The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb…
Baylee's quiet singing barely filled the vast emptiness of the room around her, but it was enough to stave off a meager amount of loneliness she felt as she knelt beside Thorin's body, carefully cleaning his face and hands of any dirt or blood that may be on them. Normally, a body would have been fully unclothed before washing, but given the grievous nature of their wounds, it had been decided that only their faces and hands would be cleaned—something Baylee was thankful for, as she was certain she wouldn't have been able to handle the sight of the gaping wounds.
She had already washed Fili and Kili; they had each taken nearly an hour to clean. Not because of the amount of gore she had to remove, but because she also combed and braided their hair. Fili's beard, too, had been combed and, though the small braids had been tricky to do with her shaky hands, she had made sure to braid his mustache as well.
The others had offered to assist her, of course. They said she didn't need to do this by herself—that they were more than willing to help. She declined, though. This was something she wanted to do on her own.
Something she had to do on her own.
Some found it to be an eerie task, the washing of a freshly deceased body, but to hobbit and dwarves alike, it was also an incredibly important and cathartic one. It was the final gift the living could bestow upon their loved ones: Washing the deceased's body and dressing them in their finest clothing to ensure that whatever dignity their spirits might have lost during death could be returned to them. It allowed them to pass on into the afterlife with pride and with the knowledge that they would be remembered by those still walking in Middle Earth.
The only real difference between the two cultures, Baylee learned, was that dwarves didn't wrap their dead in shrouds of white linen and lay them to rest in barrows that were then planted over with flowers. Instead, deceased dwarves were laid to rest in a stone tomb that had their likeness carved into the lid. Whatever great deeds they may have accomplished in life were listed around the sides of the tomb, along with gold inlays of the symbol of their house.
A fitting final resting place, Baylee thought, given that Aulë had carved their ancestors from stone.
But Thorin, Fili, and Kili hadn't been laid to rest yet. That would happen in a few days' time; even as she knelt there, scrubbing away at a bit of dried blood on Thorin's eyebrow, there were stonemasons hard at work down in the royal crypt, furiously chiseling away at the green marble as they altered tombs that had originally been meant for Thror and Thrain. She didn't know what would they would do for a third tomb—perhaps there were unmarked ones that had been in the works for other nobles they could use?
It didn't sit well with her, having the three laid to rest in tombs meant for other people, but she knew it couldn't be helped.
'So long as they make it to the halls Aulë carved for them…that's what matters,' she told herself, sighing heavily as she dropped the cloth into the water basin one final time.
Leaning back, she used the back of her hand to brush some hair from her forehead only to wince. She pressed a hand to her side while she used the other to prop herself upright as she changed her sitting position. Thorin, though much less dirty than his nephews, had taken her the longest to tend to; she had had to pause many times throughout the washing thanks to the tears that blurred her vision and the soft sobs that had made it hard to breathe.
"I miss you," she whispered, her small hand reaching out to rest against his cheek. Her hands had grown cold from the water she used to wash him and his nephews, but his skin was even colder. "I miss all three of you. I always will. And I'll always love you, my Oakenshield."
As the words left her mouth, what felt like a breath of cool air brushed against her cheek. Despite the shiver it promptly sent down her spine, it was a comforting feeling and felt almost as if it had mimicked the way Thorin would brush his knuckles against her face. She smiled, her eyes closing as a tear slipped down her cheek.
For many minutes, she sat in the all-engulfing silence, allowing her tears to flow freely. It was so quiet, she thought she might've been able to hear her own heartbeat, but she soon found out that wasn't the case.
"Baylee, dear? Are you still in here?"
She turned, seeing the silhouette of her father in the doorway. "Yes, da'," she replied, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "I just finished." It somewhat hurt to speak; she had cried so much over the last day, her throat had been left sore and her voice hoarse.
"I was hoping you were close to done." Bilbo took a few steps into the room only to pause, swallowing hard when he saw the bodies of his friends. His eyes fell on Baylee only to feel pity in his heart when he saw how absolutely drained and exhausted she was. Walking over to her, he gently helped her to her feet before crouching back down and plucking up the makeshift cane she had been given. "Dain's requested for you and me to join him for dinner."
"He wants us to join him for dinner?" she repeated. Thanking her father, she took the cane from him; Bifur had thrown it together for her, having broken off the butt end of a poleax and fastening the head of a silversmith's hammer onto it as a handle. It didn't fit her very well, given that it was a bit too tall and heavy, but she appreciated it regardless. "Why us?"
Fatherly instinct made Bilbo reach over and start trying to tidy her hair up a bit. "You're the Queen of Erebor, dear," he said. "No doubt he wishes to speak some sort of politics with you."
Her nose scrunched up slightly. "Do you know if it'll be just us dining with him? Or will there be others with us?"
"That I don't know," he admitted, sighing. When he thought her hair looked decent enough, he set his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "You don't have to go if you don't want to. It was a request—not an order. Everyone will understand if you'd rather have dinner and go straight to bed. You've had a long day, after all."
As badly as she wanted to do just that, she shook her head. "No…I think it'd be best if I attended dinner. Dain may have something important he needs to tell us."
He frowned, concern on his features. "Are you sure, dear? You haven't gotten much rest since fleeing Laketown. I don't want you keeling over from exhaustion because you've been pushing yourself."
"I'll go to bed right after dinner," she promised. "Maybe even during dinner if there's nothing important being said." She managed a small smile. "I'll use some dinner rolls as my pillows."
Bilbo closed his eyes, unable to stop a soft laugh from leaving his lips. He wrapped his arms around her, giving her a gentle squeeze. "How you manage to have a sense of humor at a time like this, I'll never know…" he murmured. "But it's greatly appreciated."
"Perhaps Bofur's rubbing off on me." Her voice was muffled thanks to Bilbo's chest as she returned the hug, giving him a small squeeze.
After a moment and a squeeze of his own, Bilbo drew back and started to gently guide her out of the room. "Let's get you cleaned up, shall we? And probably wrap you up in a nice, warm cloak. You feel a bit on the cold side."
As they stepped out of the room, both paused and simultaneously looked over their shoulders at their fallen friends. Bilbo gently rubbed Baylee's back as she leaned her head against his arm.
"A cloak would be appreciated," she said when they started walking again. Their pace was slow, so as to not agitate Baylee's hip too much; sadly, Oin no longer had the ingredients to make the pain-relieving medicine. It was a good thing, though, an elven healer had told her, as being unable to feel the pain of her minor injury led her to overworking it and injuring it further. "I know Dain's tent will be warm, but everywhere else isn't."
"Even in a tent, it can get chilly. It's made of canvas, after all." He led her around a corner, where they found Dwalin and Balin sitting on a bench. The brothers wore matching expressions of weary sorrow, though as the hobbits came around the corner, a tiny smile came to Balin's lips.
"Ah, there you are, lassie," he said, standing up. "You're all done, then, I take it?"
Baylee nodded. "Yes. All three have been washed," she answered. "I…also combed and braided their hair. I hope that's alright."
It was Balin's turn to nod. "Aye, that's more than alright, lassie," he said, his voice gentle. "Dwalin and I will take care to not ruin your hard work while we get them in their burial clothes." He then glanced between father and daughter. "I suppose you'll be off to dinner with Dain, then?"
"Yes," Bilbo answered before cocking his head curiously. "How did you know?"
"I overheard him askin' yeh," Dwalin answered. His voice was quiet and sounded on the verge of cracking—much like it had been that day when Thorin nearly lost himself entirely to the Dragon Sickness. "He's probably goin' t' want t' discuss the funeral with yeh."
"And, no doubt, the possibility of you abdicating the throne," Balin added. "Now, if he does want to talk about that, don't take it as him being hungry for power—it's far from."
"I understand," Baylee assured him. "Erebor is a dwarven realm and it should be ruled by a dwarf—not by a little hobbit lass." She gave the males a tired, halfhearted smile when they looked at her in varying degrees of surprise. "I had already planned on abdicating."
Balin reached over and gently patted her on the back. "I can't say that I blame you, lassie. It's a dauntin' thought, ruling over a realm…but to rule over a foreign realm that you've no ties to?" He shook his head, sighing. "Well, don't let us keep you. Both of you could do with a nice, hearty meal an' Dain is surely going to provide just that." He gave both hobbits a gentle pat before motioning for Dwalin to get up and follow him.
Once more, Bilbo started to lead his daughter off. "Gandalf is arranging things, by the way," he said after a few minutes. "For our departure, I mean. Apparently, he was able to find a pony for me, since you've got your own transportation." He couldn't help but chuckle softly. "That ram sure has grown attached to you."
"I think it helps that I managed to free Butter from certain death and I don't kick him with metal-capped boots when I need him to speed up."
"…Butter?" He blinked, looking down at her. "You've named the ram Butter?"
"Tilda came up with it, actually." The tired, halfhearted smile returned to her lips. "A fitting name, I think, given how much he likes to headbutt things he doesn't like."
He shook his head, a smile on his lips now as well. "I suppose it is fitting. So long as he doesn't try butting heads with the wrong person, that is…"
After getting Baylee cleaned up and bundling her up in her heavy fur cloak, it didn't take very long for the pair to hurry across the makeshift bridge to the dwarven camp. It had snowed overnight, covering the blood and mud that had been left in the battle's wake. Around the camp, however, it had already been trampled down into a new layer of mud. Father and daughter were able to avoid the majority of the mud by walking behind the tents, but they were forced to step into it in order to reach the tent's opening.
A sigh of relief left Baylee's lips when they were ushered into the tent by a guard; as short a walk as it had been, walking through the snow and having the cold air against her face had left her shivering. When she looked up, she found Dain rising from his seat, a small feast laid out on the table before him. There was a tired smile on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes—those were filled with weariness and sorrow.
He bowed low to the pair. "Good evening, My Queen, Master Baggins," he said, moving to pull out one of the chairs for Baylee. His politeness was a stark contrast to the dwarf who was throwing insults at Thranduil just the previous day. "I hope the food's t' yer likin', as simple as it is." When Baylee sat down, he carefully pushed the chair back in for her.
"So long as it's more than dried fruit, cured meat, and nuts, it'll be to our liking," Bilbo said with a small, nervous chuckle. With his fiery red hair, beard sculpted into the shape of tusks, and armor, Dain had been an imposing figure from afar. Up close, however, he managed to be even more intimidating thanks to his sheer size compared to the two hobbits.
"Thank you for the invitation to dine with you tonight, my lord," Baylee said. Having not eaten much at all over the last week and a half, the sight of all the food before her made her stomach grumble—and yet, she didn't feel the least bit hungry. Despite her lack of appetite, as Dain moved to start serving himself, she followed suit with Bilbo following just a few seconds later.
"Ah, you probably won't be thankin' me by the end o' the meal, my lady," Dain admitted. "I've always thought it best t' get these sorts o' matters out o' the way at the beginning o' the meal rather than the end o' it. Anyway, I've no doubt you've already figured out I didn't invite you t' dinner out o' the kindness o' my big heart."
She nodded, bringing a warm roll onto her plate followed by a leg chicken. "Yes, we figured as much," she said. "What is it you wanted to speak about?" Though she did her best to sound fully awake and alert, even she couldn't help but notice how weary she sounded.
"A few things, really," Dain said, a small, almost concerned frown coming to his lips. He motioned to a servant who had been standing off to the side to come forward and fill their mugs. "The first bein' the funeral."
"What about it?" Bilbo questioned. Unlike his daughter, his appetite was quite healthy at the moment and he was piling food onto his plate. "The bodies have been washed and are being dressed, the time is set for noon on the dot, and the tombs are being prepared as quickly as possible…what more is there to do?"
"The crowning o' Thorin's successor." He plucked up his mug and took a large swig from it. "I don't suppose anyone's told you two 'bout what goes on at dwarvish funerals yet, have they?" Both hobbits shook their heads. "There are three parts t' a royal dwarven funeral: The viewin', which is when people, commoner an' noble alike, can see their royal figurehead one last time. Then there's the ceremony itself, where a speech is given, praisin' the good deeds the deceased had performed in life an' then a prayer is said t' usher their spirit into the Halls o' Mandos." He took another drink from his mug before setting it down. "An' then his successor is crowned. They make a speech, promisin' how well they'll care for the people an' how they'll ensure prosperity an' other such things."
Baylee slowly nodded in understanding as she listened, though she admittedly found it a bit odd that a coronation would be held immediately after a funeral. She would rather wait a few days to lessen the pain of grief, but dwarves were hardier beings than hobbits. Perhaps it was one of the ways to help them move on from their mourning?
"Which then leads me t' the next thing I needed t' talk t' you about," Dain sighed. He looked directly at the little queen, watching as she took a small bite from one of the rolls. "Now, I know that you're Thorin's wife—his queen—an' I've been hearin' tales o' your heroics throughout your journey, but…" It was clear he was trying his best to state things politely rather than bluntly so as to not offend her. "Well…you're not exactly…a dwarf."
She couldn't help but snort at that. "No offense taken, my lord," she told him. "You're right. I'm very much not a dwarf. Which is one of the reasons why I'm going to relinquish my rule as queen and pass the crown to you."
Dain stared at her, confusion and surprise filling his features. "…That's…it?" he questioned after processing her answer for a moment. "You're goin' t' renounce your title just like that? No argument? No fight?" When Baylee shook her head, her mouth full of food, he slumped back in his chair and let out a relieved laugh. "Well, blimey! If I had known it was goin' t' be that easy t' ask you for the crown, I would have asked you the second you sat down, lassie!"
It was Bilbo's turn to snort, though he quickly covered his face with a napkin, not wanting to seem rude. Dain, though, didn't seem to care in the slightest.
"It's not my place to rule Erebor," Baylee said, smiling a bit, "nor am I fit to rule Erebor. You, on the other hand, are." She took a small drink from her mug, relieved to find that its contents were just weak ale; she had been worried it contained strong beer, given that they were in a dwarvish encampment. "I do have something I'd like to discuss before I pass the title on to you, though."
His brow rose in amusement. "An' what would that be, lassie?" He took a large bite of meat from a leg of lamb.
She glanced at him, wanting to make sure he wasn't in the midst of swallowing when she spoke. Seeing that he wasn't, she replied, "I would like you to try and establish some sort of peace with Thranduil and the people of Mirkwood."
The amusement left his face and he frowned, but with his mouth full, he wasn't able to respond, leaving Baylee free to continue speaking.
"I know your peoples haven't been on the most friendly of terms," she explained, "but I saw how well your soldiers fought alongside Thranduil's soldiers yesterday. It was like both armies had trained together for centuries." She set her fork down in favor of letting her hands rest in her lap. "I know it would take quite some time and effort from both sides to even begin to fix things, but…I think it would be in the best interest for both realms."
Dain wore an obvious look of disapproval as he shook his head. "I'm not so sure our peoples could ever get along, lassie. Not after Thranduil's betrayal all those years ago. The cut is too deep."
"It's worth trying, though," she argued. "Thranduil himself gave the order for his elves to stay and help yesterday. He could have just as easily ordered his soldiers to protect only the humans in Dale, but he didn't." Her brows were furrowed and there was a determined frown on her lips. "I know well enough that this isn't something that can be achieved overnight, my lord, but even Thorin saw the benefit in trying to repair things with the elves."
It was a lie—she hadn't had the chance to discuss repairing the truce between Erebor and Mirkwood with Thorin, but neither Bilbo nor Dain knew that. Given how highly Thorin had spoken of his cousin, though, she hoped that it would make Dain, at the very least, take it into consideration.
His brow rising slightly, Dain silently studied the little hobbit for a few seconds. "…Thorin saw benefit in it?" he asked after a moment.
She nodded. "Begrudgingly, but yes." Though she continued to wear the determined expression, she was inwardly worried he could see through the lie.
The dwarf lord went quiet again, mulling over her words as he ate more of his dinner. As she waited for his answer, Baylee forced herself to eat a few more bites from her plate; she hoped that by chewing slowly and taking notes on the flavors she was tasting, it would help boost her appetite. Sadly, it didn't.
Finally, Dain spoke again. "Well, I suppose if Thorin saw benefit t' it, then I should try my best t' see the good side o' things myself," he stated. "So, aye, I'll try t' make peace with Thranduil." When he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, he could see a look of relief on her face. "I can't guarantee that anything will come o' it though—you know that, aye?"
"Yes, I know. But at least trying to establish a truce is better than not trying at all." She served herself another roll as well as some vegetables, silently telling herself that, once she finished that, she could stop eating.
Bilbo cleared his throats. "If I may add," he said, "that if you were the first to broach the topic with Thranduil, it may also humble him a bit, given that it was the dwarves he had slighted." He glanced over at Dain, seeing some contemplation in the lord's eyes. "Just a bit of food for thought." He shoved a forkful of meat into his mouth.
Dain lightly shook his head as he started to quietly chuckle. "I can tell the two o' you traveled with dwarves for quite some time," he commented, looking between father and daughter. "You've learned how t' get a dwarf t' take things into consideration." He motioned for the servant to come refill his mug.
"It's taken a fair bit of trial and error, that I assure you," Bilbo replied, a small grin on his lips. "Baylee picked up on it better than me, though, I must admit."
"I didn't so much as 'pick up on it' as I did stumble my way into it," she said with a smile of her own. "However, I will admit that I've become quite good at scolding dwarves when they're acting out of line."
His brow rising, Dain snorted. "Oh? An' how'd a wee thing like you come t' be good at tellin' off beings twice your size an' thrice your weight?" he snickered.
Bilbo, having been in the midst of taking a drink of his ale, raised his hand like a schoolchild and quickly swallowed the liquid. Ignoring the pain in his throat and chest that came about from swallowing too quickly, he said, "She may be small, but she can be quite intimidating when she needs to be. Just ask any member of the company and they'll tell you how she had no trouble reprimanding Thorin or how she told off a group of Laketown guards into cleaning up a mess they made of Bard's home…No doubt there are most instances that I'm unaware of, considering how we were separated a few times throughout the journey." He shook his head, still chuckling.
"Speakin' o' your journey, why don't you two tell me about it?" Dain said. "I find it curious how two halflings came t' be part o' a quest t' reclaim a dwarven realm an' how they've managed t' survive for so long."
Baylee nodded at Bilbo. "You're the better storyteller, da'," she said before taking a drink of ale.
Bilbo, never having been one to turn down an invitation to tell a story of any sort, cleared his throat again and, sitting a bit more upright in his seat, began to recall their tale to Dain. "Well, you see, it started when I was in my front garden, smoking my pipe…"
As Bilbo went on and on with the story, Baylee forced herself to finish the bit of food on her plate as well as take three more drinks of her ale. It was a challenge, though, especially when she started to feel her eyelids growing heavy. When she was younger, Bilbo often told her stories to help her fall asleep and, as she was finding out, his tales still had that effect on her.
She did her best to stay awake, but as she pushed her now-empty plate away from her, she was unable to stop herself from crossing her arms on the tabletop and resting her head atop them. Before she even realized it, her eyes had closed and she was fast asleep.
Sleep had been anything but restful.
There were no pleasant dreams to be had—only nightmares that woke her often and left her covered in a cold sweat. But she was so exhausted that her attempts to stay awake and keep the nightmares at bay failed. Every time she tried to keep her eyes open for longer than five minutes, they would fall shut and she would once again find herself drifting off back into the battlefield, forced to watched as Thorin and his nephews died in increasingly more horrific fashions.
When Bilbo finally woke her the next morning, it was a relief. She forced herself to eat half the porridge and all of the tea he had brought her. The tea mixture, he told her, had been sent over by one of the elven healers who had tended to her in Dale. It was supposed to help reduce some of the pain brought on by her injuries, as well as help reduce swelling in her hip. With luck, it would make walking a bit easier, though she would need to continue using a cane for a week or two.
It was just past noon and, after a whirlwind morning of being hastily fitted into dwarvish mourning garb, Baylee now found herself standing in the center of a massive stone chamber. Behind her stood Gandalf, Dain, and the rest of the Company while before her were three raised stages. The two outer ones were a few inches shorter and less decorated than the one in the middle, which had intricate gold knotwork inlaid into its side.
Fili and Kili had been lain on the left and the right respectively, while Thorin lay atop the middle. Dwarves, humans, and even some elves wove their way around the stages, all paying their final respects to the deceased sons of Durin.
Some of the dwarves, Baylee noticed, cast a curious eye towards her, but she did her best to ignore their looks. She was struggling to stay composed, as she didn't want to completely breakdown in front of all these strangers. But while she managed to hold back her sobs, silent tears still managed to run down her cheeks and her jaw still wobbled.
Whispers started to fill the chamber and, as she looked towards the entrance, she saw Thranduil and Bard among the procession of mourners. Behind her, she could hear Dain and some members of the Company grumbling about the presence of the Elvenking and part of her wanted to turn around and shush them. Bilbo, however, beat her to it and the grumbling abruptly ended.
When the pair reached Thorin's bier, they halted, both man and elf bowed their heads in solemn respect to the fallen leader. After a moment, Thranduil lifted his gaze and glanced across the way, looking at the various members of the Company. When his eyes fell on Baylee, who gave him a small nod of her head, he returned the gesture before speaking.
"A warrior as great as Thorin Oakenshield should not venture into the afterlife unarmed," he said, his voice being amplified by the chamber's acoustics. Suddenly, he drew forth a sword hidden beneath his cloak—Orcrist. Around him, dwarves and humans alike jumped back from him in shock; a few of the dwarves uttered annoyed curses in Khuzdul.
"Should orcs or goblins ever come near this mountain again, this blade—being crafted by the elven masters of old—will glow blue in warning," Thranduil continued, stepping forward. With the greatest of care, he tucked the sword into the crook of Thorin's arm. "I gift this sword to the dwarves of Erebor as a token of friendship and of peace between our peoples. Let our feud be ended."
Then Bard stepped forward. "I do not come bearing a gift," he said, reaching into his jacket. "Instead, I come with that which was taken from this place in hopes of rekindling the bond that was once shared by Dale and Erebor." He brought out the Arkenstone, which earned plenty of astonished exclamations from the dwarves around him. "Let the Arkenstone now be returned to the Lonely Mountain—to where it belongs."
The gem gleamed brilliantly in the torchlight and almost seemed to glow from within as the human placed it atop Thorin's chest. The sight of it, however, made Baylee's stomach churn. It was that jewel that had driven her beloved to the point of insanity and nearly doomed them all. If it were up to her, she would cast it into the deepest pit of the mountain and forbid anyone from seeking it out ever again.
She would say nothing against it, however, and instead gave both Bard and Thranduil a small smile and a nod of thanks. "Your presence and your gifts are greatly appreciated, my lords," she managed to say, her voice quivering. "Erebor is blessed to be able to call you friends once more."
The pair nodded to her in turn before continuing on their way to join the crowd steadily gathering at the far end of the chamber, where those who had already paid their respects waited for the coronation that would soon happen.
There was a slight shuffling sound to her right and, in her peripheral, she could see that Balin had moved to stand beside her. "You did well, lassie," he said, his voice soft enough so only she could hear him.
"I…I didn't really know what to say," she quietly admitted.
He gently patted her on the shoulder. "What you said was enough," he assured her. "That exchange was enough t' show those present that the elves an' humans are willin' t' forgive us an' t' move on in peace. Certainly showed Dain that you hadn't been wrong about Thranduil an' Bard wantin' peace, either."
"I'm guessing da' told you about that?" He nodded. "I'm glad to see I hadn't been wrong, either."
Once the viewing was over, it was time for the memorial speeches to be given. Gandalf, Dain, and various members of the Company took turns, speaking about the lives of the three fallen Durins. Most of the speeches were short—talking about how the three were good, kind souls who just wanted to reclaim their homeland—but Balin and Dwalin, having known them the longest, spoke for nearly a quarter of an hour each.
Then it was time for Dain's coronation. Given the situation, there wasn't much in the way of pomp and circumstance: After announcing that she was abdicating the throne in favor of letting Dain rule over Erebor, Baylee was handed the crown. Dain knelt before her, tilting his head forward to ensure that she would be able to reach without rising onto her tiptoes. She carefully placed the crown atop his head and, after taking a second to make sure it was secure, Dain rose to his feet once more. He turned towards the crowd of mourners and addressed them, promising that he would help guide the people of Erebor during the rebuilding of the great city—and that he would do his best to aid the citizens of Dale and Laketown in their rebuilding, as well.
When his speech was over, so was the funeral.
Slowly, the mourners left the chamber until only Dain and Baylee were left, though some stragglers tried to stay back to get one, final look at the deceased. A pair of dwarvish soldiers quickly ushered them out.
The pair stood in complete silence for many minutes, their eyes fixed on the Durins. Some of the candles on the biers had burned low enough to extinguish themselves, though many still stayed alight, bathing the bodies in flickering light.
Dain sighed and, shifting his weight slightly, he clasped his hands behind him. "Your da' said the two o' you are leaving for the Shire the day after tomorrow." He kept his voice quiet, not wanting it to echo around the chamber.
She nodded. "Yes, we are."
"You don't have to, you know." He glanced over at her from the corner of his eye. "The two o' you are considered heroes among dwarrowkind. You're more than welcome t' stay here in Erebor, lassie."
She looked over at him, giving him a halfhearted smile. "That's kind of you to offer, my lord, but I'm afraid all I wish for right now is to return to my home and my friends in the Shire."
"Aye, that's understandable, lassie," he said with a small nod. "You'll have quite the story t' tell them, though."
A soft chuckle left her mouth as she turned her gaze back to the biers. "I'm sure they would much rather listen to da's version than mine."
"Oh?"
"He would tell them a fairytale version of events. I wouldn't." She sighed, letting her eyes close. "When I was younger, I dreamed that, one day, I would have a chance to go on an adventure like this. But what was supposed to be a dream adventure became a nightmare."
He gave her a pitying look before shaking his head, sighing. "Aye, things are quite dreary right now," he admitted, "but they won't always be this way, lassie. The wounds you've been dealt on this journey are deep ones. But, time will pass an' your wounds—both bodily an' emotionally—will start t' heal. An' I know it doesn't seem like it, but someday, you'll be able t' look back on parts o' your journey and smile."
He sighed again, moving his hands from behind him to instead hook his thumbs through his beltloops. "Not all parts o' it you'll remember fondly, o' course…there will always be parts that'll leave your heart achin' or have you wakin' up in the middle o' a night in a cold sweat even years on down the road. But no matter how bad things may seem right now, lassie, just remember: It takes time t' move on. You just have t' take it one day at a time."
She quietly sniffled, his small speech making her tears start to flow anew. She didn't mean to cry, though. In fact, she found great comfort in his words; it was obvious that this wasn't the first time Dain had gone through this kind of grief. "Thank you, my lord," she said, the words wobbly, but genuine. "I'm sorry I'm crying. It's just—It's just you're the first to tell me that. That things will get better." Using the inner hem of her sleeve, she wiped her nose, hoping he wouldn't notice.
If he did notice, he didn't care. "There's no shame in cryin', lassie," he gently assured her. "Mahal knows I've shed my fair share o' tears over the years." Reaching over, he gently patted her on the shoulder. "An', if anythin', the other members o' the Company are feelin' just as hopeless as you are right now. Can't say I blame them, t' be honest. Other than Balin an' Dwalin, this is probably the worst thing that's ever happened to them."
Then, heaving a great sigh, he looked towards the ceiling. "Speakin' o' them, I need t' go find Balin an' talk with him for a bit."
"…About?"
"What t' do about the shares o' the treasure." He hooked his thumb in his beltloop again. "I know it seems like a bad time t' discuss such a thing, but money is imperative right now, given how we're goin' t' need t' rebuild three city-states, as well as somehow provide food an' shelter for the refugees in the meantime. But, from what I've heard, you lot had the treasure divided into fourteenth shares, which isn't goin' t' work in anyone's favor but the Company's."
She nodded in understanding; admittedly, she was also a bit surprised, as she had almost completely forgotten about the contracts and the shares of the treasure. "I'm sure they'll be willing to negotiate," she said, her voice still shaking, "if not simply give up their shares. They know that circumstances have changed greatly from when our contracts were originally drafted."
He nodded in understanding. "I hope that's the case…" he said, sighing again. "There are more lives on the line now than just the original fourteen, after all." Looking at her, he gave her a halfhearted smile. "Are you goin' t' stay here a while longer?" When she nodded, his smile faded ever so slightly. "I'll let the guards know you'll still be in here. Just don't stay too long, alright…?"
"I won't," she promised. "I just want to gather my thoughts is all." She watched as Dain nodded before taking his leave of the chamber.
She breathed a sigh of relief before carefully moving to sit down on the floor. She winced, feeling her ribs ache as she lowered herself down and, as she tried to sit with her legs crossed, her hip twinged in protest, making her bite her lower lip. Clenching her eyes shut and quietly hissing in pain, she stretched both legs out in front of her; though it hurt to do, the twinging in her hip stopped.
It was the first time she had been alone all day. From the moment she woke up, there had been someone with her and she knew that, as soon as she left the chamber, there would be someone with her until she went to sleep that night. She knew it was because everyone was worried about her—about how she had been able to keep herself together despite everything that had happened. They worried that she was still in shock over the Durin's deaths. In reality, however, she just hated being the center of attention, though she knew it couldn't be helped.
But now—now that she was finally alone—she allowed herself to finally break down. Not the silent crying with occasional sniffling she had done during the funeral or the soft sobs that had come out the previous day while washing the bodies. Wrapping her arms around herself, she let out a sob and began to cry anew. No longer bothering to keep her sobs or her wails stifled, she sat against the base of Thorin's bier and cried her poor little heart out.
And she continued to cry, until the candles and torches burned so low, there was hardly any light left in the room. Only when her throat ached horribly and her whole body had begun to tremble did her tears finally cease. After taking a few moments to tidy herself up as best she could, she got to her feet and turned to face the biers once more.
"Goodbye, my Oakenshield," she whispered, knowing it would hurt her throat to speak any louder. "And goodbye to you as well, Fili and Kili…my nephews. I pray the Valar allow us to someday meet again."
Turning away from the three for the last time, she slowly made her way towards the entrance. As she stepped out from the chamber and into the hall, she sighed; it felt like a great weight had finally been lifted from her shoulders. In its place, though, it left an uncomfortable lightness—one that left her feeling almost numb and jittery at the same time.
She was surprised that a pair of guards still stood on either side of the door, though they didn't move a muscle when she emerged. What surprised her even more was finding Bilbo and Bofur leaning against the opposite wall. Both looked at her with a mixture of concern and relief, though they said nothing. Instead, Bilbo merely held his arms out to her.
Without hesitation, she went over to her father and hugged him, feeling him gently return the embrace. A moment later, a second pair of arms wrapped around them both as Bofur joined in the hug. The three stood together like that for many long minutes, saying nothing and not caring that there were guards there.
"Day after tomorrow, dear," Bilbo murmured, his voice somewhat muffled by Baylee's hair. "The day after tomorrow and we'll head home." He gently rubbed her back and gave her a small squeeze. "Then we'll leave this all behind us."
Leaving the living, however, proved to be just as hard—if not harder—than leaving the dead.
Bilbo, Baylee, and Bofur bid farewell to the rest of the Company early in the morning. Words had been hard to come by, though Balin did manage to say that father and daughter would be forever welcomed in the halls of Erebor and that a great feast would be held for them. In turn, Bilbo informed them that tea was at four, but they should feel free to drop by at any point during the day if they wished to visit.
After exchanging farewell hugs and receiving a generous gift from Dain of three chests ladened with treasure, the three turned their backs to the Lonely Mountain and made their way to Dale. There, they met with Thranduil, Bard, and Bard's children. Not having been nearly as close with the humans as Baylee, Bilbo and Bofur watched as she exchanged tearful farewells with the four of them, along with promises to write to them and to send them recipes for some of the dishes she had told them about. Like Bilbo had done with the dwarves, she also told them that, should they ever get the itch to visit the Shire, they were more than welcome to visit Bag End, even if their feet might hang over the edges of the beds.
With Gandalf, Beorn, Thranduil, and most of his remaining soldiers joining them, they parted ways. They traveled west together, Bilbo and Bofur on a pony, Baylee on Butter, Gandalf and Thranduil on horses, and Beorn striding alongside them, once again in his man-shape. When they reached the borders of Mirkwood after four days, the group split. Though Thranduil wished to properly host them in his halls for a few days, Bofur and the hobbits didn't want to step foot inside those woods again. Their path, anyway, was to go along the northern edge of the forest, through the wastes with Beorn as their guide.
Thankfully, the king found no offense in their refusal of his offer—he understood that they still harbored ill memories of Mirkwood and were hesitant to return there. But while he couldn't host them as guests, he could (and did) bless them with the honor of being elf-friends before leading his army past the wall of trees and into their homeland.
Beorn guided the four travelers along the edges of the woods and through the northern wastes with ease. Despite the dreariness of the landscape, he was in quite a jovial mood, which was quite understandable, given there were no more dragons, goblins, or wargs to worry about anymore. They reached his home by mid-winter, where the four travelers stayed for a couple of weeks, getting some greatly earned rest and gaining some much-needed weight.
It was also in the House of Beorn that Bofur and the hobbits also began their road to healing: Joy had been hard to come by in the first few weeks after they left the Lonely Mountain. But as time wore on, more and more humor started to come about and soon, there were more smiles during the day than frowns and more laughter heard than sobs.
When spring finally started to blossom, though, it was time for them to continue their travels. Bilbo and Bofur were a bit loath to leave, as Beorn's home was so comfortable and filled with so much good food. The ponies and Butter seemed reluctant to leave as well, but, after some gentle urging from their riders, they were off.
It was now just the Bagginses, Bofur, and Gandalf, with the former guiding them through the wilds. Though the orcs and wargs were gone, there were still dangers to stay wary of, such as foul weather, wild animals, and flash floods. As they neared the base of the Misty Mountains, avalanches and rockfalls were added to that list. But danger, for the most part, was avoided thanks to the wizard's keen senses.
By the time they reached Rivendell, it was the first of May and, just as they had a year ago, Elrond gave them a warm welcome. The travelers, however, couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be a bit relieved it was just the four of them. They tarried here nearly a month, enjoying the warmth of mid-spring and the beauty of the valley as it came into full bloom.
When the end of May came, they finally set out on the last leg of their journey. But as they drew ever nearer to their home, Baylee began to feel nervous. She already knew the reputations of both her and her father were going to be in absolute shambles—she had realized that the moment she had set out with the Company. But how was she going to apologize to Primrose for up and disappearing like she had? What were people going think of her now that she had all these scars? How was she going to face Halfast after having everything she had gone through with Thorin?
As it turned out, however, she had something far more important to worry about upon returning to Bag End.
Having parted from Gandalf at the borders of the Shire, Bofur, Bilbo, and Baylee followed the road to heart of the Shire, earning strange looks from those who lived in neighboring villages and outlying farms. The looks were rather understandable: Not only were they traveling with a dwarf, but both Bagginses wore a mixture of Mannish and dwarvish clothing. In addition, despite the warmth of mid-spring, Baylee kept the hood of her cloak up in an attempt to hide her face.
As they came into Hobbiton, they left the great north road in favor of following the high road until, soon, they were coming upon Bagshot Row. There, they could see Bag End at the very top of the hill…and a long line of people filling the lane. Coming nearer to the those in the queue, the travelers could see that the hobbits looked quite eager as they waited, but when the trio approaching, their looks soured. Some even grumbled and left the line, heading back down the path.
"Da'…what's going on?" Baylee questioned, looking over at her father.
"I-I-I don't know, dear," Bilbo replied, utterly perplexed. "It looks like some sort of—" He paused as a hobbit walked by, carrying a rather familiar wooden box. "Th-That's my mother's glory box!"
Baylee's eyes widened. "And that's one of our dining chairs!" she squeaked, watching another hobbit pass by carrying, well, their dining chair. Hearing her point out the chair, the hobbit glanced up at them only for their eyes to widen and their pace to quicken.
"Uh oh," Bofur frowned. "Methinks there's some sort o' estate sale takin' place…"
"E-estate sale?!" father and daughter yelped in unison.
Without warning, Bilbo tossed the reigns to his pony over to Bofur, who just barely caught them, before dismounting and scrambling his way up the lane. Bofur and Baylee were left to slowly navigate their way around the furniture-carrying hobbits as well as the hobbits who were now disappointedly leaving the line.
"I don't see why they're havin' an estate sale when neither o' you are dead, though," Bofur said, confusion still on his face. "Unless they just presumed you were dead…?"
Baylee thought for a moment before letting out a small, defeated sigh. "That's exactly what happened. If a hobbit disappears for thirteen months, then they're declared dead and whatever belongings they had are either passed out according to their will or auctioned off if no will is to be found."
He nodded in understanding. "Hopefully your da' is able t' get this all sorted out an' whatever furniture's already been sold can be got back somehow."
When they finally reached the top of the hill, they could see a rather flustered Bilbo arguing with the auctioneer. "…As you can see," he declared, hands on his hips, "we are not dead, presumed or otherwise!"
"Well, I'm sorry, but this is most irregular," the auctioneer replied. "If you are, in fact, Bilbo Baggins and are undeceased, can you prove it?"
Bilbo squared his shoulders slightly, quite clearly flustered by all of this. "Of course I can! I'm standing right here! And before you ask about whether or not my daughter is also alive, you can see for yourself. She's right there on the ram." He threw his arm out towards Baylee. As the auctioneer looked at her, though, his eyes narrowed slightly when the other hobbit gave Baylee a somewhat appalled look.
"I'm afraid I need something more official, Mister Supposed-Baggins," he said, his gaze returning to Bilbo. "Something with your names on it, perhaps?"
"Something with our names on it?! We just traveled all the way across Middle Earth and back and you think we've got something—"
"We do have something with our names on it," Baylee piped up. Dismounting from Butter, she started to dig through one of his saddlebags before producing two envelopes. She carried these over to the auctioneer and opened them, showing him the signatures. "Our contracts of employment. They have our signatures." From the corner of her eye, she watched Bofur dismount and go over to Bilbo, setting a hand on his shoulder.
Pulling out a pair of spectacles, the auctioneer took the contracts from her and looked them over for a few minutes. "Well, everything certainly seems to be in order," he finally said with a small nod as he held the envelopes back out to Baylee. "Yes. It seems there can be no doubt: Mister Bilbo Baggins and his daughter, Baylee Baggins, are very much alive and…relatively well."
Those hobbits who had remained in line and had heard the exchange going on groaned in disappointment before turning to walk back down the lane and away from Bag End.
The auctioneer glanced back at the trio as they started to walk towards their hobbit hole. "Though, I must ask: Who is this person you pledged your services to? This Thorin Oakenshield fellow?"
Bilbo paused in his steps, glancing over his shoulder at the auctioneer. "He was…he was our dear friend," was all he could muster up for a reply. Bofur gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and brought him a bit closer.
Baylee hadn't heard the exchange, her mind elsewhere as she stepped into Bag End. Looking around, though, she felt her heart drop: Their home was a wreck.
From what could be seen in the front hall, a good portion of the furniture was gone. Papers and books were scattered about the floor, many of them bearing dirty footprints on them now. Some paintings—including those of her grandparents—were also laying on the floor, kicked to one side, but, thankfully, untarnished. As they moved further into their home, they found the kitchen and the larder to be in slightly better shape, though all of their cookware and dishware were gone—even her favorite holed spoon was gone!
They got a bit more relief when they reach their bedrooms. While their spare rooms were almost completely empty, save for the bedframes, their bedrooms were only missing a few small pieces of furniture and some articles of clothing. Nothing of sentimental value was missing—at least, not on the initial look through.
Over the next hour, the three of them began picking up the mess of papers, books, and whatever other bits and baubles littering the floor. Baylee was in the midst of sweeping the parlor floor and Bofur and Bilbo were sorting out the smoking room when there was a hurried knock on the doorframe (they had left the door open to allow the dusty hobbit hole to air out). Before Baylee could react, a hobbit lass with thick, brunette hair, came storming into the parlor:
Primrose.
"Baylee Baggins! Do you know how impolite it is to just up and disappear without telling anyone where you're going?" she demanded, her hands on her hips. Despite her scolding tone, there was a bit of a waver to her voice and she sniffled ever so slightly.
Baylee swallowed hard and wished she was still wearing her cloak; she had been both dreading this moment and looking forward to it. Biting her tongue, she turned around to face the lass. "I'm sorry, Prim. It was a bit of a spur-of-the-moment decision."
Seeing the scar that covered a large portion of the left side of Baylee's face as well as her now-white eye, Primrose's stern expression softened. Her brows still remained furrowed, however, and she sniffled again as she started to walk towards the smaller lass, her arms reaching out towards her.
Baylee started to sniffle as she met her in the middle of the room, hugging onto her as well. Feeling Primrose give her a small squeeze, she smiled and gave her a small squeeze in return. She had had a feeling her worries about Primrose ending their friendship were unfounded, but that didn't make her feel any less relieved when she found that she had been right.
After a few minutes, Primrose leaned back and, resting her hands on Baylee's shoulders, she looked her over. "You poor thing. You've really been put through the wringer, haven't you?" she sniffled. Despite the small smile on her lips, there were tears were running down her cheeks.
"You have no idea," Baylee replied, sniffling and smiling as well. "But I'm home now and that's what matters."
She gave an affirmative nod. "Yes, yes, it is what really matters," she agreed. "But I hope you realize you have a lot of explaining to do, Baylee Baggins," she said, her tone turning somewhat scolding again. "How does a respectable young lass such as yourself even get caught up in an adventure like that?"
Baylee quietly chuckled, watching as Primrose moved to fetch the dustpan for her. "Well, you see, it all started when Gandalf interrupted da's morning smoke…"
A/N: Just the epilogue left after this~! if anyone is curious, I made an illustration for this chapter that you can find at my art tumblr: www tumblr com/art-by-moosie/709561211823570944/and-the-rework-of-the-old-piece-is-finished-after?source=share (replace the spaces with periods)