for your patience!

It was the bellowing horn of Dale, echoing across the wintry hills of the battlefield and the desolation of the Lonely Mountain with its thunderous, triumphant song, that had cleared the dark oblivion.

Silence had claimed the land when all that was left of the surviving orcs were driven out by a vengeful alliance of Dwarves, Elves, Men, and Eagles. The song of victory was also a song of mourning.

There was no cheering. No smiles, laughter, or any celebration that spoke of triumph. Only the horn of Dale spoke for the silent, mourning wounded souls of all those who witnessed the horrors of blood and death. They won, but at a large cost. The price of many deaths-friends, family, companions-was too great.

But in the midst of grief, as they listened to the horn shake the mountains in silent vigilance, was relief.

Immense relief.

It was over. Though they had lost many familiar faces, many others had survived. As the people of Dale turned solemn faces toward the icy cliffs of Ravenhill, they sensed the change in the air. The loss of someone great and well-known.

As Bard-now hailed as King Bard the Dragonslayer and the Lord of Dale-gazed into the golden sunlit sky beyond the horizon, his hands gripping the tiny shoulders of his youngest whom he held especially close, he felt as if he had awoken from a nightmare. Seeing the sun's light making his precious children's faces glow, their gray eyes sparkling with a brand-new hope despite the fading shock and solemnity in their expressions, relief was all Bard could feel at this moment.

His children and the people of Lake Town were alive and safe. After all the hardship, all the suffering, and all the injustice that they had been put through their entire lives, especially after what happened very recently with the dragon, the dwarves, and then with the Orc Army, they had survived.

Things will change, Bard knew, but for the better. There will be more hard work, more struggles to deal with in the after effects of battle, including the rebuilding of Dale and the unsettled bargain with Thorin Oakenshield and the dwarves...but after everything that happened with the great alliance that formed against the enemy, Bard could feel no more ill-tension in the air.

Things will be different. Stranger, unfamiliar with the change in many lives (especially for him and his family), but for the better. He felt Sigrid and Bain press close to either side of his shoulders for warmth, and his little Tilda lean backwards against his torso, giving him the desire to pick her up and hold her close, to be just a father of three before he would have to go back to his role as leader.

To think that he had almost lost them, his babies, to dragon-fire and orcs in between the past few weeks. Despite feeling some of the anger he still felt towards the dwarves, toward Thorin, for cheating Lake Town of their share, he could feel eternally grateful for the ones who protected his greatest treasures, and will remember it when hoping to start again with both the dwarves and the elves.

Whatever else may come, whoever had lost their lives today and whoever shall be mourned, all Bard could do was hold his children close as they watched the sky and listened to the horn, to be reassured that they are alive, safe, and will endure whatever else comes their way.

They had made it.

On the alter, Thorin Oakenshield lay cold and white, dressed in the finest furs and tunics, his long mane of raven black spread like bellowing winds around his broad shoulders and his proud, regal face relaxed in peace. Tucked in his leather-gloved hands, folded just below his chest and above his silver belt, shining brightly with all its glittering seams of frosty white like a living soul, was the Arkenstone. Returned rightfully in the place of its owner, the true Heart of the Mountain.

At his feet, pale of faces and drained with internal grief, were his heirs and nephews, Fili and Kili, sons of Dis. Fili was dressed just as magnificently as his uncle in furs and broidery, the winged crown framing his face and golden mane, which looked darkened like the dullness in his blue eyes. While one hand wrapped around his brother's, the other gripped tightly on a crutch.

Having broken a leg, a few ribs, and crack his hipbone, the elder Durin leaned slightly against Kili, who nodded slightly, his eyes watching the peaceful expression of their uncle. He swallowed hard, his face pale and drained just as Fili felt.

Even in death, Thorin Oakenshield looked majestic.

Though his expression struggled to remain composed, his little brother's hands squeezed Fili's arm for reassurance. Fili really wanted to comfort his brother here and now, but he couldn't. Neither he nor Kili could not break down in front of nearly the whole kingdom of dwarves. Ever since Fili had woken up, Kili by his side, they had their time to shed tears in the sanctuary where Fili was healed, his life no longer in danger but his body crippled in a way that will never allow him to charge in battle again.

Fili remembered embracing a tearful, sobbing Kili, while he himself had been in shock and only processed in comforting his younger brother. Thorin was dead. His uncle was gone, yet he was alive. How was that possible? he had thought. He had then learned that he would have bled to death if it had not been for Bilbo. That Kili would not have been alive it hadn't been for the two elves, Legolas Greenleaf and Tauriel, who have saved Kili's life multiple times before.

While Fili had been unconscious, Kili had met with Tauriel again. Whatever was said between the two, Fili quickly learned that most of their previous conversation was not his business, but knew that his brother was deeply in love with her and was not planning on giving her up at any time in his life, no matter where she was. Fili would have even sworn he spotted some swollen red marks on Kili's lips from a deep, passionate kiss and winced at the thought of his little brother kissing an elf.

He did scold Kili for that, or attempted to….but in the end, Kili remained unmoved, claiming his feelings to be real and un-dying. In spite of his worries, Fili would remain supportive of his reckless little brother, as always, and seek out the beautiful she-elf to thank her properly. His brother deserved to be happy again and it would be good to start a new relationship with the elves, but that will be something to think about later. He was honestly tired of all the lifetime grudges and rivalries his uncle had held on to.

Of war. Of death. No more.

The two young dwarves had shared their words of grief, in private, as two brothers who have lost a beloved uncle.

But now, for the sake of many, as the sons of Durin, they must remain strong. No matter what their pain and personal loss, they must embrace it with pride and dignity...at least in the eyes of those who will be looking up to them from now on. Thorin had taught them that.

But it was only because the brothers were able to stand by each other, wounded but alive and together, that they had found the strength to manage such a facade.

The air of the dark cavern was filled with the silence of grief, lit by thousands of golden candle light glowing like stars in the dark night sky, or the souls of many who have passed on in eternal peace. The resting place felt spiritual, as though each little flame were the essence of the Mahal's Halls, weighed by the heavy hearts of those who gathered in the tomb. Among them at present were also Gandalf, Radagast, and Beorn.

Only the chosen twelve-thirteen, to include Bilbo-walked among the platform that presented the body of their king, who fallen in battle, taking down Azog the Defiler, passing from this life in the arms of Kili, his youngest nephew and heir, and Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.

Fili closed his eyes. If only he had been there for Kili, to say a final farewell to Thorin...but he never had the chance. He had barely made it out himself if it hadn't been for Bilbo and Dwalin.

Some tears were shed, Balin's face twisted in grief, for he had watched many sons of Durin fall before their time. Too many. Dwalin paused beside Kili and Bilbo, his eyes glittering with sadness, but the slightest twitch of his mouth said what everyone though: Look how proud he looks. A brave king, a loyal friend, and a loving uncle, to the very end.

Fili nodded to him in agreement. Indeed, Dwalin had been Thorin's closest friend, and was practically an uncle to him and Kili, so he will continue to have him and Kili's backs, while Balin will continue to be their advisor. Fili could not have been more grateful.

Bilbo stood before the candles' light surrounding Thorin, bowing his head briefly as though in prayer. His face grimaced with grief, trying hard to shed more tears. It had been two days since it happened and the blow was still all too real for the poor hobbit.

"The king has come unto his own," Gandalf's voice boomed throughout the large room. "Under mountain, under stone. Send him now unto the deep. Unto earth, eternal sleep. Under mountain, under stone."

"Under mountain, under stone," echoed all the dwarves in the great room.

"Through all the lands, let it be known." Then Gandalf called out to the many, many glowing candle light, "The king is dead!"

Balin lifted a fist to the many rows of candle light. "Long live the king!" he cried, a tear running down his face.

"Long live the king!" cried the dwarves in return, unsheathing their swords, exes, and hammers in salute. Even Kili unsheathed his sword. The dwarves of the Iron Hills, lead Dain Ironfoot, instantly unsheathed their silver swords in salute.

Fili stood in the center of all on his own, facing the many dwarves with a fierce, stoic expression with all the glory of his attire and crown. The new King Under the Mountain. He bowed his head formerly to all, acknowledging all, as Thorin would have done.

A king at heart, Thorin Oakenshield was irreplaceable...but many already had a feeling that the newly crowned king, his young sister-son, the Lion of Durin, would come to surpass him.

"There is to be a great feast tonight," Balin said to Bilbo as they walked out of the open doors of the mountain. "Songs will be sung, tales will be told, and Thorin Oakenshield...will be passed on to legend." Balin looked back into the darkness of the entrance with some sadness, but great pride.

Bilbo was all packed up, having slipped out of the room during the burial after the dwarves had saluted to their new king. Noticing this, Balin had followed him out after, very persist in making sure Bilbo got his one-fourteenth of treasure (one small chest and a shield, really, as the former-burglar insisted on making do). The old advisor made a plead for Bilbo to stay a little longer, but Bilbo gently declined, wanting to leave on his journey home without delay. His heart still grieved and he missed his home very much...though he knew that there would always be half of him that would remain here with Thorin and Company forever.

"I know that's how you must honor him," said Bilbo, softly, "but to me, he was never that. He was...To me...he was..." He swallowed, his eyes misting up in trance, before he blinked and cleared his throat, seeing Gandalf already waiting for him. "I think I'll slip quietly away. Will you tell the others I said good-bye?"

Balin smiled. "You can tell them yourself." He nodded toward the doorway. Bilbo followed his gaze, and gave a small, startled chuckle as the sight of his dwarvish friends watching him from the doorway, all smiling with tears in their eyes. In the center of them all were Kili and King Fili, who was supported on either side by both his brother and Dwalin.

King Fili. How very strange it sounded! To think that one of those two young, mischievous dwarves that pranked him constantly on their long journey...well, Bilbo always knew that Fili always had it in him from the very start, even before the hobbit knew he and his brother were princes. He will be a great leader. There was a great pride in his heart that swelled as much as his sorrow.

Lump in his throat, Bilbo approached and then stood before Fili, who gestured for Dwalin and Kili to let go of him before standing proudly in spite of his pain. Feeling a little awkward, Bilbo started to bow, when Fili instantly reached out to place his hand on the hobbit's shoulder to stop him. "Master Baggins," he said, "peacemaker, savior, and friend...you did not bow to Thorin before, you will certainly not bow to me."

Bilbo swallowed nervously, though he was aware of Fili and Kili's amused smiles. Despite their grief, and though they have greatly matured in heart and soul, the hobbit was more than thankful that they can still smile mirthfully like before.

"I never got a chance to thank you for saving my life," continued Fili. "Dwalin told me everything."

"But not Thorin's," said Bilbo, voice cracking. "I...I am so sorry...that I could not have done more."

"As I had heard from my brother in the hour of our mourning," said Fili, nodding to his brother, "you and Kili had given him peace in his final moments. Something that I still wish I could have done. The fact that you were there to forgive him for his previous actions was more than I could have asked for. You truly are a kind soul, Bilbo," he whispered the last part.

"And any guilt you would have felt in his death, I share with you," added Kili solemnly. He gave a sad chuckle. "Know that you are not alone."

Bilbo nodded, feeling half-shamed and half-relieved of his previous worries before Fili and Kili's words. They were right. Thorin would not want them to have any more regrets.

"Thorin," began Bilbo, looking both Fili and Kili in the eye, marveling in how far they had both come. He forced a smile. "H-He...He would be so proud of you. Both of you."

Tears now shining in his eyes, Kili then stepped forward and shamelessly gave Bilbo a fierce hug. Bilbo gasped in surprise, but quickly returned the embrace with one arm, struggling not to cry.

"He would be proud of you, too," croaked Kili, before pulling back. Bilbo nodded to him in thanks as Kili stepped back to his brother's side, and then repeated the gesture to Fili, who bowed his head back with shining blue eyes.

Stepping back, Bilbo turned to the rest of the Company, stuck for a moment with what to say. Finally, he said, "Ah, if any of you are ever passing Bag End, uh...tea is at four. There's plenty of it. You are welcome any time."

They all bowed to him. Including Fili with Kili's help. Bilbo began to start off, before adding with a hint of of humor, "Uh...don't bother knocking."

They all laughed tearfully. Oh, they will be sure to make good on that promise. All the more reason Fili was determined to heal fast to try that out with Kili. Despite the chance that he may never run in battle again, he will be more than certain to be well enough for travels, at the very least.

Who knew.

Then, without another word, Bilbo Baggin turned around and walked into the sunset with Gandalf at his side. The dwarves watched them go, hoping in the their hearts that they will see him again soon.

They knew where to find him.

The End

Finally reached the last chapter, almost exactly a year later! At last! I wanted to get this updated on Leap Year because it's practically a once in a while opportunity!

Thank you all for reading!