Renacida || Fili x MGIME OC ||

Epilogue

There was a stillness in the air.

Fog blanketed the mountain, and I could not see past its veil. I sat just inside the room, close enough that I could feel the warmth of the fire on my back but far enough that the mountain's breeze soothed my cheeks and chest with cloudy kisses.

I thought of the Misty Mountains and how the fog turned our hair damp, how we alternated between fighting, joking, and singing to keep our minds off the fact that we were always one slip away from plummeting to our deaths, how we screamed for our lives when the mountains themselves battled.

"I could only see them when lightning flashed," I whispered. Though exhaustion weighed down every inch of my body and soul, so much that it dulled the fresh pain, I wasn't unhappy. How could I ever be unhappy again?

"Then there they were, stone giants, throwing pieces of the mountain itself like they were nothing.

"They sang an old song, older than the dwarves, older than the elves, because it was a song of the stone, and the stone was here before any of them. It will be here after we're all gone, too.

"But for now, for now it's just us, isn't it? You're here.

"I come from another world, and still the most unbelievable thing is that you're here."

The baby in my arms nursed on a breast. His tiny, innocent fingers curled against my skin. When one finger moved, I could feel it with my entire being. He was wrapped up to protect him from the nearby cold, but he liked being in a place that was not quite inside and not quite outside. Like he understood that he had his mother's blood in him, that he belonged to more than the mountain.

We couldn't see the stars tonight, but he knew. He knew that he was loved by those who would never actually meet him, see him, hold him.

Tufts of my black hair crowned his soft, two-day-old head. He would have my skin color, too. His eyes hadn't found their pigments, but when they did, I was sure they would be just like his father's, his great-uncle's, and all the dwarven kings before him.

I was on the cusp of dozing when the door quietly slid open, and familiar footsteps came into the chamber. I didn't turn. It would only awaken the pain.

"Sorry for being so late."

Fili's hand rested on my shoulder, and his bearded kiss grazed against my cheek.

"It's alright," I smiled, tilting my head enough to glimpse golden hair in the firelight. When I was screaming and pushing new life into the world, wondering if I was going to die all over again, I focused on the same glint of golden hair. Dwarves weren't particular about allowing husbands into the room; childbirth came equal in war, and just like on the battlefield, it could not be fought alone. "We haven't been doing much."

"I would rather spend every waking moment not doing much with the two of you than spend my time in a stuffy room with a half-mad dwarf from Mordor demanding audience with the king." Fili's hand moved over to our baby's dark head. "Mahal, he's hungry like his mother."

I tiredly smirked. "He's just about done, I think."

"Then let his adad hold him."

He was already an expert parent despite the mere two days that had passed between the world that once was and the world that now is—the world with our child in it.

"Frerin," Fili whispered in our baby's ear as he settled against his father's shoulder. "What tales has your mother been telling you, eh? Is she already filling your head with wonders? She does a spectacular job of it. And you shall know it's the truth, too, because she's such a horrible liar otherwise." There was a soft hiccup, followed by soft pats. "There, that's a good lad."

"The dwarf," I said, drawing my shirt back up and adjusting my shawl so it wrapped around me. "He was from Mordor?"

"Aye. Recounting tales of a deathless ranger who fought with a legion of orcs against the forces of Mordor. Chief Amelie encountered him first in the wilds, and she sent him our way."

"And why would you think he's half-mad?"

There was a small silence. "Well—he wasn't half-mad. Eccentric, to say the least. Wildly exaggerated his stories. But what he said was most likely the truth. It was simply hard to..."

"Take in," I finished.

"Yes," Fili sighed. "Black Captains and wraiths and orcs, rebel slaves and the Black Gate, and...darkness. Spreading darkness with so few to fight against it."

Another, longer silence.

"Ria, I do not want this."

I stood and turned away from the dark fog.

Fili held his son, who was named Frerin II on the tenth day of the second month in 2947 of the Third Age. Son of a prince, son of a future king who would one day be king himself. He had been born on the annual Day of the Departed, which remembered those lost in the Battle of the Five armies and those who had been or ever would be lost. The dwarves embraced my heritage, for they revered their ancestors and families to the point that the deceased deserved to be celebrated in their remembrance.

I gave birth to Frerin with a painted, dwarven-patterned skull smeared across my face.

The irony was not lost on me.

It was my turn to lean in and press a kiss to Fili's cheek. I drew him close and said, "Me neither. But the ranger will do what he must to make sure that we have peace for a little while longer."

"Though it will not last."

"No. It will not last."

I touched Frerin's feather-soft head. For once, I was unafraid. Maybe it was from the exhaustion, but the sight of Fili and our son brought a kind of comfort and love that was new to me. Would it always be new? I hoped so. I didn't want this feeling to fade. I was excited, excited for the future despite the darkness we knew awaited us and this world.

"But until then, let's be happy."

Fili faintly smiled and kissed my knuckles. Frerin cooed and opened his eyes; they flitted between his mother and father before they shut once more. If Fili stared at his son too long, he began to cry, just like he cried when he first held Frerin in his arms, covered in my blood and body but alive and bright in his own.

"Aye," Fili said, his voice cracking. He kissed Frerin's forehead, and I held both of them close to me. "Let us be happy." •