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Missing Piece	By : CodyMThomas Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Hobbit, The Views: 1860 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own hobbit, LOTR or anything belonging to Tolkien. I make no money from this either.

Chapter List
- 1-Missing Piece
- 1
Inspired by Next Great Adventure by jeza_red.
My thanks to Julann Walker and uvecheri for beta assistance and not baiting the bunny so that it didn't grow any larger. I have other stories I should be working on, and now I can get back to them.

A hundred and twenty one was a very great age for any Hobbit. The fact it was most likely the Ring which was responsible for his long life, doesn't even matter now. The ship was sailing him to Valinor with his nephew, just as heartsick and wounded as he. He had tried, with the same hope and love of any true parent, to shield the boy from harm, thinking that he could have spared Frodo the agony and the heartbreak and the loss that he himself had faced. But Frodo had experienced both more and less of each, in ways Bilbo could scarcely even imagine.
There were so many regrets, so many things that he wished he could have done better, so many things he would change if given half a chance. But time doesn't turn back from the mistakes one makes, you must learn to accept and live with the choices you have made, even if they turned out to be the wrong ones, and deal with their consequences as they come. Valar knows he had made his share of wrong choices, but he had also made plenty of good ones too. He wasn't perfect, but he had lived a good life, and did what he thought was best, and experienced more than he had ever thought possible, more than almost any hobbit would believe themselves capable of.
Even though he had made a few mistakes along the way he had helped win a mountain back for the dwarves, and he had raised Frodo who had become a most magnificent hobbit, the likes of which the world would never see again. That was something he could take pride in. It was a good life, his mother at least would have been quite proud of him. She would have wholeheartedly approved of him stepping out his front door the way he had, and just look at where he'd ended up, here beside the greatest elves the world had ever known, a wizard whom he loved greatly a mere few feet away, and his beloved nephew beside him. All of them legends and heroes in their own right, and him welcomed as if he were on equal footing with them.
The water that he could see over the side of the boat was calm, and such a deep blue. The sun was warm and chased away the shadows in his heart. The further they sailed the more the yearning for the Ring disappeared, as if distance alone were enough to break the last of its hold over him. His mind felt clearer than it had in years, and he was utterly content right now. They had told him that when he reached those far distant shores he would find peace and healing, but he wondered, would he also find forgiveness? Would his regrets also fade away like mist or a bad dream?
A single thought of something Gaffer Gamgee had asked came back to him from about three years after his own journey had ended and the grief of his loss had finally found him, leaving him depressed for months and unable to voice the source of his pain, only saying that he had so many regrets, had made so many mistakes that he could no longer bear them.
'If you could change one thing in your life, so that all the mistakes would be bearable, what would it be? Try and do that. Find one something that makes it so you can get up in the morning, and do that.'
At the time he had misunderstood, thinking that it was two separate things Gaffer had meant. 'If you could undo one mistake that could fix everything else, what would it be.' and 'Find something that let's you go on whether you want to or not.' Back then, lost in his grief and pain he'd wanted nothing more than to have never opened his front door, never letting a single dwarven boot muddy his floor, or to have chased off Gandalf with a frying pan without a word being spoken. Lately it would have been that he never would have picked up that blasted ring in Gollum's cave. The thing that had let him go on had at first been his home, then his books, then Frodo, then parties, then the book he was always writing. He kept it constantly changing so he could pretend he was doing fine and there was nothing wrong. But now, at a hundred and twenty one, looking back on his whole long life, he finally understood what the old Gaffer had meant. It had nothing to do with going back and wanting to change your mistakes, what he'd meant was if there was one thing that you could do so that all of those mistakes weren't able to hold you back anymore, to find it, and do it, and to keep doing it. He was surprised that he could finally admit it to himself, or that the thought came so easily.
“Tell him the truth.”
“Tell the truth to whom uncle?”
“Frodo my boy, if you ever care for someone, tell them. Actions are all well and good, but sometimes there needs to be words too, so that you don't misunderstand, or miss something important. If I had spoken up when I should have, perhaps things would have worked out much differently.”
“What would you have said?”
“Everything. But never you mind that, those words aren't for you. Old Gaffer had the right of it all those years ago, wiser than the lot of Hobbiton put together and never one to show it. Sly old fox. Too late now I suppose.”
That night, when the only one awake was the one steering the ship, Bilbo walked to the back of the boat and looked back the way they had come, even though land was long out of sight. He looked back as if he could see Erebor in the far distance as he once had from the Carrock, and the longer he stared into the inky darkness, the clearer Erebor seemed to become to him.
Perhaps he wasn't awake either, perhaps he was dreaming. For it was as if he could see the mountain from the inside, through the empty hallways and labyrinthine passages, past the throne room and the treasure room and the bathing halls and the markets and the mines. Down down down into the depths, into the tombs, down into the heart of them, down past the peasants, nobles, royalty, and kings of the past, until he imagined that he was standing before Thorin's sepulcher itself, merely looking asleep, Fili and Kili to either side of him, Orcrist clasped in his hands, the crown upon his brow, the Arkenstone above him, sealed away forever. Bilbo had barely stayed for the funeral the first time, could hardly even bear to look at it happen before he had all but ran back to the Shire as if a pack of wargs were biting at his heels. But now, now that horror was gone. Death was no longer a dreaded enemy to Bilbo Baggins, he was far too old for such nonsense. Death was now an indiscriminate friend, who judged none and visited everyone eventually, some sooner than Bilbo may have liked, but it wasn't up to him to choose.
So many years to come to terms with it, but he never really had, he hadn't wanted to mourn, hadn't wanted to admit the truth, even to himself. But Thorin looked at peace, he'd had Bilbo's forgiveness and Erebor was restored, even at the cost of his life, which, with his endless sense of duty, he would have thought a fair price to pay for the welfare of his people. No one had dared mention Fili and Kili's loss to him when he was already dying, it would have merely added insult to injury and given his heart an unnecessary burden to bear during his last moments.
“Perhaps, if I had told you when I first realized, you wouldn't have been so alone, maybe you wouldn't have been so reckless, but knowing you, you probably would have done exactly the same as you did. Stubborn old dwarf. For all your faults and flaws, you were one of the best people it has ever been my privilege to know. I have never met another so brave or loyal, and you inspired that same loyalty in others. There is nothing we wouldn't have done for you. I even faced a dragon solely for your sake. I was the first hobbit in centuries to have a king. If I had spoken, even if you hadn't felt remotely the same, I would have never returned to the Shire except to collect my things so I could move into your mountain for the rest of my days. Even if you had still died, I would have wanted to remain there, learning the mountain you loved and the home you had given your life for, seeing your people return and prosper, watching over them in your stead. Because I would have still been close to you, able to place flowers on your grave no matter how I know you would have chided me for it. I ran because I had never said it, I ran because everything was choked in my throat, my hope was gone, my heart was broken, and I hadn't said it, so I could pretend it wasn't real, that I didn't feel anything, and I wouldn't have to face the truth, which hurt so much worse than the unspoken lie. I knew you for less than a year, but even that brief time was one of the most important times of my life. I was fifty when you whisked me away, and seventy one years have passed since that day. Over half my life and nearly half of that again, and there has not been a day gone by where I haven't thought of you at least once, such was the impression that you left on me. I should have said it so long ago, it's far too late now to change anything for you, but for my own sake, perhaps it isn't too late. While my mind is still clear, before I reach the shores of Valinor and I am lost to you and wherever your soul now resides, I want you to know my greatest secret.”
And he leaned over that image of Thorin, quietly at rest and at peace in the hall of ancestors and he kissed his king's brow before whispering into Thorin's ear.
“I loved you Thorin Oakenshield. I loved you more than I could ever even hope to put into words. I loved you then, and I love you now, and I will carry that love with me to the Undying Lands where it can never fade. For all that you called me burglar, it is you who stole my heart from me.”
The King Under The Mountain remained at rest, and Bilbo kissed his cheek, finally at peace with this journey at long last. A moment later he blinked and the world was dark again, save for the reflection of the moon on the sea, Erebor long out of reach, never to be seen by him again, and his heart felt lighter than he could ever remember it being. With a soft smile, he went to bed.
When he woke the next morning it was to a strange sound, it sounded like the boat was bumping against something, something wooden. Had they already docked? Frodo was beside him, and he nudged the boy awake.
“Help me up my boy, lets see what's going on.”
Their room was on the main deck, because he couldn't manage stairs like he used to. When they emerged into the sunlight it was to find another ship pulled up along side them, and the rest of their ship's occupants gathered around a figure who was bigger than Beorn, which was no small feat.
His shoulders were broad, his arms strong and muscular, his skin dark, hair black, shiny, and plaited into a hundred small braids, and eyes that were a bright warm brown. He had a full but shortly trimmed beard, and a linen sleeveless lace up tunic which barely covered his expansive chest. He was dressed in thick leather trousers that had scorch marks on them, and in his hand he laxly held a giant hammer that was nearly thrice as big as Bilbo himself and probably weighed ten times as much. Whatever they had been speaking of stopped the moment they arrived, and the giant of a man looked right at him. Bilbo felt absolutely pinned by that gaze, his knees would have trembled if he had even the slightest awareness of such things being possible. As it was, he stood still as the stranger made his way over to them, Frodo's hand had gone tight on his arm, but he ignored it. The stranger knelt down on one knee so that he was only twice as tall as Bilbo, setting aside the great hammer, and held out his hand to him.
“Bilbo Baggins I trust?”
Bilbo's hand was utterly dwarfed in that giant hand, but the move was gentle, conducted with the utmost care. The stranger knew his own strength, and had exceptional control over it.
“Yes, I am. Who are you?”
The stranger smiled a warm gentle smile.
“I'm a friend. This is not a place for my name to be spoken, at least not by me. But I am friend to your old companions, and husband to your Lady. I'm known to most of your acquaintances as The Maker.”
Bilbo felt his face go pale, the man's name rang through his mind as sharp and clear as the ringing of an anvil. Mahal.
“OH! I- um, it's a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise, my children have sung your praises for decades.” And he tilted Bilbo's chin up and studied his dim old eyes most carefully. Mahal nodded in satisfaction a moment later. “It is as my children said, there is a stone in your heart.”
“A- a what?”
“A stone. A piece that broke off from one of my works as it was being crafted back at the dawn of all things, and the one who lost that piece was born incomplete. This isn't an unusual occurrence, but the shards that fell have always landed in my other works, those with such pieces missing and those who hold the extra shards are drawn back together, it is known amongst my children as having a One. Once together they are forevermore reformed and reborn together, and each incarnation they blend a bit more, until they are truly two halves of one whole, and entirely complete together. But somehow this shard landed in my wife's garden, so the bond remains incomplete, for hobbits are not reborn. You were formed with it inside you, and no matter where you go you will always feel the pull back to the one whose shard you hold, while the one who is incomplete will remain so forever. I'm afraid the shores of Valinor would not grant you the peace you seek, Bilbo Baggins, for a part of you will not want to be there.”
“So, what am I to do?” Bilbo asked quietly, a ripple of fear running through his old bones. It was much too late to return to Arda.
“You will come with me back to my forge, and there you will be granted a choice. I can remove the stone from your heart and remake the incomplete one so that they are whole again, and you can continue on to the immortal lands of Valinor if you wish, or you can choose to remain with the one whose shard you hold and I can remake you, the same as they are remade, and you would complete the bond as they do. You would no longer be my lady's child though. If I remade you, you would be made of the stone, as all my children are, and you would have no memory of your previous lives once you are reborn, but you would be with your One, through several lifetimes, until it is time for my children to remake the world. Either way, you can go no further until this matter is dealt with, it would do nothing but cause you both pain.”
“Can- can I meet this one, before I make up my mind?” Because his heart was pounding, desperate to hope, but not wanting to be wrong.
“Of course. Best say your goodbyes though, in case you choose not to go on to Valinor.”
Bilbo turned to Frodo and he kissed the lad on his forehead and held him close. There seemed to be a million things he should be saying, but at the moment he couldn't remember a single one.
“I love you Frodo my boy.”
Frodo's smile was a bit watery but content. “I love you too Uncle. I hope one day I'll see you again.”
“Even if you don't that's nothing to be sad over, I'm just off on another adventure yet again. You should be used to that sort of thing from me by now.”
“I am. Keep your head about you, it's a dangerous business.”
“That it is my boy, that it is.”
He embraced Elrond and Gandalf, Galadriel, Celeborn, and Glorfindel. He shook hands with all of the elven companions who had become his friends in Rivendell, and gave them his thanks. When he stood in front of The Great Craftsman again he nodded his head. The giant of a man smiled, a hand holding that great hammer with ease once more.
“Come, my forge is not far.”
And with that Mahal picked him up and cradled him in one arm as if he were a toddling fauntling, but the giant Valar's strength and size made him very much feel as if that were exactly what he was. Before he knew it they were on Mahal's ship and sailing towards his hall.
It felt like only hours before they arrived, the great building an architectural marvel, carved out of every stone imaginable in the most dazzling and intricate patterns and colors one could ever dream up. Once they reached the staircase that led up to that beautiful hall, Mahal carried him again, which was all for the better in Bilbo's book, since each step came up to his waist, and there were too many stairs to even try and count them.
Bilbo's heart was racing, he was desperate to know the truth, even though inside he was already hoping more than he should have been. Once inside, the sound of hammers and bellows and a thousand dwarves working, rose up to his ears like the most pleasing music. Even when dead, Dwarves were not an idle race.
He was sat down near a large work bench on a very comfortable couch with several cushions, and given a blanket so he would not catch chill, though with the forges going he didn't see how that was possible.
“Rest here, I will go fetch the dwarf whose shard you hold.” Mahal said gently, and tugged a tiny creature out of the shadows which looked rather like a large ball of soot that had thin little arms and legs and big round eyes. “Feel free to ask it for anything you'd like, we have no shortage of foods or beverages here, and you are welcome to anything you wish.”
The odd little creature had happily brought him a tea tray and a plate of blueberry scones with clotted cream and honey, and a pot of lovely black tea which he finished off quickly after Mahal departed. The wait could have been short or it could have lasted hours or even days. He didn't know, he was so swayed by those clear musical sounds that he had closed his eyes just to enjoy it. The sounds of life and creation, of turning simple things into beautiful works of art.
Perhaps he dozed, because there was suddenly a soft touch on his cheek, two fingertips tracing his cheekbone, then down to the angle of his jaw. He opened his eyes to see a sight he had never thought to see again, a handsome dwarven king, smiling at him with tears in his eyes. Had Thorin always been so young? True he hadn't died an old man, but he remembered Thorin as being older than him, but that was definitely no longer the case. Bilbo was the one who was white haired and arthritic, with weak eyes, thin skin dotted with age spots, and aged hands that shook and couldn't even hold a quill properly anymore. While Thorin looked as strong and healthy as he did when he had first knocked on Bilbo's door. There were those same streaks of silver in his hair, and he seemed just as majestic as Bilbo remembered him to be. Thorin had always looked like a king, even now in just his plain blue shirt and his loose black trousers and those ridiculously heavy steel capped boots he'd always loved tromping around in. Bilbo couldn't name the feeling that welled up in his chest, but it felt right.
“Bilbo?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo smiled as tears came to his eyes. He'd missed that sound, he'd always wanted to hear it again just one more time, Thorin saying his name without any anger or fear or pain. It was lovely.
“Thorin. It's been a long time. I've missed you.” He said with a smile, and reached up a hand to touch the one Thorin was now resting on his cheek. “Does this mean I hold your shard? Am I your One?”
“Yes. Though I couldn't believe it at first, didn't really realize it until you saved my life from the warg, and even then, I didn't want to say anything because I thought I was wrong, that I was only wanting it to be you. A dwarrow's One has always been another dwarrow, pieces of each other that landed in another from the time we were first forged. The fact I had never found them by the time I came of age, led me to believe that they had been killed by the dragon. Leave it to you to do things your own way.”
“Do you want it back? Mahal said he could give it back to you, make you whole again.”
Thorin shook his head and placed a tender kiss on Bilbo's brow. “In every incarnation I've had, I have never had a lover or a wife or a husband, I've never had children or a family of my own. An incomplete dwarf isn't capable of sharing their lives with any but their One, which is why dwarves with Ones always reincarnate at the same time, because it is very hard to endure without each other. A dwarf who is complete on their own rarely feels the need to marry, they might have a lover, but they tend to be utterly devoted to their craft. Family comes secondary to them, if at all. I want to know what it feels like, to have a beloved. I want a life with you, a family of our own, I want to know how strong the love I felt for you really is, blend our hearts and souls together until there's no knowing where one begins and the other ends. But I can only do that if it's what you want too. Though why you'd rather spend an undying eternity wandering around one place with a bunch of weed eaters is beyond me.”
Bilbo laughed, Thorin hadn't really changed at all, not even after so long. But his old wounds still ached. “The Ring and Sauron did a lot of damage, there is a lot of Shadow in my soul, a dark poison that I was unknowingly drinking for so many years. The shores of Valinor promised me healing and peace.”
“Mahal can do the same. When we are reforged, any impurity from our previous lives is removed, along with our memories so that they cannot hold us back. We are truly remade. Your shadow would be gone, as would my gold madness.”
“I'd be remade into a dwarf. I'm not so sure how I feel about that.” Bilbo said, feeling years younger as he finally gets to have a good bicker with Thorin. And he doesn't know when Thorin had sat beside him on the couch to hold him, but it doesn't occur to him to mind. Those arms around him feel very warm and comforting.
“Awww afraid to grow proper whiskers and be a foot taller?” Thorin teased lightly, chucking him a bit on the chin.
Bilbo laughed. “Hardly, that's the least of my worries, you lot wear shoes, and have an unnatural fondness of getting stabbed with sharp and pointy objects.”
“As I understand it, right now would be a really good time to go back if you want to avoid that sort of thing, a golden age of peace and the lands reunited under a prophesied king and all that.”
“On one condition.”
“And what's that?”
The teasing stopped and Bilbo looked at Thorin seriously, unaware just how long he had been holding onto this particular pain. “Don't be a king this time, don't be someone I can't measure up to or that I have to share with ten thousand others. Someone I would have to watch sacrifice everything they have for everyone else without ever thinking about themselves. I can't bear to see you destroy yourself, not again. This time, this one time, can it just be us?”
Thorin's smile was gentle as he kissed Bilbo's brow. “Very well my Love, just us. I promise. Shall we tell Mahal?”
Bilbo nodded and Thorin got off the couch and helped pull Bilbo to his feet, though it felt like he was weighed down and it took all of his effort to get off of the couch which seemed determined to keep him on it's soft comfort. The moment he was upright Thorin surprised him yet again, pulling him close and kissing him hard and deep. Bilbo, who had gone his entire life without ever doing such things had no idea how to react and pulled back after a moment, no matter how good it had felt.
“Oh stop it, you can't possibly enjoy kissing a withered old man like me.”
Thorin threw back his head and laughed. “No matter how old you were I still have you beat. I was nearly two hundred when I died. And you are not nearly as old as you think.” He held Bilbo's hand up and it was as young and youthful as when he had first journeyed out his front door. He began to turn back towards the couch but Thorin stopped him. “Don't fear. This is exactly how it is supposed to happen. Here, we are all at our strongest.”
Bilbo's eyes alighted on the couch and there he was, old and wrinkled and half buried in the blanket, with his eyes closed and a small smile on his face. “I-I'm-”
“Yes. In order to be reborn, first you have to die. It's alright.” Thorin said consolingly, wrapping his arm around Bilbo's shoulders.
“I was going to say 'I'm rather peaceful looking'. Death is not the enemy to me that it was to you. I lived a very long life, longest lived hobbit on record, and that's no small thing.”
At that moment Mahal came back in with a stone figure of Thorin in one hand, smiled at them, tucked the figure against the old Bilbo's side, wrapped the blanket around both and picked the bundle up gently. “You'll be the first new dwarven soul since the world was sung into being. Are you ready to be reforged?”
“Almost.” He went over to Mahal, who obligingly knelt down so that Bilbo could whisper in his ear. A moment later Mahal laughed.
“Very good little hobbit, very good, that shall be most amusing, and I think it will do the both of you a world good! You are definitely going to be an interesting one of my children.” And as they followed Mahal into his forge where they would be remade, Thorin's entreaties as to what he had asked went entirely unanswered. Thorin would find out soon enough that what Bilbo had asked was if Mahal was willing to remake him into a dwarrowdam this time, and if Fili and Kili's souls would like to, could they be their children. He wanted to have a proper family with them, the way he had always longed to, and Thorin had been wanting a proper family for so very long.
Mahal carved and chiseled away at a great block of stone, carving out two rough undetailed figures whose chests he hollowed out.
When the blanket that had held Bilbo's body was opened, there was nothing but a large pile of fine black sand left inside. This was gradually added to a large smelting pot filled with something that looked like glowing liquid metal, into which he added a handful of small stones. Once this reached whatever consistency he had wanted he smiled at them and went over to open the door of the forge furnace.
“Alright you two, in you go, get rid of the slag. It won't hurt.”
The fire inside was glowing white hot, but it didn't burn as he and Thorin held hands and stepped into the flames and the door was shut behind them. It was warm and gentle, and as Thorin tipped his chin up to kiss him again, it was as if they were wrapping around each other, melding together into a single being, a small piece of Bilbo filling the hole in Thorin, the piece of Thorin now fitting perfectly inside of Bilbo. They held and embraced and became one solid whole as the fires of renewal burned away the shadow and the pain and even the memory of pain as they listened to the sound of Mahal's hammer ringing steadily beyond the forge door, and it was such a beautiful sound.
He was here with his One, they were together, it was perfect. They could have been there an eternity and it would still be perfect and never long enough, for they were whole and complete and it had been far too long. Who knows how long their union lasted, but eventually the forge doors were opened and a pair of tongs surrounded them and pulled them out. They were added to the smelting pot, and then their unity was broken as they were poured into separate vessels. But it was not nearly as bad as before, there was now a large piece of their other inside of themselves and they each clung to that as their maker sealed them into their new vessels and gifted them the breath of life. The next moment they were whirling and spinning through time and space and into the separate wombs which would eventually birth them. They would find each other, soon.
“Good luck you two.” Their Maker's voice echoed around and through them and they shivered in joy at this new chance. There was someone waiting for them, someone who was made just for them. This life they were about to have, it was going to be a very big adventure indeed.
The End.

Hi, been awhile I know, but a little bunny bit me, and it was completely jeza_red's fault. I read the story, bunny was born, and CHOMP, couldn't sleep until it was done. So all their fault. If this bunny has bit you too, feel free to carry on in this vein, I love continuations, just give me a link so I can read them. I might, sometime in the future, come back to this, but for now I am calling this done. I have far too many unfinished things to write to be starting a new thing.
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