Sansûkh (Bagginshield & Gigolas)

Chapter Twenty-Two

"The bright shiny thing's gone," said Kíli, squinting up at the mammoth anvil.

A chuckle like a distant avalanche greeted this. "Aye, I have sent it out into the world once more to wait until the time is right. When all the conditions are met and all the elements are aligned, it will come forth."

Kíli frowned at his Maker. "Oh, that's not cryptic at all or anything."

The great gnarled hand gently stroked through his hair, and Kíli repressed his shudder even as a warm glow bloomed in his chest. "I cannot tell you more, my son. Should our hopes prove true, all will be revealed. Even the possibility of greatness has power."

"Worse than Gandalf and Elrond combined," Kíli grumbled, before he yawned. "I have to go back to Arda and watch Hobbits soon."

Mahal tilted his head, and concern sparked in the starlit depths of his profound and ageless eyes. "Be gentle with yourself, Kíli. You are tired. That is your body's sign that you need rest, not one of weakness."

Kíli nodded and yawned again, before he (very belatedly) remembered to cover his mouth. "I know. Still, it's not too long, not like Thorin."

"How does your uncle fare?"

"Oh, like you don't know," Kíli said, snorting.

"I do, but I would hear your thoughts." Mahal removed his hand from Kíli's head, and the mighty smith of the Valar leaned against his workbench for a moment, his fathomless gaze piercing through Kíli's flesh and bone to whatever lay beneath. "You are his unday."

Kíli cleared his throat, self-conscious for a moment. "Well, I suppose? There's Fíli, too – and Frerin, and Gimli..."

"No, merry little prince," said Mahal, and the smile touching those ancient, indescribably beautiful lips made Kíli feel ten feet tall. "You and your brother follow him with utter loyalty and love, and he knows it. Our Thorin does not forget. Now, tell me how you see him, at this moment."

"Tired, mostly," Kíli said after a pause, before peering up at Mahal tentatively. "He's confused as well. And then again, Boromir's death and Frerin dragging up the dragon-sickness has him all turned around. He hates what he became, and the guilt still tugs at him at times, despite everything we've done and said. The Elf is making him question everything he ever held true – and he can't stand seeing Bilbo the way he is now. But he keeps going. He always keeps going."

"Aye, he does," Mahal said in a thoughtful voice. With a sound like a mighty wind gusting through a pine-forest, the Vala sighed. "Do you petition me once more before you leave?"

"Are you surprised?" said Kíli archly. "You know I won't stop either."

"My son, I know what it is you hope," Mahal said, turning away. "However, the places ascribed to us by Eru Ilúvatar may not be so easily brushed aside. Bilbo Baggins will be sent to my brother Námo to find his rest in the Halls of Mandos, along with the other Mortal and Elven dead. Too, we do not know if the Halfling would even wish to come here. There is no sunlight nor a single green growing thing to delight him, and he does not find joy in craft like my children."

"Of course he would!" Kíli cried, standing up straighter. "Of course he would! He'd love to see us all again, I know it! No piffling eighty years can ever sever the bonds of our Company. Bilbo and old Balin were great friends, and he was awfully fond of me and Fíli, and he was so kind to Ori. And Uncle-" Kíli stopped, his mouth snapping shut.

"Yes, and then there is your uncle once again," Mahal said sadly. "Were I even able to bring Bilbo Baggins here, it is not certain that he can ever forgive Thorin for his treatment."