This battle of Azanulbizar takes about two weeks in my story. The heaviest losses come over the dwarves before my OC comes into the story.

RA himself said that Thorin should have had a betrothed since he was the prince of his people. Thats what I made of it. Its a story full of perils for Thorins love interest but I hope you enjoyit anyway!

Brann woke up in the middle of the night as she heard voices in her fathers house. Still half asleep she sat up and jumped as her mother came rushing in.

'Brann, honey, quickly! Pack up your things, we need to leave right away!' her mother rushed her.

'Mother, whats wrong?' Brann almost panicked. Had there been an attack? Did they have to leave their home?

'You remember the dwarven army which passed a week ago?' her mother asked her while she packed a few of Branns things. 'There has been a battle at the gates of Moria. They need our help. The orcs have cut down most of the dwarves.'

'They have lost?' Branns heart grew heavy. She had watched the dwarves pass her village with her family and had admired their bravery. The orcs which had occupied Moria had also threatened the villages of men around the mountains and Brann had been relieved that the dwarves would put an end to the horror. Their shining armors and heavy weaponry had given the people hope. To hear that they had not been successful made Branns hope fade.

'No, they have won.' despite the good news Branns mother sighed heavily. 'But they paid a heavy price. Their leader, king Thror, is dead. As are almost three-fourth of their army. The remaining dwarves are heavily injured. Thats why they need our help. Hurry up, dear.'

As Branns mother had left her room Brann continued packing. Her mother and herself were healers and their service would be needed on the battlefield. Quickly the young woman packed some clothes and her healers bag and rushed out to join the men and women who rushed to the dwarves aid.

Thorin, prince of the dwarves of Erebor, stood at the edge of the battlefield and stared at the countless dead bodies. Orcs and dwarves lay mingled on the blood soiled ground. Black blood mixed with red blood and some bodies were mutilated that harshly, that it was impossible to say wether it was an orc or a dwarf. The young prince could hardly breathe because of the pain he felt. Pain about the loss of his grandfather, pain about the unknown whereabout of his father and the pain which were caused by his severe wounds. The dwarves had won the battle, but they had failed to retake Moria. The remaining orcs had retreated inside the mountain and the mines and the dwarves were not strong enough to follow them and wipe them out for good. At least Azog the Defiler was dead. Thorin could not forget the moment when the pale Gundabad orc had beheaded his grandfather and had tossed his head over the ground as if it was garbage. Now, the kings crown lay in the royal tent, along with the mutilated dead body of his grandfather. The dwarves did not know how they should manage to bury and burn all the dwarves who had lost their lives on the battlefield. The amount of the dead was overwhelming and the grief about the lost ones was to big.

'You should rest.' Frerin, Thorins brother had joined Thorin and looked at his older brother sadly. 'There is nothing you can do at the moment.'

'I am the leader of our people now.' Thorin stated in pain. 'I will rest if everyone is looked after.'

'Thorin, don´t be ridiculous.' Frerin and Thorin could not be more different. While Thorin was a strong and hard warrior with a hot head, Frerin was more the intellectual, calm and prudent. 'You are wounded and you are exhausted. You do not help our people when you collaps on the edge of the battlefield.'

But Thorin did not listen to his brother. 'Have you found Lindin?'

The husband of Thorins and Frerins sister Dis had also not been found yet. He had left his wife behind with his two dwarflings, Fili and Kili. Thorin was restless, he could not bear the thought of having to tell his sister that her grandfather was dead and that her father and husband were missing.

'No, not yet.' Frerin sighed. 'No sign of him. And no sign of father.'

'Who survived of our kin?' Thorin asked. He was not sure if he wanted to know though. It could not have been many.

'The sons of Fundin, Dwalin and Balin are alive. As are Bifur and Bombur. Their brother Bofur is badly injured, but he´ll live if his wounds do not get infected. Oin is doing the best he can, but he is the only healer we have left. The other ones are dead. All of them. Gloin and the Ri brothers Dori and Nori help the grave diggers, but there is still too much to do. There are too many dead.' Frerin stopped himself from speaking. The situation was unbearable for both of them. With a deep sigh he left for their tent, which was standing right beside the tent which bore their dead grandfather.

As Brann and her mother arrived at the battlefield one day later, their breath was taken away by the devastated land laying before them. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of decay. The battlefield was covered with dead bodies and flies and Brann had to breath through her mouth to keep herself from throwing up.

'My goodness!' her mother was not less shocked than her. 'This is horrible. And all this decay will increase the chance of infection with the wounded. We have to hurry.'

Brann looked back to her father who had led their people to the battlefield. The lord of the village of men was pale, but he managed to remain control over the shocked men.

'Where is your king?' he asked one of the dwarves who helped the grave diggers.

'Our king is dead.' the dwarf answered sorrowful. 'The princes Thorin and Frerin are in the royal tent. Its the one with the sign of Durin.'

Brann looked at her mother in shock. The dwarf king was dead and the dwarves were leaderless. That was bad. She followed her mother and the other healers down into the camp to look for the dwarven healers. They did not find any. Most of the dwarves sat around fireplaces with bloody bandages and exhausted faces. The grief and pain in their faces touched Brann and she watched her mother as she kneeled down beside one of the dwarves, who jerked away from her in reflex. The young woman saw mistrust and refusal in the dwarves eyes and frowned. They were there to help, nothing more. Her father had told her that the dwarves were a stubborn and proud race which preferred to stay for themselves. But they had to accept help in this situation.

'Where are your healers?' Branns mother asked the dwarf. Unlike her daughter she had ignored the impolite behaviour of the dwarf.

'Dead.' the dwarfs voice sounded pained. 'Only Oin is left. Over there.' he pointed to a small tent with his pint.

'Thank you, master dwarf.' Branns mother walked directly to this tent and her daughter followed closely.

As they entered the tent Brann winced. The air was even thicker in here and the groans of pain of the wounded hit her with full force. The tent was bigger than it had looked from the outside and there had to be hundreds of dwarves laying in their blood. A grey haired dwarf rushed from one bed to another, he looked even more exhausted than any of the dwarves they had met so far. It was clear that he was at the end of his strength and brann could see that the medical supplies were at their end.

'Master Oin?' her mother approached the dwarf. 'I am lady Gwen from the village you past a week ago. My people are here to help you. We have brought supplies and my daughter and I are experienced healers. Our men could help your grave diggers. How can we help?'

The older dwarf seemed to be taken back by the presense of the two women in his tent, but then he sighed.

'Alright lass, we have about two hundred severly wounded dwarves in this tent. The ones with lighter injuries are in the neighbouring tent. There are another two hundred. The ones who can still stand on their own feet are sitting in the camp, maybe fifty or less.' Oin eyed Gwen and her daughter carefully. 'The wounds are heavy and not easy to look at. Are you sure that you want to help me?'

Brann frowned at the dwarf. They would not be here if they could not stand it. She wanted to start with her work immediately.

'Tell us where our help is needed the most.' she stated and saw that her mother looked at her with a frown.

The dwarf sighed and pointed towards the end of the tent. 'The heaviest injuries are over there. But we should search the battlefield for more wounded. Many dwarves are still missing. We do not know if the orcs took them or if they have fallen in battle.'

'How long have the bodies lain out there?' Gwen was shocked.

'About three days, lass.' Oin sighed. 'We do not have enough dwarves to bury the dead or look for injured.'

'Brann - I will stay here. You take some of your fathers men and search for injured dwarves on the battlefield.' Gwen told her daughter.

'Yes, mother.' Brann rushed out and started calling out to her fathers men. Soon a group of a dozen men and Brann walked over the battlefield, looking for survivors.

'You should not have brought her, lass.' Oin told Gwen with a sigh. 'A woman as young as your daughter should not see this.'

'No, she should not.' Gwen agreed. 'But she will have to face the pain and horror of this world soon enough. She is a healer, like me. I cannot shield her from the misery, she has to get her own experience.'

With these words, Gwen walked down to the end of the tent and started to tend on the wounded.

Brann walked over the battlefield for hours, searching for survivors of the horrible battle. She saw mutilated bodies, body parts and more blood than ever before in her life. There was only little chance to find any survivors after three days, but she knew how important it was for surviving dependants to have closure. As the sun had set behind the mountain Brann felt cold and tired. They had found four survivors, of which three would not survive the night. The fourth one was severely injured but if he was lucky he would survive. At night they broke off the search to continue the next day. Since not all orcs had been slain it was too dangerous to wander around in the vicinity of the mountain. Brann returned to the tent and helped her mother. That night they did not sleep.

While his wife and child worked in the healing tent lord Dan talked to prince Thorin. The young dwarf was the leader of his people as long as his father was still missing. The lord of men could tell that the prince had not slept for days and he could see that his injuries had not been taken care off yet.

'We have found four survivors on the battlefield, prince Thorin. My wife says that only one has the chance to survive, I am sorry.' Dan told the prince who closed his eyes in pain. Frerin the younger prince answered for him.

'Thank you for your help and support, lord Dan.' he said with a genuine, but sad smile. 'We appreciate it.'

'You have fought for all of us, prince Frerin. You victory also keeps my people safe.' Dan answered diplomatically.

'What victory?' prince Thorin interrupted him with his deep baritone. 'Our king is dead, our father missing and we have lost the biggest part of our army. There is no victory.'

Lord Dan looked at the young dwarf. The deep blue eyes radiated nothing but bitterness and grief.

'You and your brother are alive. I understand...' but he was interrupted by Thorin.

'You do not understand. How could you?' Thorin told him furiously. 'Have you lost your home and half of your citizens to a dragon? Have you lost half your family in battle? You cannot understand how we feel, lord Dan.'

Dan sighed, he would talk to the prince again when time and the nearest grief had passed. 'Of course not, prince Thorin. Please excuse me, I will see to it that more supplies are brought from our village.' The lord did not judge the prince. Thorin was still young and all of a sudden he had been burdened with leadership. After having suffered such a heavy loss by a dragon and orcs it must have been unbearable for the young prince to stand his ground.

Inside of the royal tent Frerin frowned at his brother. 'Lord Dan and his people have rushed to our help and that is how you thank them? I know that you are exhausted and I grieve as much as you do. But as our new king you should learn to respect our guests, especially those who ran to our help.'

'Our father is not even dead, how can you say that I am the new king?' Thorin muttered furiously.

'It has been three days since the battle, Thorin. We have searched for him, his body is not out there. And if the orcs have captured him, he is dead.' Frerin stated calmly. 'You should accept the fact that you are our king now, brother.'

As he wanted to leave the tent he rushed into a dwarven guard who accompanied a human woman. The girl looked as exhausted as Frerin was himself and dark shadows underlined her eyes.

'Prince Thorin. This healer wanted to talk to prince Thorin.' the guard informed him.

'The prince is...not available. May I help you?' Frerin looked at the girl curiously.

'One of the dwarves we found on the battlefield - he had asked for prince Thorin or prince Frerin.' the girl informed him with a quiet but steady voice. 'He said his name is Lindin.'

'Lindin! Are you sure?' Frerin grabbed the girls shoulders and stared at her hopefully. The girls brown eyes widened at the sudden contact, but she nodded.

'Yes, his name is Lindin. He has blond hair and three braids in his hair and beard.' the girl described Frerins brother in law.

'I am prince Frerin. Bring me to him.' Frerin asked her and followed her into the night. As they arrived at the medical tent he saw his brother in law immediately. Frerin was surprised that he was still alive. A deep bleeding gash went over his entire side and his hair and beard was full of blood. He kneeled down beside Lindin and took his hand.

'Frerin?' Lindin looked at his wifes brother through half closed eyes.

'I am here.' Frerin smiled. 'The battle is over and we have won. Hold on, brother.'

'I have to see Dis and my boys again.' Lindin croaked. 'Dis...'

'He needs rest now, prince Frerin. I gave him some herbs against the pain, but they will make him sleep.' the girl who brought Frerin to the tent told Frerin quietly. The prince nodded and stood up.

'Rest, brother. We will talk later.' Frerin stepped away from Lindin and watched the girl as she tugged in the injured dwarf and blew out the candles at the bed. He realised that he had not thanked her yet. He cleared his throat and smiled at her warmly. 'Thank you for your help, mylady.'

The girl looked at him with big eyes and smiled faintly. 'It is understood, prince Frerin. And please, do not call me lady.'

'How shall I call you then?' Frerin smirked.

'My name is Brann, your highness.' the girl answered.

'You are the daughter of lord Dan. You are one of the healers?' Frerin looked up and down the woman. She was young, not a girl as it had first seemed and Frerin wondered how she could bare all the horrors of the aftermath of the battle. Brann nodded and bowed before Frerin. He took a closer look at her and found her quite pleasant. She was only a hand taller than him, but too thin for his taste. She had a flat bosom, but beautiful soft curves from her waist downwards. Her dark brown hair was bound into a messy knot in her neck and framed a beautiful face with big brown eyes, a snub nose and high cheek bones. All color had left her sensual lips, but it was too dark to get a closer look at her anyway. Frerin realised that he was staring and cleared his throat. 'Thank you again, myl...Brann.'

Brann smiled at him and continued to tend to the other injured. Frerin realised that the noise in the tent had vanished. The injured were not groaning of pain anymore. Many of them had died, but the ones who had not were in good care. The dwarf prince could not help but admire the work of Oin, Brann and her mother. He was happy that the men had decided to support them and resolved to speak to Thorin first thing in the morning. Despite the grief and pain, his brother had to show some gratitude towards the people of lord Dan. He, Frerin, would see to it. As Frerin arrived in the tent Thorin was not there. Frerin knew where he would find him. His older brother sat at his grandfathers side, his head bowed in grief.

'Thorin.' Frerin entered and tried not to take a deep breath.

'He has to be buried soon.' Thorin murmured. 'He starts to decay. What an unworthy end for a king.'

'All our dead need to be buried soon.' Frerin stated quietly. 'The healers have said that due to better hygiene all bodies on the battlefield need to be burned.'

Thorin nodded. 'Tomorrow, we search for survivors one last time. Then we will light the burial fires.'