Welcome one and all. I am sorry that this chapter took a while, but hopefully the word count will make up for it.
A huge thanks goes out to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, it really means so much. Shout out to: Hermione Granger (Thank you again so much! I Really do appreciate your reviews, so much! If you can't review as much in the future I totally understand, I just hope you continue to enjoy it! :D) SV and the unnamed guests, who I couldn't reply directly to.
Also thanks to everyone who noted that I didn't realise that the links weren't working, completely my fault, of course, so if anyone wants to check out my website just look up 14. wix collateral , without the spaces :D
As a note, in this chapter there is a lullaby that I wrote for Bilbo, and I personally used the tune of Noble Maiden Fair from the Disney Pixar film, Brave. It's a beautiful little tune and if you fancy listening to it while you read the lullaby you should see where I was coming from :)
I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's definitely a special one.
Read. Enjoy. Review.
Chapter Eleventy One # A Long Awaited Party #
"That was fun," Frodo yawned, wiggling down under the covers. "We should, we should do more pretend fights like that, Uncle Bilbo."
"Maybe not," Bilbo replied gently, settling onto the side of the bed. "I think Thorin might develop a heart condition if we do."
Frodo giggled. "Alright, Uncle Bilbo. 'm glad we told Merry, though. He was already sad about Denahi; he didn't need to be sad or scared about this."
"And that's exactly why we told him."
"Are you really going to be in a lot of trouble with the noble people? Dori did seem a little worried…"
"Ah, I'm sure it will be fine. Nothing for you to worry about, anyway. Now, would you like a song or a story tonight?"
Frodo deliberated for a moment. "A story in a song, please."
"That sounds perfect," Bilbo agreed.
"A new one," Frodo added. "A new one that you made up!"
Bilbo chuckled. "A new one that I made up? Well, I have been working on a new one. Forgive me if it's a little rough…"
"I will," Frodo promised eagerly, staring up at Bilbo.
Clearing his throat, Bilbo began to sing.
"The old man had a daughter fair
Scarce in her tweens when summons came
Bidding her father take up arms
And follow the army away.
She watched him take with shaking arms
His worn cloak and rusting sword
And she begged him not to go,
To die at the whim of a lord
"Dear daughter," said he,
"I am sorry but you know that I must go.
Somebody has to follow on,
And do what must be done
It is my duty, my own choice
And if I fall it's fate's will,
And my life I'll gladly give
To keep my family safe."
That night his daughter stole away
Taking his cloak and rusting sword,
She left a note in their place,
Wrapped in her necklace and shawl.
"Papa forgive me," the note read
"If you feel shame now I am gone
I meant not to dishonour you,
Nor to bring you pain,
"Dear Papa," said she,
"I am sorry but I know that I must go
I love you more than my own life;
I'll do what must be done.
My strength is tenfold next to yours,
My senses sharper and mind less spent
If I must my life I'll give to
Keep you safe and sound."
Four years then passed, winters long
The old man mourned his selfless child,
Until one day he came outside
To see a soldier tall
Astride the horse he long had lost,
Wearing his old sword and cloak
"Could it be you, my warrior lost,
My little daughter fair?"
She wept, "Dear Papa, it is I,
Though I know that I have grown
These years were long, the war was hard
But now I'm here, I'm home.
I'm sorry Papa, that I left,
But I shall never feel regret
For now we're here together again,
Both, here, safe and sound."
The old man had a daughter fair,
Fifty years old when sickness came,
Bidding her father lay to rest
And follow Mandos away.
She held his hand with tearful eyes
And begged him, "Papa do not go!"
He smiled and kissed her one last time
"Goodbye, my daughter fair.""
Bilbo let his voice trail away as Frodo gazed at him with thoughtful eyes.
"That's a nice song," the little one said eventually. "I like it."
"I must admit, I was a little worried that you'd find it too sad," Bilbo said.
"It's not sad," Frodo explained, "because she comes back. It's still a little bit sad because the father dies, but at least they were older and had more time to be happy together. Is it a true story?"
"I don't know," Bilbo replied. "I have heard it told more than once, and some claim that it happened many years ago, far away, in the East."
Frodo yawned once more. "Thank you for my song. Goodnight, Uncle Bilbo."
"Goodnight, Frodo," Bilbo murmured, kissing the boy on the forehead before taking up the candle and walking to the edge of the room. "Sleep tight."
"What does that even mean?"
Bilbo smiled. "Goodnight, Frodo."
"Nighty-night."
Bilbo walked through his home and into the living room. Kíli was curled up in the armchair, a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. As the hobbit returned he silently pointed with his own cup to a steaming mug beside Bilbo's sofa.
"Thank you," Bilbo smiled, picking up his own book from the coffee table and easing it open.
Sitting by the fire with good books was something that they had done so often in Bag End, and something that Bilbo had relished since moving to Erebor. It had fit into his routine, and more often than not Bilbo could spend his evenings in the sole company of his son.
A short while later, Kíli closed his book and yawned, stretching out like a cat. "That was a good'un, Bilbo, you'd like it."
"Oh?" Bilbo put down the History of Númenor (a tome he had been both stunned thrilled to discover in Erebor's library) and looked at Kíli. "Which one was that?"
"A copy of the Tale of Beren and Lúthien. I bought it a while ago, but only just got around to reading it."
Bilbo smiled. "I remember singing you that song once, when you were barely bigger than Frodo."
Kíli smiled back. "It was your voice in my mind when I read it. I must say, you certainly did the song justice."
"Oh, please," Bilbo scoffed. "I might have thought so too, until we saw the Hall of Fire. I'm afraid I shall never give due justice to any song of the elven tongue."
"You're too hard on yourself," said Kíli. "No one has a better voice for story-telling than you do."
"Well, I'm glad you think so, but I'm not sure that I can agree with you."
"You're wrong," Kíli sang quietly, before yawning again. "But it's no use arguing with you, I suppose." He paused for a long moment. "It makes me happy, you know."
"What does?"
"You and Amad," Kíli smiled with his eyes, staring at Bilbo. "I had an inkling that something was going on, but I thought it was, y'know, just wishful thinking."
"Wishful thinking?"
"Well, I did feel the lack of a mother growing up. Not deeply, you know that. But I did feel it, and having Amad back again has been just… amazing! And when you have a mother and a father who you love dearly, it's hard not to imagine that they are together." Kíli stared at the fire. "But everything is about to change again, isn't it?"
Bilbo sighed, reaching for his mug. His tea was on the cusp of going cold. "I suppose it is. It's largely why I didn't do anything sooner, if I am honest with you, my boy. Your mother assures me that she can put it into a good political light, but I can't imagine how. There are going to be a lot of people who don't like it. I just hate the thought of putting you all in disrepute – or worse – for my selfish heart."
"Hey, don't be too hard on yourself. It's Ama's selfish heart, too."
Bilbo shot a look at his son. "I'm serious, Kíli. There are people who still dislike our presence in the mountain, and they will not be pleased at all to find out that a royal is courting a hobbit."
The hobbit regretted saying anything as Kíli's face fell.
"I don't see why they shouldn't," the young dwarf said bitterly. "This is the Third Age. You'd think people know better than to cling to such blatant racism. Stupid, hateful idiots."
"Racism exists for a reason, Kíli, don't forget that. You can't paint everyone who judges other races with the same brush."
"Oh, can't I?" Kíli raised his eyebrows, managing to make it look menacing. He had clearly been spending too much time with Thorin, Dwalin and Glóin. Bilbo was thrown back to the very first meeting of the Company at Bag End, and Kíli's somewhat erratic moods then.
"Well, Thorin was awfully abhorrent of the elves when we met him, and it was not because he's a hateful or stupid soul. It's because he and his people were injured in the past by elves. It is a protective habit, and as such an extremely difficult one to break. I was traumatised by wolves as a boy, and as such refused to go near them, even at Beorn's house." Bilbo pointed out. As the words left his mouth Luno yawned and stretched in front of the fireplace, plodding sleepily across the room. Then he gently nuzzled Bilbo's hand and put his head on the hobbit's lap. Smiling, Bilbo slowly stroked the wolf's ears. "As our dear Luno knows, it took me time, patience, courage and exposure to some wonderful, friendly wolves for me to get over it. Even now, though, I would be wary of wolves I met on the road."
Luno huffed and nodded his head, as if in agreement, before snuggling closer to Bilbo and leaning his great bulk against the armchair.
"I understand that," Kíli said. "I understand distrusting the same race as those who have wounded you in the past – I don't like it but I understand it. But dwarves have never, ever had anything to fear from hobbits, so what's the problem?"
"Are there any other outsiders that dwarves have not had problems with? No? Exactly. The sad truth of the matter is that the unknown will always be perceived as a threat, because that instinct is wired into the brains of every race on earth. Dwarves, hobbits, elves, even wizards, I don't doubt. It's a survival instinct. Even you, Kíli, will feel prejudice and distrust at times."
"I don't act on them."
"I know," Bilbo said gently, "but try to look through the eyes of those who do."
Kíli groaned and flopped his head back against the chair, closing his eyes. Then, after a long moment, he paused. "Fighting back against them will just make things worse, won't it?"
"Exactly. How did we get over this issue in Hobbiton?"
"I jumped out of a flaming tree."
Bilbo sighed and stroked Luno's ears.
"And," Kíli said slowly. "We showed them that I wasn't a threat."
"That's what I was referring to," Bilbo rolled his eyes. "We stand a better chance at making everything better for everyone by educating people, and then showing them that we mean only to help their people."
"The little ones are good at that," Kíli pointed out. "Pippin managed to make Lord Karl smile the other day – you know, the really snooty dwarf with the ridiculous ear-hair that asked the council three times how long there would be hobbits in the mountain for."
"Well, hopefully our young'uns will keep up the good work," Bilbo stifled a yawn. "That's all we can really ask for."
"That sounds pretty optimistic for someone who was just saying how fearful he was about the reaction of the people…"
Bilbo sighed heavily. "I am fearful. I am hopeful that things attitudes can change and I am hopeful that one day hobbits will be as valued citizens of Erebor as the dwarves are, but I am also fearful. I am fearful of what 'burning trees' we will have to face before this happens. It might take someone getting seriously injured before people actually see sense, and that scares me."
"Oh…" Kíli met Bilbo's gaze, and the reflection of the fireplace in his son's eyes reminded Bilbo of that horrible day, of the first time he ever thought he could lose his Kíli, his little dwarven son. "That… that is a scary thought…"
"Don't be scared," Bilbo said automatically.
Kíli laughed softly. "You just told me that you were scared."
"Yes, but I'm your father," Bilbo smiled. "And you're my little one. It's my job to stop you from being scared."
Kíli's eyes lit up and he smiled, but he also went bright red. "I'm not all that little anymore."
"You'll always be little to me," Bilbo's grin grew, and Kíli went even redder. "Oh, am I embarrassing you?"
"You would be if there was anyone else around," Kíli snorted. "You've always done a rather good job at not being an embarrassing parent, please don't stop it now."
"Oh, I don't know. This is fun and it's just the two of us!"
"If you start embarrassing me on purpose I will start calling you Father. Or Papa. Maybe Adad. Ada. Or, ooh, how about Daddy?"
"Alright," Bilbo said. "You can stop it now. As long as you promise me one thing?"
Kíli narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"Don't you go following your Uncle's example. Don't start being ashamed of talking about emotions or expressing love or affection."
Kíli smiled. "I won't. I promise. And I love you."
Bilbo grinned. "Good. Because I love you too."
"So… does this mean I can expect a new little brother or sister?"
"I-argh-wha-you-wha-I- brother or sister?" Bilbo spluttered. "Kíli, we only just started courting! In the last twenty-four hours! It's not as if we're about to get married and have babies and-"
"I think the colour scheme should be green and gold, to marry together the colours of the Shire and the colour of Erebor. Also, green is my favourite colour, obviously, and oh, we need to make sure that we use the right shades, we don't want things to clash. We need to figure out how best to combine traditions, and how to combine the necessary public shenanigans with a nice private party with our family and friends. We could invite our family from the Shire to come here! Or ooh, ooh, we could have two weddings! One in the Shire and one in Erebor!" Kíli's eyes were sparkling and his voice grew more animated by the moment. "I want to be in charge of planning everything, and-"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Bilbo choked. "What did I just say? There's not going to be a wedding, at least for a very long time!"
Kíli smirked. "Too late. You're my next project."
"You wanted to see me?"
Elrond turned away from the statue that bore the shards of Narsil and smiled at Estel. There was something in his eyes that made the young man uneasy – a misted sadness, a hint of dread. Gilraen stood beside him, and the smile that she gave her son was equally sorrowful. It was the former who spoke. "Come, stand with us."
Estel walked forward slowly, Glorfindel two paces behind him. He stared at the broken sword, well aware that there was no point in pushing Elrond into speaking. The elven lord would do that in his own time.
Sure enough, his foster father soon sighed and broke the silence. "Estel, do you know why you were raised here?"
Glancing at his mother, Estel frowned. "Because my father was killed and it was not safe for us to remain where we were?" It felt more like a question than usual.
"I know that you have questioned that before," said Glorfindel, placing a gentle hand on Estel's shoulder. "You were scarce five years old when you asked me why you were the only little son of man growing up in Rivendell."
"You told me that it was because my father was killed on a hunting trip with the twins, that Elladan and Elrohir had promised to keep me safe. You said that he had been an elf-friend, and a friend of Rivendell," Estel recalled, his trepidation growing. "Then you said that I should not ask such dark questions about the past. That the future was more important, and always would be."
"I meant those words, and I need you to remember them well now, child." Glorfindel stared intently into his eyes. "Your history and your past have shaped who and what you are, but only your own actions can determine where you will go, and what fate you will face. What destiny will be yours."
"No one has ever lied to you, Estel," his mother murmured. "Your father was an elf-friend, and he was slain while on a hunting trip with Elladan and Elrohir. He was a friend of Rivendell – he was even raised here for a time, just like you. But his name was not Thorn, as we led you to believe. That was what I called him, what his friends called him, but his given name was Arathorn. Son of Arador. He was the chieftain of the Dúnedain."
Estel's blood ran cold. In his studies he had learnt all about the Dúnedain – he had been taught the history of the long lived men of Númenor, the once great kings that were now wandering rangers, the noble guardians of the northern lands. He knew their history, their customs, and he knew the Chieftains' names. He had even met a few of the rangers themselves.
Now he knew why so much of his learning had been geared towards these people.
His people.
"Though he was raised here, like you, his heritage was never concealed," Gilraen continued, her voice little more than a whisper. "But I feared that you would be killed, like your father and grandfather before you, should your true name be known. I was so afraid, my son. I renamed you Estel, for you have ever given me hope, and I bid that Lord Elrond and his household used that name alone for you, until you were grown enough to know the truth."
"My real name?" Estel repeated faintly.
"You were born Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Gilraen's eyes were misting with tears. "You are the heir of Isildur, and the true Chieftain of the Dúnedain Rangers."
It felt as though his stomach had fallen out of his body. Estel stared at the broken blade, shards upon stone, unable to move. His father was a chieftain? He was a chieftain? He was the heir of a King?
His name was not Estel?
Glorfindel's hand on his shoulder squeezed gently, and Estel instantly remembered the conversation that they had shared when they had reunited in Thranduil's Halls after the hell that was Mirkwood.
"You have to accept what you are feeling, Estel. Postponing the pain will only make it harsher, I promise."
"I can't," Estel choked, staring at the sorrowful elf. "If I think about it, I'll, I'll-"
"Become overwhelmed? Believe me, Estel, I understand," Glorfindel took his hand, the way that he had done when Estel was only a little child, and led him to the base of a large tree that grew through the back of the room. "Sit with me."
The pair sat down opposite each other, cross legged like children, and Glorfindel took a long, deep breath. Estel copied, and he felt his body relax just a tiny fraction.
"This room," Glorfindel said, in the soothing, song-like voice that had lulled Estel to sleep after many a nightmare, "is perfectly safe. None have ever entered Thranduil's realm by stealth or force-"
"Except for Bilbo Baggins."
Glorfindel smiled. "Except for Bilbo Baggins. But we are safe here, even from sneaky hobbits with special abilities. Here we are safe, and here we will not be disturbed. Close your eyes, Estel."
Taking another deep breath, Estel obeyed. It felt like the back of his neck was crawling with thousands of tiny spiders, and he began to shrink in on himself a little.
"You do not need to feel vulnerable or afraid," said Glorfindel. "You are safe here. This room is impenetrable. I promise, Estel, that you are safe. Take note of your breathing, and how it feels for the breath to flow in and out of your body."
Clenching his fists, Estel did as he was told. For the first time in days, his tense muscles began to loosen, just a little bit, and he sighed.
"Now, let your feet relax. Then your legs, your hips, your stomach, your chest. Let it all just relax. Keep breathing, relax your chest, your arms, your hands, your neck, your face. Allow it all to loosen, that a boy."
Already Estel felt calmer. There was a nagging terror in his mind, that he was so vulnerable here, that he should be ready to fight, but he trusted Glorfindel. If Glorfindel said that he was safe, he was safe.
"Next comes the hard bit. You must feel now, Estel. Let the emotions flood your body, let yourself experience them. Break them down and feel them, one by one. The fear, the pain, the grief. Feel it all, and then let it go."
"I can't," he whispered, as the fear began to surround him. "I don't know how to let it go!"
"Acknowledge what happened, and accept that it happened. Accept that now you must move on. I'm not telling you to dismiss or subdue your emotions, not at all. You must simply put them in their place. Allow yourself the space to think clearly."
Put the emotions in their place. Allow yourself the space to think clearly.
Estel took a deep breath. Shock was the first thing to crash over him. Shock and betrayal – they had lied to him, everyone that he loved so dearly had lied to him (albeit by omission).
Put it in its place. Allow yourself the space to think clearly.
Why had they lied? To protect him. To allow him to grow up unburdened and content. That was not a bad thing at all. Why had his mother wanted to hide him, from himself and the rest of the world?
Because she had not wanted to lose him. His eyes flickered over to her, and he knew that he would never begrudge her that.
The betrayal slipped away.
Panic came next, and it was thrice as strong as betrayal had been.
He could not be a chieftain! He knew how to be a leader in theory, of course, but he how could he lead a people he barely knew? How could he live up the standards of poor, brave Ned?
He would have to leave home, but to leave it permanently. Return only for visits – how could he bear that? How would he live without the Elrond, Glorfindel, the twins, Erestor, his mother…? How could he do his people justice, how could he do his father justice?
Must he reclaim he throne of Gondor? Was that to be his destiny?
Put it in its place. Allow yourself the space to think clearly.
One thing at a time. That was all in the future. No, he did not know what was to happen, but you really never can. He did have a heavy load to carry now, but he would just have to deal with it. He could deal with it.
The panic did not fade as much as the betrayal had, but with another couple of breaths it was sent to the back of his mind.
Realising that his three elders were waiting for him to say something, Estel took a deep breath.
"So… what must I do?"
Gilraen and Glorfindel beamed proudly, though their eyes were sad, and Elrond put a hand on Estel's arm.
"You must spend some time with your kindred, and live among the rangers for a while. It would not be folly to travel Arda as well, if it suits you. That said, it would be wise to be cautious about who you reveal your name to. One can never be too careful. We have guided you as much as we can but it is time that you must forge your own path," Elrond said, a smile on his face. "We are very proud of you, and you must know that you will always be welcome in Imladris. This will be your home for as long as it remains so in your heart."
"Do I have to leave immediately?" Estel dreaded the answer.
"No," Glorfindel's voice was firm. "Your departure should be sooner than later, but you must have time to process this information, and prepare yourself."
Estel could not help but sigh in relief. He still could not think of himself as 'Aragorn'.
"Also," Elrond smiled almost wearily. "You will not be going alone. The twins have long been friends of the Dúnedain, and they are most excited about accompanying you for a while. Of course, they must leave you eventually so you may find your way, but they will begin this journey with you."
Estel's heart lifted at the news and he smiled, but then he looked at Gilraen. "Nana? Are… are you coming?"
"No, my darling," she said softly. "I will remain here, for a while. One day, perhaps, I shall return to my homelands, but not yet. It is not my time."
"Oh…" Estel swallowed as his stomach twisted.
"This way, at least, you will know where to find me, if you need me," she smiled tearfully. Then she took a deep breath. "We were going to tell you this on your twentieth birthday – I know it is only a week away but something happened this morning that offered an interesting opportunity for you."
"A ranger arrived in Rivendell," Elrond elaborated. "Caladwen, is her name, and her son, a boy named Halbarad. They are about to make a journey to Erebor, to deliver a package to Samwise Gamgee. I know that you have friends in the mountain and that travelling with rangers would grant you great experience, but it is your choice whether you accompany them or not. After all, you have made that journey before, with unfortunate consequences."
Estel thought of Ned with a pang of grief. He had learnt much from the Ranger through their journey, and had enjoyed the travel despite their sadistic prisoners. More importantly, he had come to think of Ned as a friend. There was a part of him that wanted to avoid that grief again, a voice that said that the journeys were too similar to be safe.
But if he listened to that voice he could not move on.
He looked from face to face. "Do I have to decide right away?"
"No," Elrond said. "She has come to Rivendell to rest before the bulk of the journey, for her son's benefit more than her own, I would wager. She does not want to tarry, but is willing to wait for up to a week."
"Which is why we told you now," Glorfindel said. "You have time to make up your mind, time to think everything through."
"I'd like to meet her before I decide," Estel spoke slowly. "And I'd like to think things through alone, if I may."
"Of course," Elrond bowed his head with a proud smile. "Whatever you need."
Smiling as bravely as he could at the only father he had ever known, Estel forwent the traditional hand-on-heart elvish expression of love and hugged Elrond tightly. Chuckling softly, Elrond hugged him back.
"You are a great man, Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he murmured. "And you will only become greater yet. I do not need any vision to know this."
"Alright, Denahi, one foot in front of the other. That's it, you can do it!" Merry coaxed. "I know you can do it! You wouldn't let Kíli help you with the nice wheels that he made, so this is how it's gotta be."
Denahi growled, but it was more of an exasperated sound than an angry one.
"Come on!" Merry scampered around, placing his hands on either side of Denahi's stump. "I'll hold you up, come on! We can do it, I know we can!"
The whine that Denahi gave sounded suspiciously like a tween told to get out of bed, but the wolf shifted his three remaining legs and pushed upwards. It took all the strength in Merry's little arms to keep up with Denahi, and sure enough the wolf stood up. Supressing his delighted squeal, Merry helped Denahi take one step, two steps, three ste-
All of a sudden Denahi's collapsed, and Merry cried out as he was squashed beneath the backside of a beast that was easily five times his size.
"Get off!" he squeaked, wiggling as much as he could, which was not very much. "Can't breathe, ow, Denahi, ow!"
Shifting, Denahi crawled off of the little hobbit, who took a long, deep breath.
"Thank you!"
Denahi whined sadly and put his head on his paws.
"It's alright," Merry said gently. "We can try again when you're ready. And you don't have to be sad that you're taking your time. I don't have any school today, so we've got as long as you need."
"It might take longer than a day, little mouse," said a low, grave voice.
Merry looked up and did his best not to gasp, while Denahi whined happily and tried to stand again, managing to hobble ever so slightly across as Beorn crossed the room in two strides. The giant lowered onto his knees, still towering over Merry by more than the height of a full grown hobbit. Then Beorn stroked the wolf's neck, murmuring to him in a low, growly voice. After a few minutes, he looked up at Merry.
"So… You are the tiny Halfling that Denahi has claimed?"
"Well, he sleeps on the end of my bed if that's what you mean," nodded Merry, a little nervously. "Sir."
"You need not call me 'sir'," Beorn said, without taking his wild eyes from Denahi. "Denahi cares for you. That is enough for me."
After another long silence, Merry found his courage – and his tongue. "Did you come here because Denahi's hurt?"
"Yes."
"Are…are you going to take him away now?"
"No, child." Beorn sighed. "It was his choice to come to your mountain, and it is his choice to stay here now. I would not take that choice from him. I am not his master."
"But you're like his papa," Merry pressed, his fists curling into Denahi's fur. "So you could make him go back if you wanted to."
"I could," Beorn admitted. "But I will not. It is not my way. I raise my animals until they are strong and grown, and then they may go where they wish. Many stay with me, and many more leave. Most return, but some I never see again. That is the way of my world, little mouse. Denahi may be scarce more than a year old, but he is strong enough to make his own decisions. I do not begrudge him that."
Merry nodded slowly. "Mister Beorn, do you think Denahi can walk again? Because I do, but my mama said I should be careful not to get my hopes up. That it might be wishful thinking."
"He will learn," said Beorn firmly. "It may take him some time but he will learn. I have known several friends who have lost limbs. I think it is more the illness that holds him back. He was weakened by the lack of food and water, and by shock and infection. He will walk. A wolf of his line was once born with three legs, and he soon became alpha of the pack. Eventually he will be able to do all his brothers and sister can."
"Maybe not everything," Merry said sadly. "I used to ride around on his back but he won't be able to balance anymore."
"Perhaps," granted Beorn. "Or perhaps he will. My wolves are not like most packs that you will find wandering around. They are not servants or creations of dark forces, as are many wolves in these days. Their ancestors came from further east than most have travelled, beyond the grey mountains, where the wolves are merely beasts like any other, that form a part of the natural order and are neither evil nor good, for the most part. It is said that they are descendants of the great hound of the Valar, Huan, but I don't know if there is any truth in that. Seems like hearsay and rumours to me, but it's unimportant. My wolves are twice as clever, and thrice as long-lived as the evil hounds that exist to serve the darkness, though they do not grow quite so large."
All this talk of darkness and evil wolves was really quite alarming, and Merry was sure that Auntie Ellie would not approve of this topic at all. Still, several things stuck out and his curiosity was piqued.
"How big are the evil wolves then, if they're bigger than Denahi?"
"Some," Beorn met Merry's eyes. "Are tall as my waist, and the breadth of several dwarves, with heads the size of Denahi's rump."
"Oh wow," Merry frowned. "That is big! How long do that bad wolves live then? And the good wolves, if they live thrice as long?"
"The wolves bred by the darkness live up to twenty years, if they are lucky. Most barely last until their seventh year. But the wolves of the East have been known to live up to fifty in times of peace, and plentiful food. The oldest I ever knew was a good friend of mine, Sitka. He was, in fact, Denahi's great -grandfather."
"How old was he?" Merry marvelled.
"Sixty-two, when he passed," Beorn said. "You ask many questions, little mouse."
"Sorry," Merry said sheepishly. "I'm just curious."
"Indeed. Take care where it leads you. But do not apologise to me. You may ask me what you wish. Your questions entertain me."
"Really? Any question I like?" Merry bristled in excitement as Beorn nodded. "What were the wolves doing when they all kissed Kíli when we met them? They were licking him on the chin."
"They were signalling their submission to him. I told my wolves to find Kíli Baggins and his friends and care for them, and to treat the hobbit-dwarf as their alpha."
"You can just say 'dwobbit' if you like. We do. And what's an alpha?"
"Dwobbit?" Beorn repeated. "I like that word. It is very straightforward – it says what it means."
"Most hobbit words are like that," Merry nodded.
"As for your later question, an alpha is the name that is given to a leader of a pack of wolves."
"Oh! That makes sense. Um, Kíli said that you were vegetarian and that you never ate meat, which I understand because you talk to animals but bears eat meat and wolves eat meat. So do you ever hunt when you're a bear, and do you feed meet to your wolves and dogs?"
"I do not hunt," said Beorn. "Even as a bear. But I would not begrudge my friends the food that they need. Wolves need meat, but I only teach hunting if I must. Most often the cubs are taught by their parents, and they hunt beyond the borders of my lands when they can."
"I see… That makes sense," Merry nodded. "It would be bad if they killed one of your friends by accident."
"That has happened in the past. It is rare, for most of my companions know each other. Many are raised with each other. But it has happened. It is sad, but it is the way of the world. Animals are not like people. They do not kill out of malice, or hate. Well, those who were not bred by dark lords of the world. Animals kill only to survive."
"I never thought 'bout it like that before," Merry stroked Denahi's tail, and took a deep breath. "Mister Beorn… you can…you can talk to Denahi, right? I mean you can understand him? What he means, what he means to say. I can't do that very well, and I was, uh… I was wondering if you could tell me…"
"Speak, little mouse," Beorn said softly. "What is on your mind?"
"Is he… is he really, really sad that he's lost his leg?"
"No."
Merry looked up in shock. "No?!"
"He is in some pain, and he is frustrated the he cannot move around so easily-"
Denahi raised his head and let out a long whine, followed by several let growls and huffs, maintaining eye contact with Beorn the entire time.
The skin-changer nodded and growled back, while Merry waited with bated breath until Beorn let out a low laugh.
"Indeed, little mouse, Denahi is most upset about you."
"Me?" Merry's eyes widened. "What did I do?"
"Denahi is upset that you are so sad. And he is concerned that he will not be able to climb onto your bed tonight, or carry you around for a very long time. He cares not what it looks like, nor how others perceive him. He is not upset for the future. Only the pain he is in at this moment."
Merry stared at Denahi, his lip wobbling, and then threw himself down onto the wolf's flank, wrapping his arms as far around as they could go (which was not all that far) and burying his face in the fluffy fur. His words were barely audible. "I love you!"
Denahi whined, and Beorn spoke softly. "He loves you, too."
For a moment, Merry held on even tighter. Then he pulled away and wiped his eyes, looking up at Beorn. The skin-changer's eyes were sad but he smiled at the little hobbit, and it did not seem forced.
"You are a wise soul, little mouse," he said. "Wiser than your years, it seems. I am glad that Denahi has you."
"Is that why they moved here in the first place? Because they like us?"
"Precisely. Luno had already become very fond of Kíli, and I was not surprised that he chose to dwell in the mountain. The others… I was surprised. Particularly Lani. She never seemed to be the sort to live among dwarves or men or elves. But she 'imprinted', as some may say, upon your company. And she is happy here. They are happy here. You are their pack now." Beorn fondled Denahi's ear.
"We'll be the best pack in the world," Merry promised fiercely. "I won't let you down, Denahi."
"I believe you," Beorn said. The wolf whined softly and Beorn smiled. "And so does he."
Though it was almost two years since they had reclaimed the mountain, it was taking Bombur a while to get used to courtly life. It was a strange thing indeed to have nobles look up to you, and to watch your childhood friends bow as you passed. However, he kept his misgivings to himself and behaved as according to his station as best he could.
Lord Bombur was his title now, and he would do his very best to live up to it. So he attended the meetings. He listened to the droning on and on of the complaints of the pettier gentry, and he took a note of which families came to the king for assistance – their children would often leave school with mysterious food packages 'left-over' from the kitchens. Bombur attended days in court and international banquets and listened to Lord Ioán whinge about tax rates and Lord Karl demand if it was really necessary for 'the princess to wed the thing.'
The rotund dwarf had been forced to seize his cousin's arm to stop Bifur from launching across the table at the Council Meeting when those words had been said. It had been tempting to let the furious toymaker have his way, but it would do terrible things to their reputation and Bilbo's heartrate, so it was best not to.
Thorin's icy response had been worth the restraint.
"Was it 'really necessary' for you to call the father of your prince and the hero of your city a 'thing'? Bilbo Baggins has done more for this city than most here, including you, and he has suffered for our people. He shared in our pain, and he shared in our toil. He shared in our labour and he shared in our victory. He deserves to share in our culture, and to be lauded and respected, yet you would reduce his role to that of a back-room courtesan because he has hair on his feet instead of his face."
"It is unheard of," Karl had protested. "For a dwarf to wed a Halfling-"
"It is unheard of for thirteen dwarves and one hobbit to take on a dragon and win."
By that point, Bombur had wished that he had a little flag to wave support for Thorin, but he did not, so he nibbled on a biscuit instead.
"Think of the consequences, your majesty, I implore you. What if a child should be conceived from such a union? A half-breed under normal circumstances brings only shame and dishonour, but to have such a creature in line for the throne? It is an abominable thought, a disgrace on the line of Durin. I do not protest against the happiness of the princess, nor the Halfling, but I must protest most vehemently a half-breed ever joining the line of succession."
"It is unknown whether such a child could be born, but if they did Durin's blood would run through their veins. Nevertheless, you can relax, Karl. Fíli is my heir, and Kíli after him should the crown prince never marry, or father children. Any child of Bilbo and Dís would be unlikely to ever come to the throne, and you will be lucky to live in this mountain by the time such a tragedy should come to pass, if you continue to slander and insult the most important members of our society."
Bofur had laughed aloud at that.
It was after that very meeting that Bombur decided to leave the courtiers to his highborn friends. Instead, he turned his efforts to Erebor's middle and lower class. Though the city was doing better than anyone could have hoped after such a short time, there was still much to do and the economy would take a good bit of fixing. As such, there were families struggling. Mainly they were those who had come a little later, those who had little to bring with them, or those who had lost much on the road.
Bombur had been in their tattered shoes for many a year, and he wanted to make sure that their hunger did not turn into starvation. He had lost his own mother to a lack of food and he could not bear the thought of another child being orphaned while he slept in silk sheets with enough gold to last lifetimes to his name. Not a chance.
And while he did what he could to help his poorer kindred, he would share anecdotes about Bilbo and Dís and the hobbits and the royals. He shared their triumphs over dragons and dishes and little ones' bedtimes, he shared their likes and their dislikes and their fears of kittens, and he shared stories of mischief and laughter and tears. When he could, he brought hobbits with him.
When Bombur asked if they would like to help the poorer families, Pearl and Vinca spent an evening locked away with an old wooden crate and some old paints and emerged with their 'Odds and Errands' box, which they filled with dusters, cloths, polish and a few bottles of vinegar. The very next day, as soon as school was over, Ellie took them down to the lower halls with Torvar and Oden as bodyguards, where they went door to door offering to do odd jobs around the house.
It came as a great surprise to everyone to see a lady, her daughters and their bodyguards with their sleeves rolled up cleaning the houses of the poorest folk, toilets and all. For Pearl and Vinca it was all a great game, and they would sing and dance while they scrubbed and dusted, but for the owners of the homes it was a godsend to have their household chores completed while they were working long shifts.
Bilbo had sprung to action with equal enthusiasm, but instead of cleaning, he would go from house to house and offer his services as a cook. With the help of Bombur and Kíli he would bring in fresh ingredients and cook up a storm of long-lasting and nourishing stews or casseroles for those who were struggling. He also went out of his day to teach exhausted parents and overwhelmed bachelors how to create such meals for themselves, focusing on cheap, easy and nutritious dishes.
As winter melted into Spring, Bombur watched as Bilbo cooked and chatted into the hearts of Erebor's masses. Few in their position cared about the race difference when they were being given free food and offered support and care without being patronised. They began to see Bilbo Baggins as more than a heroic character in a legend or a distant political figure. They saw him as a person, no more and no less. And they grew fond of him.
Fond of his stories, fond of his heart. Just as Bombur had hoped, they grew to like and then love Bilbo – and all of the hobbits for that matter – within a matter of months. He may not be a great politician or a charismatic lord, but Bombur knew people. If he could reduce the objections of the masses, then Bombur would play his part, especially if it helped him to help those who he loved, and those who needed it most.
"I need a decision, your majesty."
Thorin pushed his fingers into his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to remember his friend's advice. The filthy traitors who had stolen his lists had forced him to enter the battlefield blind. Defeat was one decision away, and the king knew that he would never survive such a failure.
"The Winterspell Waltz," he said slowly. "Is the first dance. For the bride to walk down the aisle, it will be… curse those Halfling brats!... The… Give me a moment."
"Your majesty, the conductor needs to know, and the band want to run through their set, but-"
"I know, I know," Thorin seethed. "Only three hours left. I know. Damn those little terrors to the depths of-"
"Is this what you're looking for, Thorin?" a coy little voice sang.
He looked down to see a fully made up Pervinca Took, in a pretty pink dress with half her hair braided elaborately over her forehead and the other half hanging loose down her back. Intricate nakhdu id'ubd covered the left side of her face, and her eyes were wide and innocent, just like her smile.
She was holding his list in her hand.
Thorin felt his eye twitching. While there had been occasions where he had been forced to reprimand the young children that were so often under his feet, he was yet to tell off the littlest girl. She was such a shy little thing. He took a deep breath and counted to three.
"Nelly took it by mistake but she said that she didn't think you'd believe that she took it by accident so I said I'd bring it back to you."
Thanking Mahal that he had not yelled at the tiny child, Thorin bowed his head. "Thank you, nuthanuth. Here, I believe this will be sufficient for the conductor."
The messenger boy took the list and bowed deeply, before turning and hurrying away.
"Two hours left," Thorin muttered.
"You should get dressed, Thorin," Vinca took his large, calloused thumb in her hand. "Mama and Dís have everything under control now that the music is done."
Thorin glared at her. "My sister sent you, didn't she?"
Vinca smiled. "P'raps. Come on!"
The king sighed and let himself be led from his office by a one-foot tall Halfling in a pink frilly dress. Pervinca skipped along, singing as she went. A couple of the servants bustling by stared, but most of them were used to seeing their majestic leader with the little hobbits that ran wild around the royal wing.
When they reached Thorin's room, he stared down at her. "Are you to be my companion the entire day?"
Her face fell a little. "Not if you don't want me to, Mister Thorin King."
Thorin almost swore again. Baby hobbits were better guilt trippers than any he had ever met. And he had half-raised Kíli! "Oh, I don't mind."
The child beamed, her face lighting up again. "Ooh, good!"
"Vinca!" her mother's voice called. "Vinca, darling, I need your help."
At last! Reinforcements!
"I'm sorry, Thorin, I have to go," Vinca curtsied, and then she was off, down the hall towards the Company Room.
It took Thorin the better part of an hour and a half to get ready. As king, he had to look wonderful, but as best man he could not upstage the groom. It was a real dilemma, but he thought that he had pulled it off with a tunic of sapphire blue, lined with gold and adorned with various gems in traditional patterns. His nakhdu id'ubd took less time, and his hair he braided in his usual fashion, but with two extra braids that met at the back of his head. He even managed to gather his growing beard into a small braid on his chin, which pleased him. Instead of his large, ceremonial crown, he wore a smaller gold diadem.
And then, all too soon, it was time to go.
Balin met him outside, in robes of scarlet and gold with a grin twice as bright as the Arkenstone. His nakhdu id'ubd was red to match his clothes, and his eyes were shining. "G'd afternoon, Thorin. Oh, I never thought this day would come."
"Neither did I," Thorin smiled, pressing his forehead against Balin's for a moment. "Is he ready?"
"Aye, from head to toe. Everyone's assembling in the Hall of Everwatch."
"Good, good. Big crowd?"
"Aye, almost all the Honoured Witnesses are in their seats, or thereabouts, and more folk than we expected have gathered to watch the procession."
Thorin took a deep breath. "It is time, isn't it?"
Together they walked through the Halls of the High Lords and knocked on the door of the groom.
"Dwalin," Thorin smiled, seizing his friend's arm and pressing his forehead against Dwalin's, before stepping away to allow Balin to do the same. "The groom's garb suits you."
"Thanks," the warrior muttered, but his eyes were murky and his jaw set.
Balin chuckled. "Breathe, my brother. You're getting married, not facing a dragon."
"That blasted beast would be easier to tackle. This was a mistake. A big mistake."
"Dwalin," Thorin put a hand on Dwalin's shoulder. "Are you going to leave her?"
"What?! No!"
"Are you going to stop loving her?"
"No."
"Are you going to-"
"No, Thorin, but I'm not right to be a husband! Look at me."
"I am," said Thorin. "I see one of the bravest dwarves that I have ever had the honour of knowing, and a fine match for any bride."
Dwalin stared at him for a long moment.
"Maybe you two should just get married."
Thorin managed to grab the sniggering dwarfling by the collar as Bróin tried to dart away. His innocent smile was nowhere near as convincing as Vinca's.
"Maybe the boy's right," Balin snickered.
"I'll go and put on my dress," the king drawled, before looking at the boy dangling from his hand. "Shouldn't you be in the Hall by now?"
"Nope," Bróin shook his head. "I'm a marcher!"
"Oh, of course."
Dwalin took a deep breath. "It's really happening, isn't it?"
"Aye," Balin sniffled. "It is."
"Oh, for the love of – stop the waterworks, the blasted wedding hasn't even started!"
Dwalin looked grim and business like as they followed the little marchers – Bombur's sons, Ari, son of Orvar, and the little hobbit boys – down through the city and into the hall, where the music began to play.
The children were on their best behaviour, with even Bróin sticking exactly to the route that they had practised with Dís. Pippin and Bróin were in the front, each holding a golden cup with Dwalin's name engraved upon them. Behind them marched Bróin and Merry with a large golden tray that they carried together, with an elaborately decorated cake on top, surrounded by little sugar figurines. The idea of entrusting a tray of sweets to Bróin, son of Bombur, and Meriadoc Brandybuck seemed a terrible one to Thorin, but both boys were keeping their eyes ahead and their mouths shut, and smiling. Behind them walked Frodo and Sam, carrying Grasper and Keeper in their tiny little hands. Finally came Bofin and Ari, each carrying a glass jar of shining stones.
When they reached the altar at the end of the Hall they carefully placed each item atop it and bowed. Then they walked solemnly back to their seats in the front rows, beside their families and the rest of the company and their friends.
Dwalin stood at the top of the aisle, Thorin on his left and Balin on his right. Every dwarven settlement, big or small, had a Hall of Everwatch – a place deemed holy where each and every promise made was a blood vow, and where weddings and adoptions would take place with only one exception – those that coincided with a day of coronation.
All of a sudden the band changed the tune and Thorin felt Dwalin shake.
They turned to look towards the door, and Pervinca waltzed in, holding a white gold cup in each hand. Behind her walked Nelly and Pearl, with a beautiful cake on a white gold tray. Then came Ola and Orla with a pair of inexpensive but well-kept knives. Finally came Elza's young cousin, Tua, with two jars of significantly smaller but equally bright stones in her hands.
Then, behind her marchers, walked Elza, on Dastan's arm, with her other brothers flanking her. She wore an ivory dress that Ellie and Esme had embroidered with gold and sapphire flowers, and an overlying gown of deep blue silk. Her dark hair was intricately braided back and up, with a handful of loose locks falling against her back. Intricate nakhdu id'ubd framed her face, but just like Dwalin her eyes, nose and mouth were all completely clean, a tradition in dwarven culture ever since the infamous story of Sigurd, a dwarf who disguised himself with the paint to marry his brother's bride.
All in all, she looked beautiful. Thorin glanced at Dwalin, and he grinned at the look on his best friend's face. All his misgivings had faded away, and he was smiling with soft lit eyes. Thorin glanced at Dís. Her eyes were misted with tears, but she looked so happy. Beside her, Bilbo gazed at Dís with a smile almost identical to Dwalin's.
Thorin watched as the bride's little marchers presented her family's offerings and returned to their seats. Elza walked up and stood beside Dwalin, and Dain's wife, Lady Elena stood before them at the altar. She had presided over hundreds of weddings, qualified both by her devotion to the Valar and her training as a Leader of Ceremony.
"Sons and daughters of Mahal, and of Illuvatar, was gather today in the Hall of Everwatch to witness the marriage of Lord Dwalin of Erebor and Elza, daughter of Aisa. Before the ceremony proceeds, I ask if there is anyone here who has any legal objections to this union?" Taking their cue, the entire audience sat down, except from Pippin, who was standing on his chair right at the front. Elena looked at him and smiled slightly, following tradition to a 't'. "Master Peregrin Took, do you have any legal objections to this marriage?"
Pippin jumped, and then seemed to notice that everyone else had sat down. Then he shook his head seriously at Elena. "No, I like them both!"
A chuckle rippled through the room and Kíli pulled the little boy down onto his lap, ruffling his braided hair.
"Does anyone have any moral objections to this union?" at the silence, Elena turned to Elza's brothers, and to the few family members that she had left, who sat on her side in the front row. "Do any members of the bride's family have any objections of any kind to this union?" The silence was deafening. Elena smiled and turned to Balin, Thorin and the rest of Dwalin's family. "Do any members of the groom's family have any objections to this? Good. Let us proceed."
To Thorin's great relief, the ceremony went off without a hitch. The children got a little fidgety during the vows, but they loved the chanting and singing that filled the hall while Dwalin and Elza forged golden wedding rings, embedded with the jewels that their watchers had brought to the front.
The king could not help but grin at the sight of Kíli and Fíli leading some rather insane looking dancing without leaving their seats, singing at the top of their lungs to the upbeat song that was a staple of every dwarven wedding, whether each jewel was present or not.
"Sapphire for the pledge of love, la lay,
Amber for marriage on your wedding day
Ruby for the passion la lai lay,
On a band of pure gold,
Topaz for love that's true la, la, lai, lay,
Kunzite for unconditional la lay,
Crafted by hands of his and hers today
One endless band, of pure gold."
When learning it, Kíli had mentioned that it was akin to the flower language of the Shire folk. Thorin assumed that Halfling traditions were to blame for the fresh flowers all around the hall, though he was not sure where they found them.
When the traditional service was over, Thorin and Meera, Elza's cousin and Maid of Honour, led the bride and groom from the hall and through the crowd to the large ballroom on the other side of the hall, where there were currently tables laid out for a feast. On the raised centre table stood Bilbo's three-week project – the most intricate and beautiful wedding cake that Thorin had ever seen.
As the evening progressed there was enough food and dancing to tire even Nelly and Bróin, and come night-time the children were taken away to bed and more alcohol flooded in. After a particularly intense dance, Thorin found himself sitting beside Kíli and Bilbo. The dwarf's head was resting on the hobbit's shoulder as he panted, and he grinned at Thorin, tapping the king's face fondly.
"Love you, Uncle Thorin."
Thorin raised his eyebrow at Bilbo. "How many pints?"
"Ten, at the last count," the hobbit chuckled. "Not counting three shots of whisky."
"An' the wine, Bilbo," Kíli waved his hand. "Don' forge' th'wine. Very nice wine…"
"Perhaps you should retire soon," Thorin noted Kíli's drooping eyes, but then the lad sprung up like a jack in the box.
"Nope!" he cried, brushing himself off. "Not sleepy."
Thorin laughed, putting his arm around his nephew for a moment. "Very well."
All of a sudden Kíli gasped in horror, and yelled out at the passing groom. "Dwalin!"
Thorin's hand flew to his belt, but his sword was not needed. Kíli flung himself into the arms of the startled warrior and stared up at him intently.
"Las' time I was this drunk I said you scare me an' I'm sorry because you don' scare me anymore an you didn' scare me when I was little an' I remember bits like that now and I gotta say that I love you very much an' hope you're very, very happy with your Miss Elza!"
Dwalin smiled and pressed his forehead against Kíli's, before lifting him up into a huge bear hug. "Oh, I love you too, laddie."
"Yay!" Kíli beamed. Then he gasped again, this time in delight. "Fíli! You've come back to me!"
"I ne'er left you," Fíli patted his brother's head as Kíli finally released Dwalin.
"You did," Kíli pouted. "To talk to that Noa girl. You said 'Kíli, go 'way!' So I went."
With that, Kíli sat down on the floor.
"I thought we put all the children to bed," Dwalin commented with a raised eyebrow. "Oh, Balin's calling. I'll see you later, lads."
"Bye, bye," Kíli sang, waving. Fíli hoisted his brother up beneath the armpits and dragged him up onto the seat between Bilbo and Thorin. "Weee!"
"And I present my heir, second in line to the throne of Erebor," Thorin drawled. Fíli plonked himself down beside Thorin. "Though it seems my heir apparent is a little more in control."
"No, he's just lovesick!"
"I'm not, Kíli, you don' know what you're talking about," Fíli grinned and looked at Thorin. "I'm better at holding my liquor. But the whisky hasn't all hit me yet, so it's not fair." With that, he yawned. "I think quick nap, then another dance."
"Good plan," Kíli nodded, closing his eyes.
"I never expected my life to turn out like this," Bilbo sighed, a large smile on his face as Kíli flopped down onto his lap. "Not even when I found a tiny little dwarfling in a river…"
"Nor me," Kíli hiccupped, still with closed eyes. "I though' I was gonna find nice family of nice miners an' then go back an' live in the Shire until I was old as old and dead. Didn' think I'd be a prince in such a pretty place. Didn' think it'd be so lovely. Even when we left the Shire… didn' think you could have two homes bu' you can. It's nice…"
"Yes, it is nice," Thorin murmured.
"What? There's no point'n mumble-mumbling Uncle Thor'n, it's too loud, I canno' hear you."
Thorin chuckled. "I am happy that this is where my life has led to."
"An' it's jus' going to get better," Kíli enthused. "Bilbo, Bilbo and Ama are going to marry and it's goin' to be more perfect. An', an' it might be hard, but we don't care bout that right now. Is not important."
"Yeah!" Fíli nodded. "I'm gonna have Bilbo be my adad officially an' Kíli will have to share even more."
"Aye. We'll worry about new problems only when they come our way," Thorin agreed, looking at Bilbo. The hobbit who had raised his nephew. His Company's burglar. His friend. "And things are going to get even better. I'm sure of it."
As a general rule, one did not find hobbits in the great dwarven cities. They were neither inclined to travel so far nor fully welcomed when they did, with most hobbits being of the opinion that the rough people of Durin's folk were mainly thieves or rogues, and most dwarves believing that no outsider should be trusted to live among them. Any hobbit that did enter a dwarven kingdom would find suspicious glares and maybe even weapons pointing their way until they left the grand cities behind.
Every rule has exceptions, and in this case the exception was the family of a young dwarf known as Prince Kíli Baggins, Son of Durin.
The end.
Well, sort of! This, my lovely readers, has been the final chapter of Strangers Like Me. After great deliberation, much hesitation and many, many tears, I have decided that here, on the eleventy-first chapter, we have reached an end of sorts.
HOWEVER, THE STORY OF KÍLI BAGGINS DOES NOT END HERE!
I will immediately be moving onto a sequel that deals with the ring, Gandalf's disappearance and a whole lot more bits and pieces that I've left untied here. It will be set around twenty years in the future and the first chapter will appear in the next few weeks at the very latest. I'm pretty sure it's going to be called The Last, The Lost, The Least, and if people would like I could post the first chapter here so that people know when it's up? I'll try to get it up asap and update regularly.
BUT THERE IS MORE EXCITING NEWS! I still have a lot that I want to explore about life in the Lonely Mountain between Strangers and the sequel, so I will be starting a fic with drabbles about life in the Lonely Mountain and the Shire, and other stuff in between. Some will be serious and some fluffy, but they might not all be in chronological order. They'll support the plot of the sequel, answer questions about Strangers and feature events like the arrival of Sam's parcel, their first return to the Shire, Dís and Bilbo's wedding and the building up of their relationship. Most excitingly for me and you, I will be taking requests at the end of each chapter for what you want to see next, so I'll be updating as and when there's something that you want to see :D
So, to conclude:
*This is the last chapter of Strangers Like Me
*A sequel, probably called The Last, The Lost, The Least, will be up and running shortly
*Simultaneously, a collection of short stories and chapters that don't quite fit in either story, named The Living Years will be up immediately. It will be updated less regularly, but hopefully still often, and topics will be picked by you, the reader :D
*Let me know if you'd like me to post the first chapter of the sequel on the end of this story too so you know when it's up.
Before I finish my last authors note, I would like to thank each and every person reading this now. Thank you for reading so many words of my story. Thank you for your wonderful feedback, and thank you for enjoying this whole process as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I started this story nearly three years ago, and it has been such a huge part of my life for so long. There were people who suggested splitting it into a sequel sixty odd chapters ago, and I'll admit that I've been terrified to do it. I also have to admit that I was kind of procrastinating from finishing and uploading this – the thought of it being the last chapter was too much to bear. I hope that you don't feel like I sprung it out of nowhere, it's been coming for a little while. I still am, honestly, but I've learnt so much recently and I'm also learning to be brave.
As you may have picked up, I have struggled with health issues, both of the physical and mental variety while writing this, and your support for my writing and my drive to continue the story have kept me going. Without turning this into my sob story, I'd like to thank you all, so much, from the bottom of my heart.
I never imagined that I'd write the fourth most reviewed story of its category on . I never thought I'd have so many followers, favourites and fans of my story. I cannot thank you enough.
Really, thank you. It's been a pleasure writing for you, and the dedication of anyone who had read 111 chapters, especially those wonderful people who've read it more than once, just makes me so unbelievably happy. I love you all, so much. I hope more than anything that you'll follow me to the sequel, and to my drabbles. It'd mean the world to me if you did.
If you'd like to review I would LOVE that, but whether you do or not I thank you, and I bid you a very fond farewell, though unlike Bilbo I do fully intend on returning.
Until I see you next, may the wind beneath your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks.
