Too young. Fili and Kili were too young to die. Despite this, their lifeless bodies laid down side by side in one of the many tents set up in Dale for the fallen. Inseparable, even in death.
Arya looked at them with a vitreous look. She wasn't crying, she had no tears left to cry.
"Bolg killed him right in front of me." Tauriel had told her a few hours earlier, when, returning from Ravenhill with Thorin, she had seen kili's corpse next to his brother's. Another part of her soul shattered.
Shortly after her arrival, the two princes had been cleaned and prepared for the funeral. Now they no longer seemed dead, just asleep, a sleep from which, however, they would never wake up. No one would have seen their bright smiles again, able to cheer up even the most afflicted souls, and their bright eyes would have remained closed forever.
All this was unjust! It shouldn't have been this way. They should never have died. She could have saved them, she should have save them. For what purpose would Gandalf have involved her in that crazy journey if not to protect them? It was her task and she had failed! Two innocent lives had died because of her. People she loved, whom she would love forever.
Arya she couldn't have stayed in that tent a minute longer, she rose quickly from the chair next to Fili's cot and headed out.
In the city there was a pitiful coming and going of people, not only men, but also elves and dwarves. The doctors, especially the healers of the Woodland Realm, did what they could for the wounded of the battle, but the number of patients was clearly greater than theirs and screams of pain continually shattered the peace of the sunset.
The woman leaned against a stretch of walls still standing, watching the sun slowly descend over the peaks of the mountains, while the gray sky gave way to orange colors.
"What will you do now?"
A well-known voice behind her called her attention, but the woman chose not to turn. Legolas glanced at her with a look full of pity and understanding.
"I don't know."
She answered him with a broken voice.
"Will you stay?"
The elf continued with caution, as he approached her.
"No."
The woman firmly replied.
"I'm going north, in search for the Dunedains. Why don't you come with me?"
Arya turned her head slightly in his direction, while a last lonely tear descended along her cheek. She nodded without giving it much thought: she knew she couldn't have stayed, it was too painful.
Legolas surrounded her shoulders with one arm and drew her to himself, holding her against his chest. The elf knew the strength and resilience of the woman, he had seen them in her since their first encounter in Mirkwood, but at that moment she was weaker than ever and he would not have left her alone.
That evening they held the funeral of the two young princes and the coronation of Thorin as King Under the Mountain.
Fili and Kili had been placed on two altars in the centre of a vast hall, illuminated by the light of a thousand candles. Gathered around them, the members of the company greeted them one last time, while behind them all the soldiers of the Iron Hills, arranged in orderly rows, watched the scene with their heads down, out of respect.
Arya stood aside, close to Gandalf, in the corner of the hall: she had already said goodbye to two young princes in the tent and feared to collapse looking at them again, because seeing them up close, lying on those altars, would have made their death more real than she wanted to admit to herself.
After the funeral, Thorin walked to his cousin Dain, in the middle of the first line, and bowed his head. Ironfoot set a crown of gold and silver upon his head.
"Long live the king!"
He then exclaimed, immediately followed by all the other dwarves. Thorin made no compelling or commemorative speech, the grief for the loss of his nephews seemed to have deprived him of his oratory, so he smiled at his cousin and retired.
Feasts and songs would have taken place that night and nights to follow, in order to celebrate the victory and remember the fallen. Arya took that opportunity to say her goodbyes. She looked for the members of the company, fortunately finding them far from the general confusion: the dwarves, Bilbo and Gandalf were gathered in the hall they had claimed as their own when they had arrived at the Mountain. With eyes full of tears, her friends wished her all the happiness and good fortune that life could offer her and watched her walk away and disappear into the darkness of the tunnels.
Arya and Legolas left Erebor at first light, never to return.
6 months later
The inn that night was a hellish mess, full of drunk people, or almost, that occupied the tables or stopped in front of the counter with yet another mug of beer in hand.
A young man stood aside from the crowd and confusion, sitting in a corner at the back of the room, the hood pulled over his eyes and the pipe between his lips.
"Here you go, eat something, it'll do you good."
An elderly figure sat in front of him, handing him warm stew. The man put his pipe on the table, took the spoon and lingered on the plate.
"It's not so bad, I assure you, Old Tom's outdone himself tonight."
The eldest joked, noting his friend's hesitation.
It was known that Tom's cooking did not make the mouth water, in the past someone had also accused him of attempted poisoning. His beer, however, was spectacular, the best in the whole country, and masked the bad taste of food. In truth, the only reason people chose that inn over the others was because it had a reputation of being a safe place, where they could discuss their affairs in peace, without having to worry about finding someone's goons at the front door the next day.
"Orcs are moving fast south, they are growing in number every day. I suspect Mordor to be their destination."
The elder man then asserted with a serious voice, while his companion began to slowly swallow the stew, which in fact was strangely passable.
"Sauron is massively recruiting, preparing for war."
He continued, sighing nervously.
"And you think we should do the same, don't you, Gunter?"
His friend asked, putting the spoon back on the table.
"Yes, yes I do. We can't just stand by and do nothing. You can't do it, this is not your destiny."
He calmly answered.
"The path you're talking about I've abandoned for a long time now, I don't want to go back."
The man replied, resting his back against the wall with a tired air.
"You have no choice. You are the only hope left in this world."
The eldest told him firmly.
The door of the inn opened wide, catching the attention of the two interlocutors, unlike all the other guests, who continued to drink and converse animatedly among themselves as if nothing had happened. Two hooded figures headed to the bar, making their way through the crowd, and turned to Tom for information. The innkeeper pointed them to an empty spot in the room, the same one where table of Gunter and his friend was. The two newcomers thanked him and moved in their direction.
"You must be the one they call Strider."
The first asserted, addressing the man, who nodded. The figure then lowered the hood, showing the long blond hair and pointed ears.
"My name is Legolas, from the Woodland Realm."
He introduced himself.
"Ah, an elf! It's been years since I've seen an elf around here!"
Gunter exclaimed, leaning forward to better observe him.
"Who is your friend?"
He then added, nodding to the second figure, who had stayed a few steps further back, with their face still hidden by the hood. Feeling called into question, the latter approached the table, stopping beside the elf, and showed their face.
The man immediately jumped to his feet, letting the hood fall on his shoulders.
"Arya..."
He muttered in surprise.
"Aragorn..."
Whispered the woman, astonished herself. When she had asked Legolas why they were heading North, the prince told her he was looking for a ranger on his father's advice, but he never specified his name.
Her brother threw himself forward and held her in his arms, where she was happy to take refuge, while the elf and the eldest were looking at them stunned.
"What are you doing here?"
He then asked, freeing her from the grip and continually shifting his gaze between her and her companion.
"It's a long story."
The woman smiled.
Author Space
Hey, here I am for the last time with the new chapter, I hope you enjoy it. "The Last Heir of Isildur" ends here, but Arya's journey is not over yet. You can imagine it yourself, if you want, or you can wait for a new book to come out. Let's be honest now, I'm not promising anything in the short term, but the future is always full of surprises...
Until next time, a kiss
Lis💗