Prologue.

Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain son of Thror former King under the mountain, stood upon the bow of the boat looking out across the ocean. Salty spray whipped up by the wind clung to his snow white beard, and the mithril beads holding his white braids in place clinked against each other as he moved his head. He had never thought that he would be leaving Middle Earth in this fashion, certainly never expected that he would live to the ripe old age of 250, and see his sister-son and heir take the throne when age and infirmary made him step down. Instead he had always imagined that he would enter the halls of his ancestors upon the battlefield.

Somewhere behind him he could hear the sound of Lord Elrond and Gandalf whispering to each other as they had been doing the entire voyage so far, it seemed that even though they were traveling to the Undying Lands they were still concerned with Middle Earth. Thorin was no longer concerned about the land he was leaving behind, and instead was focused entirely on those which they were headed towards. He had nothing left for him in Middle Earth, one sister-son with a wife and son of his own sat upon the throne of Erebor and was already a much loved leader. The other was now consort to the King of Elves. Thorin did not grieve as he knew that they would meet again in Valinor one day.

"The menfolk are asleep." Thandriuls cold voice interrupted his musing, and he turned to look at the once King of Mirkwood.

He was still tall and lithe with silver hair and pale skin, however he seemed nothing more than a shadow of the elf he had been 50 years previously when Thorin had reclaimed his kingdom. Galadriel had warned him that Thandriul was fading, as elves were wont to do when they had lived to long and loved to harshly, and that Elrond was taking him to Valinor to save him.

"That is good," answered Thorin, smiling fondly when the elf placed a hand on his shoulder.

Their previous feud had been long forgotten, probably around the time that Legolas had informed them that he planned to take Killi as his consort. They were no kin, and Thorin was pleased that Elrond cared enough to save his life.

Looking over his shoulder, he looked at the two figures all but curled around each other on the makeshift bed of furs that Dis had made for them. He inclined his head at the imposing figure that his little sister cut where she was sat beside Lady Galadriel. She smiled back at him before he turned his attention back to the menfolk. They were both so aged and vulnerable as men tended to become in their advanced years, their hair thin and white, their faces gaunt. As saviours of Middle-Earth and friends to both Elves and Dwarves they had been awarded this prize, to travel to the undying lands. To gain the years they had lost and live forever more amongst them. Thorin could only hope that they found what they were searching for in Valinor … as did he.