October 13, 2941 T.A.
Today, we buried you under the mountain.
I will never forget your face, so still, so pale. I've seen you sleeping, and I tried very hard to imagine that you were. I tried to pretend we were still in Laketown and you were just healing and recovering your strength.
But then they closed your coffin. You won't be able to breathe in there. They sealed you up in a tomb of stone, hard and cold. It is no bed. Bare rock cannot sustain life.
Even now, I want to run to the deepest level of Erebor, smash open your tomb, pull you out again, and recite every spell, charm, and healing incantation that has ever been spoken. I want to pour my power out on you. I want to destroy myself so that you might live.
But you are dead, and death is eternal, just as I am.
Wish you were here,
Tauriel.