Hello!
So this is a companionfic to my very first fanfic, An Unexpected Companion, but you don't have to read that one to understand this. I've been having very little inspiration for AUC lately, and I've had the idea for this fic for very long, so I thought I'd write it out and see if any more inspiration for AUC comes!
I know the timeline's a little off at some parts, but I hope you enjoy!
This takes place after the Lord of the Rings.
"Can I help you?"
Pippin and Merry clear their throats nervously when the old human lady opens the door, looking at them curiously. She stands straight, clad in a simple blue dress, her snowy-white hair in a plait down her shoulder, her eyes sharp and bright.
"We're looking for a Jerelee Yin?" Merry says, the name unfamiliar on his lips.
The old human lady blinks at them.
"That would be me," she says. "You are hobbits, aren't you? Would you like to come in?"
Merry and Pippin exchange looks, then nod, following the old lady as she leads them into her house, warm and bright and cozy.
"Would you like some tea?" she asks, as she settles them in the kitchen, bringing a teapot and a few mugs over. "And some cake? I've just made some."
"Oh, yes, please," says Pippin, without thinking, and Merry nudges him fiercely.
The old lady notices the nudge.
"If it's bad news you have to bring me, dears, I'd rather made sure you were all comfortable first," she says, easily, carrying over a small plate full of cakes before sitting down. "Although I don't know what news you'd have to bring me."
Merry and Pippin exchange looks, again.
"Why don't you tell me your names first, then?"
"I'm Merry, and this is Pippin," Merry tells her.
The old lady frowns. "Those aren't your real names, aren't they?"
Pippin laughs at that. "No, ma'am. My name's really Peregrin, and this here's Meriadoc."
"Ah." She smiles. "That makes more sense."
"Anyway, ma'am." Merry watches as she pours tea for both of them, accepting the mugs with both hands. "We're here to bring you news of – " He bites his lip, presses on, " – to bring you news of Ori."
He sees her hands shake, sees them nearly drop the mug she is holding.
She sets the mug down on the table, puts her hands together, lifts her head up and looks at them.
"Ori?" she says, softly.
Something flickers across her face.
Merry doesn't know if it is pain, or sadness, or happiness, or love.
He wonders if it had been wise to have picked up that folded piece of paper he'd seen on the ground in the mines of Moria, all those months ago, before the war. If it had been wise to bring it to Gandalf, who had shut his eyes in pain, who had pressed it back into Merry's hands before telling him what he had to do. If it was wise to have come here, to have brought it to this frail-looking old human lady.
Merry looks at her again, sees that her hands are gripping each other tightly.
"What news is there of Ori?" she says. "I have not seen nor heard from him for years, not since he left for Moria with Balin all those years ago. He promised to send for me, but I thought – " Here she smiled, wryly " – I thought that he might have found someone else. A Dwarfish woman, or some such. Or that he realised that he did not truly – " She bites her lip, shuts her eyes " – did not truly care for me."
Jerelee knows, knows that if these two hobbits have sought her out because of Ori, then they must have known the relationship between the two.
"I'm afraid that it's nothing of that sort, ma'am," Pippin says, slowly, cautiously.
Merry sees her blink back tears, see her raise a shaky hand to her face before lowering it again.
"So what news do you have, then?"
Merry wonders if there is any kind way of telling her this.
He thinks that there is not.
He reaches a hand out, clasps hers.
"He fell to goblins, in the mines of Moria."
He sees her face pale, feels her hand clench around each other in his.
She raises her head, meets his eyes.
"He is – he is dead?"
Merry nods, and sees the first tear trickle down her face.
Pippin, next to him, pushes a folded, aging, yellowing piece of paper across the table.
Slowly, shakily, Jerelee takes it, unfolds it.
It is a letter, and within it another, smaller paper, a drawing of Ori as he had been all those years ago when he had first came to Beorn's house with Thorin's company and with Ella, and of Jerelee, young and seventeen and smiling, Jerelee in Ori's arms.
Hurriedly sketched, Jerelee thinks, but still beautiful.
She places the paper back on the table, looks at the letter.
She thinks of the time when Ori taught her to read his language, of the afternoons spent in the library in Erebor, the two of them laughing and collapsing into giggles for hours.
She takes a deep breath.
Dearest Jerelee,
Before I continue, I want to say, forgive me, for having to say goodbye like this. For having to do it through pen and paper, instead of to your face, as you so deserve.
I am sorry, so sorry, that I never sent for you, or sent you any word. I wanted to make everything right, to make everything perfect, before you came. I wanted to build you a palace within the mines, with ceilings that would remind you of the sky outside, of the clouds on a sunny day and the stars in the night sky and the sun rising in the east. Everything had to be just so. Balin told me it was ridiculous, that you would come and stay with me as soon as I called and with no regrets – but I wanted to make you happy, and I wanted your life with me in Moria to be perfect. I wanted to see your face when you entered, wanted to see your eyes shine ever so brightly and to see that smile passing over your lips, that smile that you have only ever given me.
Now, I see, that I should have at least sent word to you, told you my reasons for delaying your arrival, for I do not know how long it will take for this message to come to you; or if this message shall come to you at all.
But I shall not regret not sending for you, for if I had, you would be suffering the same fate as me.
I will never forget our meeting, of how you leapt down from the ceiling and greeted us so warmly and yet with warning, of how you spent nearly the whole of the next day with me, of how you brought me around the garden and spoke with me for hours.
That night, I thought myself the luckiest dwarf alive.
That night was the most grateful I had ever been for being alive, for if I had died before reaching Beorn's house, I would never have met you.
And I will never forget our first parting, for even if we had only known each other two nights and a day, it felt one of the most painful things I had ever been forced to do.
And I will never forget how you kissed me goodbye.
And now, sitting in the darkness of the mines of Moria, I can recall the sunlight and the fresh air and how you threw your arms around me when I came back for you, after the battle which claimed so many lives, which left us in darkness and pain.
You were my light then, as you are my light now.
And the life we made for ourselves in Erebor! The years we spent together, before Balin's decision to reclaim Moria, before my decision to follow him. You thought that you were growing old then, I remember, for it had been years since I had first met you – and I would laugh and tell you that you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and would always see, and you would laugh and hug me.
How long it took for me to be able to say such things to you! Do you remember that awkward, shy dwarf who arrived at Beorn's house so many years ago, that young dwarf who could not even begin to understand his feelings for this strange human girl he had just met? Who could only smile and stutter whenever she smiled at him? I remember him now, so clearly, and I would like to say this to him: "Waste your time no longer, for this is the one whom you would willingly spend the rest of your life with, and die a hundred times over for! This is the one who will bring you out of darkness, time and time again; the one who is your other half, the one whom without you are incomplete!"
And I remember, also, I remember how we would argue at times – how you would run out of the house, weeping, or screaming expletives, how I would seek solitude in my books and my writings, until we would see each other again and forgive each other, laughing or sobbing or still screaming at each other. Do you? Such terrible times they could be, and yet I treasure them so, treasure them nearly as much as all our happy times.
Look at me, rambling on! Did you not always tell me that I rambled so? Would you not laugh and roll your eyes at me, tap me on the nose, tell me to shorten my sentences?
If only I could see your face, Jerelee, one last time.
Not in a drawing, but in real life, and to hold your hands in mine.
And now look at this – this letter is completely a mess, jumping from one thought to another without the slightest semblance of structure.
But, I think, you would like it this way.
Alas, Jerelee, I believe I must go now. My time has ended, and death is near. Such is fate.
And yet, I would not have you weep. You are everything that is good and right in this world, and I would see you smile again, hear you laugh and tell your stories that would always make us laugh so.
Know that you are always in my heart, Jerelee, and that I will always keep you there, until my last breath.
You have changed me, changed my life so drastically in ways that I could not imagine.
If I could, I would never leave you, would never have left you to reclaim Moria, would have spent the rest of my life with you.
You taught me what it means to love and to receive love, and I would have you remember that, always. To remember that silly young dwarf you stumbled upon so many years ago, to remember that shy, awkward dwarf you fell in love with.
I love you, and I always will.
Ori.
The tears are dripping fast now, dripping onto the table, and her body is wracking with sobs as she places the paper down, as she wraps her arm around herself.
She thinks of Ori, lovely, awkward, shy Ori, the young dwarf with the slingshot and the shy smile, the dwarf who had made everything feel real and right and whole. She remembers how uncertain and nervous they'd both been, Jerelee never thinking that anyone could fall for her or love her so much and so deeply, Ori believing that no woman would ever want a scribe when they could have a warrior.
She remembers thinking how she'd fallen so fast and so hard and just so deeply for the soft-spoken warrior-scribe, how they finally understood their feelings for each other, how they both found in each other something they never knew existed. How Ori had brought her to the Lonely Mountain and how she'd stayed with him and Dori and Nori. How they had started off so cautiously at first, not knowing what to do or what to say, until Nori had given them both a talking-to in his exasperation. How after that day, they'd finally both gained confidence in themselves and in each other.
How they'd lived together, the two of them and his two brothers, for years, as she grew older and older, aging as humans did, until Ori made his decision to follow Balin to the mines of Moria.
How, after years of no word from him, she finally moved out of that house, not being able to face Dori and Nori any longer, and how she had made a home for herself in Dale instead; continuing on with her life, but a long, lonely life, always remembering that dwarf whom she'd loved so deeply and who had brought her so much happiness.
How doubt began to creep in, and she wondered if maybe he had found someone else to love instead.
How could she ever have doubted him, her Ori, her lovely, smiling, sweet Ori?
She thinks of how he would make her smile and she would make him laugh, how he'd bring her flowers for no reason at all, how she'd find the most beautiful places and landscapes and bring him there to draw, how they'd spend days talking and talking and nights laughing and dancing.
The tears drop, thick and heavy, and she cannot stop them.
Pippin and Merry look at each other worriedly, and they jump to their feet, moving around the table to put an arm on either side of her.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," she says, and she is clearing her throat, straightening herself, wiping at her tears. "I just – I just need some time, is all."
Pippin glances at Merry, gives him a long look.
Merry clears his throat.
"If you'll excuse me, ma'am," he says, uncertainly, "there was also this."
And he takes out a small, tiny, sealed square envelope, the envelope he'd found with the papers, and passes it to her.
She peels it open, shivering, tilts it over.
A silver ring, simple but with intricate designs etched onto it, a shining diamond set in the middle, attached to a long silver chain.
Jerelee's eyes widen, and she watches as a small paper flutters out of the envelope as well, a small paper with four words written on it, written in her language.
Her body hunches over again as she reads it, as she clutches the silver ring on its silver chain in her hand tightly, as the tears flow freely.
Will you marry me?