Here it is, the long-lost Epilogue returns! And you know what that means. The QtF sequel is done. Both halves of this long-winded tale are told and it is time for me to move on and visit other gardens.
.~O~.
Epilogue
Minas Tirith
May 10, T.A. 3019
Gimli stood upon the third tier of the White City and looked out beyond the walls of Minas Tirith as the sun sailed low on the horizon. Below him, the ruined first tier had long ago been cleared of bodies and debris. The fires had long since been smothered and the only smoke that rose above the rooftops came from rebuilt chimneys or cook fires lit in the street or open square. The bodies had been gathered and buried with honor. Indeed, most of the clean-up had been completed even before Lord Aragorn's armies had returned from the Black Gate. They had ridden back over a Pelennor already painted with the new grass of spring.
Had it truly been only a week since Aragorn had ceased to be Ranger Aragorn and passed through the gates of Gondor as Elessar, the King returned?
Gimli sighed. It was mere chance that had brought him down to these lower levels when he should have been sitting and recuperating with his friends in the fair houses of healing, but he had gotten it into his head to take a better look at the Ered Nimrais and see how far he might spy those westward peaks. He had found a place along the wall and from there climbed up high among the battlements, and as he looked west, he had found his eyes also drawn north as he recalled the glittering caves of Aglarond. It would take many long years and hard labor, but those fair halls might be fashioned into a kingdom to rival the Dwarf Halls of old...
Suddenly, a gust of wind had blown up from below, bringing with it many fair voices raised in song. Gimli had looked down and seen the dark-haired heads of the soldiers of Lebennin, singing as they labored to clear the fallen walls from the street.
At first, he had not given those men much thought, not until another head caught his eye, dark-haired as they were, but much shorter. This soldier was short enough to be a lad, but his broad shoulders and thick arm told otherwise. Gimli had frowned and been curious, but it was not until the man turned around and he had seen a sight that nearly knocked him, Gimli Gloin's son, clear off his feet. It was not a man but a Dwarf at work beside the soldiers of Lebennin!
Amazed, Gimli had climbed down from the wall for a closer look. If he had not known better… but no, it could not be! He had seen that face before. It was not only a Dwarf, but Thorin Oakenshield himself, returned from the dead and standing in the streets of Minas Tirith!
Forgetting his errand, and everything else, he had called out to the Dwarf who had looked up and appeared just as surprised to see a Gimli standing there.
It had taken little prodding to bring the lad up to him and, upon closer inspection, Gimli had realized his mistake. It was not Thorin's face but the face of his heir that this man of Lebennin wore. Fili's eyes looked out at him from above thick, braided whiskers, even if the color of his hair was closer to that of his brother, Kili (though that color may also have come down along his mother's line). It was Fili's own careful smile that touched the lad's lips.
The two Dwarves greeted each other with many awkward bows and very many at-your-services and at-yours-and-your-family's, before they sat down for a talk.
Ferin was the lad's name, and he was not a true Dwarf though his face told his parentage as clearly as his tale had done. He was shorter than a Man – though still tall for one of Durin's Folk – but his beard was such that any full-blooded Dwarf would be proud to wear it. And yet, even though he had been carved in the very image of his forefathers, that half of his blood would be denied by any of their race. Ferin was less secretive than a Dwarf should be, and it took little effort on Gimli's part to coax the tale out of him.
Indeed, Gimli thought, the lad seemed relieved to finally be able to share his story.
And a long story it was, many hours in the telling, full of twists and turns, but at the end of it, Ferin took out the silver box (now hinged and holding only tobacco leaves). Gimli had no doubt that the tale was true; there was no use in denying the resemblance between Ferin and the poor, playful Durin brothers. The wary gleam in Ferin's eyes now, as he waited for Gimli's verdict, showed his father's pride in him.
But Gimli could only stare. Every look and gesture had brought back to him the faces of his lost kin. Ferin's eyes, his smile, the sound of his laughter, right down to the way that he held his body and perked up his ears when the wind carried up to him the songs of his regimen down below. It was all such a sad blending of all three Durins that it brought tears to Gimli's eyes.
So different, yet so much alike, he thought, wiping his eyes.
"That is quite the tale you have told, lad," he said, knocking the old tobacco out of his pipe. He shook his head. "And yet, it is strange. I was at Ered Luin in the time that you mentioned, but never have I heard even a whisper of your mother being there…"
Ferin frowned. "I do not expect any Dwarf to believe me," he said. "You asked for my story, and now you have it. It is the only one that I have to tell." He stood up and turned to go, but Gimli caught his arm.
"Ah, but I do believe you, lad," he assured him, kindly, "and more is the pity for it. Any other Dwarf might deny your claim or demand further proof of it, but I need only the evidence of my own eyes. Your father was my cousin, and a good friend to me in the days of my youth. I remember hearing that he and his brother had gone adventuring before the quest to Erebor, but I knew no more than that. Perhaps if I had gone with them, I might have heard something along the way, but sadly my father deemed me too young for that journey…"
Gimli sighed. "Your father's death in that battle was a sore blow to those that loved him," he said, "and to lose Kili and Thorin, too…" He shook his head and looked hard at Ferin's face, seeing the image of his cousins drawn there. He sighed again. "And, as I say, it is a pity. Though I would be glad to call you friend, no Dwarf would willingly claim you for his kin. We are a stubborn race and strict in terms of our own and our rights. Your father lost his inheritance when he bred with one of the tall folk."
Ferin drew himself up and his pride and anger made him the spitting image of Thorin Oakenshield. So great was the resemblance that Gimli gave a start, but Ferin crossed his arms and looked west toward the mountains.
"I do not look for pity," he said, "and we need no reluctant friends. My mother did not raise her children to beg for charity at any door, be it the door of Men, Elves or Dwarves. She taught us from birth that our father's name would buy us no welcome at the gates of Dwarven Halls but, though her hand was often heavy, I am not ashamed of her blood that is in me."
Gimli smiled to hear the Durin pride in Thorin's great-nephew's voice, and to see Fili's own indignation upon his face. "I do not say that I pity you, lad. I know you need no charity. Your wounds speak well of your courage, and of the mother who raised you strong enough that you might earn them in battle. No, I say only that it is a pity that so strong a lad will not be counted among our race, all because of the stubbornness of Dwarves, and an old grudge…"
He shrugged his shoulders. "But that is what it is, and your mother was right. In years past, you would have had no welcome from your father's family, but dark days have a way of softening hard hearts, and Erebor is much changed since the days when it was reclaimed. The Mountain is no longer set apart from the Dale; there has been much trade and friendship between our two peoples." Gimli smiled. "You and I have fought in battle together, Ferin, though I did not meet you upon the field, and I tell you that I will give you welcome if you should ever come before the gates of Erebor. I will speak for you before all my folk, and I promise that you will not be turned away."
Ferin's anger softened and he sat down again. "I would be glad if what you say is true. I have often thought that it would be good to see the place where my father fell, and we might visit his tomb…"
"It is right that you should," Gimli said, but he frowned. "You said 'we' many times now, and 'us'? But who else do you mean? Surely your mother is not yet alive. She must be well over an hundred years by now, and that is too long a life even for the race of Gondor, unless she had some royal blood. You have a half-brother or –sister, then. Your mother remarried?"
"She did not. She loved our father to the end of her days, which were fewer than they should have been." Ferin frowned and looked away again. "The long suffering of her early life perhaps took some years from her that she might otherwise have lived… and much of the kindness that she might otherwise have shown." He was silent and sad for a time, and Gimli wondered what his childhood had been like, with a hard and grieving mother and a father who had died before ever laying eyes on his son.
"No, it is some twenty years now that our mother has slept beneath the green hills of her homeland," Ferin went on. "It is my sister that I speak of, but Fala is no half-sibling of mine. She was born with me upon the same day and out of that same womb. We are twins, though she is fairer in face than I and wears the sunlit locks of our father upon her head and chin." He laughed. "Indeed, she is a full quarter of an hour older than me, and she never lets me forget it!"
"A sister, too!" Gimli said, amazed. Girl-children were rare enough among Dwarves, but to bear twins was a thing almost unheard of! He felt once more the sadness of the whole story, the mixed blessing and disappointment that Fili had fathered both daughter and twins but with a human woman. "I would be honored to meet your sister," he said.
"She would be glad to meet you and to hear from you all that you can tell of our Dwarvish ancestry, but unfortunately, Fala could not come to the King's crowning. The people of our village fled into the high hills when we first heard rumor of the coming war. Our neighbors loved and honored our mother, and when they heard that I meant to march into battle, they asked instead for my sister to lead them. I have since had word that the war did not touch upon northern Lebennin, but there has been much work to do in reordering the return to farm and field." Ferin frowned. "Also, she was ashamed to come…"
"Ashamed! Of what?" Gimli cried. "If your neighbors hold her in such high esteem, what has she to be ashamed of?"
"That is in our village where we are well known," Ferin explained. "She did not wish to come to Minas Tirith and be seen beside the fair women here. When first we came to Gondor, many unkind things were said that my mother silenced, but they cut deep into Fala's heart and she is self-conscious." He cleared his throat uncomfortable. "It is her beard, you see…"
"Ah…" Gimli said, finally understanding. Ferin's own mixed-blood was plain to see to those that knew how to look, but he might still pass as a very hairy and very short Man. A short, bearded woman could not pass as anything but what she was. She might win the love and respect of her friends who knew her well, but among the noble faces of the women of the White City, gathered together at the shining capital for the celebrations of their new King, she would be set apart as a curiosity, subjected to stares and whispers behind her back.
"She is not ashamed of her beard, mind you," Ferin said quickly. "At Ered Luin, our old nurse was a Dwarf-woman and Nan taught us to be proud of our father's heritage. It is only… well, Fala would rather be known for her strength of will and for the good works that she has done, not to be talked about because of the hair upon her chin."
"That is reasonable," Gimli said. However, the more he thought about it, the more he did not like the that even a half-blooded Dwarf-woman would walk openly among Men. But he had been raised with the old-fashioned prejudices of his father, and he reminded himself that this was a new age.
"Well, I stand by my offer," he said. "I will make you and your sister both very welcome should you choose to visit Erebor. You say that Nan was your nursemaid beneath Ered Luin? I remember her, though she was little talked about."
"She had a human husband," Ferin said. "But Gilon some time ago. I was near my thirtieth year when he passed, and we left the Blue Mountains not long after that and went south. Nan had gone east a year before our leaving. We have not had word from her since."
"Nan came to Erebor?" Gimli said, frowning. "If she did, then I never heard of it, but many of our folk were returning to The Mountain in the years after the death of the dragon. I have not heard all their names. She was young enough that she may yet live there, and if she does, then I am sure she would like to see you again and to hear you tell all of your brave deeds in battle, and to know the good works done by your sister. Dain fell in the war, but I know his son, and he will do justly by you even if it must be done in secret. We all owe a great debt to Fili and Kili, and to Thorin…"
"There is no debt," Ferin said. "For myself, though I would be glad to see the tomb of my father, I am content to live my life farming the hills of my mother's folk, but I know that Fala has longed to set eyes on the great halls of her forefathers. She heard my mother's tale with shining eyes and always wished to learn more…" His eyes grew distant and Gimli saw tears gathered there. "Yes, we might come there. We might set eyes upon his tomb and see in death the face that we never saw in life…"
"His image is carved there," Gimli said gently. "And Kili's face, and Thorin's, but you see your father in the mirror. You need no carving. I see him in you."
Ferin smiled sadly but said nothing to that. They sat in silence for many long minutes before Gimli spoke up again. "When do your people return home?" he asked.
Ferin looked up at the darkening sky. "We will return to our fields in two days. We stayed only for the crowning of the King, to heal our wounds and bury our dead."
"I do not plan to ride north for many weeks yet," Gimli said. "There is some other event for which we are all asked to wait. You would be welcome at Erebor at any time, but if it will help to decide your course, then I would be honored to escort you and your sister to The Mountain as my guests."
"I will extend your invitation to Fala when I see her and send word to you what is her answer." Ferin stood up and bowed low to his new friend. "I have enjoyed this talk more than I have any other for many years, and I look forward to our next meeting when, I hope, you will do more talking than I and tell me all that you can of my father. But, for now, I must bid you farewell. It is past time for dinner, and long tale-telling is hungry work."
"And long tale-hearing, also," Gimli said, standing. "I, too, have other tasks that call me away, but I am glad that I saw you and stopped here with you. Fare you well, lad, and good will to your sister."
Ferin bowed again and then turned and strode off whistling down the road toward the square where the men of Lebennin were housed. Gimli watched him until he disappeared into the gathering dark. He felt as if this meeting had been but a dream, and that he would wake in the morning to find that he had fallen asleep on the wall. What a fine, unlooked for treasure he had discovered among the wreckage of war! Thorin's line had survived, mingled with the blood of Men but strong and proud in the twin children of the son of Dis.
Suddenly, behind him, Gimli heard a familiar voice call out his name. He turned and with a smile hallooed his friend. Legolas hurried down the road toward him, his soft shoes and light feet making no sound on the cobblestones.
"There you are, friend Gimli," he said, laughing. "It has been many hours since you wandered away from us, and I thought that you had become lost among so many stone walls."
"A Dwarf lose his way upon stone! Perish the thought!" Gimli cried. "I have just experienced a most extraordinary meeting and have heard a tale both wondrous and sad."
"That is no strange thing," the elf said, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder as they walked back up the path to the citadel where Frodo and Sam and the rest of the company were waiting for them. "All the tales of this world are wondrous and sad, full of laughter and tears in equal measure. What tale have you been told?"
But Gimli shook his head and would not say. It was not his tale to tell. He would keep it to himself unless Ferin and Fala came themselves to Erebor, and only then would he know how their story would end.
Dain had been struck down defending the body of loyal King Brand, but his son had already been declared King Under the Mountain. Thorin III, Stonehelm, was named for the great Oakenshield and would rule the halls that his namesake had helped to reclaim and had died to defend. But the line of Durin was not so easily broken, by orc blade or dragon's fire. Though Fili's children could not inherit their forefather's kingdom, Gimli wondered whether it were not well that some Dwarvish blood might be preserved among the tall folk. Elves would fade and the Dwarves dwindle in number, but the line of Men would endure and pass down the old tales.
And that, Gimli decided, was as good an ending to a tale as any he could think of. Indeed, it was better than most.
The End
Well, the end of this part of the tale, at least. A special thanks to Latina44870 without whom this tale would never have been finished and certainly would be nothing like what it is. Thank you all!
And if you want to read more of thrilling adventures of Fili, Kili, and Betta, the sequel, Return to Ered Luin, is now posted and complete. What will become of our trio once they return to Thorin's Halls? The brothers must prepare for their quest to Erebor, but how will Thorin respond to his nephews' homecoming? What will he say when he learns that Fili has come home not with gold... but a wife!
Thank you all for reading. This really was a labor of love and tears.
-Paint