The days were drawing on, longer and longer. Or so it seemed to Evie. Each ran into the next, one and another and another, endlessly. She had always prided herself on her unfaltering spirit, but as the sun rose and set in such a careless manner, day by day, it became harder for her to remember why. She felt so tired, so unconscionably tired…

It was during a stroll through her garden, finally thriving again, that she realized why. Fili was underfoot, tripping along beside her. The small dwarf was grabbing tiny fistfuls of the thin linen of her dress and pulling the hobbit in every direction all at once. He was a marvel of a child, so curious at everything and hungry for knowledge. Evie obliged him at every opportunity, and he could now proudly recite the name of each type of flower growing in her little mountainside garden and half the herbs.

"Lilies, lavender, lilac… Daisies!"

He shouted, tumbling forward and planting himself face first in a pot full of the happy little white flowers. They had just blossomed, and Fili had never seen them so full before. Evangeline smiled, kneeling down beside him and plucking a single bloom from the growing bush. She tucked it into the lining of the young dwarf's surcoat, so it was pinned against his chest.

"There…"

She smiled, a few gentle fingers brushing across his cheek. Fili grinned, the wild, boundless grin of adolescence, and something about it made Evie sad. He was so happy, this little prince, exploring the mountain, learning all he could and growing faster than her flowers… So why did his joy bring her sorrow?

She realized it then, as Fili went to the corner of the garden and retrieved the pitcher they used to water the plants, nearly drowning her rosemary with his overenthusiasm. It came to her clear as the infinite blue sky above them. This sudden melancholy was not because she wanted a child of her own, though she surely did… It was because seeing Fili so full of the easy energy of youth reminded her of just how old she was; seeing him play and laugh and learn forced a comparison with the dwarf he must become, of her husband, lonely despite being surrounded by those who loved him, unfailing in his courage and unswerving in his loyalty but completely unaware of the difference between a daffodil and a dandelion. Thorin had never allowed himself such simple pleasures, even at the height of their romance. And now…

Her every meeting with Thorin, King of Ered Luin, felt forced, like a play act they must perform for one another and for the benefit of their people. They ate together on occasion, but almost invariably with others present. The meals were always lavish but the conversation proved to be the opposite – after 30 years Evie supposed that maybe they had run out of things to talk about. But she had known people who had been married for 50 years and always had words of love for one another… Despite their difficulties, the queen was sure she and Thorin could be happy, as they once were, as they had always meant to be; or at least that was what she was forced to tell herself, if only to avoid dashing all hope upon the mountainside and giving up whatever happiness she might have left in her future.

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After a time, Evie delivered Fili to Balin for his lessons, and the hobbit was left with only her own thoughts. She sighed, making her way to her drawing room and sitting down with her quill. Perhaps if she wrote to him, as they used to correspond… It might be easier to write those things she could not say. But how to begin? The queen dipped her quill in ink and let her hand hover over the parchment, as if waiting for some signal to start her off. When none came, she surrendered to the first thought that rose to her mind and let the ink carry her onward.

My beloved,

We have said so much to each other over the years; it feels strange to think that I cannot decide on any words for you now. Or perhaps it is that I cannot decide on the right words. For what is right, or just? How are we to diminish other parts of our lives in a sacrifice to those great idols? I find that often Sometimes I feel that we are not wholly honest with each other, or not as we should be. We make up little lies, caring little lies which might be seen as kindness by an undiscerning eye. You tell me you must go, that you would stay if you felt you could, and yet I know that is not true. You leave because you are drawn away, and because you follow that call with an eagerness you would never admit to anyone, even me. Especially me. But to think that I don't see it…

Sometimes something becomes so the same, so absolutely familiar, that we forget to treasure it as we should. We forget those little reasons why it matters, which seem so small when put up against the enormity of the world and everything in it, but which used to hold such grand, triumphant meaning in our hearts. How much value can one place on a smile, or the way you look at me… No wealth can amount to that, no fantasy encapsulate the way my heart used to pound when in our youth I remembered that you were mine, and only mine. You are everything to me – you have been for so long, it can be easy to fail to recall all the reasons why.

Amidst the careful chaos we live in, the appointments and the responsibilities, you are a respite, a sip of cool water for a parched throat. And yet, sometimes, I feel I may die of thirst. There has been a drought of you, my love, and I have felt it keenly as of late. I watch Dis and Fildur care for Fili, I see their growing family, and even as I encourage my own happiness for them, I cannot help but feel empty. You are not here, by my side, as you promised you would be. You are so often away, far from me and the demands of our people…

I would not dare accuse you of abandoning us, for surely you do your duty in leaving so you can protect us and secure our future. Please trust that I do not blame you for seeking adventure. I, of all people, could not stifle that in another. I know you crave a change of scenery, a chance at something new, and, though you will never say it, that every journey away and eastward makes you feel just a little closer to Erebor. Maintain your strength, my king, safeguard your dream, but pray do not do it at Ered Luin's expense. Or, if I may be so bold, my own.

I miss you, Thorin. I miss waking beside my husband, holding him in my arms, tasting his lips. Please return him to me, and truly. Please remind me that I am indeed your wife and your love and not simply a duteous queen, alone on a seat far too large for her. We built lives here together, Thorin; we cannot abandon them now. Please come home to me, and stay. Let us live together as we promised each other we would. Let me look into your eyes and know for certain that you still love me. Please

Evangeline had been so enrapt in her letter she had not even heard the knock on the door. This was especially surprising, as it was Dwalin who stepped across the threshold and into her private little sanctuary. He cleared his throat, stepping forward with a hesitation quite uncommon for the warrior. His rugged outline was blurry to her, and Evie realized with a start that she had been close to tears. The queen quickly rubbed the sorrow from her eyes, sniffing with as much dignity as she could muster and trying to act as if nothing had happened and she had been perfectly composed upon his entrance.

"My… My lady," Dwalin began, obviously uncomfortable. Crying females were not his area of expertise, Evie imagined. She tried to smile, if only to ease the tension in the room, but it must have seemed forced because Dwalin only grimaced at her. "I came to tell you we have returned. Everyone is well."

He added, bowing to her. Evie swallowed, trying to seem unaffected by his news.

"Many thanks, Master Dwalin. Though," the queen could not restrain herself, "I wonder why my husband did not see fit to deliver this news himself, if all is indeed well."

"He was needed in council. My apologies – I was sent here at his behest."

Dwalin defended his friend, but Evie knew the dwarf too well, much to his own disadvantage.

"No you weren't."

Evie accused him with a sigh of defeat, her voice barely a whisper. She watched as Dwalin weighed the lie he would have to tell to compliment his last one, and realized the price may be beyond his purse.

"I'm sorry, Evie. But it is not his fault – he wants to be a good husband, but first he must be a good king. You know him, you know his nature…"

"That is a fine notion, my good friend, yet I do not think the mountain would crumble should the king let his wife bid him welcome for a few carefully counted minutes."

The hollowness of her tone made the dwarf close the distance between them. He saw the starts of tears in her eyes, the glossy sheen she was trying so hard to hide from him, and sighed.

"Thorin… Thorin is a good dwarf, my lady, and you know that. He just… He gets so caught up in his duties to our people that perhaps he has forgotten his duties to his wife."

Dwalin paused, hoping he was not too presumptuous.

"I have been his friend since we were young lads, still playing with blunted axes. I have seen him through many a trial and I hope to see him through many more. He loves you, my lady, I can promise you that. And I think you know it, even if times are rough. Some.. Sometimes Thorin needs a good hard reminder of what it is he's been missing."

Evie nodded, swallowing. Dwalin was right, of course, but she would have much rather had her husband with her than his companion's charitable words. The hobbit took a deep breath, trying to compose herself and ignore her own embarrassment. Dwalin had always been kind to her, and she liked him very much. He did not deserve this, to have to comfort her, and the queen felt a fool for being caught in such a state.

"I think… Perhaps…" she admitted, realizing that grief might be at the core of her distress, "I think I just… I miss my mother."

It had been years since her mother died, and yet the heartache of her loss still plagued Evie from time to time. When she remembered Mary sitting alone by the fire in her hobbit hole, the chair beside her empty, it crushed her. Much as she was grateful for her mother's sacrifices for her, Marigold Took did not have to live her life the way she did. She could have had more visitors, she could have found new joys, yet she didn't. Evie refused to live like her mother had, withering away like a flower without water, untended to, save just enough to stay alive. Evie would not go quietly, living out the last of her years in lonely solitude.

"Me mum died when I was very young," Dwalin told her, and her stormy eyes met his clear blue ones, so light they reminded her of an early morning sky. "I hardly remember her at all. Balin says… He says it is good to talk of her, to remember what she was like. That it keeps her with us. I don't know about all that, but… It feels nice, to think of her. There was this old song she used to sing, just a simple little diddy… I think of it before I fall asleep, sometimes. It's as if she's singing to me. I know it's foolish."

"It's not foolish at all. It's quite beautiful."

Evangeline assured him, her mouth drawn in sadness for the dwarf. They rarely talked in private, and they had never discussed anything like this. She felt privileged to hear such a story from the bold, fearless warrior – they had always been friends, but now there was some final wall which had been smashed down between them.

Evie reached out for the dwarf's giant hand, squeezing it gently. She released it and stood, taking a slow, shallow breath.

"Thank you, Dwalin. You are a true friend, to my husband and to me. I don't know that either of us deserve you."

She smiled modestly, flattening out her skirts and picking up the letter she had been writing. The queen gestured to the door, offering,

"Why don't you join me for a late lunch? You must be hungry after your travels… Eat something, and then I'm sure you will be wanting a long rest."

Dwalin nodded, trying on a weary smile. "Thank you, Evie."

She liked it when he used her name. He was usually more deferential, as was nearly every other dwarf in Ered Luin, and respectfully called her "my lady." It was nice to hear her name on occasion, however, and particularly in a friend's voice.

Dwalin made for the door and Evie followed, pausing by the fireplace for just a moment and looking down at the letter in her hand. She considered the parchment, and the words she knew it contained, and after a brief flash of indecision she let it fall carelessly into the flames.

The warrior had watched her do it, but when she turned back to face him, the dwarf looked away as if he hadn't seen anything. Though he could not know the weight of the words curling up in the fire and dissolving into ash as though they had never been written, the simple kindness of his feigned ignorance meant everything to Evie.

"Come," she bid him, a genuine smile falling on her lips at last. "I believe we have a leg of mutton saved for just such an occasion."

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Author's note: Happy spring! I know I have been slow in updating, for those of you lovely people still reading this, and I apologize.. April was a very busy month for me and I have not been able to sit and write for quite a while! But hopefully things will progress a little more quickly now. The next arch is coming into fullness, and my goal is to update you more frequently. In any case, thank you for reading and I hope you are still enjoying your adventures through life with Evie! I have never written an aging character before, so maturing Thorin and Evie's love and seeing how they grow old together has been a challenge and, in many ways, a delight. I hope you feel the same, and that you will continue down the inevitable road to Erebor with us!