He had given everything for them, and had been glad to do it.

He had not yielded, nor had he let that light go out.

He hoped he had made her proud.

And yet there was still one last thing he had to do, one last thing to make it right. "I am so sorry," he rasped, even as the pain tore into every memory of light and joy. "That I led you into such peril."

Blood bubbled in his throat, but he forced the words out, tears starting in his eyes.

"I am glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin," Bilbo murmured, the hobbit's hand clasping his own an anchor in the pain and the blackness that threatened, like the looming shadow of the cresting wall of night. "Each and every one of them. That is far more than any Baggins deserves."

Thorin smiled. For he hoped his friend would remember him, and he hoped his memory would live long past the final shadow that was calling to him. He was glad to pay the price, if it had given them all the gift of living. "Farewell, Master Burglar," he breathed, the breath sighing from his lips. "Go back to your books, and your armchair. Plant your trees... watch them grow." He did not mind, that his last breaths were to say goodbye to Bilbo Baggins. "If more people valued home above gold... this world would be a merrier place."

A king. He had been a king to his people in his last few hours. He hoped he had made her proud.

When the quiet darkness came for him, Thorin Oakenshield was not afraid.

***

It was not darkness, for there were stars wheeling overhead. And they came to him like jewels out of the galaxies, the faces of the ones he had loved with his heart of embers. He saw Gandalf, leaning upon his staff with sorrow etched into the weary lines of his face, staring at the living and the dead around him. Eagles wheeled overhead, and their cries echoed through this shadow-world, this place-that-was-not-a-place.

He saw Balin, his oldest friend, and Dwalin, who had fought with him to the last.

Óin and Glóin, clasping arms with yells of victory amongst great piles of orcs.

Bifur and Bofur and Bombur, lifted in the claws of Eagles and borne upwards to that tower of ice and stone, to Ravenhill.

Dàin, his cheers of victory louder than the horn-call of Erebor.

Dori and Nori, hauling a bloodied Ori to his feet.

And Bilbo. The hobbit was curled around himself, and sobs shook his small shoulders as he remained beside the body that had once been Thorin's.

Yet though he looked for him in the stars and the night, Thorin did not see Kili, his heir, his sister-son. Not on the battlefield or the ruined city or the mist-shrouded watchtower of Ravenhill.

But he saw his home, snow-capped, rising to scrape the brooding clouds, and the halls of his fathers that he had known once again. And he saw the valley in a foreign land, the green that grew over a fallen city, and the westering sun over a bright hilltop, scattered with niphredil and elanor.

He saw the Shire: all its rolling hills and its little rivers and its precious, merry folk. He saw the darkened dusty halls of Moria, and the rocks of the Battle of Azanulbizar.

He saw Rivendell, the dwelling of Elrond where peace lingered over the land.

He saw empty plains and a golden hall; and horses galloping over the grasslands. He saw a white city against lofty mountains, and a dark shadow to the east. He saw Angmar, and Lórien, the pinnacle of Orthanc and the moonrise over Ithilien; the Iron Hills and the Havens of Harad and the misty green of Fangorn.

He saw all of Middle-earth — and he beheld the beauty of a thousand lands.

And then he beheld the sea. The day was dying, and the light on the water glinted with a gold that surpassed all the hoard of Erebor, lingering with the last rays of sun upon Middle-earth. A wind took him, and he went tumbling across grey waves tipped with white foam toward the setting sun — and beyond it a night of rain. And as it rolled back Thorin beheld white shores, and beyond them a far green country, and here the sun was rising.

The wheeling stars faded. The night drew back. With a jolt Thorin found his feet planted firmly upon golden, leaf-strewn grass, and the blood and weariness of battle was gone. On either side of him two mighty trees grew, and a canopy of golden leaves laced above his head. He was upon a hilltop, but though he could see white-capped mountains in the distance, and trees nestling at their feet, the land immediately around him was hidden. He took a step, boot crunching in fallen leaves upon the golden grass, and then he heard her.

"Thorin."

The word was clear, and the voice was ringing, at last free of the sorrow and toil that the long years had brought. Thorin closed his eyes, hesitant to turn, should she prove no more than a gilded dream. But he heard the soft sigh of a light step upon the cool grass, and he knew in his heart that he stood no longer upon the shores of Middle-earth, but was come to the Halls of Mandos, and of Mahal whom the dwarves loved.

Thorin Oakenshield turned.

And there she was, glowing like a fallen star, and a light was in her emerald eyes that threatened to steal his breath away. She smiled, though her lips trembled, and tears swum in her eyes.

His mind had forgotten how beautiful she was, and how healing her smile. Arien Féathalion did not speak, simply gazing upon her king and her heart, understanding and loving the streaks of grey in his hair, the lines of care and sorrow in his beautiful face.

Her hair like the light of the setting sun flowed silken about her shoulders, her elven ears peeking through the strands, and the rising sun came up behind her.

"My queen," Thorin rasped at last, and his voice was hoarse. "Arien."

At the sound of his voice her tears came spilling down her cheeks. "I waited for you," she whispered, tears making her voice tremble. "Beyond the Western Seas."

But Thorin said, "Your place is not in the Halls of Mahal. It was always with the elves, and with your own people."

Arien beheld the guilt in her king's eyes, and crossed the hilltop with light footsteps. She cupped his cheek. "We are given a choice between the two kindreds." Her throat bobbed. "And I chose you."

Thorin lowered his brow to rest against hers, and a shuddering breath came out of her. "I didn't yield," he told her. "I didn't let that light go out."

"I know." Her hands drew his shoulders towards her, drawing his scent deep into her lungs and heart. "I saw all of it. And I am so sorry it had to end the way it did."

"I'm not," he rumbled, and then his hand ghosted across her cheek in the lightest of caresses. He tilted her chin upwards. "I found you once again because of it."

His mouth met hers, and Arien closed her eyes, letting the feel of him sink deep into her bones once again, and kissed him back, long and deep and slow. He was here, after all this time. He was here.

And they had a thousand years in which to live.

They drew back, though she still held tight to him as though he might fade away into sunlight and memory. And her heart ached at it, but she said, "There are some who wish to speak to you."

Thorin stared at her. "What do you mean?"

Arien only smiled. "Some who have been waiting longer even than me."

She stepped aside, and he raised his head. Over the crest of the hill where the sun still blazed like a golden star, the shapes of two dwarven figures appeared. Grey hair was about their faces, but their eyes shone with pride as they at last came into view.

Thrain and Freris.

"My son," Freris sighed.

"Mother," Thorin breathed, his voice breaking. "Father."

Arien fought the lump in her throat.

But Thorin was staring at his father, shaking his head. "I was so certain you had lived. Was it all in vain?"

"No, my son," Thrain said. "I lived. But you could not have saved me, Oakenshield. Not even a wizard could do that."

The dwarf prince stepped forward. "I know I've not been a good father, I know I was not there when I should have been," he said. "But know this, King Under the Mountain. I've always loved you, even in the very pits of Dol Guldur."

Arien bit her lip as Thorin's chest heaved. "You saved my life, father. I could ask no more than that."

Thrain dipped his head, and Arien knew he bowed to his son, to the king who had brought their people home.

They stepped aside, to make room for the brother who crested the hilltop, and who simply bowed, dropping to one knee. Thorin dipped his head, his eyes soft. There were no words between them, for they had not been close as brothers should, and this was not the time for harsh truths.

Frerin rose, standing beside his parents. Arien braced herself for the figure that appeared now over the hilltop, head held high. Thror did not bow, but gazed at his grandson.

"You reclaimed my kingdom," the dwarf said.

"Your kingdom?" Arien blurted, starting forward, though she halted at the icy stare Thror sent her. "Thorin Oakenshield is a better and more worthy king than you ever were."

Thror's eyes blazed.

"No," Thorin murmured. Arien stared at him. "I don't deserve Erebor. I don't deserve that throne. The things I did..." Something haunted entered those blue eyes. "I failed, at the final test."

Arien opened her mouth, but a voice cut her off.

"No, you did not fail." The voice was quiet, and young, but there was great love and pride in it.

Shadows were in Thror's face, but the old king stepped aside. Stepped aside, so that Fili and Kili could step over the rise.

It had been Fili's voice that spoke, and now Kili said, "You conquered, Uncle! You saved them all!"

But Thorin fell to his knees upon the golden grass before their young faces, and Arien would have given her eternal soul to wipe away the anguish in his eyes.

He had not known that Kili was dead.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," he rasped. "I didn't mean for either of you to die for me. I was supposed to protect you."

They smiled. "We promised to follow you to the end, Uncle," Kili answered simply.

Arien placed a hand on Thorin's shoulder as he bowed his head.

"Come!" Fili said, smiling. "We have not yet seen these legendary halls. Look with us upon the forges of Mahal."

Slowly, Thorin rose to his feet, and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For walking that dark path beside me."

Then he turned to Arien, holding out a hand for her. She placed her fingers within his, and Thorin smiled. "Walk with me," he said to her. "My queen."

She laughed then. A clear, light, musical sound, full of joy and altogether without bitterness.

"There is a place I have wished to take you," she said as she walked at his side down the hill, his family falling into place behind them.

Eternity opened up before them, bright and endless and golden as the tree that had once dwelt upon these blessed shores.

He smiled down at her. "Show me tomorrow," he murmured, and kissed her.