She dreams of Golden Hope

The arms of the ocean are carrying me

„I'll tell thee, when the end is come, how we may best forget"- A little while, Dante Gabriel Rosetti

He looked around him, slack-jawed and with his eyes wide at the mountains of gold. No, not mountains. It was an ocean of coins and jewels. Giant waves erected themselves around him, waves of homogeneous gold with the occasional gem trinket appearing in its midsts. He spied the most extravagant jewellery, chokers with a waterfall of diamonds adorning it. Large red rubies at the necklace's centrepiece. Never had he seen such wealth, such immeasurable luxury assembled in one place.

His insides groaned with longing at the sight of the ocean, as he was placed on a central island in the midst of it in complete isolation. His temporary want for gold surprised him. He had always regarded himself as an immaterial individual, he had never longed for more than he could have, more than was necessary for his comfort and living. He had always been content with Bag End as his treasure yet now he found himself twitching to get to the gold. The ring glowed hot in his right-hand pocket and he could detect the oncoming hiss that perched to advance on him. Quickly he put his hand into the pocket and encircled the circular device with his hand, almost as if wishing to assert his dominance over the item, wishing to silence it. He was determined to never again allow it to take over his mind so completely.

Putting his momentary avarice out of his mind, he reminded himself of his task and immediately the sight that had previously caused him desire turned tasteless for him. The sea of gold went further than the horizon before him. How was he meant to find one single stone, one gem, no matter how important it was to Thorin, in this vastness? It was like searching for the proverbial needle in the haystack. He looked around him, almost as if wishing that the Arkenstone would miraculously spring into his sight.

He cleared his throat, preparing himself for his no-doubt endless and wearisome endeavour. He muttered to himself: "Good, good." And then he put one foot before the other. Leaving his lonely island, he descended into the sea. The golden coins, which formed an unsteady ground beneath him, felt cold and metallic beneath his feet. They slipped from beneath his feet as his movement stirred the catatonic gold and they made tinkling sounds which sounded unnaturally loud to his pointy ears as it contrasted against the deadly quiet of Thorin's halls. He lost his balance as he made his way through the treasure and had to constantly crouch down and put his arm on the gold so that he wouldn't slip. Greatest was his surprise that as he touched the coins, his heart did not soar with satisfaction at the riches but rather they felt as cold and dull as the material they were made from. Cold pieces of metal nothing more, Bilbo thought as he made his way through the treasure chamber and scanned his surroundings for the mythical king's jewel. He'd much rather be holding one of Laurel's flowers that she would show him at the beginning of summer season as fruit of her labour.

He knelt down and started to search the hoards of jewels for the silver stone that he'd heard so much about. Yet as he studied gem after gem, one more precious than the other, he thought that his search would have been much easier if he had received a specific description from either Balin or Thorin. But then again he thought he would know when he was holding the stone that seemed to constitute Thorin Oakenshield's desire. He held up several gems and scrutinized them closely, yet he knew that none of them was the Arkenstone.

He didn't know how long he had listlessly been walking around and searching for the stone. To him it almost seemed that he had not made any progress through the treasure chamber. Everywhere he looked he was met with the sight of the same monotonous landscape. He was growing weary and impatient, his endurance wearing thin at this hopeless search for one single gem amongst aeons filled with such stones. He was growing careless, no longer caring if he made much noise and giving little thought to being the stealthy burglar he had been contracted to be. He had almost forgotten Smaug, he had forgot that there was a large fire-spewing beast that could melt the flesh of his bone in the blink of an eye. He picked up a golden chalice to study it further, perhaps in the hopes that the Arkenstone had magically morphed into the item. He studied the intricate golden design of the chalice, uncaring of the stream of golden coins that flowed down the mountain like a rapid. He only grew cognizant to this, and was cruelly reminded of the precarious situation he was in when he saw a swirl of red in the periphery of his sight. He furrowed his brow, now unaccustomed to seeing anything but the golden glint of the Durin folk's treasure, and looked up to be met with the sight of a closed eye. An eye that was almost as big as his torso.