A hand was placed gently on her head, followed by soft whispering. Though she didn't understand them at first. The voice being too far away for her to hear. But still, she recognized it.

As her hearing returned, she heard Dwalin whisper soothing words to her in Khuzdul as his hand continued to caress her cheek. His hand warm to the touch, his voice endearing, unlike anything she has ever heard from the warrior.

She realised she was laying on a bed. A pillow beneath her head, sheets underneath her body to protect her from the hard, rocky floor. And as the scent of Smaug filled her nostrils, she realized she was back in Erebor.

Was all of it just a dream? And all of it just been a bad dream and once she would open her eyes, she would see all who was dear to her? Her father, her uncle, Bilbo, Fíli, Kíli. Unwillingly she held her breath as she thought of his name.

'Thorin!'

With a jerk, the ferian sat up straight. Gasping in shock as she let everything sink in. The battle, the mortality wounded Thorin. Had all of it been a dream? Please, let it be a dream!

'Shh, shh, shh.'

She allowed herself to be pushed back down as tears start to form in her eyes. She needed to see him. She needed to see that he was alright. She needed to see everyone. But as she took a good look at her father, she knew.

It hadn't been a dream. It had really happened. Her father might have sounded soothing, but his eyes said it all. They spoke of battle and loss. They spoke of his loss.

'I couldn't save him, hêu. I've failed him.'

She allowed her voice to quiver as tears started to fall. Not ashamed to cry in front of her father, not when it came to the loss of a friend. No, she thought to herself. Thorin wasn't a friend. He was more than that. He was family!

'You did your best, mizimel,' Dwalin whispered as he wiped away her tears. 'You did all you could-'

'But it wasn't enough,' she interrupted in a mixture of anger and grieve. 'I was still too weak!'

'You did all you could and that's what counts, Frey.'

She didn't dare look at Dwalin again. How could he say that, when his best friend had died! She had failed his king! He should hate her.

But instead Dwalin did something unexpected. He took her in his arms as she cried. His hand stroking her back in comfort, whispering words of comfort as he did so.

'How long have I been unconscious,' she managed to ask after a while.

'A day. Preparations have already started for the burials.'

Burials, plural, not singular. Did that mean more of their company had died? Or did he mean they are to bury all fallen at once. No, that couldn't be right! Thorin should have a proper burial of his own. Not share it with fallen soldiers! He was king after all. King!

He was Thorin Oakenshield. He was their leader. He was their friend. He was a warrior. He was the descendant of Durin. And she couldn't save him! She was so close, but she couldn't save him! She couldn't do anything!

She cried into Dwalin's shoulder. Sobs escaping everytime she tried to hold the tears back in. Her nails digging in his shoulders must have hurt the dwarf, but he didn't let anything show.

'He died a painless death,' Dwalin eventually whispered as her cries turn into whimpers. 'You took his pain away, Frey. You did that. You helped him.'

But she just shook her head, telling him she should have saved him. Not ease the pain.

'You gave him a chance to say goodbye in peace. You made his final moment bearable.'

She remained silent after that. Her mind blank, unable to register anything at the moment. Then a burning question came in mind. Once again she was tormented by the thoughts of burials. She hadn't seen Fíli nor Kíli before she fainted. Bilbo had been there next to her. She even remembered him shouting her name before she collapsed. And her father had been there as well.

But where were the two princes? Where was her uncle? Why weren't they there as well? Did they still had to fight off orcs? Had they arrived after she had fainted? Or had they...

She whimpered at the thought. She needed to know who else was being buried. How many of their company had not survived the battle? But at the same time, she didn't want to know. Dreading the names she might hear.

'Who else,' she finally choked out in a soft whisper. 'Who else died?'

'Kíli.'

Again her eyes started to water up, upon hearing his name fall from Dwalin's lips. She did not want to know anymore! She already regretted asking. What if he said the name of another loved one. What if he said Fíli as well?

So she quickly pushed Dwalin away, before standing up. She ignored the nauseous feeling, due to her quickly standing up. She ignored the stars that temporarily appeared before her eyes. Instead she hastened towards the door. She needed to get away from here. She needed fresh air!

As she made a run for it, she heard Dwalin calling after her. But it seemed he did not pursue. Perhaps he was finally giving in to his grief, now that Frêllian was awake. Not that it mattered right now. Frêllian only had one thing in mind.

Fresh air.

As Frêllian ran through the halls, she saw flashes of familiar faces. Bilbo, Bofur, Bombur, Gloin and Oin. Each of them dealing with their grief in their own way. But she did not stop. Her feet bringing her to a destination on instinct.

She knew which way she was going. She recognized this way as the way out. To where Thorin had ordered them to block the entrance. Though the route she took was different than what she had become familiar with.

Then she came to an halt in the great open hall. The hall Smaug had burst through the entrance when he made his way to Laketown.

But it was not the sight of the entrance that has stopped her in her tracks. No, her attention had been drawn to the stone tables. Those hadn't been there before. Even from where she stood could she see the runes written all over them, a body placed on each table. One person kneeling in front of one.

She swallowed, trying to find any words to say. But her own grief disabled her. For as she glanced over at the table holding Thorin, it took everything to not burst into tears again.

They had washed him, she noticed. He no longer was covered in blood. His hair washed and rebraided. His clothes clean. His face serene as he layed on his back. And with his eyes closed, it almost looked like he was asleep. But with the arkenstone between his hands and his sword, Orcrist, under one arm, she knew it is all a delusion.

On his left was Kíli. He too, has been washed. Even if she hadn't seen the way the young dwarf had looked before his death, she could tell by how clean he looked. No one came out of a battle, looking that clean. Besides, she knew it was customary for the dead to be washed before their burial.

She trembled as she tried to hold back the tears. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. This wasn't how their journey should end! Especially Kíli! He was supposed to outlive his uncle. Be there when his mother returned to Erebor. He had often told her about how much he had wished to see her face when they would meet again.

But now he layed there on the cold stone table. His face white, in contrast to his black hair. His brown eyes closed forever. Under his arms his sword was placed. A sword he would no longer need. Not in this life.

Before she could even stop herself, she let out a sob. The sound giving away her presence as a head shot up. His voice roared in anger and grieve.

'I told you I did not wished to be disturbed!'

She started to stammer an apology, making his blue eyes to look at her. First in anger, but then in relief. She watched as Fíli scrambled to his feet, his eyes not leaving her as he ran over to her. And all she could do is stand there, frozen to the ground. Fíli was alive! He was alive!

As he took her in his arms, he whispered to her. How afraid he had been that he had lost her as well. His arms tightening around her as he cried. The once strong warrior, now laying broken in her arms.

There was a deafening silence in the reclaimed kingdom of the dwarves. Even with the army of dwarves from the Iron Hills present, which would have been surprising if it hadn't been such a sorrowful event.

After Frêllian had seen Thorin and Kíli, she had only spoken to the members of the company, she wouldn't even speak to Canwrîf. She had been told of their king's final moments and how he had died with honor. Fíli, who had been with his brother had remained silent after their encounter in the great hall. After he had told her how he had to watch the orc pierce his brother's heart right in front of his eyes. He had cried on her shoulder as he relived those horrific moment of losing his brother. His voice full of despair as he had told her his shame of having to his mother. Knowing he would have to tell her he had failed to protect his little brother.

And Frêllian had sat there. Not knowing what to say. What could she say? What words could heal the pain of losing a loved one? She had lost her mother long ago, but what was a loss of a parent compared to the loss of a sibling? Knowing you were supposed to grow old together?

So instead she did the only thing she could do. Allow the prince to let his heart speak, no matter how heartbroken she would become as she gently rubbed his back. Running her fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm him down.

He had thanked her and told her he was grateful she had not been taken as well. And after that he had dismissed himself to prepare himself for the burial that evening.

Now with Íler about to rest and Lüna soon taking his place in the sky, there was no escaping the hard reality. She has seen men were gathering in Dale, in honor if the fallen king. Even the elven king had paid his respect to the surviving company, before gathering his soldiers outside of Erebor, along with the people of Esgaroth. Unable to see what was to take place inside the mountain from outside of the mountain.

At the entrance of Erebor, Frêllian saw Canwrîf had taken place with other ferien. Which, to her surprise, were more than just a handful of his soldiers. But instead the ferian had gathered an army as well. More than she had seen back at Rivendell.

And lastly, there was Dain who had gathered his men across the hall. Even if the dwarf now stood proud and stoic as a dwarf lord, she had witnessed the dwarf having a weak moment when saying his farewell to his late cousin.

And as more and more gather around, Frêllian gathered her courage. They still had wait for Fíli, before they could start the ceremony. But she could not just stand here, standing next to Gandalf and Beorn until her father and uncle returned. So instead she took a step forth, inhaling deeply before filling the halls with her voice. Her lament for the king before he would be put to rest. Her gift as queen of her people, to the late king of dwarves.

'Thorin! King Under The Mountain

Alas no more shall rule this domain

We brethren must go on without him

And ensure his death was not in vain

In sleep eternal he will rest

With the arkenstone upon his breast

Which evermore shall emit its light

To banish the darkness of unending night

And on his tomb is Orcrist laid

An elven blade forged in elder days

To warn of foes and roving orcs

And ward off all evil from Erebor

How shall we remember our fallen friend

Who conquered dragon sickness in the end?

A warrior, leader, a proud flawed king?

A worthy descendent of mighty Durin!'

After finishing, she had to hold back her tears. Remembering the hard times she had given the dwarf at the start of the journey. And how they had warmed up to one another as time passed by. Casting her eyes down to the ground, she felt someone place a hand on her shoulder. The woolly feet giving away the person next to her as he squeezed her shoulder lightly. But no words were said as Fíli entered the hall, followed by Balin and Dwalin.

Fíli was the first to say his last goodbyes. Slowly walking over to his brother as he did so. She could see him tremble as he crossed one arm over his chest before he made a quick bow. His shoulders tens as he remained looking at his brother for a moment longer. He might look strong as he whispered his farewell in khuzdul. But she knew he was close to yet another breakdown.

But he could not give in to his grieve, the deep remorse he felt within. Not right now. Right now, he had to remain strong. Right now, he had to show he was a capable leader to his people. That he could be strong, even when times werr hard.

Then he lowered his arm and walked around the table his brother was resting on. The candles flickering as he walked by. He stopped next to Thorin, repeating his action. Again whispering a farewell, this time followed by a promise.

Only when he made his way to the front to watch the crowd in front of him, did the remaining members of their company move. First Balin, then Dwalin, followed by the rest. Each taking their own time to say farewell.

Again Frêllian was facing the pale form of Kíli. The dwarf prince laying motionless. His handsome face peaceful as she stared at him with sorrow. She swallowed thickly as she remembered the first time he had wanted to join Bilbo and her in their playful training. How he had tried to hide the stick behind his back once he found out she did in fact not play fetch. His goofy laugh and the mischievous glint his eyes almost permanently held. Tears threaten to fall as she remembered the day they first met. How radiant his smile had been after he had introduced himself and how shocked he had looked when Bilbo had told him he had come to the wrong house after he had stated Bilbo to be 'Mister Boggings' instead of 'Baggings'.

A small smile found her lips as she remembered the brazen smile as Bilbo had opened the door. The mischievous side of the dwarf present from the first moment she had layed her eyes on him. That is the Kíli she would remember. A handsome young dwarf with warm brown eyes and a contagious smile.

She felt like she might break down as she watched the now peaceful face of Kíli. But she stayed strong. She had to. If Fíli could do it, she could do it too.

'May the light of Lüna shine upon your path as you seek your forefathers,' her voice sounded in a soft prayer to the dead.

Then she slowly dragged herself over to Thorin. Her feet heavy as she watched the fallen king. This wasn't fair! He had just been king! He had fought so hard to reclaim his homeland, only to be taken from this world! How could life be this cruel?

Still, she had no say in what destiny has planned for each breathing creature. All she could do was try and accept the injustice that was bestowed upon them every once in a while. So she just stood next to Bilbo as they watch Thorin in sadness. His face pale, his expression finally free of worry. She remembered she had once told him he should smile more often. That it made him look more handsome. And she had meant it, the ferian blood still ran visible through the line of Durin. Even if all but a drop was left.

But now the king would never smile again. But at least he looked peaceful. His dark hair carefully layed out and his silver strands glowing in the candle lights. Even dead, the dwarf was ever the king, though she would remember him as he was. Both the good and the bad sides of him.

She heaved a breath as she stood next to him. His voice still echoing in her head as he proudly stated the king of dwarves and the queen of ferien to have joined forces. And here he was now. This was what their alliance had done for him.

'Death leaves a heartache no one can heal,' she whispered in her tongue after she had composed herself. 'Love leaves a memory no one can steal.'

Tears threatened to fall again as she told him she had many memories to keep him close to her heart. Even in the short time they had known each other.

Next to her, she could hear Bilbo trying his best not to break down. Taking deep breaths, his breathing irregular, before returning to normal. So she returned the gesture he had given her a moment before. His shoulders tensed up as she gently gave it a squeeze. Though his brown eyes filled with tears, he smiled at her.

They remain standing there for a while longer. Her hand on his shoulder as they watched their fallen friend. But eventually Frêllian took her place next to her father, her eyes on Fíli as he stood in front of them. One by one, the dwarves formed a line behind Fíli. The last to join being Bilbo.

'The King has come unto his own. Under mountain, under stone.'

Frêllian closed her eyes as the wizard's voice echoed through the hall. Her grieve growing stronger again by his words. She needed a moment to recover, before she could look up again. Her father placing a hand on her shoulder for comfort. For her, but also for himself. His face might be stoic, his eyes were filled with grief. For he had said goodbye to his most trusted friend.

'Send him now unto the deep. Unto earth, eternal sleep. Under mountain, under stone. Through all the lands, let it be known.'

Gandalf paused for a moment. Letting his words sink in, but she also felt like the wizard needed a moment to compose himself. Then he finished with a stronger voice. The four words Frêllian wished she did not hear. But it was hard to block Gandalf's powerful voice.

'The King is dead!'

After the wizard ended his speech, her uncle walked over to Fíli. The dwarf had yet to move. Only when Balin stood before him, did he lower his head to allow the white haired dwarf to crown him as the next king. Then Balin drew his sword.

'Long Live the King!'

As Fíli stepped forward, the heavy weight of his uncle's crown now resting on his head, the dwarves chanted 'long live the king' as well, each raising their weapon.