At least Evie could be proud of one thing – even now, she was still surprising. Belinir sat with Nrerir, the younger dwarf who had refused to admit her to the fortress when she had first arrived and who Belinir seemed to have taken on for some sort of tutelage (in judgment and discretion as much as anything else, by what the hobbit could tell). Nrerir, she had learned, was the son of Nrerin, one of Thorin's other advisers. This explained why Nrerir was given so much power, and why he allowed himself so much pomp. But all names and positions aside, Evie marched straight into her impromptu audience with Belinir, which she had set up only moments before, and pressed her palms flat against the sides of her dress as she figured out at the very last minute just what it was, exactly, she intended to say.
"Master Belinir, my apologies for such an unexpected intrusion, but there is something I feel I must ask of you."
She introduced her topic, trying to sound confident. She was everything but it, in her heart, but the strong willed female knew that if she showed too much weakness before the older dwarf he would never forgive it in her. She had to be strong and noble before him if she proposed to earn her queenship, and as of now that was her every intention. For how much longer, only time and perhaps the will of a few others would tell.
The white haired dwarf nodded, standing to bow to her as was formal practice. She curtseyed in return, drawing in a shallow breath and preparing to take the plunge. This was a risk, and a great one at that, but she felt she had to take it. The hobbit had a responsibility not only to herself, but to Thorin, and to all of the dwarves of Ered Luin. They deserved a queen fit to rule them, it was true, but she had yet to believe that such a person was not her.
"Thorin has chosen to disregard your advice on the issue of our marriage, but I have made no such decision. I have a question for you and I ask that you carefully consider it before replying, as many people will be affected by your advice," she began, pausing for a moment and trying to remind herself to breathe and speak slowly and assertively as she posited her great question, the one which had the power to define her future and that of so many others,
"Tell me, Master Belinir, loyal adviser to the great King Thrór and keeper of his secrets, which do you think would be the better future for the kingdom: for Thorin to rule unwed, or for me to marry him and become queen?"
Belinir stared at her for a moment, barely remembering to close his mouth. He had not expected such gall from the little creature, and especially not in such a manner. He thought Thorin would be the only one to talk to him, as this matter had always seemed Thorin's decision. Yet now here she was, dainty Shireling, standing up for herself and an idea which, no doubt, was the reason she was able to sleep at night without worrying about her future and what each day would bring.
The wizened dwarf was not so sure about all this. He did not like her, that was for certain. He may never like her. But did he have to? Did any of them have to? Thorin made it quite clear that he had made a decision, and the king proved just as solid and unmovable on the subject as the mountain he lived in. Belinir had almost surrendered, as if to give up on the entire kingdom itself, but now he saw a glimmer of hope as clear as the sunlight riding on the afternoon clouds. Was the halfling considering abandoning her bid for the throne? Was this foreigner finally acceding that he was right and she was the wrong female to lead them?
And yet, despite himself, the dwarf was not quite so hard hearted as all that. Not even after everything he had seen, everything he had suffered at the hands of his enemies, and sometimes even of his own people. He had fought in many wars and received many scars, and not all of them visible on his flesh alone. He had sacrificed much to Durin's Folk and their survival, he had watched those he loved scorched by dragonfire and choked by billowing smoke, he had witnessed the fall of his brothers in battle while he stood helplessly by, his own axe locked with an enemy's – he had known what it was to fight for his people. For all her history with the dwarves, Evangeline Took had not known the heart rending pain of Azanulbizar; she had been there, yes, but she had not felt it as they had. As those with Durin's blood had felt the communal despair, breathed it in and let it sear their lungs… She did not know what it was to be of their people, to live a wandering, simpering existence, often from one meal to another… Thorin had gotten them through it. He had always extended empty hands in the hopes that steel might one day be placed in them again, and perhaps bread also, and finally they had received such a bounty. Ered Luin was a new start, and although Belinir acknowledged Evangeline's involvement in its foundation, he also cursed her for it.
Belinir had been Thrór's adviser, and he would have been Thrain's had he lived long enough to fit a crown on his head without seeing it toppled. Now he belonged to Thorin in the same way a scepter belonged to a monarch – he was both unavoidable and invariable. He knew how things should be and he wished to see them that way. He had experienced great change in his life, and now he wanted to see his people return to the stability they had known before. Erebor was still a dream, and a hazy, fretful one at that, yet Ered Luin could be great if given the chance. But this Shireling did not know dwarf customs, she was not one of them… She would never be the queen he wanted for his people. She would never be as Thrain's wife had been, a paradigm of dwarven beauty and grace with a deep understanding of the nature of Durin's Folk and their needs. She had helped forge the greatness of Erebor just as surely as if she had placed her hands on the mallet herself, and her loss had been a precursor to that of the mountain she had always worked so bravely to improve.
Evangeline would never be as she had been. The hobbit would never be a true queen. And what of Thorin's heirs? The burden would lie on his sister to produce pureblood heirs, and even that Belinir did not approve of. Fildur was not of the sort of stock a dwarf like Belinir could respect; he had won his position with flowers and affections, not with steel and will, as the counselor had. Fildur was weak in the great adviser's eyes. His sons, despite Dis' fine noble blood, would be weak as well, Belinir was sure. But what could be done? Short of matching Thorin with a more suitable bride, which seemed entirely out of the question, there was no solution to be found. Just as the hobbit herself had stated and Thorin had always expressed, it was Evangeline Took or no queen at all.
Which brought the blonde's question back to his weary ears – was it better for her to be queen or for Thorin to rule alone? He needed no assistance, surely, but would the dwarves of Ered Luin be more fulfilled, more prosperous and more contented, with a queen? Even if she was of Shire descent? It was a question worth contemplating, and it seemed as if Miss Took knew it. She offered him two weeks to make his decision; she was going on a short journey. Back to that dirty mound she had come from, no doubt. Belinir wasn't surprised. He had been impressed and shocked by her trade arrangements between the hobbits and the dwarves as anyone, but he was still not convinced her motives were pure. Even so, it was another step towards affluence for the mountains, and that he could not deny.
It seemed as if Belinir, son of Barinir, had some thinking to do.
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Everything in the Shire was remarkably green, even moreso than Evie remembered. Or perhaps her perception had simply changed, and it seemed that way compared to the dark halls of Ered Luin. No matter the reason, the hobbit appreciated the magnificent color of the leaves on the trees and the vibrant hues of the flowers she passed by on her way to her mother's hobbit hole. The landscape looked almost as if it had been painted, little clusters of flowers dotting the rolling hills and sunlight slipping through the branches of the trees hanging above her, illustrating dappled patterns of warm gold and soft shadow on the path laid out before her. Evie sighed contentedly, remembering how she used to run through these forests as a child, chasing after fireflies and making up meetings with elves, in which they always crowned her elf-friend and took her to some of the finest twilight parties she had ever experienced in her youth (short of the real parties she often enjoyed, as the Tooks had a tendency to be the talk of the Shire when they were of a mind to celebrate). The forest was her playground, and all of Middle Earth her storybook. Her father had told her enough about the world for her to elaborate upon on her own, dreaming up visits from traveling wizards and fearsome warriors alike.
What would that little girl have said if someone told her she would one day be in the position to become a queen? A right, proper queen of a stalwart people with a rich history and a rising future. That she could lead them forward into uncertain times alongside a brave and noble king, one who loved her the way Beren had loved Luthien in ages past, another story immortalized in her memory by her father. Evie wondered absentmindedly as she watched the leaves shudder on their branches as a breeze blew by, rustling the forest around her, if some day there would be stories of Thorin and Evangeline, of another forbidden love which crossed the boundaries of race and propriety yet burned through the pages of history with the force of its beauty and truth. She sincerely hoped things ended up better for them, however, than it had for Beren and his beloved. Perhaps it was better if you never made it into the stories, Evie realized, her brow furrowing – if you did it usually meant you had made some great sacrifice to earn your place there.
She was on the cusp of such a thing, herself. She imagined Thorin sitting back in his chair, complete contentment painted on his face as she told stories to their children, who sat at their feet, dozing off into their mother's skirts or climbing up their father's boots and getting tugged up onto his lap for a better seat. They could be a family, they could make a family… The possibility pulled at her, tugged at her heartstrings with the tiny, hopeful hands of the future. It was what she wanted, more than anything, but was it the right thing? For them, perhaps, but for his people?
She remembered the end of the story of Beren and Luthien, calling out to her as if in protest. Of how they were granted a mortal life to spend together after all their trials were passed and their pain absolved. She wondered if she and Thorin could have such a simple, cherished reward for themselves, if they made it through their own obstacles. If she proved herself as Beren had, if she did the impossible –
Maybe she was thinking about this all wrong. She was not out to secure another's hand in marriage; that she already had, as sure as the sunlight which lingered on the path before her. It was not the king she needed to win, but the kingdom. Evie plucked at flowers along the path, collecting purples and blues and golds and bunching them into her other hand. But how could she prove herself? There were no simarils to find, no great quest to go on. How could she prove to an entire settlement of people that she was fit to rule them?
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Evie's hand hung over the little bell outside her mother's door. She paused for a moment, her fingers feeling along the long wooden panels, chipping off flaky pieces of worn yellow paint. Her father had been the last one to paint the door, and it was in very great need of another coat. The yellow was milky and faded, no longer the bright, welcoming sight of her youth. It was reflective of the occupant, she supposed. Her mother could do with a good deal more cheer. Yet Evie seemed only to bring her more grief with every visit.
Her small pink mouth turned down at the edges in a forlorn sort of pout, and the hobbit was about to turn back and see to other business before returning, but there was a shuffling sound on the other side of the door which drew her attention and made her freeze in place.
"If that's you sneaking around out there again, Abigail, you know I'm going to have to-"
The door swung back and there was her mother, rosy cheeked and just as disgruntled as any self-respecting hobbit should be at 10:00 in the morning, having been interrupted at her second breakfast by a nosy visitor at the door.
"Evangeline!"
She cried out, sweeping her daughter up into an instant hug. She held her tightly, perhaps too tightly, and Evie felt a lump growing in her throat.
"Mother…"
She named her softly, biting back a sudden wave of emotion as the other hobbit slowly let her go, squeezing her shoulders. The visitor offered her small bouquet of flowers, and Marigold took them with great thanks and abundant praises of their color and shape, despite the fact that they were simply wildflowers growing on the sides of the path and certainly nothing which would have otherwise excited her, had they not been from her daughter.
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"Is everything alright?"
Mary asked once they had settled into the kitchen and she had poured her visitor some tea and set out a plate of sweet cakes, honey, and jam. Evie sighed, leaning back in her chair and scrunching her toes together as she thought of the right thing to say and then realized that perhaps there wasn't always a right thing to say.
"I just… I wanted to visit."
She explained, and her mother laughed. "I can't remember if you have ever actually wanted to visit, Evangeline Took. You like to see me and you are not so wholly disenchanted with life here in the Shire that you are not willing to come here to do so, but there has never been a time that you were eager to come, despite how much I know you enjoy my sweet cakes."
Evie smiled dejectedly, befuddled by the idea that her mother always seemed to see straight through to the quick of things, no matter the person nor the situation.
"Am I truly such a terrible daughter?"
"One of the worst," her mother confirmed, teasingly, and Evie heaved a sigh.
"But you are your father's daughter, and I would not love you the same if you weren't."
Mary grinned into her teacup, taking a sip and drifting off for a moment into a memory of Fellin and his gallivanting off into tales truly worthy of telling – of moonlit meetings with elves and encounters with dark creatures of all kinds… She worried for him, of course, and it never seemed to get easier the older they became (if anything, it was harder having little Evie running about begging for stories and adventures of her own).
"Do you think so?"
Mary raised an eyebrow, setting the cake she had been nibbling on back down on her plate as she looked her daughter over as though the girl was suddenly someone she didn't recognize.
"Do you think I'm like he was?"
There was a pause, a long moment in which the older hobbit could not find the proper words to reply to her daughter's inquiry. How could she begin to answer her? She grasped with a terrible pang to her heart that Evangeline had still been young when her father had died, even though she had convinced them she was old enough to go with him to Moria. Mary still couldn't believe it had happened, that somehow they had stolen away her senses and stopped her from physically locking up her daughter and keeping her safe in the Shire. Yet all things happened as they would, and for a reason, Marigold believed. Maybe not to herself, but to the world on the whole. Evie's entire life had been based upon that battle – Azanulbizar was the cornerstone, the foundation of the life she had been building ever since. It had been there she had lost her father, had her first adventure, met Thorin Oakenshield, and set herself down a path which led right to this very moment, and the question she was asking now.
"Your father loved adventures. He was a storyteller and even more than that he was a story maker; there were no tales he preferred more than his own, and let me tell you he had many of them. You remember most, I am sure… He had a sense of curiosity which drove him to always be moving and discovering and experiencing the world – the Shire simply was not big enough for him. He was never happy to leave me, and if I had a coin for every time he begged me to come with him I would be rich indeed, but my place has always been here. I was always the fixed point, the weathervane to his wind. He would go whichever direction he felt best, but he would always return home to me and take even greater comfort in the idea of it the longer he was gone. It was hard, living on my own, but I've grown accustomed to it after all these years. And for a while, I had you. But you were just a smaller, feistier version of your father. If he told you a story about mountain trolls you were off on the fringes of the downs pretending to fight them off. If he had met a ranger you were tracking magical creatures through the forests and searching for the source of their power. You were never satisfied with an answer unless you could see its worth for yourself, and you never sat still for longer than a minute or two. It is a wonder my hair is not already grey from all the worry you gave me wandering around the Shire, let alone Fellin wandering around all of Middle Earth.
"And now… Now here you are. Set to marry a great dwarf prince, one of a long line of noble, rich kings the very stories of which filled your ears as a child…"
"But he sacrificed himself for others. He put his life at stake so that others might live and be happy –"
"And what have you done that is any less admirable?!" Her mother cut her off almost immediately, the lines of her face darkening with maternal outrage.
"You have saved countless lives with your healing; you have spent years in service of other peoples who you barely know and to whom you have no obligation. You have aided the dwarves in their search for a home and now it seems you will dedicate your life to the service of their people."
"But am I the right person to do such a thing? I am moving forward down a road I am not sure I am even allowed to walk upon… Who has given me permission to wander here, to pluck flowers off the branches and enjoy the sunlit trail as if I was the one who cleared the path?"
"The question is, will you also walk there when the path is dark and the way unclear?"
Yet again, Marigold had found the heart of the question and stilled her daughter's troubled conscience.
"Of course I will. But even dark paths can be guarded… I only wish there was some sure way to move forward, a manner of knowing I was walking in the right direction and that the road would lead me where it is I wish to go; to a bright future and not a dismal one."
The old hobbit smiled, leaning back in her chair as if she was an unconscious mirror of her daughter and sipping her drink with a knowing gleam in her eyes. She set her cup down and stood, gesturing for Evangeline to follow her. The hobbits stepped into another room, and Mary stopped in front of the great fireplace. Above it was a map of Middle Earth, carefully drawn by her grandfather himself.
"Do you remember what your father always used to say about maps?"
Evie sighed, gazing up at the map, which had been at its customary place on their wall far longer than she could remember.
"Sometimes there are many roads which lead to the same place."
The hobbit paused, mulling over the thought in her mind for a moment before voicing her concern, "but that makes no sense to me, right now. It is not the road I am concerned with, but the destination. Besides, there is no map to guide me."
Mary smiled, squeezing her daughter's hand. "Can you imagine how boring life would be if we could see our future laid out in ink before us? No corrections, no changes, no surprises… No, my dear, that would be quite sad indeed." Her eyes twinkled as she looked away, lost in a memory.
"When you were just a little thing you used to make your father take you to the Bindbale Wood, all the way up in North Farthing. You would run out into the forest on your own and dance among the trees, pretending to meet the kings and queens of the elves and to fight off dragons and trolls with the sword he had made you. I never approved of all that – of the elaborate stories, the tales of adventures… And particularly not of the sword, although you became so good with it that after a time I yielded to Fellin's insistence that you learn…"
She trailed off, and only spoke again once Evie leaned against her, resting her golden head on her mother's shoulder. "The reason for remembering is that you refused to carry a map. Your father would try to point out where things were and direct you about, but you rebuffed his every attempt. You would go as you wanted to, free and without a guide.
"The world has become your woods, my love, and it is so much greater and grander than the Shire. I always used to think you were meant for something special, and now I finally see just how true that premonition was."
She kissed Evie on the temple, and the younger hobbit drew in a shaky breath.
"Always be true to yourself and who you are, Evangeline. There are many who will try and doubt you. There will always be those who choose to doubt rather than to believe. But you must never doubt yourself."
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Author's Note: I apologize for the slow updates! As I've mentioned before, it's been harder and harder to find the time to sit and write. I start my new job next week, so things should either calm down a bit or get even crazier! But I will always try to make time for Evie and Thorin, even if it takes a while. I am actually really happy with how this chapter turned out, and I hope you are too! I never plan out conversations with Marigold, they always just sort of happen. I really adore her character and I feel like the best part of my hobbit self comes out in her. Anyways, I hope you're all doing well, and are having fantastic summers! My best to you!
