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The cries of injured men echoed across the grass and through the trees. War was chaos and Y/n did not want any part in it. Legolas called the war something before he’d let, the battle of five armies. She shook her head to dispel the thought. She did not want to imagine the blood being spilt tonight.

Y/n fixed her eyes on the floor of the royal tent she was sitting in and desperately hummed a song she could not remember. But the screams of battle drew her thoughts again and again to the reality of the night.

Y/n’s feet swung off the ground. The chair she sat in was meant for an elf. Everything in this tent was meant for an elf, elven royalty – the command tent, as Legolas had said. A large oak desk faced the entrance with a throne behind it. Other chairs, tables, and shelves lined the cotton tent. She’d been alone for hours, just her and the noise of the battle which raged long into the night. Legolas had gone to fight by his father’s side and she didn’t know where Bilbo was but she prayed he was safe. It was just her now, the survival of all those around her was uncertain. The humming continued.

“I need to get home,” Y/n whispered. It felt like years since she woke up in Mirkwood. She long ago abandoned the thought that this was a dream - abandoned the hope of waking up. She craved the simple safety of her previous and distant life. Her heart ached for the people she left behind. But those people and places were fading in her mind. The wizard was her only hope of returning to them.The idea had struck Y/n as soon as she laid her big bright eyes on him. Legolas had said in the grimy dungeon all those nights ago that it was most likely a wizard that brought her here. So a wizard could put her back.

Heavy boots stomped by her tent and she tensed. Y/n reminded herself that she was in the middle of a heavily armed camp and that the actual battle was miles away. But it didn’t do anything to sooth her nerves.

The girl thought of Kili. She imagined him out in the midst of a five-army war and she squeezed her eyes shut. Y/n wanted him to be safe. Her heart hurt. She pulled her knees to her chest. She wished she wasn’t alone.

Dawn broke for the few left to see it. Y/n stepped outside into the dim morning light. The noise from the war had ceased; all that remained were the cries of the wounded and the cries of the mourning. She looked to her left, the camp was bustling and busy as ever, trying to help the injured and feed the starving. She looked to her right, an elven guard stood outside the entrance to the tent. He looked down at her. She held eye contact for a moment then looked away.

Y/n walked out of the elven camp to the edge of the battlefield. The smell of death hit Y/n like a wall. It was hard to breath. Y/n’s eyes watered but she stepped forward. Bodies of men, elves, orcs and dwarves were strewn over the ground. They were all the same in death, they all held the same remorse. The earth was stained dark red. Dwarves she’d never seen before ran through the carnage, carrying out the wounded. Elves picked through the wreckage for survivors, making sure all their enemies were dead and all their kin at peace. The lonely mountain stood before her, looking down at the bloodshed it caused as imposing and unforgiving as ever. Y/n needed to know if they were still alive. She turned her head to watch two dwarves carry one of their fallen away. For the first time she was hit with the very real possibility that they might not be.

Y/n took another step forward; every step was planned so as not to step on any limbs. A familiar hat bobbed in the distance.

“Bofur?” She shouted. Her voice was swept away by the wind; she was surprised by how scared she sounded. “Bofur?” Y/n screamed. The figure paused. Y/n abandoned all cautious steps and began to run. Her feet slipped and slid underneath her -blood on the grass. “BOFUR!?! BOFUR?!?” She continued to shout her voice shrill and cracked.

Bofur turned around and his eyes went wide as he saw Y/n sprinting towards him. “Y/n!” He said with relief. The girl slid to a stop in front of him. She grabbed both of his shoulders to make sure he was alright.

“Thank God you’re okay.” She gasped.

“It’s good to see you unharmed lassie.” His voice was tinted with sorrow. “Bilbo?” He asked.

Y/n shrugged her shoulders helplessly. She didn’t know.

“Kili? Fili? Balin?” She asked in turn.

His face was sorrowful. He pointed to a small huddled group several yards away. Y/n’s face fell. She couldn’t see Kili. Her feet moved her towards the group without her permission. The company was there but she couldn’t see the youngest prince.

“Kili?” Y/n called. “Kili?”

The group shuffled around to accommodate her as she pushed her way to the front. A body was lying on the ground. She didn’t look at it; her attention was drawn away by the two princes kneeing on the ground with dirt in their hair and cuts in their armor.

“Kili,” She sighed. She shoved her way to him and dropped down beside him. He turned to look at her. His eyes were distant and watery. “You’re alive, you’re alive,” She murmured as if to reassure herself. She touched his hair, his neck, his chest, his cheek. His expression didn’t shift; he looked back at the body.

Y/n turned to it. “Oh,” She sighed.