Another moon passes, and you feel your plan starts taking shape. Your son, whom you call Aras, stag in Sindarin, as Dulindil insists that such will be the colour of his hair, chestnut and warm glow of pine bark and the silken fur of an elk, will have to meet his father upon his birth. You are not concerned with your pregnancy anymore, having accepted that you just have to experience the same as all those mothers in the cities of Men you tended to. You feel your strength and confidence return to you. You still partake long walks with the Elvenking but there can be days when you do not see him. You study his books and spend some time with prince Legolas. You become good friends, he is keenly interested in your past travels.
The only shadow lying on your days is the melancholy that seems to envelop Mirwood. Initially you assumed that it was the Autumn, unusually brisk and rainy this year, but then you realize that Mirkwood is reflecting its King's mood. You regret bringing it on the Silvan Elves that have become your close friends, but you do not see any way to elevate the King's gloom. Dulindil seems especially anguished by it, acutely feeling the pulse and the life of Greenwood the Great. She is restless, and her beautiful face starts carrying signs of fatigue.
At some point she disappears, having bid you a hasty goodbye, and you do not see her for two weeks. The days are full of herbs harvesting with Lumorn, and you do not notice how time flies during your friend's absence.
The day the King Under the Mountain enters the gates of The Elvenking's Halls is cold, drizzling rain and gushes of piercing wind yanking his dark blue cloak. You are sitting on a bench letting your feet rest after a few hours of harvesting birch tree juice. You are bundled in a few cloaks, your hands hidden in a woolen muff. You are not aware of his arrival, until you hear him clear his throat behind you. You sharply turn your head and see him standing on the steps leading up to the balcony you are resting on.
A violent shudder runs through your body, and you cannot move a single muscle in your body. He makes a few tentative steps towards you. His blue eyes, dark shadows under them, are roaming your face searching for any encouragement. Or wrath and rejection. You do not think he sees either. To your own surprise you are composedly studying his face, with a detached clarity you notice the signs of weariness and woe, eyes sunken, harsh lines drawn on the familiar features, but you do not find any sympathy in yourself.
"Zundushinh..." His voice is raspy, and he is finally standing in front of you. He sinks on his knees and presses his face into the cloaks covering your legs. You do not say a word and do not lift your hand to touch him. You two are sitting in silence, and you feel his body trembling. "Forgive me, Zundushinh..."
He lifts his pained face at you. You are searching for words and emotions but you do not find any. He is staring into your face, but then he cannot wait any longer, and his gaze shifts on your stomach. A large hot palm slides on it, and he undoubtedly feels the firm roundness through the layers of fabric. "How long?.." His voice is choked.
"Six moons." Your voice is expressionless. He lifts his eyes again at you. "Kurdu…" He emits a growl, or a sob, a strange pained noise, and presses himself into you. His arms fly around your upper body, and he hides his face into your sternum. He is crushing you, and you still cannot find anything to say.
"Forgive me, forgive me, I was a fool… I could have harmed you… And our son..." So he is aware. You think that though Dulindil's meddling led to good results, she should have asked you first. And then you realize that you are hungry. You chuckle. You understand that your mind is trying to distract itself from the fact that the King Under the Mountain is practically sobbing at your feet.
His eyes are full of confusion and hurt. You understand that you actually feel angrier now. Did he think this theatrical grand gesture will be met with cheering and happy tears? You gently push his arms away and get up.
"Do I understand it right, my Lord, that you came to take me back to Erebor?" He is still on his knees by the bench. "Yes..." "Very well," you do not let him finish, you are honestly not interested in what he has to say, "I will need till tomorrow morning to attend to my affairs here. I am sure King Thranduil will be gracious enough to forget your folly during your previous visit and will provide you and your companions with comfort worthy of a King." You turn on your heels and leave for your chambers.
Dulindil knocks at your door in the evening. You had your dinner in your chambers and are packing the belongings you have accumulated over the last weeks. She is bashful, shifting between her feet uncomfortably. You remember that you are a Queen and graciously give her your hands. She grabs them gratefully and sinks on the settee near you. "Oh, Filegethiel, please tell me you are not angered with me, my friend, I could not stand this any longer..." She lowers her head. "You are forgiven, Dulindil." Your voice is cold but polite. "You brought my stubborn husband to his senses, and I am returning to my Kingdom. Let us just be grateful that such are the results of your boldness."
"I hardly did anything. I believe he was ready to rush here on his own any day. The news of another son just spurred him," she peeks under her lashes. "I understand you only cared for everyone's well being, Dulindil. I will miss you, my friend," your voice softens, "and so will Aras Erebor." The Stag of Erebor… He eyes shift on your stomach and a sad smile adorns her lips. "He belongs with you and his father. I only hope I will get to see him once his gift and his spirit grow and mature." "You will, my friend. I promise."
You enter King Thranduil's study. He is seemingly absorbed into a book on his lap but you are certain he has not turned a page for the last hour. He sees you and gets up to greet you. You place your fingers into his cold palm. He gives you a small melancholic smile. "And here is our time arriving to its end." You smile back at him, warmly and somewhat morosely. "Indeed it is, my Lord." He picks up your second hand and look you over. "You will be missed, my friend." "And I shall you, mellon nin." He chuckles. "You tend to put words into my mouth that were not intended to be there, hiril vuin. You know me well." His voice wavers. You press his fingers. And then you step away and bow. "Guren glassui," I thank you with all my heart, "I will cherish my memories of your forest, my Lord." He bestows you with a low bow. "Its doors are always open for you, Filegethiel, honourable Lachwen, the Flamemaiden of Erebor."
You slip in and out of restless sleep that night, your thoughts again and again leaping to your children whom you will see soon. You yearn for their company and their affection. In the early hours of the morning for the first time your mind goes to your husband. What has he been saying to those who asked about your absence? What do your children know? What were your people told?
The morning is even gloomier that the day before. You descend the stairs and see the King and several Dwarven warriors waiting for you. You see Balin, and you halt to search his face. He is smiling widely, and you hurry to him, stretching your hands to him. "My Queen," his voice is warm, and you sigh in relief. "It is indeed a pleasure to see you, Master Balin." He bows. "We have missed you during your long but politically important official visit to the Woodland Realm." He looks at you from under his brows. "And as productive and beneficial for our Kingdoms as this visit was, I am elated to return home." You press his hands in yours, and you nod to each other.
"My brother is awaiting us outside the forest with ponies. I regret you will have to walk so far in your delicate condition." His eyes are asking silently. You smile. "We both know it is just a figure of speech, my Lord. I am as healthy and energetic as the two times before. The young prince does not cause his amad any trouble." The wrinkles from a cordial smile run around the corners of his eyes. "That is glorious news indeed."
Through your conversation the King is standing few steps away, silent and frowned. A group of Silvan Elves come to say their goodbyes. You bid your farewells to your friends, embrace children, take small gifts and tokens of affection. A small girl is sniffing on her mother's arms, and you run your fingers through her hair. Lumorn brings a chest full of vials as a goodbye gift. He bows graciously to you, "It has been an honour, lady Filegethiel." "Thank you, my friend. The honour was all mine."
The Elvenking does not come, but you are certain it is for the best. Neither does Dulindil. A group of guards from the Silvan Elves will accompany your to the edge of the forest for protection, and then joined by Dwalin you will head for Erebor. It is time to go home.
A/N: And the end :) Hahaha, of course not! The King Under the Mountain might think he dodged a bullet here and didn't f*** up his marriage but he is SO wrong! She might be going home now, but does he even have a wife now?