"The things we love destroy us every time, lad. Remember that."
Fairies are one of the oldest race of beings in Arda -once they called Numenór home- but Arethusa watched as the sea claimed the island from the helm of a ship as the survivors fled to...
End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path. One that we all must take.
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THORIN Oakenshield was laid to rest next to the tombs of his forebears with Orcrist and the Arkenstone upon his breast. But there was another jewel as well and it shone brighter than the Heart of the Mountain. None but Arethusa knew the truth of what the gem was —a Silmaril— more valuable than all the gold and gems in Middle Earth.
Most had gone from the mausoleum but she and Dwalin stood over Thorin in perpetuity, with solemn countenances and no words to speak. Even after Dwalin had left, she remained, staring with a blank expression at the dwarf she had so recklessly given her heart to.
Fili feared that if she stayed any longer she would turn to stone. He pitied the fairy for a moment. She was like a white deer caged, a white bird wing-clipped, a silver ring on an old man's finger. The young king pulled her away from the resting place of his uncle and into his arms. She was so delicate but stronger than anyone could ever know.
"Arethusa, there is nothing here for you. Go. It is what my uncle wished." It felt strange for her to look upon Fili whilst he was dressed as a king. She still saw him as a young dwarf prone to mischief. "You will always be welcome here but do not make this a prison. Be as you once were, a wanderer," he told her.
Of the twelve dwarves who embarked on the quest to reclaim the mountain, only eight remained in Erebor. They had gathered at the gates bearing gifts for her travels. None expected to see her again in their lifetime. Dwalin, Glóin, Dori, Nori, Bifur, Bofur, Kili, Fili, and even Bombur had managed to come to the front gate. Each bestowed upon her gifts and provisions, a dwarvish shield and Thorin's first sword, ample coin, and jewels for trade, food enough for a month, and a pony to bore it all.
"Where will you go?" Kili queried in a tone begging her to stay. It amazed her to see how much the two brothers had grown from the young princes she had met in the Shire half a century ago.
It took several long moments for her to ponder the answer. "The Shire, I think, or maybe Rivendell. I will go wherever the wind takes me and perhaps one day it may bring me back to Erebor." Arethusa set off, looking back at the mountain with great fondness and sadness. She smiled.
The round door was a sight she had not seen in many years, it looked as if a fresh coat of the green paint had recently been applied. He had once said not to bother knocking, but she knocked anyway and listened to the patter of large feet on the wooden surface. "No thank you! We don't want any more visitors, well-wishers, or distant relations!" She merely chuckled, leaning closer to the wooden surface.
"What about old friends, Master Baggins?" The door to the hobbit hole opened wide in greeting. His hair was whiter, his face older, and his stomach larger than the last time she had seen him. She opened her arms to him, and old friends were reunited after years of being apart.
