Alas, the final installment of my year-long pet project is finally here. Thus ends the story, as all stories must have an end.

I'm actually kinda sad...

~Epilogue~

Though Fili tried as hard as he could, the will of the One Ring was stronger than his will of iron. After his coronation, the Ring stayed where it was, in a box on a table in the King's Chamber. But still, Fili found himself periodically taking it out, if only to hold it and gaze upon its plain gold finish in awe that such a power could be held in such a simple object. He remained aware for quite some time of his addiction to it, and so he began moving it farther and farther away from his person.

One day, he discovered a hidden niche deep within the vaults of Erebor where part of the dragon's hoard had been. This part of it had remained yet untouched, and with so much gold there already, no one would notice a simple gold ring. And so it was there he hid the Ring, and there it remained for quite some time, behind a loose stone in the stairs, under a bridge surrounded by a veritable lake of treasure. But as months and then years went by, he became increasingly paranoid. What if someone else were to find his Precious? He knew what a thing it was that he possessed, and that possessed him in turn. He could not bear to think that someone else should discover it, and that it should affect them the way it had him. And so he retrieved it, fastening it to a chain about his neck that he hid from everyone. Not even Kili knew.

But even so, soon the whole of Erebor knew there was something not quite right about their king. He spent long hours alone in his chamber or the throne room, occasionally crouching on his haunches on his magnificent throne of gold and muttering to himself in a strange, gravelly voice. At table he behaved like an animal, even by dwarvish standards. He began demanding to be served raw meat, and only raw meat, the remnants of which he left clinging to his beard so that the lower part of his face was perpetually stained red and drew flies. His hair and beard had become, it seemed, permanently disheveled, and to anyone who dared speak to him he would merely respond with a piercing, wild-eyed gaze. Soon no one would go near him due to the smell (in addition to his feral behavior, he was not in favor of bathing), and the fear that he was indeed quite insane. And so it was that Mad King Fili, as he had come to be known, was secluded and locked away in a seldom-used part of the royal quarters, heavily guarded day and night. In his absence it was decided by his councilors that he should (and had) effectively abdicated the throne in favor of his brother, Kili.

When news of this reached Fili's ears, he was furious. He did not say so in words, of course, but his opinion was made known by savage roars emanating from his glorified prison at all hours, echoing through the halls of the underground realm. Dwarf mothers began instructing their children to behave with the threat that if they did not, Mad King Fili would come and snatch them away in the night and devour their hearts like honey cakes. And he probably would have, too, if he had known of such fables.

And then, for a time, Fili was quiet. He no longer roared, but whimpered and pleaded and begged to be allowed to see his brother. The guards knew better, this was merely a trick, and the defenses around Fili's chambers increased tenfold.

In spite of these extreme precautions and extensive safety measures to protect Fili, and even more to protect Kili from his once-beloved brother, one morning, Kili was found dead in his bed with no obvious causes or even intrusion into his chamber. The same morning Fili was discovered missing. A search party was sent out all over the city, but proved fruitless. Fili, the obvious culprit, was gone.

And so the rule of Erebor ultimately fell to Dain Ironfoot, who preferred to rule the—in his mind—tainted citadel of Erebor from a distance, sending in his stead a member of his privy council, and granting him complete authority. Under the rule of a dwarf called Bakar, the remaining members of the line of Durin were publicly executed, including Dis, sister to Thorin Oakenshield and mother of Fili and Kili. One drop of blood from the royal line was enough to warrant condemnation. The only known survivors were Balin and his party who had departed for Moria, and Gloin and his family, and Dwalin, who escaped back to the Blue Mountains sometime early in Bakar's reign of terror.

Sometime around TA 3000, a company of Men from Gondor, charged with defending the border, drove back an invading orc pack as far as the Dead Marshes. Their small group had managed to slaughter them all, and found the marshes to be a convenient dumping-ground for the carnage. Upon their retreat, they encountered a strange creature.

Among the group was a man called Boromir, eldest son of the Steward of Gondor, who fathomed that the creature must be some rogue dwarf, for although it was hunched and emaciated, it still bore visible signs of the Dwarrow, most noticeably runic tattoos that decorated its withered forearms. Boromir had no real concern for the dwarf itself, but for the shiny trinket it kept on a chain about its neck and continually pawed at. Overcome with sudden unexplainable envy for this gold ring, Boromir seized the thing and slit its throat, claiming his prize as the wretch bled its last into the stagnant water. Kicking the body into the shallows, Boromir held the chain in his fingers and squinted, examining his prize, admiring the way the gold glistened in the light…captivating…beautiful…powerful.

Weep your hearts out, my lovelies. I'm sorry I had to do that to you, but it had to be done. It was a tragedy, after all.

Please review, and don't judge me too harshly. Happy endings are not my forte.

Regards until next we meet,

Spiritus Scriptor