Evie had been back in Ered Luin for two weeks before she got the news. She was working on some correspondence, a letter to Thorin's cousin Dain's new wife in the Iron Hills. Thorin often wrote to Dain, and so Evie thought it would be good to establish a relationship with his wife, so that they might also be friends. Although the Queen of the Iron Hills had hesitated at first, no doubt due to Evie's race, her husband had apparently convinced her to give Evie a try and after the first few letters had been borne by ravens back and forth across the Misty Mountains, the two dwarven queens had become fast friends.
The hobbit was in the middle of a sentence when a gentle knock sounded on the door.
"Yes?"
She called out, not looking up from her writing. Evangeline was not sure if they had been married so very long that she could recognize the pattern of his footfalls or if she had simply guessed that it would be him, but the blonde was unsurprised to see it was Thorin Oakenshield who entered the room. She was, however, rather startled by the grim look on his face.
"What is it?"
The hobbit asked immediately, never one to try and soften the blow of bad news. Thorin's thin lips twisted into a grimace, and Evie drew a deep breath. She was sure that whatever came next would be unwelcome. She had not stood, and was glad of it when Thorin sat beside her and reached for her hand. She let him take it. Her fingers began to tremble, surrounded by his constantly steady hands.
"It's not… Is Fili well?!"
She asked, although she could not imagine Thorin so calm should something have happened to his heir. The dwarf shook his head, a long braid falling over his shoulder.
"No, it isn't Fili…"
He paused, searching for the correct words to tell her whatever it was he felt he must. Perhaps it was her Took upbringing, but Evie could not stand for secrets, or those who took too long in delivering news. She would rather have it, good or bad, all in a rush, and then decide how she felt about it. There were no such things as the right words, not with ill tidings, and so it was better to speak quickly than carefully, she thought. Thorin usually obliged her curious impatience, but now he seemed to be struggling.
"It's your mother."
He finally explained, and Evie's heart went cold in her chest. Mary was not one to cause a stir; she was a reliable hobbit in that way, and so the queen knew that any news which had come to her involving the elder healer was certainly regarding her health. Evie had just visited her a few weeks ago, and she had seemed in good spirits then…
"Is she –?"
Her grey eyes became steel as she tried to harden herself to the news. The look on Thorin's face told her plainly enough that her most recent visit had also been her last. She nodded, trying to keep herself from falling apart. The hobbit tried to breathe in, but the air simply rattled in her throat and made her feel ill. Evie turned away from him, a small hand drifting up to her chest as if there was any hope of holding her heart within her body despite how hard it tried to escape – it was beating so loudly she could hear it pounding furiously in her ears. She wanted to let it go, to release her captive sentiment and be free of the sudden, agonizing feeling of loss…
Yet her mother would have wanted her to be strong. Mary was always giving her daughter advice, and it was not often enough, it seemed, that Evie was apt to take it. She regretted that now, regretted all those times she might have visited her aging mother, talked with her or even written to her… Mary had been alone most of her life, when her daughter should have been by her side. Marigold had told Evangeline how proud she was of all the younger female had accomplished – the wonders she had seen and the horrors she had faced, the strength she had shown in healing the wounded and the courage she had proven when she went to Ered Luin to find Thorin Oakenshield on her own. Her mother was proud, she had said as much, so why did Evie feel so hollow inside? Why did she feel as though she had betrayed the single person who had stood by her for as long as she could remember, who had raised her to be strong and brave and all those things she endeavored to be every day? Why had Marigold Took died alone behind her faded yellow door?
Evie shivered, and it took her a few blinks to realize that Thorin was now standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders, trying to comfort his grieving wife. She leaned into his arm where it rested near her cheek, and sighed brokenly into the fabric of his tunic.
"I am so sorry…"
Her husband whispered, his voice hoarse. Evie nodded, sobbing, and closed her eyes. She didn't want to think about going back to a Shire absent of Marigold Took, didn't want to consider what to do with her mother's estate and all her possessions, or what would happen to the dried flowers by the window. It would all need to be taken care of, surely, but perhaps not now. For now, all she could do was lean into her beloved king's chest as he bent to his knees beside her, collecting her in his arms and holding her close. Thorin kissed the edge of her forehead, whispering something consoling into her golden curls. Evie didn't hear what it was, but it soothed her nonetheless. Her mother was gone, and so, then, was a little piece of who she was.
.
.
.
Evie held her candle close, just one little light in the dark hallway. It was late, but she knew where she would find him. The hobbit had woken up in an empty bed, as she had too often as of late, yet this time she was sure of where her wayward husband had gone. After the news had come of the death of her mother, the hobbit had wanted less and less to be alone. She was more grateful than ever for the family she still had, and there would be no sleep for her until she had found her beloved. She pushed through the door just a few down from hers, and, sure enough, there they were.
Evangeline paused in the doorframe, drinking in the sweetness of the scene before her like sugared tea. She had never had a cup so honeyed before, and she feared she may never taste better. But the hobbit knew it was sage to enjoy what she had now, and now was such a lovely sight.
Thorin sat near a small, dying fire. He was in Dis' rocking chair, the one he had given her as a present after Fili's birth. It had ravens carved all over it, most particularly at the curling arms, which looked like two of the great birds about to launch into flight. It was beautiful craftsmanship, and Dis could often be found sitting in it, rocking back and forth with the child in her loving embrace. Tonight Thorin had taken her place, the tiny baby bundled in his arms as he watched the flames wavering in the hearth, falteringly fighting each other as they slowly crumbled into embers.
What stuck the queen to the doorframe, hiding her candle's extra light with a curved palm, was Thorin's singing. His voice was deep and rich, floating across the small space and filling it up with memories, black and cold, then bright and gruesome. Evie bit her lip, trying to stifle the sudden rush of raw emotion which hit her like a gust of wind, forceful and severe. She was almost carried away with it, blown over by it, but somehow managed to hold her ground. She could not leave – for while this was a song for Fili, who would someday be in his uncle's position, it was also her song. Their song. It was a mighty, agonizing lament, and one which would be sung over and over until its purpose was fulfilled. It was a song for Erebor, and it would not end until they had returned to that terrible place of glorious riches beyond all imagining, and death beyond grief.
The haunting melody struck the hobbit deep in her heart, which swelled with each refrain as though she already knew the song. It was as if it lived within her, and perhaps it did. It belonged to the dwarves of Erebor, even those who had not been there to see the trees lit like torches, illuminating the night sky, or choke on the smoke from that atrocious blaze. She had not been to that vast wasteland, but she was there now. She could see the sky lit up with fire, hear the roaring inferno devouring all around it and transforming the majestic, proud city into an empty field of desolation. Erebor and everything it stood for – safety, security, prosperity – was ash.
Thorin's solitary voice sung of the horrors of that catastrophe, that outrageous slaughter of an entire people. Yet some had escaped the furnace, some had lived on to sing this sad, stirring song. And to remember. And that was what scared her most, for dwarves were not a people to simply recall the horrors of their past and idle by as they forged a new future. No, they harbored vengeance deep in their hearts, and it would be a dark and dreadful retribution indeed. That was why they sang the songs, why they sharpened their axes despite the peacefulness of Eriador. She knew, and yet she pretended not to see. She pretended that her husband would stay always by her side; that he would never leave for that great quest which was his destiny, his birthright… She had known as far back as their meeting in Gondor that should she follow this dwarf king, she would be following him down a path which led ultimately to Erebor. It was everything, it was life… Thorin would never be at peace until he reclaimed his homeland, or perished in the attempt.
Evie feared the mountain, and everything secreted within it. She had heard the stories, so many of them… It was the ones told to her in hushed whispers which frightened her the most. Of the mighty King Thrór and the sickness which had taken hold of him. Dragon sickness, they called it. A powerful, unendurable need for gold. It was what had summoned the fire drake from his hoards in the north. The treasure of Erebor was said to be beyond conception, beyond life or death or the aging of mortals. It was a treasure meant for songs and tales, and yet it was so very real, lying untouched and waiting to be restored to Durin's Folk.
Whenever Thorin described Erebor to her, he spoke of a symbol even more than a mountain. He told her of the titanic statues standing sentinel at the front gate, of the gorgeous green stone which filled the halls, of the market days and the colossal forges and the happiness his people had tasted there. It was prosperity he spoke of, riches of trade and fine craftsmanship. He did not count the coins in their great vaults, though he mentioned the affluence recovering them would give Durin's Folk. While Thorin Oakenshield carefully guarded all he had and protected the hard won wealth of his people, he was no miser. She trusted that he would not bend to the strange and unbearable will of the gold in Erebor, should he take it. He was strong, stronger than anyone else she had ever known, and she did not think even a treasure as cripplingly immense as that of Erebor could make him falter.
It was all well enough for Evie to worry about what might happen should the dwarves succeed in their quest, but that was presupposing they could manage to kill a gargantuan, irate, despicable fire drake. The queen shivered to even think of it. She imagined herself and Thorin, standing side by side, their swords raised against the beast as it charged, smoke curling out of its nostrils and fire reflecting in its venomous eyes. They would not be alone, of course, surely a small army would make the journey across the Misty Mountains and through the Greenwood, yet even with the full strength of Ered Luin, Evie doubted they could destroy a dragon. The legend of Smaug was renowned – the destruction he wrought and the vehemence with which he guarded his treasures. Though he was seen less and less frequently, Evie knew he waited there for them, patiently knowing they would return some day and ready to destroy the last survivors of his holocaust.
Yet all that would have to wait – for though Thorin sang his heartrending song of consuming flames and ultimate desolation, tonight he was holding his heir by the flickering warmth of a hearth fire, sheltered by halls of his own careful crafting, and it did not seem as though he would be making that auspicious journey too awfully soon. At the very least, Evie realized, he would wait until Fili was old enough to rule in his stead should he fall in the perilous undertaking. The idea made her heart tremble in her chest – she had thought too long on her husband's death in these last long months, and she refused to dwell on it a moment longer.
The hobbit finally stepped into the room and closed the large oak door behind her. Thorin looked up, drawn away from his dark song and the dying fire. The hurt in his eyes made Evie feel weak on her feet. The queen did not speak, but instead set her candle down on a small table and moved to his side, resting a petite hand on the king's shoulder and gazing down at the child nestled in his arms. Fili's tiny face was tilted into Thorin's chest as he slept peacefully, tufts of blonde hair sticking out from his head at odd angles. Evie smiled and flattened them out, tender fingers drifting across the dwarf's incredibly smooth, warm skin. The baby's infant fingers curled around an insignificant handful of the fur lining of Thorin's surcoat and Evie swallowed, trying to keep herself from falling too deeply into her own emotions.
"The heir of Durin."
She whispered softly. He did not look like a great dwarf prince, heir to the enormous wealth of Durin's Folk and a legacy of unspeakable trials, and yet here he was. This tiny, newborn babe would someday inherit the legend of an entire people. For a moment she was glad he was not her son, that no child of hers could ever have such a terrible birthright. She felt sorry for Fili; for all that he would have to endure in his life. Surely Thorin would be hard on him, intent that he should learn everything he must to become a king. Thrain had been that way with his firstborn, and then he had been gone. While Evie savored these tender moments by the fire, she knew how Thorin would raise his nephew and the many burdens Fili would bear. It was unfair, but crowns were wrought of gold and were often heavy.
One of Thorin's arms was cradling the baby, but his free hand rose to find Evie's.
"I had always hoped this day would come, when I would hold Durin's heir in my arms, and yet now that it is here I do not know the right things to say, how to teach him…"
He admitted, his dark brow furrowing. Evie smiled, squeezing her husband's hand.
"Love him." She replied, affectionately. "All else will come… Let him learn from your mistakes so that he will never make them himself. Let him see you lead, let him lead… He has two wonderful, kind, willful parents who will surely teach him how to be happy, to take joy in life and to be good. Yet neither Dis nor Fildur have your quiet reserve, your strength – you must teach him honor, loyalty, bravery. They will show him how to be noble, but you must show him how to be a king."
Thorin's blue eyes were nervous when he looked up at her, which was extraordinarily uncommon for the dwarven ruler. Evangeline laughed, her voice gentle.
"Oh, my love…" She leaned into him, kissing him on the temple while adoring fingers swept some of his long hair behind his shoulder. "You will know what to do. He will learn on his own, by watching you and through his own experiences. Just support him and love him and – oh, I don't know how I am in any place to give you advice, what could I possibly know…"
The corner of Thorin's lips tugged up into a smile, and he turned to kiss his darling wife.
"I suppose my mother has always been very good at giving me advice, and maybe a little of her lives in me, now."
"I would say so."
Thorin matched her hopeful grin, put at ease. "Perhaps our parents live on in all of us, even when they are gone. We may take different paths than they did, but still they walk beside us."
Evie's eyes filled immediately, despite the reassuring thought. Thorin kissed her hand with abject sympathy, any further words sticking in his throat. Evie tried to imagine it – the parents they had lost, beside them. To think of Thrain and Daia, two dwarves she had heard so much about but never met, and how proud they would surely be of their son, who had led his people to safety and had begun a new life for them in Ered Luin. And what would Fellin Took think of her? Mary had told her a dozen times how much she was like him, but it was hard to remember what he was like, the sound of his voice or the color of his hair… She could barely remember him at all. Evie wondered if Thorin felt the same way about his mother, who he had also lost as a child. Thrain had gone not long after the Battle of Azanulbizar, and Durin's heir was forced to take up his mantle and lead their people forward on his own.
"At least Fili will have many to guide him."
She noted, her voice wavering. Thorin nodded, his eyes focused on the sleeping baby. It was true – Fili would have Dis and Fildur and Thorin and Evie, not to mention Dwalin and Balin and Belinir and Telchar and all the others who would certainly influence him. Evie hoped she would get all their best qualities – Dis' spontaneity, Fildur's open heart, Thorin's fortitude, Dwalin's strength, Balin's thoughtfulness, Belinir's wisdom, Telchar's loyalty… Evie wasn't quite sure what it was she hoped to give the little one, but she was sure there was something. Courage, maybe. She didn't feel quite so courageous now, but she knew it was there, somewhere, under the fear and the grief.
"He will be great, someday." Evie prophesized, trying on a tired smile. "A true king, just like his uncle."
Perhaps they would all make the fearsome journey to Erebor together, and once they completed the seemingly impossible feat of slaughtering the malevolent dragon, they could live there in peace. Home at last.