How I Leave You

Epilogue

We lay Thrór to rest in the mountain's grotto. It is the perfect mixture of his heritage: of earth and water he was made, and to it, he returns.

Soldís comes back for the funeral. Thorin had been holding it together since the news was broken to us, but the moment he sees our daughter, he falls apart. A darkness is upon the mountain. Its people are clad in black, mourning the prince who never got to be their king.

There is a debate about what to do with Tillion's remains. His family want them for themselves. I get angry. Everything else is murky, but I remember that. Remember yelling that my son and his husband did not get enough time in this life, so they will have it in the next. For how are they to find each other if they are buried miles apart?

It gets established that Kili will inherit the throne once Thorin no longer sits on it. This is joyous news to no one. Least of all to Kili. Tauriel will be his queen, and she will be a grand one, and when I am no longer here, she will tend my son's grave for me.

But for now, it is I who go to my grotto every morning, finding Thrór waiting for me by the waters. We talk for a bit, about what he missed, and how ridiculous the lords were at yesterday's meeting. I tell him that his father misses him, but that Thorin is not yet ready to be so close to his grief. One day, I keep saying.

One day, the veil of mourning might lift from my husband's eyes. It was better when Soldís was here in the months after the burial, but now she is gone, and so is the light in his eyes. But I could not blame her for leaving. In fact, I encouraged her to go. It has been years since I have seen her last, but she writes us often, thoroughly detailing her days and decisions. She is making such a powerful ruler.

Sometimes, I read Thrór her letters. She writes that she hates how she now has to be a royal for both her and her brother, but I know that he would be so proud of her.

"Look at you," he would say. "My little sister got her crown before me, after all."

War comes.

Soldís leads her legions with an iron fist. She gets that from her father. He, too, sends his men to the frontlines, but he has gotten too old to fight. In his place, Kili volunteers. He would have made Fili envious with such courage. Made their mother proud with it.

The shadows have reached us. Every night, I pray to gods whose names were long forgotten. I sing siren songs to the children of the mountain, and I accompany my husband to every one of his strategic meetings. After Thrór died, Thorin's hair turned entirely silver. It looks so beautiful, but it also hurts my heart, for I know that it means we soon will be counting down years, and not decades.

I hear about the ring from Gandalf. The guilt swallows me whole.

"Stop looking backwards," Thorin tells me. "Look to the future instead."

We have started visiting our son's grave together. Thorin brings little things he has crafted, a figure from wood, or a silver ring. I think Thrór would have liked them very much, though not admitting to this before noting that he could have made it significantly better himself.

But Thorin is right. I have to stop looking back just because that is where my son is. It is so hard, though. So hard to see a future without Thrór in it.

We feel it in the mountain when the ring is destroyed.

Some believe it to be an earthquake at first, but the moment Thorin's eyes lock with my own, I know we both understand what has just happened. We won. After all those sleepless nights and lives sacrificed, we did it. When the realization seeps in, I see something leave Thorin. It's brief, as though it escapes with his next exhale. Perhaps it is the burden of responsibility he lets go of. I do not know what it is. Only that, when I look at him again, he suddenly looks much older. Looks as though the crown weighs heavy on his head. Still, he carries it with dignity.