Disclaimer: I own nothing but the characters not in J.R.R. Tolkien's works.

The translations for Azog I will be posting the site I used on my page since I can't post the links here. Also for the Khuzdul, if anyone wants to look up anything. I'm lazy when I write so I don't put it into the chapters. For that I apologize and when I go back and edit this story I'll make sure to provide that.

Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. I know it's been a long one and I only originally meant it to be twenty chapters tops. But it kind of grew out of hand. I used some elements of the movie and the books plus my own creativity. (I could go on and on about the movie, what I liked and absolutely hated, but that would take up too much space). Again thank you for journeying down this road with me.

Fun fact that I completely forgot about this story: Nuil is Fili's godmother.

~filimeala

I'm not great with languages, so I took some liberties. The last one is Khuzdul.

Dushakskut: Oak-shield, basically Oakenshield

mat: die (in this use I meant 'Oakenshield will die', but there's no word I could find for 'will')

Dushakskut, rujat lat gru mat: Oak-shield watch you woman die, basically 'Oakenshield, watch your woman die'

Rujat gru gijak robosh: Watch woman blood flood, basically 'watch her blood flow'

Irak'adad: uncle

Chapter Fifty-Three

Thorin struck down the orc about to behead his wild hammer wielding cousin. He swung his sword towards another, slicing up through its gut. The orcs insides came pouring out onto the cold ground as it gave a gurgling screech. Dain was fighting at his back, laughing as he smashed orc heads left and right.

"Good ta see ye cousin!" Dain yelled over the screams.

He did not respond right away, punching another orc and beheading another. When the tide of orcs lessened the two cousins turned to each other, clasping their hands before Dain head-butted him.

"Forgive me, I should have come sooner," Thorin said. Dain rolled his shoulders, swinging out his hammer into another orc.

"Doesn't matter now, yer here and that's all that matters."

"Where is the leader?" Thorin asked, his eyes scanning the mass of fighting bodies. Dain looked as well, as the dwarves around them keep the mass of orcs at bay while they spoke. Thorin could see Fili and Kili fighting side by side. Moving in synch with each other's movements and not an orc was able to rush past them.

But they heard Thorin and it was Kili that answered his question. While he held off a particularly strong orc, blades locked together as the orc leaned over him. "Up on the hill, the watch tower!" he cried as Fili slammed into the orc and freed his brother. "I see the orcs!"

Thorin looked towards the hill, Raven Hill where the watch tower stood. Kili's eyes were the best out of all the company and Thorin only saw the pillars of wood with tattered fabric on them. He did not see the orcs but trusted his nephew.

"We will go there," he murmured. "Cut off the head of the snake."

"Lead on then cousin," Dain said as he shouted to his warriors. Slowly they began to fight their way forward, towards the hill.

Nuil woke slowly. Her neck sore as she drifted out of unconsciousness. She felt heavy and tired, and wanted to continue sleeping, forget about Thorin's madness and hope that they could avoid the impending war. She drew in a long painful breath before she remembered where she was, or more importantly what she had been doing before she had passed out.

She jerked sharply, her intent to sit up; but when she opened her eyes she found that her hands were bound, as where her ankles so that she could not rise to her feet and run away. Nuil knew, before she raised her eyes that she was not alone. Azog stood facing away from her, gazing down at the battle. Shoulders tense as his muscles flexed beneath his scarred flesh. Mahal, it hurt to swallow and dread filled her.

She had been captured. Her intention to end the battle sooner had failed. Her brother, Nogoth, was dead. She could see his body, laying a few feet away from her. There was a large pool of blood in which his body lay, seeping into the light layer of snow. His head was on the top of a pole. Mouth hanging open, his skin pale white. She clenched her fists tightly, forcing herself not to cry in anguish.

Everything was wrong. She had failed. The Valar brought her back to stop this. To save Thorin. But she had failed and there was nothing she could do. Suddenly Azog turned, pale eyes landing on her as his lips curled into a sneer.

"Dushakskut mat."

She spat at his feet. She did not understand his words, orc speech was not something she had ever wished to learn. Azog's eyes flashed with fury and he struck her with his one hand. Nuil fell to the side, spitting blood from her mouth as she glared up at him. He lowered down to his haunches, looking at her before smirking. Without another word he rose calling out orders to his followers.

An orc came and hoisted her to her feet. It cut the ropes at her feet but held her tightly as they followed Azog into the watch tower.

Thorin surged up the stairs leading to the watch tower. Fili and Kili right behind while Dain and Dwalin trailed behind. Crows circled the watch tower, but otherwise the air was still. They could still hear the cries of the battle below them. The orcs at the top of the tower were gone. Thorin stopped, panting at the ledge before the stairs led up to the doorway.

"Where are they?" Fili asked stopping beside him. "They cannot have left."

"No." Dain said stepping forward. "They didn't. They're no doubt waitin' fer us."

"A trap," Dwalin uttered, gripping his blood covered ax. They gazed at the watch tower warily. It wouldn't have been much of a surprise that they were coming, the path in full view of the tower. Thorin clenched his jaw. Trap or not, it needed to be dealt with.

"Wait!" Kili cried, gazing up. They followed his line of sight and Thorin drew in a sharp breath at the sight of the pale orc standing at the top of the tower. A grin spread across his scarred face, as he looked down at them.

"Azog," Thorin growled. Dain was gnashing his teeth while Dwalin cursed.

The orc raised his voice to them. "Dushakskut, rujat lat gru mat." He looked behind him and an orc approached with something struggling in its grip. Azog grabbed the struggling person and then thrust them forward so that the dwarves could see who it was. Fili and Kili rushed forward but Dwalin and Dain grabbed them. Thorin's grip on his sword faltered and it clattered against the stones.

Nuilweyil. Her throat was bruised, hands bound before her, wrists red. The side of her face was bruised and bleeding. Clothes stained with blood and torn. Hair all but free of the braid she kept it in. Azog held her by the back of her throat, a triumphant look in his eyes as he saw their reactions.

She gazed down at them, struggling in Azog's grip. Thorin's knees nearly gave out as he watched her face. Relief and pain crossed her features. More than anything he wanted to reach out and gather her to him, breath in her scent and lose himself in her warmth. He vaguely remembered his last words to her, his actions. Mahal, what had he done? How had she come here? It took everything in him not to fall to his knees or rush into the tower. He knew there were more orcs hidden within, the chances of reaching her before- he clenched his fists.

Thorin looked at Nuil, pain in his eyes, wanting more than anything to kill the pale orc. Azog was grinning.

"Rujat gru gijak robosh!" Azog called.

Nuil looked at him, tears falling down her face. Both sad and determined. He saw her nod to him, her hands clenching as she was brave for them. For him. She managed a tight smile as it came. The blade slid across her throat, cutting deep as blood appeared. It flowed over her pale but bruised skin, soaking at the collar of her tunic.

She gasped, more blood flowing and sputtering past her lips. Fili and Kili were screaming, fighting ferociously against Dain and Dwalin.

"AUNNIE!"

"NOOOOOO!"

Thorin forced himself to watch. Forced himself to keep his eyes on hers in her last moments even though he could not hold her. Azog grinned shoving her body over the edge. She plummeted and Thorin rushed forward. But fate was not on his side. He came to the top of the last set of stairs to find her there. Eyes staring up at the sky towards the snowflakes falling slowly.

He sank to his knees at her side. She no longer breathed, legs bent at awkward angles her hair fanned out beneath her as her blood mixed with the snow. The wound on her neck was open, gaping. Thorin didn't care, scooping her into his arms, her body still warm to the touch.

"Nuilweyil," he murmured brokenly. He rocked her in his arms, murmuring her name over and over as the others came. "No. Mahal. Nuilweyil, breath." He shook her slightly, not quite believing she was gone. Right before his very eyes. "Come on."

A hand landed on his shoulders but he ignored it.

"You were supposed to be by my side in all things," he murmured fiercely. "You can't- you can't be-" he couldn't say it. But she was; going cold in his hands as he rocked her in his arms. Thorin buried his face in her shoulder, uncaring that her blood covered his hands and clothing. Then he threw his head back and howled, tears overflowing as he rocked her still.

Thorin wept bitterly uncaring of those around him, mourning the death of his other half. For how long he did so, he did not know nor did he care.

The hand on his shoulder shook him harshly as his tears dried and he stared down at Nuilweyil's pale white face and blue lips. The blood drying, dark against her cool skin. Her eyes were still open, hazel and empty.

"Thorin, we cannot linger," Dwalin murmured. "Azog is still here and the battle is still raging. We need you Thorin." His face was lined with grief as well. Fili and Kili were leaning against one another, faces tear streaked.

Azog. The name brought a surge of anger through him. More than it had after the Battle of Azanulbizar. More than it had outside the goblin caves. Thorin held Nuilweyil tightly.

The orc had killed the woman he loved. His grandfather. Countless other dwarrow and sworn to kill him. No more. He would avenge his kin, the woman in his arms cold and lifeless. Thorin glared up towards the sky, gritting his teeth together. Then he bent his head to look at Nuilweyil, her skin cold beneath his fingers, eyes staring up into nothing. Her hazel eyes were beginning to cloud.

He kissed her eyes closed, like it didn't hurt. He lay her down on the cold ground before rising to his feet.

He approached the doorway, Fili and Kili moving towards Nuilweyil to weep over her as Thorin unclasped his cloak. The cold wind bit at him, but he cared not. Turning her pulled Fili and Kili away before covering her in his cloak, staring down at her face one last time.

Turning away with a rage burning in his blood he glared at the doorway. Azog would pay for everything, every death he had brought about. Mahal, the pale orc would not live past this day if he had any say in it. Without warning he rushed within the tower and up the stairs, seeing red as he slammed into the first orc.

His sword ripped up through the orcs gut to its sternum. It squealed, blood bursting from its chest as he kicked it down. The blood spattered against his skin but he moved on, bursting out into the open air at the top of the watch tower where the pale orc stood waiting for him. Thorin didn't hesitate to attack. All he could see was Azog running his blade across Nuilweyil's throat. Casting her aside.

He cut down the orcs that tried to get in his way. Stabbing and slicing before meeting Azog's blade. He could hear his nephews, cousin and Dwalin fighting behind him. Azog leaned his weight down onto Thorin's sword, snarling at him, but his pale eyes were alight with glee. Azog swung his mace forcing Thorin to dodge and jump away.

Azog swung down on him again, his clawed hand missing and hitting the stone with a metallic scratching sound. Thorin twisted, bringing his sword down the back tendons of the pale orcs leg. Azog roared, swinging wildly and catching Thorin off guard. The clawed hand pierced Thorin's shoulder, making him stagger before Azog raised him in the air. Thorin cried out in pain, gravity pulling his body down while he was raised up. Grabbing the metal claw with one hand he tried to lessen the pain.

The pale orc growled at him before slamming him into the ground. Thorin's head cracked against the stone and his vision danced with black spots as he gasped. Azog removed his claw, raising up his sword to finish him. With a cry, Thorin thrust his sword up and into the exposed fleshed of Azog's chest as the pale orc moved down. Azog's face twisted into a scowl, lips curling back to show his pointed and jagged teeth.

Thorin's sword went through the orc before cutting through his back. Azog fell on him and Thorin shoved the pale orc to the side, struggling against his weight and that Azog was still trying to kill him. But he felt the pain as he scrambled away and looked down. Over his heart the pain sat. For a moment he thought he imagined it.

Blood began to seep through his clothing, staining a large patch over his chest. He staggered, watching as Azog tried to pick himself back up. But the pale orc could not, his one leg ruined, while he bled out from the wound on his chest. Thorin could see that the end was near for the pale orc. Finding his strength, he lifted his sword from the ground, fingers covered in blood.

Lunging for Azog, Thorin plunged his sword into Azog's chest, feeling a righteous burn within his blood and knowing that he was avenging his family. Nuilweyil. Thorin watched Azog struggle to breath until the light was gone from his eyes.

The pain in his chest grew until he gasped. Breathing was difficult, and he found that keeping his eyes open was becoming more difficult every second. He turned away from Azog, falling to his knees, coughing. His nephews fought near him. He could see more orcs emerging from the stairs, from over the side of the tower. There were more. Despair gripped him. They did not have the forces to fight back. There were too many.

Fili was in front of him. Blocking the orcs that were trying to get to him. Protecting him. Beside him stood Kili while Dain and Dwalin fought near the stairs. Thorin fell to his back, finding that he lacked strength to rise and fight with them, no matter how much he tried. Fili saw him fall, turning to look, dismayed.

"Irak'adad!"

Thorin raised his eyes to Fili's, blackness clouding his vision. Thorin found that he almost could not tell the difference between Fili and his father, Eurig. They were so alike, he realized suddenly. Thorin was finding it hard to keep his eyes open, a cold feeling settling into his limbs.

Fili jerked suddenly, stumbling backwards, dropping his sword to clutch his throat. Kili saw and screamed, rage in his eyes as he fought to be closer to Fili. His nephew's hand held the arrow sticking out of his throat, blood coating his fingers as he still fought the orcs. Yet Thorin knew Fili was losing too much blood.

Kili jumped in front of Fili as an arrow struck the younger in the chest. A cry passed Fili's blood coated lips. Thorin tried to move, to rise and fight, to save his sister-sons. But he drifted in darkness as a new and familiar voice rose into the air.

"Eagles! The eagles are here!"

When he woke, it was painful. He struggled to breathe as his eyes flickered open in the dim light of the tent he lay in. His body hurt in a way that he had never felt before. He no longer wore his armor, but a thin tunic. Thorin knew without looking that his wounds had been dressed, but were not holding. The blood stains on the tunic proof enough. A groan passed his lips as his eyes landed on a still figure.

"Balin," he croaked. The elderly dwarf, still in his armor, sat with his head bowed at his bedside. When he raised his head, weary eyes met Thorin's. Tear tracks cutting through the dirt and blood on his cheeks.

"Thorin!" Balin exclaimed, rising with a wince. "Mahal, you are awake."

"Balin-"

"Don't speak lad. Save your strength," Balin said, helping to raise a cup of water to his parched lips. He drank little, coughing most of it away. "They said you would not wake."

"Fili and Kili," he said forcefully. "Where are my nephews?"

A haunted look entered Balin's eyes. His fists clenched, but he smiled slightly. "Wounded, but alive. They are in another tent being tended to." Thorin frowned, but did not question Balin's words. His friend would not lie to him.

"That is good." His mind drifted, dwelling on the pain in his body, the numbness in his feet. Then to the mountain and the things he had done. Mahal. "Bilbo?"

Balin's eyes were confused. "Bilbo is alive . . ."

"I wish to see him. To apologize," he breathed raggedly. This was not the feeling he should have if he were healing. Meant to live. "There is so much wrong I have done."

"It doesn't matter now," Balin murmured.

Thorin shook his head, shutting his eyes. "It does. This is all my doing."

"No, Thorin."

Thorin looked at Balin. "This war is the result of my greed. It blinded my heart. Drove my friends away, I nearly killed Master Baggins." Tears burned in his eyes, as he clenched his fists. "She is dead because of me."

Balin hung his head.

"I wish to see Bilbo."

"Very well."

Thorin drifted, in and out of sleep until there was a shuffle at his bedside. Forcing his eyes open he saw that Bilbo sat beside him. His skin was still covered in the dirt and grime of battle. A cut on his head, scabbed over. Thorin met his blue eyes.

"Forgive me, Master Baggins. I have treated you ill, and wish that my deeds towards you had not happened," he said slowly. He wished for more water, but knew that drinking it would be difficult. "I would take back my words and actions at the Gate."

"There is nothing to forgive," Bilbo murmured, taking one of Thorin's hands in his own. "You came to yourself. You fought valiantly."

Thorin did not believe his words, but had not the strength to fight them. "I would have us part as friends, Master Baggins."

Bilbo hung his head, taking a long shuddering breath before looking at him once more. His eyes shining with tears. "Bilbo. Call me, Bilbo. This is a bitter adventure if it must end so; and not a mountain of gold can amend it. Yet I am glad to have shared in your perils- that is more than any Baggins deserves."

Thorin gripped Bilbo's hand tightly, feeling his strength leaving. He took a long breath. "You have been a loyal friend to me, in times of hardship. That is all I could ever ask." He gave Bilbo's hand one last squeeze. "If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world."

Bilbo's cheeks were covered in his tears. Thorin was glad to leave Bilbo on good terms. Glad that no matter what he had done, that the hobbit still valued their friendship. That he had survived the battle. With a sigh, he let the darkness clouding his vision take hold. Looking at Bilbo as he faded away.

Bilbo Baggins watched the light die from Thorin's eyes. The dwarfs grip on his hand slackening. He knew that the dwarf-king had died. That he no longer would walk these lands, look upon Erebor or drink with his company. But he could not believe it.

"Thorin . . ?" he asked softly. He knew he would get no response. He ignored Balin's quiet sobs near the entrance of the tent. "Thorin?"

Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain was dead.

Bilbo felt his chest tighten painfully, a pain so unbearable filled him that he buried his head in his hands and wept loudly. Wept for the death of his friend who had tried so hard to bring his people home and be a good king. He cared little for those that heard him. He wanted to shake Thorin back to life and demand that he stay.

He wept for the deaths of his friends. For Thorin. For Fili and Kili who died defending their Uncle with both shield and body. And Nuil, who had died trying to end the battle before more could die. They were not just his friends, but they had grown to become his family. He would return to the Shire, with their memories, but not their companionship.

Gandalf listened outside the tent. A heavy sigh passed his lips. He had not foreseen these deaths, nor the battle. But Erebor had been returned to the Dwarves, the Necromancer, Sauron, cast out of Dol Goldur. Bilbo Baggins had lived, although he had been right all those months ago.

He would be a different hobbit upon his return to his home.

"He is dead then?" came a solemn voice behind him. Turning, Gandalf found one of Nuil's brothers standing behind him. He was stern and sad, brown eyes shining with sorrow. Bearded and heavily armed with both sword and shield.

"Thorin Oakenshield has passed on to the halls of his fathers," Gandalf said. "If I am not mistaken, you are Noledhe, the eldest of the children of Nolen."

The man nodded. "Aye. She was my sister." His voice was bitter. He swallowed. "For this venture I have lost another two siblings." He looked to the brightening sky as the sun rose in the east. "I wish she had never met him. I wish my father had never come to Erebor."

Gandalf frowned at Noledhe. "You may wish it so, but it was not your path in life. It was hers. There will come a time when you must accept loss and remember the good that you had. She loved Thorin, with her very being. Would you take that from your sister, and give her a life without love?"

"No. I would not."

"And your brother?"

"He lives," Noledhe replied. "But we grieve for our losses. We will take her and bury them in the green hills to the south."

Gandalf looked at the mountain. "Let the dwarves have her."

"She is not one of them!"

"But she loved the mountain. She loved Thorin and those dear to her. Would you not let her rest beside the dwarf she loved? Under their crown of stars eternal?" Gandalf's eyes were on the dimming stars crowning the mountain peak. Noledhe's eyes landed on them, and he drew in a shape breath.

"She told me of them once, many years after her return to the hills of Evendim. 'Abad bovan', she called them." He was silent for many moments. "She will stay, with her dwarf under the stars."

"A wise decision," Gandalf murmured. He looked at the man and found that his eyes were shining with unshed tears as the sun climbed the horizon.

"Nuilweyil was buried in the mountain, beside her dwarf, Thorin Oakenshield. They still lay there today, under the crown of stars. Some believe that they watch over the mountain in the halls of Mandos. Bringing the land prosperity and peace," Nedoheen said to his youngest daughter. Her sandy blond hair fell out of its braid as she frowned up at him, holding tightly to her doll.

"Is she the one you named me for?" she asked. He kissed her forehead.

"Yes, dearest one."

"Do you miss her?"

Nedoheen smiled slightly at her words, although his chest tightened slightly.

"Of course, silly," said his youngest son.

"Daddry, do not call your sister names," Nedoheen admonished. Like his sister, Daddry had sandy blond hair. He helped his mother skin potatoes at the table. Daddry rolled his eyes, returning to his work.

"I miss her very much. I miss all of them," Nedoheen told his daughter, catching the look his wife sent him.

He had married forty-five years after the events of Erebor. Finding that his wife, Deorel, was both understanding and supportive of what had happened in his long life. He had fallen for the golden haired woman of Rohan, much to his brothers unhappiness. But they had a good life. They were happy. He knew that his sister at least, would have been happy for him.

So he married Deorel, fathered three children and farmed. It was a simple life, a peaceful one.

"PAPA!" came a cry from outside their home. Nedoheen set his daughter on his chair and approached the open door, watching his eldest daughter run towards him. Across the field he could see several riders on horses with the banners of the house of Eorl.

Miren stopped before him as he grabbed her shoulders. In her hands was a basket, filler with berries from the small glade of trees nearby.

"Papa, the Rohirrim are calling for the men," Miren said quickly. "They say we are to go to Helm's Deep!"

Nedoheen had feared this. The lands had grown more perilous in the years of late. He had only hoped that it would not come to war. He pushed Miren within the house as Deorel worriedly approached him. He watched as the riders approached. When they were before his door, one dismounted and removed his helm. Blond hair spilled forth and a stern face regarded him.

"We have come to gather the people to Helm's Deep. You took an oath to our King, and we have come to see it fulfilled." He said. "I am Eothain, Captain to the Third Marshal of the Mark, Lord Eomer."

Nedoheen bowed his head respectfully. "We are well met. I am Nedoheen, son of Nolen. I will fulfill my oath to the King." Eothain nodded.

"Some of our men will remain behind to make sure the women and children reach the keep. Will you ride with us to gather more men?"

Torn, he looked to his wife. Deorel was pale, but she was a proud and strong woman. She gave him a nod. "Daddry, fetch my horse," he said to his son. The boy rushed to the stable. He looked to Eothain. "I will join you."

When his horse was fetched, his armor donned he joined the Rohirrim in the yard. Deorel hugged him tightly, and he buried his face in her hair. Breaking away he stole her lips, before leaning his forehead against hers. "I will return," he told her solemnly.

"I will hold you to that."

His kissed his children goodbye, pulled himself into the saddle and followed the Rohirrim. He turned back to see his family, raising his hand in farewell as they stood before the house. Facing forward the captain addressed him.

"Have you seen much battle, Nedoheen?"

He did not look at Eothain as he replied. "Once. A long time ago."

When he opened his eyes, it was light. Everywhere around him was light. Sitting he saw that he was in a room of white stone. He felt whole and strong, but ill at ease for he did not know where he was. Then the doors opened and he rose to his feet.

"Thorin?"

Looking at the speaker he nearly fell over. Before him stood his parents. They smiled at him, his father taking him by his shoulder and pressing his forehead to his.

"My son."

His mother kissed his cheeks, young and alive. He had not seen her since before Dis's birth. Another figure pushed them aside.

"Frerin," he breathed. His brother looked untouched. He had none of the wounds he had died from. Carefree and alive.

"Brother!" Frerin laughed, head-butting him before embracing him tightly. They pulled away. "Finally, you made it."

He turned to another dwarf, smiling. "Eurig."

"Thorin." The blond haired and friendly dwarf replied. "It is good to see you brother." He smiled, raising his brow as Frerin scoffed.

"Not by blood," Frerin murmured. "You went and married my sister. Which, I did not give you blessing to do so."

Eurig smirked. "He hasn't let that go for years. How is Dis?"

"She was well. Though-"

"Yes." Eurig's look turned solemn. "But you took good care of my sons." From behind Eurig, emerged a grinning Fili and Kili. Thorin blanched.

"Balin said you lived . . ." he murmured faintly. Guilt welled in him.

Fili shook his head clasping his shoulder. "It wasn't your fault. And we wouldn't have it any other way."

"Besides," Kili added, "I dare say I enjoy giving our other Uncle a bit of grief." Frerin scoffed.

Thorin embraced his sister-sons, unhappy that they were not alive. But glad to see them. Frerin took him by his arm and led him towards the door. "There has been someone waiting for you," his brother said. "She's been waiting. I'm glad she had you." Thorin looked at his brother, finding that his eyes were sad. "I knew she never really was mine."

Frerin patted his shoulder. "Go. She is waiting."

Thorin turned away from his brother. Anticipation burning within him. He knew who his brother was talking about. Never had he thought that he would see her again. Taking a deep breath he pushed the doors open. An even brighter light came through and he raised his hand to block it. As it dimmed he blinked and lowered his arm.

Before him lay a garden, with white trees and golden leaves. A lake sat off further. But in a circle of white flowers was a bench where a woman sat. Out of everything within the garden, the pale colors; she wore a gown of blue, hair braided in the fashions of dwarrowdams.

"Nuilweyil?" he breathed.

She looked up at him, hazel eyes shining with life. A smile spread across her lips.

"Thorin," she said, her voice soothing to his tired soul. She held out her hand for him. "I've been waiting for you."

FIN