A/N - Final chapter. Thank you for reading./RB

As quickly as she had begun, Averil ordered herself to stop crying. She arose and lifted her face, forcing a smile.

Now it was her turn to make a speech.

"Pardon my tears, gentlemen," she said, wiping her face. "But how could I not be overcome? My father has been avenged! And I am alive, thanks to every single one of you." She stole a look at Thorin.

"There are still good men in my kingdom," she continued, reaching for Hevyk's hand and lifting it triumphantly. "Good men who fight for what was right. A celebration is in order!"

The company erupted in cheers. She motioned for Hevyk to come toward her, and she held him close in a restorative embrace. He lifted her off the ground and spun her around, overjoyed. He introduced her his officer, Enam, who complimented her on her ambush.

"We certainly could have used you a few days ago," Enam said, running a finger along his injured jawline.

Thorin looked on, trying to seem nonchalant.

Merriment broke out at the camp. Averil added Maeve's stew to the existing offerings of bread and pheasant. Tales were shared, weapons examined, and songs sung.

Satisfied that they could slip away without being noticed, Averil pulled on Thorin's sleeve, and quickly led him past the ponies and horses, away from the noise.

He stood before her as she leaned against a tall pine.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I will be."

"That was quite a lot to take in."

She nodded, and rested her head on his shoulder. Exhaustion settled in every part of her body.

"Let's go back to the inn," she whispered into his neck. "Hold me in that bed until I fall asleep."

Thorin allowed himself to enjoy her warmth and the tickle of her lips before he spoke. He took a step away from her, so he wasn't so close.

"You should eat, and then rest at camp," he said, handing over the knife she'd dropped in despair earlier. "You have a long journey to embark on tomorrow."

"Don't you mean we have a long journey?"

Thorin shook his head.

"Princess, this is where we part."

"I told you, I'm going with you."

"You will abandon your people? After everything you now know?"

Averil hung her head. To hear the truth today was to get knocked in the gut, repeatedly.

Thorin placed his hand under her chin and lifted her face. He decided to try the tenderness that Maeve had suggested. Perhaps that would make things easier for both of them.

"Do you not love your home?" he asked softly.

Averil didn't respond, but he could see the answer in her glossy eyes.

"Could you love that man?" Thorin nodded toward the camp.

Averil wrinkled her brow and curled her upper lip. "Hevyk?" For reasons she did not understand, she stopped short of answering "no."

Instead, she said, "I'm in love with a dwarf king," and leaned forward to kiss him.

He pulled back before she could make contact.

"It's obvious that he fancies you," Thorin said, trying to get through to her. "And he is honorable. He was determined to find you."

"So were you," she said, remembering his return to the forest and snatching the tent away just in time.

"He would make a fine, respectable husband."

"As will you."

Thorin sighed. This woman was by far the most stubborn, one-track-minded person he had ever encountered, besides himself. This was harder than Thorin expected.

Curse Maeve, and her 'tenderness,' he thought.

"I cannot allow you to come with us," he said coldly, his voice monotone. "We have our destinies, Averil. They're both clear. I have appreciated your skills in battle. But…."

Averil suddenly reached for his belt buckle and pulled him to her, roughly knocking his body against hers. She knew what he was trying to do, and she needed to show him that it wasn't working. She took his hand and placed it down her dress, over her heart. He looked at his hand and her breast bulging next to one another against the fabric, and, despite himself, began to softly stroke her flesh. He felt her heartbeat and her breath quicken.

Thorin pulled his hand from the dress and swept her away from the tree and into his arms. He pelted her mouth and face and neck with hard, fervent kisses.

They spoke on their own.

Listen to me. My eye must be on reclaiming Erebor, not on you. I have a responsibility to carry out. Do you understand that? You must also follow your destiny. Rule your people; comfort them after these travesties. My heart must remain on my own task. You cannot come, or my heart will be with you.

At last, he was spent. Out of breath, his huffs were hot and shallow against her chest. Averil slowly ran her fingers through his hair and let a single tear fall.

She'd heard every word.

She was the first to reappear at the lively camp, looking for Bofur and Bilbo. Thorin emerged from the woods just as the three ended an embrace, all of them teary-eyed. He walked past them stoically and joined the circle around the fire. He ate and drank, but barely engaged in conversation with anyone.

Hevyk stayed by Averil's side, his protective arm around her, bringing her up to speed with the happenings in the kingdom. The royal treasurer and the remaining trusted soldiers were keeping the peace. But everyone was holding out hope that the true heir would soon return.

Thorin looked away, unable to deal with the scenes that appeared in his head whenever he saw Hevyk's hand around her shoulder or her waist.

As the night wore on, Averil began to hold her head wearily in her hands. Hevyk offered to pitch her tent, and she let him. She crawled inside and let her heavy heart carry her off to sleep.

Thorin and his company were gone by the time Averil awoke. Thorin had roused everyone before daybreak, offering no explanation except that Durin's Day was fast approaching and they'd already had far too many distractions and setbacks.

Bofur and Bilbo glanced longingly at Averil's tent as they prepared for the journey, but they took off without saying goodbye. Thorin never looked back once.

The sun was high in the sky when Averil came out of her tent. She'd slept late, and deeply.

She looked around the empty camp, and swallowed back the anguish that brewed in her throat. Hevyk and Enam were eating bread around the fire pit. They had already gathered their supplies and loaded them on the horses.

"Good day, Ele-rahv!" Hevyk said enthusiastically, handing her a large piece of bread. "Are you ready to return home?"

Averil reached for the food and sat next to him on a stump.

"I do believe I am," she said.

As she ate, Averil remembered her dream:

There were four small children in her palace, four raven-haired, happy children. They were hers, two princes and two princesses, stair steps in age. They were running, laughing. They called for their father to join them in a game of hide-and-seek, and Hevyk emerged from the palace library, beaming with pride and eager to play with them.

And as she stood in the long hall watching her family, she could see her mother, father and Thorin near the palace entrance, surrounded in multi-colored light pouring from the stained glass windows above them. Thorin was adorned in ornate royal blue kingly robes. Her mother's deep purple velvet gown was embellished with tiny diamonds and kissed the floor. Her father was smiling at her the way he used to when she finished a good sparring practice, proud and tall in his black, fur-lined garb. No one could see them but her. She waved at them, but they did not move. She called for them, but they did not answer.

When the light faded, so did they.

Around mid-afternoon, the company finally stopped to eat and stock up on supplies in a town much bigger than the last. The tantalizing smells from an eatery and pub beckoned them. They sat at a large wooden table, worn out from the day's early start and non-stop travel.

They ordered ale, meat and potatoes. Then all were silent, thinking of the one missing.

Bofur spoke up first.

"She fought well, didn't she?" he asked no one in particular.

That was all it took for the somber company to come alive. They exploded with loud commentary about her skills, re-telling for Gandalf the details of Averil's prowess during the bloody Orc battle.

"My goodness, I nearly forgot," Bofur said, as the noise died down. He reached inside his coat. "She wanted me to give you this."

Bofur slid her knife across the table to Thorin.

He stared at it for several seconds as he felt his chest tighten. He reached out to stroke the tip of the blade, drawing a small drop of blood.

"She will need this," Thorin murmured.

"She said it is a gift," Bilbo began, looking away, his voice breaking. "Actually, she said, it is her gift for her king."

Her king. Thorin turned the knife to look at his reflection. He saw Averil. Her brown eyes sparkled like smoky topaz, a soft smile formed on her lips. Her hair, dark as midnight, was wispy against her olive skin.

At that moment, the ale arrived. After everyone was served, Bofur raised his mug high.

"To Averil!" Bofur said.

"To Averil!" the company cheered.

Thorin did not say the toast. But he lifted his mug with the others, then brought it to his lips.

The ale was bitter, and perfect.