If Evangeline had thought time passed slowly before, it was nothing compared to the achingly sluggish trod onward it was making now. Every stroke of an axe was careful and deliberate, and always accompanied by a check from the other side. Thorin and the other dwarf he was trapped with would try and support the rocks in front of them to avoid getting hit by anything pushing back toward their small space – each time a rock was disturbed they compensated for it and announced to the assembly on the other side of the rubble that they were still alive.

It was agonizingly slow work. Evie was sure the sun must be rising outside, although there was no indication of daybreak down below. For all she knew it had been a week since she had come down here, although she surmised it was more like a day. Belinir had sent a few scouts over the course of the previous night, and Evie had always returned them with a polite update and the unsurprising announcement that they were still working hard to free the dwarves trapped in the tunnel and that she was intent on being here when they were freed to demonstrate her queenly interest. Belinir was suspicious, she was sure, but he had not yet revealed to her if he had figured out the king was among the entombed. Thorin did not check in with his advisers often as of late, so there was nothing surprising in his absence. Yet.

Evangeline's eyes focused in on the rocks before her, and she thought for a moment on the concept of entombment. It was all very ironic, truly, since the dwarves' preferred method of burial was to be covered with stones and submerged in the mountainside. And so here they were, surrounded by the mountain, and who could have thought of a more perfect, natural tomb? The idea sent a shiver down her spine, and the hobbit simply could not shake it. She had always wondered at being buried in rock rather than earth – no flowers would grow on your grave, and no life would come from your death. It seemed like an awful thing, yet there was a strange nobility to it. She thought it less noble now.

"I will die someday, Evie. But that day is not today."

They were Thorin's last words to her as she left the barricade to step back and let the dwarves continue their work. He had not said his goodbyes, he had not given her a message for Dis, he had simply announced that he had no intention of dying in this crypt which seemed already prepared for him, as if it had been waiting for him to step in just the right place so that it might snatch up the king and bring him to his end.

Even so, if there was one thing Evangeline Took had always known about Thorin Oakenshield, it was that once he had committed to something, he was determined to see it so. If he promised her today was not his day to die, then she believed him. It was the only thing she believed. She put faith in her ability to heal any superficial wounds he and the other dwarf might have sustained, she trusted in the miners' ability to free them from their stone prison, and she hoped that Mahal would protect them and keep them safe… But what she believed in most was her husband's sheer will not to die – he had never failed her in all their years of marriage, and she knew he would not fail her now.

And, to that end, Evie would do her duty and be stalwart. She would be as strong as the rocks separating them. No, stronger. Evie was prepared for what was to come, and certain of their success. They would remove this barrier, stone by stone, and they would free those trapped on the other side. She would rest comfortably in her husband's arms once more, or she would die trying to get to him. It was as simple as that. Flagging her courage, she pressed on unfailingly with bolstering words to the miners around her and occasional comforting messages of support for those who were trapped. She called for more water, for bread and cheese, something to sustain those laboring at the excavation… There was little more she could do than that. Frustrated, she sat back down beside her healer's bag, drawing in a deep breath and holding it. Hopefully this would all be over soon. She sympathized more than she ever had before with Thorin's need for action – she felt utterly helpless and it was the second to worst feeling in all Middle Earth. She could only send Durin and Mahal and anyone else who would listen a breathless prayer that she would not also have to experience the first.

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When she looked back at that night, the first thing Evie remembered was how dark it was. It was a pure sort of darkness, the kind which crept into your soul and seeped through you until you forgot what light was like entirely and could not even think to miss it. It was in that ensnaring darkness, that consequential black, that he came to her. At first she feared him, so spectral in the dark, as one might fear death, but it did not take long before she realized the familiarity of the figure materializing before her. The hobbit squinted, sure her eyesight must be betraying her. Yet as he approached she recognized him in full, and his form was unmistakable.

"Thorin."

She named him, shuffling forward in her shock as her feet refused to carry her properly. It was a short shamble, however, before he was close enough to touch. She did not dare do so. Even in the total dark she could see him clearly. He was almost glowing – a beacon, bright as mithril, challenging the supremacy of the black all around them. Evie's eyes blazed a trail across his face, following the deeply drawn lines of anguish which marred his proud visage and the sunken shadows beneath his eyes. His skin was pulled tightly against his features except where there were wrinkles – he looked more like a corpse than a dwarf – he seemed so tired, so defeated…

It was not until he tilted his head to look away from her that the queen realized why. A dark, menacing wound had been carved deep in the side of his head, just at the hairline. The gruesome gash bespoke great violence, and the sight of it sent the healer shivering, reeling backwards as blood trickled down from the wound and into his beard. It was clear that he was beyond any power of hers to save.

"No," she protested, her voice captured in the back of her throat and nearly too quiet to hear.

"I am so sorry, my Evangeline."

He told her, his voice as honey sweet as she had ever heard it. She gasped, the horror of the apparition truly sinking in. He could not apologize; he could not come to her in this way… He would not dare break his word and leave her here, not like this, not after everything… The queen trembled before the specter, denying him even as he stood before her. She shook her head, shuddering.

"No."

The queen repeated, for all the good it did.

"I could fight legions, but not this…"

He confessed, his sapphire eyes gleaming in the muted light with a sadness that transcended speech.

"I did not see it coming, my love… I could not deflect it in time and there was nowhere to go…"

The healer wondered which boulder it had been which sealed his fate, and which dwarf had dislodged it to such terrible effect. Even as the thought came to mind, she dismissed it. What did it matter? It had been done, and there was no reversing time's heavy hand.

"I am so sorry to leave you…"

He whispered, his voice turning throaty and low. Evie kept shaking her head, as if she had lost all control of herself and could only stand there, dumbstruck and quivering.

"It can't; you can't…"

"It is too late, my love," he consoled her, as tears began to collect in his wife's eyes, "but it is not too late for you, for our family… Dis' child, if Durin gives her a son, will be my heir. You must help her raise him and teach him to be a good king. Ignite him with a passion for our people and our return to Erebor – mold him as a new blade at the forge. Let him be sharp and straight and full of purpose. Dis will teach him to take joy in life, and Fildur to be brave, but neither of them have ever ruled. He will need you to guide him through the challenging decisions he will have to make… You will serve as his regent until he comes of age, and –"

"Why – why are you telling me this?!"

Evie demanded, almost begging. Tears rolled generously down her round, flushed cheeks, and she could not blink them away fast enough to clear her vision before more replaced them in an endless torrent.

"The succession will be important now that I am gone. You must seem strong, beloved."

Now he made her angry, and even his repeated terms of endearment could not quell her agitation. Her small hands balled at her sides, and she had half a mind to hit him were she not so afraid of touching his pale, nearly incandescent form.

"What gives you the right –"

She began, but could not finish.

"I am your husband, and your king. You will listen to my last request, you will honor it, and months from now you will be grateful for it."

Evie's stomach lurched. Months from now… She could not imagine such a dreadful, awful thing.

"It won't matter," she argued, almost noiselessly, her breath coming in short, staccato sobs. "Nothing matters now."

She felt a hollowness filling up her soul, the inescapable emptiness of loss. Her sorrow spilled out of her and left little more behind than an empty shell. Thorin reached out to his wife, his large, searching fingers moving to brush the tears from her cheeks as he had so many times before. But unlike in the past, his touch now held no sensation – she felt nothing more than she would had a gentle wind kissed her cheek. It was a passing, intangible thing. He was no longer among the living, so he could no longer hold a mortal form. This shock only inspired more tears from his wretched queen, who had completely given into her grief. It had become more real than the ghost before her, and it was the only way he could truly touch her now.

"Don't go."

She pleaded, watching the gaunt face before her twist into its own demonstration of despair.

"I have no choice," he confessed, seeming as though he wanted to hold her while knowing such an act was impossible. It was all she wanted in the world, to feel his strong, protective arms around her one last time. But she would never touch her husband again. She could never kiss him, never smell the clean, earthy scent of him, never wake to his peaceful form beside her and send a secret prayer of thanks to Durin for the blessing of having him as her husband. For now he was nothing. He was a phantom; only a memory of the proud dwarf she had promised her life to.

"How… How do I go on?"

She asked him, hoping desperately that he had an answer. Surely no one else would.

"Only you can decide that, my love."

The word he used was khuzdul – uzayang. Its truest meaning was 'greatest love.' Indeed, that is what he was to her. Her greatest love. Her only love. Yes, she loved her mother, and her father before his passing. She cared for Dis and Fildur as if they were her own blood, and Dwalin and Balin she would trust with her life. She would hope to someday love Dis' child, or children, with nearly as deep a love as she might her own… But she would only have one greatest love, one uzayang. He was standing before her, a light which was about to be extinguished forever, and part of her with him. She did not know how she could continue living without him, and now he confirmed her worst fears – there were no answers. There never would be.

The hobbit choked back another sob, trying to absorb every last moment she had left with him. Time was sand slipping through her fingers, and the more she tried to cup her hands and hold it back the faster it escaped her futile grasp. The urgency of her need was multiplied as Thorin began to fade away, losing his light as he was consumed by the oppressive darkness around them.

"I was only doing what I thought to be right. Everything I did was for you, for our people… Do not forget me, Evangeline… Do not forget Erebor, and the promises of our fathers…"

Despite the honor he did her by calling his proud lineage hers, it was all she could do not to protest – what of the promises he had made to her?! To fight death, to spend his long life with her… Hobbits did not live so long as dwarves; she was supposed to pass long before him… He had pledged her forever, but forever had proven far too short and there was nothing Evie could do to soften the betrayal she felt piercing her heart.

"I love you."

His last words rang out to her in the black once he disappeared, and even as she opened her mouth to reply, everything faded entirely and she woke up in the dusty tunnel, her knuckles white where they clung to her healing satchel and the smell of fresh bread in the air.

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Author's Note: It's hard to put characters in peril which the reader can assume will live through the event, but all the same I thought it was important that Evie had this moment with Thorin, even if it was simply a vision. I hope that it was a good read, and I look forward to your thoughts and comments! I can't thank you all enough for sticking by me on this road forward. This story is very precious to me, and your encouragement means the world to me.