A/N- Thank you all for your support. I do not own anything but the situation in which I place Tolkien's characters.
We stepped back into the grassy field where Mandos stood alone with his arms crossed. "Now, your second wish. I will accompany you again, but things will be different, so you can understand more clearly. Remember how I said I let bad things happen? I think you will understand more. Now."
I walked through the mirror again, but instead of my body sliding out of existence, I felt myself being jerked, then smashed into something warm and strangely shaped. The room came into focus and I sat up, my head spinning. I was in a sickroom, with several dwarves nearby. Mahal sat with his legs crossed on a table not far away, shrunk some to fit in the low-ceiling tunnel. A dwarf ran up as I sat up, and my breath caught on my chest when I saw it was Oin. Muttering to himself, the healer dabbed my right temple with a damp rag. I frowned as a jolt of pain shot through my head, and reached up to brush a jagged cut across the side of my forehead. "Careful, Oplin, my lad. That was a nasty fall you had in the mines. You're lucky to be alive."
I ran my fingers over the cut again, confusion filling me. "Oplin? Oin, it's Thorin. You know its me. What happened?"
Oin's gentle compassion settled into a subtle scowl at the mention of my name, and he shook his head. "No, my lad. You're not that-" his voice dropped noticeably- "prince. You must have hit harder than I thought."
"But I am!" I protested, feeling like a child. "What's going on? Did the dragon-" Oin froze, as did the other dwarves in the room. They stopped talking, moving, and even breathing. Mahal jumped off the table with an irritated huff. "Thorin, no. In your limited understanding, this is not real. This is a projection, a Might-Have-Been, but you can't just go around completely denying everything they say. To them, you are a simple miner who was injured in an accident. Just move the way the current leads. Now, let's try this again."
He slid back on the counter and snapped, and Oin started dabbing my cut again. "-you're lucky to be alive."
Fine. If the Vala wanted me to play doing, I would play along. "I'm feeling okay. I can't really remember much. Umm... What happened? What's going on?"
Oin tutted and squeezed the rag into a bowl. "The rope snapped in the mine that was holding up the cart you and two others were loading." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Wouldn't have happened if the mining conditions weren't so bad. They've needed new ropes down there for more than a year."
"Well, why can't they get more ropes?" I asked, and Mahal nodded in satisfaction. The healer shook his head sadly. "Thror's gold sickness. It's affecting everyone. The wages are poor down in the mines, the conditions are horrible, and many have already died. Our allies have retracted, but he does not care. All he cares about is his gold." Oin's eyes grew hard, and he clenched the rag, causing water to run down good hand. I stayed quiet, horrified and fascinated. I had gone through gold sickness. I knew the obsession, the unending want that made food unappetizing and dreams haunted with that sparkling, unreachable thing. I remembered what I had almost done to Bilbo and thinking that I deserved death for wanting to kill him. He had tried to help me. And I had tried to murder him.
"Thrain, the king's son, was assassinated several months ago. No one knows who did it, but some believe the murder was arranged by Thror, or even Thorin, his son. Thrain was never taken by the sickness like his father and, even worse, his son. Thorin will have it the worst of all. Oh, it will be a sad day when he rules us!"
I could tell that Oin had wanted to rant that for quite a long time. I laid back down, a little scared. Mahal shrugged sadly and glanced at the door. Oin opened his mouth to say something, but closed out again as stamping sounded from the corridor outside. The door flew open, and I choked on nothing when my grandfather stormed in.
The last time I saw my grandfather, Azog head just cut off his head and was holding it above the battlefield.
In his prosperity, Thror was a mighty figure displaying wealth and power. Well, he would have displayed wealth and power, but it just seemed a little... much. His beard was completely filled with gold and diamond beads, his armor was mÃthril, and the amount of jewelry he wore went past magnificent and bordered ridiculous.
But worst of all were his eyes.
I had a few vague memories of that look. When he held the Heart of the Mountain the first time. When I watched him count the money in the Great Hall as little more than a boy. When the Arkenstone was lost in Smaug's collection of gold. But none of them were as strong as the look in his eyes at that moment. It was as if he were starving and and the best foods in the world were being dangled just out of his reach. Lust beyond sanity. He was completely and totally mad.
"We are three miners short!" he shouted at Oin, who started down at his boots. "Why are we three miners short?!"
As if a healer would know.
"My King," he replied humbly, "Yesterday a rope snapped in the Eastern mine, and three miners were dropped to the bottom. Oplin is the only one who survived." He gestured towards me, but I really did not want to be the center of this twisted version of my grandfather's attention. "The rope snapped?" he growled.
"Yes sir. If they had better-"
"Well, I'll give you the rest of the day off. But you must report break to your station tomorrow."
"But sir-" protested Oin.
"He must report!" roared Thror. "I command it! We need as many workers in the mine as possible! There is gold down there, good for the taking, yet we do not have it. Gold, lying under our- my- feet! Gold beyond grief, death, and sorrow! I must have it!" He stormed out as noisily as he came in, and Oin shook his head.
"This is not good. He doesn't understand medicine, it will be a week before you're strong enough to exert yourself again. If you push too hard, you'll have a scar for life, if not worse. But there's nothing I can do. King's orders."
He left then, ordering me to rest until I heard to go to the mines the next day. Once the door closed, the room faded and we stood on the grassy hillside once more. Mandos stood a little ways off, his hands behind his back, staring out into the blue sky. I turned back to Mahal as the golden mirror vanished into tiny wisps of smoke. "Why? Why would things be like that if Smaug had not come?"
"The love of money is the root of evil. Your kind call it gold or dragon sickness. Thror was nearly overcome by it, and it was starting to creep up in you when the dragon came. The Valar did not send the dragon- Morgoth, the Dark Lord, did- but Eru, as well as us others, allowed it."
"Well, couldn't you have prevented the gold sickness?"
Mahal smiled gently, but there was a heavy tinge of sadness underneath. "Thorin, my son. You already saw why the Valar let one bad thing happen. If you and I continued looking at one thing after another, we would spend an eternity looking at causes and effects. Come, we must go back now. Your nephews are waiting for you, as are you're brother and your forefathers, now unaffected by the gold sickness. Mandos will reunite you with them once again."