Chapter Sixty-Nine: Emelia Raveneye

Eddy never liked to lay flowers if it could be avoided. They only lived long enough to die and he found it hurt all the worse to have to sweep away the dead stems and petals when he returned to her gravesite the next time around. But it also felt like a very poor thank you on his part for saving his life, so he always tried to leave a little something behind – even if it was all for nothing. It wasn't like Emelia could take it with her. He wasn't even convinced she was even aware of the gifts at all, let alone enough to have an opinion, positive or otherwise.

He had long ago given up on the idea that Emelia might still be bopping around.

When he was younger and still struggling so hard to understand what had happened, he found comfort in the idea that she wasn't gone, that she might still be visiting him in her own special way.

He held onto that idea for years.

Every day that he woke up, he held onto the hope that she might one day make herself known, that she might just reappear again as he remembered her. Red hair, green eyes, round face split nearly in two by her large, if not a little mischievous, smile. But even those vivid memories began to blur and her once sharp features had long ago turned into nothing more than fuzzy outlines and he gave up on the idea altogether.

His hope turned bitter in his mouth and made every single thing he did harder in ways he didn't think possible.

It only got worse when he realized the day he turned nineteen years old that he was older then than she would ever be.

The pain settled so deep in his chest, he wasn't sure he would ever be rid of it. It was only then that the guilt settled over him. She would still be there if not for him and his stupidity. She would still be there if he hadn't decided to play around on the thin ice.

Eddy stopped visiting after he realized that, too ashamed to even face her. His parents wondered what changed in him, but he could not say. He could hardly admit to himself, let alone anyone else. So he pulled away and did not visit her for ten long years. Even after he had married and started a life of his own, even after his parents couldn't stand to live in Alaska anymore and moved south, and even after the sharpest of the pain had long since dulled, the guilt would not abate.

It ate him alive.

Like a parasite or a poison, it swam through his veins and very nearly killed him several times over before he finally managed to see sense.

It was his wife who convinced him to finally return.

She only brought it up sparingly, fully aware of how it made him feel, and only after she was sure he would not shut down entirely.

But she finally made him see reason.

And so they loaded up the family car in the earliest days of winter exactly thirty years to the day. The frost had just begun to cling to the ground as Eddy drove his wife and two children – a son and a daughter who were soon going to be grown with families in their own right- to the gravesite. It was an hour away from their modest house, although the drive felt much longer today, and it was spent in complete and total silence.

He assumed his wife told his kids what they were doing because they were eerily quiet in the backseat.

Too quiet.

Suspiciously quiet.

Eddy glanced in the rearview mirror and narrowed his eyes at his oldest daughter, half expecting her to pinch her little brother at any moment, just because she could. She was normally so loud and vivacious, drawing the attention of every room she ever walked into. He did not even need to think about what name they would give her when she born. Gifted with bright red hair and green eyes, she was like his sister reincarnated. It was all he could do not to open sob when she was cradled in his arms for the first time and looked into those eyes that he had thought were lost to him forever.

The resemblance had only increased as the years had ticked by and there was something that felt deeply unsettling about bringing her with him today.

But his Emelia, his little ten years old with her whole life ahead of her, wouldn't know any better and he refused to put his own pain onto his happy children.

He pulled his car to a stop at the graveyard and stared straight ahead, fully aware of his wife watching him. She stared at him for a moment longer before she turned around in her seat and looked at their kids.

"Let's give your dad some time, yeah?"

"Where are we?" His son, Anderson, asked, squirming around in his seat to get a better look out the window.

"We're visiting your Aunt Emelia," Eddy finally managed to say, although he didn't much believe it for himself.

She wasn't there.

Sometimes it felt like she never had been, with the way his mind was playing tricks on him.

Eddy sighed and turned off the car. He would need to get this over with eventually, but it didn't make the idea any easier for him. Not after so long and not after he thoroughly abandoned her because of his own guilt and shame. He zipped up his jacket to his chin and stepped out of the car, pausing only long enough to lean sideways and give his wife a quick kiss, before he closed the door behind him and started to walk towards the site.

It took longer than he remembered, like every step he took the tree that marked where they buried nothing was pulled further and further away from him.

Eddy came to a stop beneath the tree, the fresh frost on the ground crunching beneath his feet. Her grave was empty and there was nothing really there that was her, but his chest still tightened like she might just decide to show herself. For even just a moment, she might decide to show her face so that he might see it again.

But she never did and she never would and he still always seemed to find himself right in front of her gravesite again and again, hope burning through his chest. Regardless of how many years passed and regardless of how much he tried to avoid it, he always found his way back.

"Hi, Emelia," He said, voice barely above a whisper.

She would hear him.

If she was meant to hear him, she would, and there was no need for him to raise his voice above a whisper and disturb what little peace there was underneath her tree.

"Sorry I've been gone so long." Eddy rubbed the back of his neck, shame welling up inside him. It had been so long and he had so much he wanted to tell her. "I'm a dad now. Crazy isn't it?" Eddy moved forward and sat down on the ground in front of the worn stone. He traced his fingers over the carving of her name, her birthday and deathday, before he finally stopped over the simple message.

Beloved daughter and sister.

Reductive, he thought, and hardly scratched the surface of all that she had been.

Of all that she could have been if not for him.

"Mom and dad moved south," Eddy said, feeling the compulsive need to catch her up on all the comings and goings since he had last visited her. "Near her family. Dad isn't very happy about it, but then again, neither is her family." The tree above her grave rustled in the wind and he was able to fool himself, for just a brief moment, that he might have managed to pull a laugh from her wherever she was. Somewhere, he hoped that she might have built an entire different life for herself, but that was a childish thought. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, I brought my wife and kids today. I thought you might like to meet them."

The tree rustled again.

"We named the girl after you."

Eddy scooted forward and flattened his palm against the gravestone.

"I miss you so much. But it's been easier," He admitted, feel horrible for saying so out loud. "I hope you know how much I love you. You can't hear me- or maybe you can, who the hell knows – but I've never forgotten you or what you did. My kids wouldn't exist without you. I promise I'll come see you more often."

His voice cracked at the end and he felt the full weight of his grief slam down on him all at once.

"I'm so, so sorry 'Melia," He said, voice shaking as he began to sob. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the icy stone. "I never…I shouldn…"

He felt a hand on his shoulder, feather light but comforting all the same, and he stopped trying to speak long enough to catch his breath. His wife knelt down next to him, flanked by their kids, and reached out to touch the gravestone as well.

"Emelia," She started, more strength to her voice than Eddy could ever muster. "I am deeply sorry that I never met you. But I am forever in your debt because of what you did. We have a life because of you. We have children because of you."

The tree rustled more, limbs shaky and leaves quaking.

Eddy looked up and smiled.

Perhaps his younger self hadn't been so foolish after all, holding onto such hopes.

Emelia stared at the pile of gold on Fili's desk, thoroughly unimpressed. It was unsorted, uncounted, and untagged, leaving the three of them the task of righting it before the Clan leaders arrived the next morning. Why it fell to them, Emelia was not entirely sure, but there was no avoiding it.

"We should order in from the kitchens," Kili breathed, staring down at the pile with the same level of disdain as Emelia. They were childfree for the night, Dis and Dwalin, by extension, having volunteered to watch their rabble until the work was done. What should have been a fun night of just the two of them had quickly turned into an evening of mind-numbing bean counting.

Apparently - and she was still just as miserable as she had been when she learned the information nearly fifty years before – Middle Earth was not free from the burden of taxes and tax season. She thought she had escaped that, what with being a teenaged dimension traveler and all, but she was woefully mistaken.

So every year, the Clan leaders collected their taxes and delivered them to the Crown. It was then their responsibility to distribute the money for various public works, projects, and military spending. But before any of that could happen, they had to pay their own share. Which brought them to the side room of Fili's office, each adding their own pile of gold to count. It was all meaningless, to her at least, and she had never once encountered a moment where she had to spent money for anything outside of the Mountain.

Of course, she knew the reason.

All the trappings and trimmings of royalty had to come with perks and never needing cash money was certainly one of them.

She supposed there had to be downsides as well and it seemed, for tonight at least, that that was math.

"I've already called the kitchens," Fili said, looking unhappy as well.

Which was all well and good for him, seeing as how he technically had to do this for the rest of his life. But Emelia and Kili, very much happy with their life as the spares to the heir, were only helping out of love for Fili.

And his promises of two weeks off official duties.

But mostly the love thing.

"We might as well start," Emelia said, pulling out the chair nearest to her and dropping down into it with a heavy sigh. Kili dropped down into the seat next to her, hand instantly finding her knee as it always seemed to do, and scooted closer to the table. "But before we do, I would like to note, once again, that we should lower taxes."

"You are only saying that because you do not want to have to count as much."

"Yes. But also, because I think we can afford to fund the public works ourselves without using taxes," Kili said, giving Emelia's knee a little squeeze when she look over at him. "We have the money. We've always had the money." He was right, of course, but it still made her heart swell to hear him say it. Whether or not they could actually do anything about it, was another story entirely, however.

The tax policies were set in stone.

That old chestnut.

It always seemed to crop up at the most inconvenient of times. She had learned to live with it, after yelling until she was blue and red in the face on several occasions in an attempt to at change. For the most part, it had very little impact on her life. But it came back over the years and

"You know I cannot."

Emelia felt Kili squeeze her knee again, just a little bit tighter than before. They both heard the frustrations in his voice, the same ones that had been growing louder and louder as the years had gone on. But neither of them could do much to lessen them besides lend a good listening ear when needed, ply him with his favorite dessert, or agreeing to take his Clan visits for him. But there was nothing that could change the frustrations he felt about being the one actually in charge of the day to day running of the Mountain without any of the real power to change things.

The transition had been little more than a trickle at first.

A few days of infirmary here and there, followed by a week spent in bed with a stomach ailment. There was a month last year where Thorin couldn't even walk, let alone see the pressing matters of Erebor. And so, every time Thorin had to turn to the quiet and warmth of his study, Fili was there to pick up the slack.

He did so without bitterness or resent, but Emelia could see that it was starting to weigh on Fili.

And how could it not?

For every little responsibility he took on, it meant one less on Thorin's plate. Eventually, there would be nothing left at all to the King Under the Mountain and Emelia dreaded that day more than any. The reality hung heavy over them all. Emelia dropped her hand down and grabbed Kili's with her own, pulling in close to her stomach. It churned painfully, hunger giving way to a sick sort of dread that sucked the life out of her and made her want to vomit.

The last few years had been loss after loss.

First Galon.

And then Bard.

And then Tauriel to her extended walkabout.

She feared Thorin would soon join them.

She could see, as she looked at Fili and felt the tremble to Kili's skin, that they feared much the same.

"Let's count," Emelia finally said, releasing Kili's hand as she pulled the smaller part of the pile towards her. "This is going to take all night. We might as well get started."

Fili and Kili shared a look, uninterrupted by the clinks of the gold as she dropped the newly counted pieces into the metal bucket to her right. The joined her after a moment, each taking their own part of the pile and dropping the pieces into similarly sized buckets. They continued in silence, only speaking to each other briefly when the kitchen dropped off their dinner. Whatever energy they might have had left – already zapped by the idea of spending the night counting – was completely ripped from them as they all descended into their own thoughts.

Whatever pains she might be feeling, she could only imagine how Kili and Fili felt.

And so they continued, for three more hours, nibbling on their food and counting their families gold to pay in taxes, until there was a tentative knock at the door and they were finally saved from their suffocating thoughts.

The first dwarf through the door was a breath of fresh air, and Emelia immediately rose to her feet and opened her arms.

"Ori!" She enthused, squeezing him as tight as she could.

He spent most of his time holed up in the large library, teaching the more scholarly of the Mountain and repairing books. She got to see him sparingly- from across the table, passing in the halls – and she was always happy to see him.

"'Lo Emelia," Ori said, smiling back at her as she pushed him back to arm's length to get a good look at him.

"This is a nice surprise," She said, stepping back to let Ori walk further into the warmth of the larger study.

The Mountain was terribly drafty, even on the hottest of summer days, and most dwarves preferred to avoid lingering too long in the cavernous hallways as much as possible. They congregated around their hearths, pressed in close over their meals and their gossip and their stories from a hard day's work. For Emelia's part, she knew she looked very out of place every time she ventured out of their quarters, bundled up as she was, so she tried to keep to their private wing as much as possible when the temperature dropped too low to avoid unnecessary stares.

Her parent would be mightily disappointed if they could see their proud Alaskan daughter now, but that was neither here nor there as far as she was concerned. Her pride had never been too great that she wasn't willing to admit that her mountainous home left her chilled to the very bone more often than not.

Ori was soon followed by his two older brothers and Emelia greeted them each with a tight hug. One by one, they filed inside and took seats around the ornate wooden table until it was crowded with dwarves.

Emelia stared at them, waiting for the first one to break the silence. When none of them dared to do so, she glanced over at Kili and raised her eyebrows.

"So," She started, tapping her fingers on her knees.

"We have a request," Nori said, very unsure of himself in a way that Emelia had never thought possible for the incredibly confident dwarf.

"So be out with it," Fili said, more exhausted than anything else. "We have a long night ahead of us."

"Do you remember Balin's greatest ambition?"

"Seeing that Thorin made it to adulthood, primarily."

"Yes, and?" Dori prompted.

"Seeing Erebor again."

"And?"

"Retaking Moria," Fili said, narrowing his eyes as he began to put two and two together. "No."

"We have not even asked yet."

"The answer is still no."

Emelia looked back and forth between them, visibly confused. Of course, she knew about Moria and all its horrors. It felt a little dramatic to say it was the Middle Earth equivalent of saying 'break a leg' in a theater, but it felt very close to that. It was a whispered about place, spoken of in equal parts reverence and tragedy, and she was only able to learn about it through Kili and books. She had managed to learn enough to know that a great deal of the Mountain thought of Moria as irreversibly lost to the orcs and goblins that now called it home.

"It's not safe," She said, watching each of their faces.

"Neither was Erebor. And yet, we made it a home all the same," Nori said, a passion to his voice that alarmed her.

"We ask for your permission," Dori said, looking a Kili first, and then Fili.

"It is not mine to give. If it were, you already know my answer."

"Then you will pass along our request to Thorin?" Nori pressed. Fili glowered at him, visibly unhappy with yet another thing being added to his plate on top of everything else. If he weren't already running the Mountain, Emelia might have suggested he take a little bit of a break from it all. But he couldn't, not with the state Thorin was now in, and she felt a great sense of sadness on his behalf at the sudden responsibility that had been piled on top of him.

"We will," Emelia said, speaking for them both Fili and Kili as she stood up. "Although, I thinks it's a bad idea. From what I can tell, Balin only talked about it in hypotheticals. We don't know what inside Moria and it seems like a bad idea to go into that blind." She put her hand on Ori's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. "Best forget it for now. Think about it some more and come back in a few weeks and we'll see what Thorin has to say about it, yeah?"

"They left, didn't they?" Emelia asked, coming to stand next to Kili on the battlement. It wasn't the sturdiest of structures and Emelia was always weary when it came time to stand on it, but it provided the clearest view of the valley and surrounding forests. She reached out her hand to steady herself on his arm as she leaned forward. It was just past dawn and still far too early for her tired eyes to be of any use.

"They did."

She made a noise at the back of her throat. It was hardly surprising, all things considered, but she had hoped they would at least have the decency to say goodbye. But she supposed, given the fact that they left not even twenty-four hours after they promised to wait, she didn't think that was something she should have hoped for. A part of her wanted to chase them down and demand they stay. She had never been tempted to use her station before, but the desire flared up quite suddenly and profoundly until she forcibly tamped it down.

"Will Fili force them back?" She asked, moving her arm around his back so she could lean against him. They had mimicked the same pose for so long, had sought out the comfort of each other's embrace so often, that she hardly knew where she ended and he began anymore. Kili lifted his own and wrapped it around her shoulder, drawing her closer as he let out a breath. There was a stiffness to his arms, a rigidity, that spoke of the stress she knew he felt.

"No," Kili said, voice tinged with what she might describe as disappointment.

But whatever disappointment he felt, it was drowned out by his clear fear and concern.

Every moment that passed they stepped closer to harm. Gone was the protection of the Mountain. Gone was the sting of sharp axes and blunt shields and the constant assurance of their presence at their backs.

Gone was the ability to call for help.

Moria was no short trek, even in the most peaceful of times.

But those were all but gone as well.

Emelia pulled back from Kili and lifted her fingers to her mouth. She whistled five times, each getting progressively higher until the last. She waited a moment and did it again, cadence faster than the first. If her efforts over the last two years had been worth it, three ravens would appear. If her efforts had been worth it. So far, she had not seen a single bit of evidence to suggest that that was the case. In fact, she had been embarrassed more times than she could count by the lack of concern her ravens had for her meticulous training.

Kili leaned back against the sturdiest part of the battlement and crossed his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised.

"We could always send a messenger."

"No," Emelia said, whistling again. "They have to earn the extra treats they've been getting at some point."

"They," Kili paused, smirking at her. "Scammed you? Is that not your term for it?"

"Normally, I would be so proud that you used that correctly." She pointedly ignored him, although she did give him a small smile as she held out her arms. The wait was unbearable and she could hear the beginnings of a laugh forming in Kili's throat the long they stood there in complete and total silence. But she was no less determined, and only after whistling the rhythm did her ravens finally decide to make their appearance.

They swooped down over their heads from behind, three pair in formation, and all landed on her arms. Their combined weight, slight thought it may be, caused them to dip before she shifted around and shooed them away.

Kili pushed himself off the battlement and came to stand beside her, ducking his head as one of her ravens flew dangerously close to his freshly braided hair.

"Find Ori," Emelia said, dropping her voice to a low whisper as her birds continued to circle around them, the flapping of wings drowning out everything else. "Find Nori. Find Dori. Watch over them."

The first of the ravens flew off, determined if such a feeling were possible for a bird, and took three of its companions with it.

"Watch over them," Emelia said, again dropping her voice so that only her birds would hear her.

If she could will the Brothers Ri back by just the power of wishing alone, she would. If she could drag them back by their beards and lock them inside until such foolish notions were gone from their heads, she would. If she could wield her admittedly limited powers of authority in the Mountain to order them back, she would.

Instead, she would have to rely on her hopes.

And worry over them from afar.

Emelia clenched her hands into fists as her feelings of control slipped away from her.

All around her, her world teetered towards chaos. Just as the skies to south grew ever darker, her dreams had been plagued as of late. She felt unsettled, unmoored and set adrift on an ocean that seemed determined to draw her under.

As if reading her panicked mind, Kili stepped over to her and wrapped both his arms around her shoulders and pulled her against his chest.

"They will return before long," He murmured against her hair. "And your ravens will herald their homecoming. Emelia Raveneye. That's what they've been calling you."

She snorted.

It was quite possibly the stupidest name imaginable.

"They've never quite figured out heralding," She said, letting out small laugh. "We'll be lucky if they manage to find them at all, let alone make it back home."

"You give yourself far too little credit."

Emelia pressed herself against his chest just a little bit tighter, drawing in a deep breath. She sighed when she felt him press a lingering kiss to her hair and pulled back a bit to rest her chin on his sternum. He leaned down the rest of the way and kissed her lips.

It was just a peck and it was tinged with the same leaden feeling that had settled in her stomach, but it comforted her all the same and she popped up on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss.

His hand moved to the back of her head as he pulled her closer, fingers tangling in her hair. He ceased kissing her after only a moment, but he did not move back and instead hovered his mouth over hers.

"Whatever your fears, forget them, for just this moment," He said, lips brushing over hers with every word. "Settle your mind."

She smiled against his mouth and nodded, lacing her fingers together behind his back as she pushed in closer. "I can't. But you're welcome to keep trying to convince me otherwise."

"We still have a few hours before the girls return from their lessons." His hands moved down from her hair and came to rest on her hips, giving her a little squeeze. "And Thor is still with Ma for another three days."

"Well go on then, sweep me off my feet."

Emelia laughed as he did just that, scooping her up in his arms as he started to walk her back towards the back of the battlement. He checked over his shoulder once before he started to pull at the lacing of her dress as he tucked his face against her neck and kissed her skin. Emelia, distracted from her thoughts for a brief moment, looked behind him one more time.

Her ravens were too far to see now, lost in the ever darkening sky.

But she trusted them.

And she trusted their sight more than she trusted her own.

The assurance that they were watching over the world on her behalf should settle her mind. She should banish all things out of her control from her thoughts and instead focus on the things she could change. But as she watched the direction he ravens went, she recognized the feeling of a new worry carving a hole in her chest and making its home there, and she realized that this new fear was likely only the beginning.

She might as well make peace with it while she could. If she didn't and if she continued to spend all her time worrying over things she had no control over, she would quickly lose track of it all.

Emelia turned her attention back to Kili and found comfort in his arms, laughing at the feel of his beard tickling her neck. She tucked her chin and kissed the side of his mouth, drawing his attention away from her neck and onto her lips. Sixty years they had been married and he still managed to make her feel like she had after their very first kiss.

Whatever fear she was feeling was blanketed, at least for the moment, with her complete all-consuming love for him.

She still had that, at the very least, and that was more than enough to sustain her through whatever.

Emelia pushed Thorin's wheelchair as slowly as possible as they two of them passed through the tombs. It was a somber place, made even more so by Thorin's frailness, and she wanted nothing more than to leave.

But she promised him she would take him to see his brother and Balin and she intended to keep her word, so she found herself pushing him through the spiraling catacombs at just past dawn. His wheelchair was a regal thing, more a throne on wheels than a medical device, and it weighed more than the Mountain itself. It didn't help that she had packed a little stool for her to sit on when they finally reached their final destination.

It also didn't help that she had packed enough breakfast and wine for them both three times over, but she absolutely refused to face the dead on an empty stomach and without a little bit of alcohol in her veins to steel her nerves.

She turned the final corner and pushed Thorin to a stop.

They visited Frerin first.

It was a subdued tomb, all things considered, and bore only the relief of Frerin's proud face. It lacked the finery that she had seen on the older tombs, but it was no less beautiful. Carved from the purest emerald and placed just so, it sparkled from all angles, and reflected a life that must have been lived in splendor. He had a striking resemblance to Thorin and Dis, even in imprecise gemstone, she wondered what he might have been like if he lived long enough to meet her.

They stayed with Frerin for an hour before they moved on, spiraling deeper into the tombs until they came to a stop in front of Balin. He was buried between his father and grandfather, with only his name carved from the soft gray marble that his family favored for their tombs. In an effort to be accommodating, a space had been left on Fundin's other side for Dwalin, but all Emelia could think about was how morbid the whole affair was.

Emelia pulled out the small stool and set it next to Thorin, thankful that she had thought of it after the ordeal of their last visit. In their past visits, which had grown in frequency as the years ticked by, she had been forced to hover behind Thorin for well over five hours before he was finally ready to leave.

She came prepared this time and immediately pulled out the nearest bottle of wine.

They had done this what felt like a hundred times and she was well familiar with the routine of it all by then. They would sit in silence for the first few hours, each getting lose in their own thoughts and traveling through memories that they would each rather keep to themselves. Then, only after Emelia had sighed in a pointed – but not pressuring, never pressuring – way, they would move on and visit the rest of the dead who demanded their attention. After they were done and Thorin was utterly and thoroughly spent for the day, Emelia would wheel him back to his study and set him up in front of his large fire.

She would leave him, thoroughly spent for the day in her own right, and go back to her suite with Kili and their kids. She would share dinner with them before crawling into bed with a bit of a headache and more than a bit of melancholy.

Emelia liked to think that she had moved on from the intense guilt she felt about Balin, but she never left his tomb feeling particularly well and she imagined that today would be no exception.

Instead, much to her great shock, Thorin turned to look at her not even ten minutes after they settled down in front of Balin and cleared this throat.

"I have never told you," He started, voice thick with exhaustion. "But, I have always appreciated you accompanying me here."

"Don't even mention it," She said, reaching out her hand to squeeze his arm. "I enjoy the time with you."

And she meant it.

Her nineteen year old self would have practically spit in disgust at the very idea, but a lot had changed in six decades and she now look at the old dwarf to her right as the deepest sort of family imaginable.

Thorin moved his hand to touch the top of her hand.

"When they bury me here, I want you to make sure it is not too outlandish," He said, somewhat out of the blue, although hardly surprising for the current situation. It always brought out his contemplative side. Lately, such contemplations had turned towards his own place in the world and in their home. "White marble will suffice."

"I don't have much of a say in it, Thorin."

"No, but you seem rather adept at making your voice heard in even the loudest of circumstances."

"I'll do my best to make sure you have a pauper's funeral." Thorin smiled as he glanced over at her. "But, I think you should at least let them carve your face into the top. Your fine bone structure should be remembered always."

"Cheeky."

"You know, we can talk about something a little happier."

Thorin squeezed her hand a little tighter.

"I wish I had been more," Thorin finally said after a long silence, completely ignoring what she had said. "I wish I had been more caring. More of a father to Fili and Kili. More trusting." It was her greatest impulse to cut him off and reassure him otherwise, but she didn't. He needed to express this. Whether it was regret or something else entirely, he needed to say it. "I wish I had told Balin that he was often more of a father to me than my own. I wish I had not spurned Dis so often in favor of spending time with Frerin. I wish I had not been so hard on Frerin in favor of Dis. I wish I had not lived my life in service of my duty and nothing else."

"We all have our regrets, Thorin. Mine sometimes feel like they're going to eat me alive, but most of the time I make them up in my mind." She lifted both their hands and shifted around, scooting her chair closer to him so that she could wrap him in a tight hug. "You have a right to feel the way you do, but you should know how much I love you, mistakes and all."

It was not the first time she had expressed that she loved Thorin, but it was perhaps the most significant.

Of course, he would never say it back. But she knew he felt the same way and so she squeezed him just a little bit tighter before she pulled back and stared at him.

"I promise, I will make sure you get the funeral that you deserve, one that expresses who you are and not the dwarf everyone imagines you to be." She clapped her hands together and stood up straight. "Now, I brought wine. What do you say me and you get day drunk and go drop eggs off the side of the Mountain? I've got very reliable information that tells me that Dwalin is bringing his newest crop of trainees in this general direction in a few minutes."

Thorin looked for a brief moment like he might say no.

But then he cracked a rare smile and nodded his head and Emelia practically tripped over her own feet wheeling him in Dwalin's direction, laughing at the conspiratorial look now on Thorin's face.

Ever prepared, it just so happened that Emelia had packed a few dozen eggs for just this occasion.

Ravenhill fell to her entirely in the coming years. At first, she balked at the responsibility. Schedule already packed full, she had only ever anticipated training her ravens as a hobby. But the last raven master, Tilv, had other ideas and when he passed away from the nasty cough that had passed around the Mountain, she was given the task by a very apologetic looking Fili based on his final wishes.

Why, exactly, she was who Tilv selected, Emelia had no idea but she wasn't about to disrespect the ornery dwarf's wishes. Not when he had been so good to her over the years.

It was a slow process at first, learning the art of raven busting, but she picked it up piece by piece until she was confident enough to train her own hatchlings. She never anticipated that he would leave the responsibility to her. But now that he had, it was the most favorite of her required tasks.

It got her out of the Mountain for a little bit and it meant that, at the barest of minimums, she spent a little time in the fresh air and, on the lucky days, the sun.

Today, it was not one of the lucky days and she squinted up at the sleeting rain as she made her way to the top of the rookery.

It had been five years almost to the day since Ori, Dori, and Nori left and she still had not heard a single from the Misty Mountains. She had grown accustomed to the silence and loudest of the worries had long since dulled into a quiet murmur at the back of her mind.

But the murmur always seemed to get louder when she checked on her birds.

More and more it was practically screaming at her.

But there was always a reprieve and today it came in the form of Strider. He bypassed the Mountain entirely and went straight to Ravenhill, greeting her with a pinched smile as he crested over the top and came to stand by her chopping board.

"Strider," She greeted with enthusiasm, holding up her knife to wave him over.

"Emelia," He said in return, smile not reaching his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" She set down her knife and wiped her hands on her bloody apron. "Let me finish up and we can go inside."

"Unfortunately, I cannot stay," He said and she noticed the off nature of his voice almost immediately. "I have come to ask for a favor."

"Anything," She said, containing her chopping, although her hands had started to shake.

Before he could answer, a screech sounded above her head and she dropped her knife. It was a welcoming sound, one that filled her chest with hope and caused her to practically bounce up and own in anticipation. She wiped her hands again and stepped out from behind her chopping board, turning her head towards the sky. The first raven was quickly followed by more. One by one, they swooped down and circled her head.

Strider kept his cool as they continued to circle, although she could tell the feeling of flapping wings right next to his head made him incredibly uncomfortable.

Emelia looked at each of the ravens that returned, eyes assessing.

They were all in good health, save for one.

She whistled and held out her hand, calling the outlier to her.

It hesitated, flapping faltering for a brief moment, before it followed her instructions and landed on her outstretched hand.

She leaned down to get a closer look at it, narrowing her eyes.

"Wha…"

Emelia reached her hand up and grabbed the raven by the head and gave it an almighty twist. The bird's neck snapped under the slightest force and Strider stared at her, mouth slightly agape.

"That wasn't one of my birds."

"So you killed it."

"That wasn't one of my birds," She said again, shutting down any argument he might have to the contrary. "I think it's a crebain. Rats with wings. There's been a few that have tried to slip past me."

"Where do you think it came from?" He asked, looking down at the raggedy bird with an assessing look of his own.

"The south. They've been coming back from there covered in little scrapes. If they even make it back at all. We used to send traders as far as Rohan, but after one group never made it home, we stopped. " She bent down and looked at the dead bird, eyes narrowed. It was quite clearly an interloper, with its bent wings and blood stained feathers. "Is that why you're here?"

"No. But I have a feeling it might very well be related." He sighed and leaned back, glancing around them. His was visibly tense and his face was deeply lined from stress and worry. "I need to borrow a raven."

"For what?"

"I cannot say."

"So…"

"I understand if you cann…"

Emelia cut him off with another whistle and he gave her a halfhearted glare for good measure. He stepped back to make room for the raven that she called to land on her arm.

"This is Kessog the Fifteenth. I think. I lost track after the seventh. Anyway, he's the fastest I've got. Whatever you need him for, he's your man," She paused, smirking. "Well, he's your bird."

"I thank you," Strider held out his hand and let Kessog land next to his wrist. "I am in you debt."

"You could pay me back by telling me your name," She said, already turning her back to him to go back to her chopping. She had at least five more chunks of beef the size of her head to get through before she could call it a day. "Or just visit a little more often. Anyway, if you find yourself near the Shire anytime soon, give Bilbo my love. He mentioned issues with Frodo in his last letter and I'm worried."

"I will. Stay safe."

"Always."

She waved him off with her knife, smiling at the look he gave her as he started to walk away, Kessog flapping away above his head. And just like that, he was gone again. Emelia sighed, far too familiar with her friend's brief visits, as of late, and slammed her knife down on a particularly rough piece of meat.

She wanted desperately to follow after him and see for herself what had gotten him so worked up. But her list of responsibilities grew day by day, and she could hardly afford time for herself, let alone the time needed to go gallivanting after a ranger that was more than capable of taking care of himself.

If there was ever a time to live up to her stupid nickname, now would be it.

And her ravens, flung now to the farthest reaches of Middle Earth, would just have to be enough.

One more to go, babes! If you're interested in seeing how this continues, go ahead an give the LotR story on my page a follow!