The City of Bells, as it was called, had to be seen to be believed. Bilbo had heard talk of it from the elves and he had often tried to imagine it. He and Frodo had spent many a night imagining the streets, the buildings, the glow that the city would have but as with the rest of Valinor, mortal imagination failed. Suffice to say that there was much gold, silver and likely mithril to make Bilbo's heart ache even more. It was a stark reminder of what he was striving more. The pain was his motivator.

Slipping behind Gandalf as they entered the large hall, Bilbo adjusted his grip on his walking stick. He meant to have his say, no matter whom he was speaking towards and the majesty and magnificence of this place would not sway him.

Besides, near as he was concerned, Erebor was more impressive.

He was well aware that it was probably blasphemy to even think such a thing but to him, it was true. This place was indeed full of wonder and peace and joy but Erebor had represented his friends, his dwarven family. When Thorin had spoken about Erebor, it had been with such longing and love and joy that everything else fell short. The way Fili and Kili would sit utterly enchanted as Thorin spun a tale of the kingdom he would rise to glory again. Bilbo had no doubt, even when Thorin was under the sway of Dragon Sickness, that his love for his home and his people would conquer everything and he would pull Erebor out of the ashes of the past.

And for all intents and purposes, he had. He had come to himself, something very few if any, had ever managed and charged forward, intent on leading his people to victory or dying in the process. He was a King in every sense of the word and as much as Bilbo had gained a respect for the rule of Dáin, he was no Thorin. He had not fought and bled from the Shire to the feet of the dragon.

Thorin. Fili. Kili. All three of them had. They'd fought and bled for the home under the mountain.

It was not _right_ they had been robbed of it.

"Bilbo Baggins." Gandalf was speaking to him and opened his arm towards the large anteroom. It was a great council room by the looks of it and while there were not large thrones or anything of the like, the Valar stood in their full glory and towered over the two of them as mountains towered over ants.

Or to be more precise, a select few Valar. It was hardly all of them but then Bilbo suspected that for such a request, not all were required. He did not know them by face save Manwë and Lady Varda. Looking around the room though, he spied two more pairs.

A tall man, clothed in black with his face hidden from view. He seemed to almost vanish from view of the rest of the room. As if made of mist and rain, he stood firm and unmoving as stone. His very presence seemed to cast weariness. That had to be Námo, the Judge of Dead. There could be no other with such a presence.

Seated to his left was a woman that was as much light as the Lord of the Dead was dark. With gown of purple and clue and hair that spiraled in white gold, she sat without much expression though with perhaps a knowing smile to her eye. After a moment, Bilbo realized that this must be Lady Vairë, the Weaver, the Vala so often forgotten but after whom the Hobbits of the Shire based the importance of their stories. As her weavings of the deeds of Middle Earth covered her husband's halls, so then did the songs and tales fill a Hobbit's heart.

But, Bilbo had to admit, as he walked into the grand hall, it was the couple that stood to Manwë's right that had his utmost attention, affection and respect. Of the Valar present, it was only these two that did not stand on the large platforms of stone above but rather on the tiled floor, as near to his level as they could be.

The woman, dress woven of clover and grass with hair that fell with as much brightness as newly bloomed corn and eyes as dark blue as the waters that fed their crops…there was no doubt, this was Lady Yavanna. He had imagined her, ever since his youth but seeing her before him was astounding. He gave her a low bow as he entered.

And to her side, could only be Aulë, the Maker of the Dwarves. Tall and firm as if carved from stone himself and with hair reminiscent of Durin's line and eyes that matched the brown of the rock, he regarded Bilbo with attention, interest and well, the Hobbit was not sure what else. All the same, as he had bowed to Yavanna, he also bowed to Aulë but this time, regardless of it was out of place or not, Bilbo spoke.

"Mahal, makargûn."

He had only heard samplings of Khuzdul when traveling with the dwarves but being a linguist, Bilbo could not help but pick up a few things. He had not intended to come in here spouting the Dwarves' private language but being faced with Aulë—the Vala that had given life to the dwarves that he loved so dearly—there was no other action more appropriate.

He hoped he had not insulted him by accident.

Aulë's face softened, as Bilbo had seen Thorin's do so often, usually when looking at Fili or Kili when he thought the others were otherwise occupied. "What I have heard of you is true then, small one. Your love for my children flows off you." There was deep pain in the Vala's eyes. "Manwë has told me of the request you have made and it has saddened but lightened my heart. To hear such of such devotion to my children fills me with hope."

Gandalf approached and bowed himself. "Great Manwë, I have done as you have commanded and I have spoken with Bilbo Baggins. He is full of resolve and I dare say, obstinate insistence. I do not feel he will be swayed and…I…do not believe he should be."

Manwë, silent up until this point, held up a hand. "So you say, Olórin. But Eru demands that I hear it from the Hobbit himself." He turned to Bilbo and gestured him forward. It was with great reluctance that Bilbo pulled himself from the gaze of Aulë, but he did so with dignity, leaning on his walking stick for support as he approached. "I have heard your request, Bilbo Baggins, and I have relayed as much to Eru. Even now, Eru's will and presence flows through me. To speak to me now is to speak to Eru himself. So, justify your request."

"Justify?" Bilbo repeated and he looked up at Manwë. Though the Vala had not changed physically, there was a difference in the room, a heaviness, a deep reverence. All the Valar had gone silent and Gandalf had fallen to both knees. Hearing the demand of Manwe though, Bilbo Baggins' heart was aset with anger. "Justify? I have nothing to justify and to hear you claim as such is quite ignorant on your part. I made my request for a reason quite simple and one that Eru understands all too well. I lost loved ones in the battle for the reclaiming of Erebor and the defeat of Smaug, the Dreaded Worm." He paused, folded his arms, "A dragon spawn from the first dragons of Morgoth that-I might add—were not seen to after the War of Wrath, a most egregious error if I may say so!"

Gandalf gritted his teeth, "Bilbo…"

"No, young Olórin," the voice that boomed from Manwe was deeper, more rich than before and under normal circumstances, Bilbo would have collapsed at the sound of it. There was no doubt; if there had been before, there was not now.

Eru was before him.

And Bilbo was angry.

"Thorin, my dear friend, was lost amid the battle for Erebor. Beset by Dragon Sickness, yes, he was but he tore himself from it, not something that many—even strong and righteous elves—can lay claim to. Yet he fell. And as he fell, his sister-sons, beloved young lads that were, fell defending him. I come before you to ask to right this wrong. And I maintain, mighty Eru, with all due respect, that it WAS wrong."

Yavanna, spoke out, her voice strong and firm. "Your voice is full of passion, child of the earth." Her eyes all but glistened. "But the music is set. The song is sung."

"Then let us correct it." Bilbo insisted, clutching his walking stick tightly in his hands. "Let us change the tune. The song that has been sung has indeed ended with the defeat of Sauron, the destruction of the Ring but it took so many along the way. Would it not be wise to offer a new song, brighter and more brilliant than the old?"

"You claim that you can weave a better sound?" Manwë…and yes, it was Manwë speaking.

"I claim nothing. I simply claim that the song that has been sung can be made more beautiful by allowing me to intervene and stop those three senseless deaths. And those lives can save many, many others."

"You love them deeply, Child." It was Aulë that spoke now. "You love them enough to appeal before Eru and demand he change what has been done."

"I demand that he allow me the chance to change what has been done!" Bilbo tapped his stick on the ground. "Eru has granted each of us the chance to make our own choices and create our own destinies. That is the beauty of the Music. I stand before you and claim that I did not sing my own part as well as I should have and I would correct that now and reintroduce three voices to the harmony! Voices that deserve and should be heard." Bilbo's voice cracked now. "I make no false promises. I do not know if I will be able to stop their deaths. I do not know what exactly I will be able to do that will correct it. But I mean to do what I can. I mean to push every ounce of my being into it. I mean to move heaven and earth itself if I have means to if it would let Thorin, Fili and Kili to live!"

The entire hall almost seemed to echo with the strength of his declaration. When no one responded, Bilbo lowered his head and added,

"You may call it selfish if you like. Perhaps…no, yes, it is selfish. I do not pretend to know why things happen. Maybe their deaths…were met to set something in motion but I cannot and WILL NOT believe it is for the better. Gandalf mentioned my age and he is right. I am old. The ring granted me far more years than I was entitled to. But as I told Gandalf, if I have a chance to make this right, I will crawl on my hands and knees to do it! All I want…is a chance."

There was again silence. This time it stretched on for what seemed to be hours before Manwe spoke once more, this time with the booming authority of Eru.

"It is rare that I hear such love. Such honesty. I will not undo what your younger self has done."

Bilbo crumbled, face nearly to the floor.

"But I will offer you the chance to intervene and alter the choices that he makes."

Bilbo looked up, his cheeks wet.

Manwë's face was full of power, white and blinding. "Here is my offer, Bilbo Baggins. I will grant you this night to prepare. You may choose to take with you what you will. The journey to Erebor took half of a year; I will grant you that time once more. Back into the Quest I will send you, come morning light, but take heed. You will never again step on Valinor's soil. If you are successful, your own present will altered; you may well lose your life. Are you willing to take that chance?"

Lose his life…yes. Of course. As he had said, the ring had lengthened his life. If he intervened, if he changed things, it was very possible and more than likely that these last couple of years would no longer be his. He may well have died years ago.

But Thorin…Fili…Kili.

Lifting his head, voice full of resolve, Bilbo nodded. "I accept and I will take what consequences come of it."

"So be it."