{Mira Meliandra was the first to request this, followed by KelseyBI, Nicci1234, .3954, Tolkienite14, Sofasoap, Iathano, veronicamarieeckhart, and thesunisblind. I was so overwhelmed by the response to this story, and pondered writing a sequel as requested, but was not given the proper idea until Eryndil suggested I do another journal telling Fili's point of view of this same stretch of time. So you can hold her responsible for the contents herein. Also, full credit goes to Winters-Dawn1221 for naming the baby (whom you already know about if you've read Lady of the Lake, and whom you will eventually meet if you read to the end of this fic). She named the dear child before I ever had an intention of writing a sequel/counterpart, and I promised I would use the beautiful name she chose if I ever wrote another Figrid fic involving their wee one. That being said, let us begin! There will be some discrepancy in the time and events, so please do not compare these two too scientifically. Enough with me. On with Fili!}
I suppose I should begin by telling you who I am, although initially it is difficult for me to get over the strangeness of what it is I am doing. I am Fili, heir of Durin, the next in line to the Throne Beneath the Mountain. After me ought to be my child, a lad no more than a month in this world, Glorin Fidelen, but instead, the right has been returned to my brother, Kili. This is a great injustice to Glorin but is something which I have no heart to fight at this time, seeing as it would only put enmity between myself and my brother – something I am loth to do, as I now have no one else in the world whom I can claim to love, aside from my son. How my son came by his name is a curious story, and how I came to be in the circumstances in which I now find myself stranger still, and deserving of a proper record, I have finally decided. And so, I am going to begin to commit to these pages things that I think are worthy of remembrance, should the day come where I am no longer able to tell my child of his dear mother, a daughter of man, now no more by my side.
At first I could scarcely believe the words spoken to me by Oin. I thought that somehow in his deafness, he had misheard himself, and was giving me false information. My head began to buzz in the strangest way, such as I have never experienced, not even when in the throes of the cheer brought on by wine, and I was only vaguely aware of pushing and shoving my way through the assembled dwarves toward the entrance to the room from which I was excluded. Mere moments ago the news had rippled through the gathered group – that it was a boy, alive, and well, and my heart swelled within me, most undwarven tears coming to my eyes simply from the wonder of it. And then – that she was dead. Yes, Mahal, I can write it know. She is dead. I will even write her name. Sigrid, my beautiful wife, love of my entire existence, had passed beyond our aid, and into the arms of death. Words that I memorized as a child later came into my embittered mind, repeating themselves as a caustic manner of self-flagellation. I could not get it out of my head that this was my fault. She had died because of the life of our son, something that began by my doing.
Glorin – listen to me. This is not your fault. Not in the least. You did not ask for this, and neither did I. I was simply foolish enough to follow my desires and garner a brief year of happiness before sending the purest soul to her death through seeking my own happiness. Even now, if you must blame someone, blame me. I certainly do, and shall never cease to do so.
But at least now I have come to a point where I can realize what is happening here – what will happen. My son will grow up without knowing his mother, and her memory will fade into nothingness, as has the memory of my father. I hated myself so much the day that I found I could no longer picture his face clearly in my mind. I feared that somehow I was doing him a dishonor by going on living without sparing a thought for him now and then. But I was young, and no one ever spoke of him, at Thorin's behest. This shall not happen with me. She would not have wished it. And so, though I once told Sigrid that I lacked the practical means to keep a journal, I am going to go back and write of notable things, mostly pertaining to her life, so that they shall not be forgotten. My thoughts, memories, feelings too, I shall record. Because I no longer have her as my confidante, and Kili is beyond the reach of reason in love with his elf.
It has been truly kind how much the others have tried to do for me. We have had such a time endeavoring to find a nurse for Glorin. Thorin assured me that it was because no self-respecting dwarrow-maid would agree to suckle a half-breed child, but I found it to be simply because of the lack of fertility from which our race suffers. The nearest child to his age is nearly 8, and no longer nursing, but a most unexpected solution was found when Kili suggested I return with the child to Esgaroth. I told him no, at first – I could not bear to be in the position of having to face Sigrid's family now – but he told me it was a human woman or an elf, and after realizing the impossibility of the latter suggestion, sent word to the men of the lake that Fili, son of Durin, would be arriving as soon as possible, and was seeking a nursemaid for a poor disinherited child.
The journey was slow, and brought me many tears. I was walking the path that had played a great role in bringing about the death of my dearest wife, and reliving the last days we would spend together, though we did not know it at that time, a mere few months ago. I had not anticipated how much slower travel would be with the babe – a retinue of guards and servants were sent to accompany me, among them two dwarrow-women, one of them my mother, and though they had the primary care of the child, for which I am grateful, as I know next to nothing about caring for an infant, I found our travel very effectually impeded from the days in which we could roam the mountains in company, relatively unencumbered.
We reached Esgaroth at last, and though this place was never Sigrid's home, it is full of her people, and embodies all the things she loved, and so I do find it very difficult to be here. News had spread quickly of Sigrid's passing, and though I received a message from Bard in the days soon after, I could not be sure from his writing what sort of expressions crossed his face as he worded his text to me, or what sort of tears fell from his eyes as he mourned his eldest daughter, be they tears of sorrow, regret, or anger. I dreaded to see the eyes of her younger sister Tilda, so like her's, and the face of her brother Bain, who had trusted me with her well-being, something which I so notoriously abused.
We must have been sighted approaching some ways off, as there was a great sober gathering to greet us. Bard himself stood in their midst, and those accompanying me parted ways for us, Kili, and my mother by my side, to come to the front.
Bard's face was pale, hardened, and inexpressive. Kili took the child from my mother and handed him to me, giving me a push forward, and so my footsteps were the only sound in the hushed silence, closing the distance between me, and the leader of the men of the lake.
"Fili," he spoke, inclining his head. His eyes lingered on Glorin, wrapped well in a heavily embroidered blanket, cap tied snugly beneath his chin, his eyes closed in slumber. "This is the child."
"This is he," I muttered, my voice thick.
Bard watched the babe sleep for a long moment before lifting his eyes, and meeting them to mine.
"Some things cannot be altered," he said, and with that, my forgiveness was sealed. My mother hurriedly took Glorin from me, and I was clasped in an embrace by Bard, and I am ashamed to say I let fall a few of my tears into his jerkin – I could feel his own breath catch against my ear.
"I know that you loved her," he whispered. "And that's all I asked."
"Forgive me," I managed, and he pulled back, bracing his hand on my shoulders and looking me in the eye.
"There is nothing to forgive."
Kili bumped my arm, and I turned to see Tilda and Bain lingering nearby, Tilda's eyes, as I predicted, sending a stab of longing through me. I swallowed, and approached them; I nearly forgot about all the dwarves behind me who were witnesses to the scene.
"Tilda –" I began, holding out my arms, but she shook her head, and ran to my brother, throwing herself into a hug, and sobbing uncontrollably. My eyes were so full I could barely see, but Bain embraced me, muttering, "We don't blame you. Not one bit."
And I gave him a grateful look.
"Don't you want to see the baby?" Kili was asking, gently urging Tilda to relax her grip on him and abate her crying. "He's such a nice one."
"No," she wept. "No, I only want Sigrid."
And as much as it pains me to say, her words echoed my heart. It was difficult to sleep that night. I keep Glorin near to me at all times, because he was woven of a part of her, and somehow, I can't bear the idea of us being separated at all.