Chapter 10 - Erebor's holiday

(If you rather prefer a happy ending, skip this chapter)

Thorin did not want to leave my side next day. But he had a high sense of duty, which is one of the many drawbacks of being a leader.
"Help me dress, Wyenne." He said.
"Where are you going?" I asked, for I was not informed.
"To battle." He said no nonsensically.
"But I thought you made peace with the elves and men..." I said with concern.
"And that I did. But elves and men were not my only enemy. The orcs are headed towards us in great numbers." He said. My eyes widened.
"Thorin, I have a bad feeling. Please don't go!" I began to wilt.
"Listen to me, Wyenne.." he said, seizing me gently by the shoulders with his eyes fixed on mine, "I am a king and a warrior. My responsibility is to lead my armies to victory, as well as to defend all that is sacred to me. And that includes you." He said gently, "Only Mahal knows how hard I struggle. Only he knows how I would love to stay here and touch you again. If I had the choice, I would. But I do not. I have to go, Wyenne." His eyebrows frowned as he spoke to me. His tone was desperate.

I lowered my head with sadness, but he placed his hand under my chin to lift my face back to him, "Never forget that I love you. I will always do what is right for us, even if at times it does not seem that way. Now help me dress. It will give me the courage I need to fight well." That was more of a plea than an order.
It was pointless to argue because he was right. I married a King, not a common folk. He was perfectly capable of dressing himself, but asking me to help was his way to delay the moment. So I helped him dress for battle. He extended his arms and closed his eyes, as I put his battle accessories on him. He kept inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. My heart was pierced with every button I adjusted. Last was his armor, made of pure gold from the forges of his forefathers. It was the armor of all armors, fit for a King. Once he was all geared up for battle, he took me in his arms and devoured my lips with intense passion.

His lower lip was quivering when he broke from the kiss. He pressed his lips firmly together for a moment and then he exhaled some words, "We will meet again, one way or another. Until then, promise me you will take good care of yourself. I need to hear it before I go."

I nodded to him with a lump in my throat that prevented me from speaking. Finally I exhaled the words "I will" to ease his soul. He smiled at me, caressing my jawline once more. His intense blue eyes gazed into mine. He kissed my forehead, pressing his lips to it longer than usual. Then he turned around, took his crown and wore it. He sheathed his sword and left the room without turning back so I would not see the tears in his eyes. He was Thorin the second, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the mountain. The one they called Oakenshield. That was his heritage and his curse. And that was the last time I saw him alive...

A year had passed since Dain Ironfoot was crowned King under the Mountain and Dale reconstructed. It was Thorin's first memorial day, and still I remembered his blue eyes burning my soul with that intense stare. His touch was still very alive in my yearning skin, as well as his deep voice echoing in my mind every night, like back in the day when he whispered words of love no one else ever heard him say directly to my ear. I shot myself from the outside world after his passing, refusing to leave his bed chambers to the point of missing the wedding of Princess Dis, my sister in law, with King Dain. My invitation remained unconfirmed over my bedside table, but deep in my heart I was happy for her. It was a noble gesture of the new King to ease the pain of all her fallen family with a new hope.

He also made sure that Thorin's last will was kept, for he provided me with everything I needed to be well. But no amount of jewels, dresses or gentle cares could ease my soul. I learned to write in Khuzdul to keep myself busy. My journal, in which I wrote all those sweet memories, was the only thing that kept him alive in my heart. I had refused to visit his tomb because he was not dead to me. He was just temporarily gone; a slight inconvenience, until we meet again. Beside the journal were those braids that were delivered to me by his request, not a day went by without me remembering that moment...

"Bilbo! It's great to see you here again! Does this mean Thorin forgave you?" I said with a wide smile.
He nodded, "I have news; We won the war.." said Bilbo with a forced wide smile. Blood stains were all over his face and his Mythril chain mail shirt.
"Those are great news!" I said with excitement, "Where is Thorin?" was my immediate question.
Bilbo lowered his face, pressing his lips shut as he tugged at something on his hard grip.
My smile vanished, "Bilbo, what has become of him? Please tell me. Is he hurt?"
Instead of answering my question, he handed me a pair of dark braids with some silver strands to them. At the end of each was an iron clasp with the Durin emblem carved around.
"He wanted you to have them. He said you would know..." exhaled Bilbo before his voice cracked.
Those were the very braids that were sacred to my husband. And then I remembered his words;

"... To honour my forefathers until my last breath!"

My lower lip quivered as I stared at them with horror. Bilbo was right that I would know the meaning. He had enough of bringing pain to those he loved, so he ran away. I fell on my knees, holding Thorin's braids close to my heart, as I broke down in tears. My painful screams of grief reached Bilbo's ears, even when he tried to avoid them.

... There I was, on the first anniversary of his passing, caressing each segment of those braids now like they were still attached to him. I spent the night holding them tight to my chest after kissing them, and I laid down on my bed looking at the ceiling with exhausted eyes. Drowsiness claimed me slowly with a smile on my lips, when I saw his blue eyes gazing at me. He caressed my face like he used to with his characteristic slight smile, as I closed my eyes for the last time...

Queen Dis Ironfoot placed some flowers at mine and her brother's graves on his 20th memorial day, after visiting the graves of her sons. She was accompanied by her nephew, a very handsome young man that was about 6'1 feet tall.
"They are exactly a year of difference" He said, looking at the dates on the graves.
"Yes, she loved him so deeply that grief claimed her on the first anniversary of his passing. Ilúvatar mortals are less resistant to grief than Mahal ones." Responded Dis to her nephew.
"I really never met them. Was my father as heroic as the tales make him?" Asked Thorin the third to his aunt.
"Your father was more than just a heroic tale, my lad. He gave us back our homeland when no one else dared. This is why his memorial day is a holiday here in Erebor. He is greatly honored." Responded Dis.
"I wish I met him. What did he look like?" Asked Thorin the third. Dis looked up on him for a moment to establish eye contact.

"Exactly like you, but shorter. Your mother was human. You inherited your height from her kind. But all the handsome looks come from your father." Said Dis, who raised him like he was her own, in absence of her fallen boys. "Even your eyes and your voice are his. Looking at you is like I was looking at him..." she said with a sad sigh.

Thorin the third lowered himself to wrap his arms around his aunt's shoulders from behind, "Please don't be sad. I will always take care of you, aunt. You have my word."

"And that you will" Dis smiled at him, "Let's go home."

"Yes" responded Thorin the third with a wide smile. Unlike his father, he had no reason to be troubled. On the contrary, he had something to smile about; the pride of his heritage; A bloodline of heroes that would go down to history in every book, record and song of Erebor.

The End