The first thing I noticed when stepped through the mirror-portal was that my body disappeared. I glanced down, and couldn't see my hands or legs or torso, and tripped and fell. It made no noise, but I felt a hot, sticky sensation on my face and knew my nose was bleeding. I tried to get up again, but the fact I couldn't see my hand bothered me so much that I fell flat on my stomach again, my cheek hitting the cold stone floor. Mahal materialized sitting beside me with a sympathetic look. The pain in my nose vanished instantly. "Not as graceful as the hobbit, I see. Well, here." Standing up, he shot me an inquisitive look and I could see myself again, though it was rather gray and blurry. "You are now in the hall of the King under the Mountain. However, you are invisible to all but us two. Mortal eyes are too dull to perceive me, and I set up a loophole so your brain would think it sees your body but it doesn't."
"Then how can you see me?" I couldn't help but ask.
Mahal chuckled sadly. "The Valar can see everything, my child. It is less of a blessing than one like yourself may guess. But that is not why we are here. Look around you. Once you see it ask, we will move on."
The room was brightly lit, with many different people scattered about. Dain stood in front of the throne, with Bard and Thranduil on either side of him. Dain was speaking about me and my nephews, and the company stood with tears in their eyes, except for Ori and Bilbo, who were full out crying. I ran forward several steps, wanting to embrace Bilbo and comfort him, but i knew he couldn't see me. I looked back up at Dain, and noticed the Arkenstone wasn't in its place above the throne.
"It was placed in your grave, along with Orcrist. Thranduil wanted you to have it in your final moments." Mahal took several steps forward, and the chamber melted into a circular stone cave, where I lay on a carved table with Orcrist on my hand and the Arkenstone on my chest. On either side of the table lie Fili and Kili, with their weapons. Bilbo stood in the doorway, holding a red wax candle. He sniffed, and spoke. "Thorin- I know you can't hear me. But I'm about to leave. I'm probably never going to see you again. I will never forget you. I will think of you every time I sit in my armchair or read my books or look at my tree. Farewell, king under the mountain and his heirs. Thank you-" his voice broke, and tears began running down his face. "-for- everything." He slid down the wall and began to weep, the candle beside him fluttering. Mahal started to walk forward again, but I paused, watching Bilbo.
"Will he be okay?"
Mahal raised his eyebrows. "Do you want to see what happens to them or not?"
I ran up next to him, and we were in the throne room once more, only this time the were less people, mostly Ironfoot dwarves. Mahal did not stop walking, however, and I only got glimpses of each of the dwarves. Dain ruled wisely in the remade chambers of Erebor. Many of the dwarves from the company were lords. Gloin's son, Gimli, grew to become a strong warrior and often carried messages to other kingdoms. Bard rebuilt the city of Dale with the gold given to him by Dain, and Thranduil holed up in his kingdom, as usual. I didn't see Balin or Oin or Ori, however, and turned to ask Mahal about it. "Be patient, Thorin. You shall see the rest of your company soon."
The room shifted again, though not as much. Balin sat on a stool in a room full of scrolls and books of all sorts, with chests around the circumference. Some of the documents were on fresh, clean paper, and others were so old they looked like they would crumble to dust if they were touched. Ori sat at a desk, writing in Elvish runes. "Several years after the Mountain was taken back, Balin, Ori, and Oin marched to Moria, drove back the Orcs, and reclaimed the kingdom for three years," explained Mahal.
Balin leaned back and began to speak. "Year Two- the eighteenth of April. We delved further into the mountain and found a large seam of gold, though no mÃthril. Fein opened a small tunnel and was shot by a goblin. He was laid to rest by the riverbank, and the tunnel was closed off. As we expected, goblins live down here still."
He paused, and Ori finished writing down what he had said. Mahal shook his head sadly and started on. I frowned and walked up next to him. "What's wrong? Why only three years?"
"In three years they will awaken another force. A demon of fire and shadow. It shall destroy them and their city. But Balin shall die before them, and will not see it."
"A Balrog?" I whispered, dread churning inside of me. The horrible legends of the evil spirits were rarely whispered, and few knew their names.
Mahal nodded.
Frustration built up. "Why can't you do anything? You are one of the Valar, you can stop it!"
He raised his eyebrows. "Just because one can do something doesn't mean one should. If the Valar stepped in every bad situation, what would the world be like?"
"Much better."
"To some. But we do not have time to discuss morals and values here. Mandos waits for us by the mirror. Come, you want to see a certain hobbit."
I caught one last glimpse of Balin before the room faded. I wouldn't see him for more than four or five years. Mahal hadn't made it clear when he started for Moria, but Balin looked so much older that it couldn't be for a while. The grays and blacks of the room mingled into green and blue, and we stepped into the garden of Bag End. Bilbo was on his knees in front of a pot of soil, patting it down. Pouring a cup of water on it, he said, "See, Thorin? It will grow, and I-" He sniffed, a sat back with the pot in his lap, rocking gently back and forth. Mahal stepped next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Despite the fact he couldn't see the Valar, Bilbo smiled a little and put the pot in the sun. I walked up to the oblivious Bilbo and turned to Mahal. "Will he always mourn?"
He shook his head. "No. He will live eighty years past this time, and though he will never forget you, he will not always mourn you. Do not worry about him, Thorin. He was blessed by your adventures." Eru suffered and looked east. "If it weren't for him Middle Earth would have turned out much differently."
"What do you mean?" I thought he meant something about Erebor and how if it weren't for him the Mountain would not have been reclaimed, but something different seemed to be on Mahal's mind.
"That too, but something more important as well. But you do not need to know. Watch."
Time passed, and I saw several scenes in his life. He adopted his nephew, who came to live with him. The dwarves came to visit, and he occasionally left the Shire, but never very long. He wrote a book about our adventures. The tree grew, and he took it out the pot and placed it in the meadow behind the Hill. "This is sixty years later," said Mahal. "His one hundred and eleventh birthday." Dozens of hobbits were under the tree, dancing or eating or talking. "Hobbits live such simple, innocent lives. After this Bilbo goes back to Rivendell and lives there for twenty more years, before sailing to the Grey Havens, where he dies. He lives a happy and long life, as does good tree. They call it the party tree."
A/N- Happy Easter! As usual, I own nothing but the scenarios in which I place the characters. The next chapter will be the final request, what I think would have happened if Smaug had not come. Thanks for reading, and reviews are appreciated!