Epilogue

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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.

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