Chapter Twenty Nine: Not So Difficult To Find

First of all, I am so sorry that this is late! I was having a really stressful day yesterday, and now I've finished school it's hard to keep track of what day it is, and I just plain forgot. I am so so sorry! But the chapter is here now. As it's the final chapter, I have a few things to say, so bear with me.

Yes, there will be a sequel of sorts. I am not writing another massive story, but I am working on a series of interconnected oneshots to follow this story, which are snapshots of them recovering and moving on from this. Elladan and Elrohir might pop up in a story, as will Gandalf again, and there will be one or two focused on Bard as well, but the rest will be set in Mirkwood. Unfortunately, due to exams and everything, it might take me a while to write these. The first one is already done, and will be published next week (possibly next Wednesday). Hopefully I can get these oneshots done and published fairly regularly, but we shall see. Once my exams are over I will have a lot more time to write!

So this is the final chapter. I am so very grateful to all of you for reading this story, reviewing it and loving it so much! Seriously, it really does make my day to see how much people enjoy what I have written. I saw something on tumblr that said how art isn't art until it has been shared, until someone has responded to it, because that completes it, and in a way that makes sense. I will always be grateful to everyone who has taken the time to respond to my art (because stories are art, even fanfiction), and for how wonderful the responses have been. Thank you.

I chose to finish this story on Bilbo, in a way, because he is the main character of The Hobbit, the catalyst for many events and realisations, both in the book and in this story. So I wanted to do that homage, in a way- he is the one that ties everything together, so it is only apt that the story ends with him. Oh, and what Bard gives Thranduil in this chapter, he really does give him in The Hobbit.

Edit: There is now a sequel beginning for this story: We Can Make It If We Run, which will be a series of interconnected oneshots that follow the events of this. The introduction is up, and the story will be updated weekly.

Anyway, here it is: the final chapter. For the last time, reviews are very welcome, and thank you so very much.

I'll see you soon.

0-o-0-o-0

The dawn came slowly from the East, the Sun gradually pulling itself up over Erebor in the distance to spill across the lake, long shadows falling from the camp on its shore. Already the elves were moving, beginning to dismantle the camp and pack once more. They were going home.

Bard stood on the edge of the camp, watching the sunlight as the ripples in the lake caught it and fractured it, sending the lake aflame with the dawn. There was the soft sound of footsteps behind him, and he turned to see Legolas and Belhadron walking towards the lake, talking softly. When they saw him they turned and came to his side.

"It's quite a view," Legolas murmured, a small smile gracing his lips.

"It's not usually as good as this," Bard replied. "You haven't seen it when storms are battering us. Though there's some beauty in the wildness, I suppose. I've never stopped to look."

They were silent for a few moments, watching the lake. Eventually Bard blew out a long breath. "Thank you," he said. "For everything you have done. We are indebted to you."

Belhadron laughed softly. "You killed Smaug," he said with the beginnings of a smirk as he looked over at Bard. "You made East much more safe-"

"Safer," interjected Legolas with a smile of his own. "But that is true. You slew Smaug, you brought together your people and fought with us against a threat that could have destroyed you, destroyed us all. Then we won, and now there is a strong alliance between all the Free Peoples in the east. You don't really owe us anything."

Bard inclined his head. "I can argue the semantics of that as much as I like, I'm not going to change your minds much, am I?" he asked. "Never mind." He looked out across the lake again.

"I have one question for you," he said softly, addressing them both. "I can't even imagine what it must be like to do this, to fight, for as long as you both have. I think I'm starting to see why I would not want an immortal life. But how do you cope? How do you see all of that for centuries on end with no finishing moment in sight? How does it not drive you mad?"

There was silence for a moment, and Bard found himself unable to look away from the lake.

"We have faith."

It was Belhadron who had spoken, to his surprise. Bard glanced over at him.

"In what?" he asked softly. "Your gods, or fate?"

"No, not these things," Belhadron replied, sounding almost amused. Bard frowned.

"Then what?"

Belhadron sighed, and then turned to Legolas and began to speak softly in their own tongue. Legolas listened, bowing his head slightly, and then began to translate Belhadron's words for Bard.

"We have faith in the end. We know an end will eventually come, even if we are not alive to see it, which is honestly likely enough given what we do," he translated, a small smile coming across his face. "We have faith that if we die, another will step over us to keep on fighting, that we will not let each other give in before we do eventually fall. The world continues, no matter whether our feet still tread on it, or our blood spilled upon it instead." Legolas laughed softly as Belhadron trailed off. "Faith is not such a hard thing to find, if only you know where to look."

They fell silent, Bard turning the words over in his mind. He smiled, huffing a soft laugh as he watched the waters ripple across the lake. "You may be right," he said. "You may very well be right."

He stuck his hands in his pockets and tore his eyes from the horizon. "I must go," he said. "There is still much that needs doing. Thank you. Again." He held up one hand as Legolas went to speak. "Just take it," he said with a grin. "Thank you."

Legolas paused, and then nodded, smiling. Belhadron held out one hand and he clasped his arm, before clasping Legolas' in farewell. "Until the next time we meet, Bowman," Legolas said. Belhadron nodded, and Bard bowed slightly to both of them, before turning and walking away.

He went back to the tent he'd set up as his own for now. Within it was some of the treasure of Erebor, a small portion that he'd kept for himself as Girion's heir. The rest had gone into a separate building, guarded by men Bard trusted. He wouldn't let the Master get his greedy hands on it, not when so many had died before he'd brought it home.

He opened one of the two chests and pulled something out, settling it in another, smaller, box. That done, Bard went to gather some of his men and find Thranduil.

He found the Elvenking in the middle of the camp, elves arrayed around him as he issued orders. The men he'd brought followed him as he stepped forwards to Thranduil. Gandalf was with him, as was Bilbo, and Bard smiled at the halfling as he saw him.

"My Lord," he said, bowing his head. Thranduil turned to him.

"Bard," he said in greetings. They talked together for a few minutes, discussing the next movements, the next choices to come, and Bard felt himself becoming more and more certain of the decision he'd made crouched beside a dead orc, that last time he'd looked on the graves and pyres of the fallen.

"Send word," Thranduil said. "If you need anything of us."

Bard nodded. "I will," he replied. "I hardly doubt that everything from here will be easy, nor will I always know what to do, but we will come back. I will make sure of it."

Thranduil found himself smiling. "That is good to hear," he said. "Keep an eye on that Master. I do not think he will hand over power without some sort of fight. At the very least, he must have his eye on the gold you brought back."

"Of course he will," Bard muttered. "But who says I am going to take any power?" Thranduil raised one eyebrow, and Bard grinned wryly. "What gave it away?"

"Everything," Thranduil replied. "You've been reminding me of Girion for the past week or so. And I have seen that look before. You will not step back, not now."

Bard inclined his head. "No, I do not think that I can," he said. "I do not think I want to. These people need someone to lead them, and after everything I could not trust someone else to do it." He sighed softly, gaze searching the settlement around them.

"It won't be easy," Thranduil warned. "Leading never is. Stick to your morals, but be prepared to compromise in situations where there isn't a right answer. Find some trusted people you can confide in, and don't underestimate the importance of people who know how to write trade agreements and deal with money. You'll make enemies. You've probably already made one of the Master, but try and win around any of his people and allies, however you can. You can't trust any of them, not for a while, but it will make the Master easier to deal with."

Bard nodded. "I already have everyone who went to Erebor on my side, along with many people here. The circle of friends around the Master is growing smaller. The types of people around him are the ones who have no problem changing sides to suit their own fortunes, for the most part. But there are others who the Master has reduced to nothing, because they did not agree with him." He shrugged. "I think I can trust them."

"Good," murmured Thranduil as he saw Bard's mind begin to work, begin to think about the countless next steps that needed to be taken. Bard looked up.

"I almost forgot," he said. He held out the small box in his hands. "As a token of my thanks for everything that you and your people have done for us."

Thranduil took the box and opened it. The small frown on his face deepened. "The emeralds of Girion," he said slowly. "The jewels that are rightfully yours. Why, out of everything, do you give them to me?"

Bard huffed a laugh. "Think of them as a pledge. They are my birthright, and I value them greatly. If they are in your hands, perhaps I am more likely to fulfil my promise, my payment to you for your aid. Besides, I could do no less for those who gave their lives for the rest of us." He looked down at the box, at the emeralds nestled within. "They can be a coronation gift once Dale is rebuilt."

Thranduil laughed, and closed the box. "You are Girion's heir indeed," he replied with a smile. "I will keep them safe until you are crowned King."

Bard bowed his head. "Again, I cannot thank you enough, for everything you and your people have done. Without you, we would have surely died."

Thranduil shook his head. "Despite the reputation that I have, I could not have turned aside from your people's plight," he replied. "And I am glad that I did not. As Mithrandir has reminded me often, we have actually done a great thing here. Those who gave their lives did not do so in vain."

"It will take a while to remember that, I think," Bard said.

"There was something a friend once said to me, a very long time ago," Thranduil murmured. "Congratulations. You have won the war. Now live with it." He laughed softly. "How fitting."

"But at least we won," Bard said quietly. He smiled slightly. "Give us a few years. We'll come back. Dale will come back. I won't let anything less happen."

Thranduil smiled, and Bard found himself wondering when he'd dropped the mask of the formidable King that he'd seen for so long. "I say that you remind me of Girion, but in all honesty, you have surpassed him. You are a better man than he was, Bard."

Bard grinned. "We shall see," he replied. He laughed, the sound rough in his throat. "It seems like a long time ago that I told you I could not do this. I think now that I was wrong. I will wear the title proudly, when it is given, for all those we've lost because of this." He looked around him, at the people who'd he suddenly become responsible for without even realising until he'd stopped and looked back.

Thranduil nodded. "Well said, Bowman," he said, and for perhaps the first time Bard felt that the title was right, that he could wear it.

He wasn't going to take his rightful place as King because Thranduil had asked it of him, nor because everyone else expected him to do it, because of the blood in his veins. He was going to do it because he owed it to the dead, because they demanded it of him with the lives they'd given up, and because he didn't think he trusted anyone else to pull them back from the edge of ruin that they'd found themselves on.

He knew the dead would still haunt his dreams for a long time to come. He knew it would not be easy. But perhaps there was a faith that he had not seen before, something he'd overlooked. And he knew that he had been on this path ever since he'd picked up his bow to defend his home from something so much bigger than all of them.

He could not step away now. He didn't want to step away now. The weight of what was still to come settled on him, but it fitted him, and he knew now that he would bear it.

0-o-0-o-0

For a few moments there was silence. The two elves walked down to the shore together, watching the water ripple and burn in the morning light. Belhadron stooped, and picked up a handful of stones from the shore. He picked one out and threw it, the pebble arcing up into the air before disappearing into the depths of the lake.

Legolas reached out and took one of the stones from his hand. He rubbed it between his fingers for a moment, before throwing it as far as he could out across the lake, watching the stone until it vanished beneath the burnished water.

Legolas dropped his hand and stood still, watching the water where the stone had vanished. "Do you ever wonder whether the sea looks like this?" he asked softly.

Belhadron looked over at him. "No," he replied. "I don't." He paced up and down the shore, looking for the right stone. Legolas watched him as he crouched and picked one up, smoothing a thumb over the flat surface. He stood and with a practised throw, sent the stone skipping across the surface of the lake.

He cleared his throat. "I think I'm going to ride north with Rhavaniel once we get back home, as soon as the healers let her go and we have things under control. We'll stop by my parent's settlement so I can reassure them that I'm still alive, leave before they become too resentful and bring up Amdar again, and go further west to Rhavaniel's family. We'll stay there for a few weeks, I think. Whatever Rhavaniel wants to do."

Legolas nodded. "It'll be good for her," he said. "To get out of the stronghold. Probably do you some good as well. Her family has always liked you."

Belhadron nodded, and stooped to pick up another few stones, thin flat ones that would skip over the water. He handed one to Legolas, and flung another out across the lake again, watching it skip before it finally sank, far out into the deep waters.

"Tell me we can come back from this," he finally said. "Tell me we can go on."

Legolas looked over at him. "We've come back every single time before," he said softly. "Every time we've had everything thrown at us, everything try to stop us, and yet here we stand." He smiled slightly. "We'll go on. What else can we do?"

Belhadron laughed softly. "True," he replied. He threw another stone out across the lake and watched it skip. "Very true."

Legolas walked over to him and they stood there for a few moments, just standing side by side. They were alive. They were still fighting. It would be enough.

There came the sound of scattering pebbles behind them. They turned to see Bilbo skidding as he tried to regain his footing down the slope to the shore. He jumped and managed to come to a stop, before walking towards the two of them.

"Gandalf asked me to fetch you," he said. "I think we might be leaving in an hour or so."

Belhadron nodded. "I'll go see what it is," he said. His hand found Legolas' shoulder for a few seconds and he smiled softly at his friend, before he turned and, with a nod at Bilbo, walked back up the slope to their rapidly disappearing camp.

Legolas watched him go, and then turned back to the lake. He flipped the flat stone in his hand, again and again. Bilbo watched him, the lone figure silhouetted against the morning sun, the entire lake glowing gold in the dawn before him.

"I won't forget it!" he cried out suddenly. "Any of it. The good, the bad, I'll remember it all. I promise."

Legolas stilled. His hand fell to his side, fingers curling around the stone he had been about to throw. He looked back up at Bilbo. "A heavy burden," he said. "For one so small."

"I'll write it down," Bilbo replied. "All of it. So it won't be forgotten."

Legolas smiled wearily. "All things are forgotten in the end," he said. "But thank you. I am glad we will be remembered."

He climbed up the slope from the shores of the lake until he was just below Bilbo. "Will you do something for me?" he asked.

Bilbo nodded, and Legolas smiled softly. "When you go back to your Shire," he said. "To your books and garden. Will you…" He trailed off, the words hard to find.

"Will you write down the song we taught you?" he finally asked. "The stories we told you, all of our tales and history. Our laments, and what it sounded like when we sang. Write it all down, if you want to. Perhaps if you, child of the kindly West, perhaps if you also remember, then it may be harder for us to forget it ourselves."

Bilbo nodded. He wasn't sure when he had started crying, only that the tear tracks were cold on his cheeks as the breeze caught them. "I will."

"Thank you." Legolas walked up and past him. A few steps beyond Bilbo he turned back, and paused.

"The world may be broken," he said quietly. "Perhaps beyond repair. But hope, or faith, I might call it… that is not such a hard thing to find." He smiled softly, his gaze falling distant across the lake. The burnished waters rippled gently in a winter's breeze, and then he turned away.

Bilbo watched his retreating figure for a while, until he disappeared from view. His gaze then drew slowly to the west, out across the grey plains to the dark boughs of the woods, beyond them to mountains and caves, and then finally to green meadows, trees long known, and smoke rising from a familiar chimney. He laughed softly to himself, tear tracks drying on his cheeks.

No, faith was not so hard to find. Not if you were looking for something to believe in. And with that thought, he turned and began the long journey home.

finis