The Sons of Durin

Across the Sea

On the evening of the great battle, Thorin lay in pain, dying of his wounds. The valiant Halfling, Bilbo Baggins, was weeping, and clung to his hand, unwilling to let him go. He bid Bilbo farewell as the sun slipped behind the hills, as the day faded and his life ebbed away with it: "Farewell, good thief," Thorin said. "I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed. Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate..." He intended to offer the stout-hearted little fellow great riches—for his loyal service had earned them, and though Thorin had not time to write a formal will, he knew that those of his Company who remained would honor his wishes. Bilbo had only to say that Thorin had left him a good deal of the gold, and Balin would see that the little fellow got his fair share.

But with tears in his eyes, Bilbo interrupted: "This is a bitter adventure, if it must end so; and not a mountain of gold can amend it!"

Thorin smiled weakly. "Then go back to your books... and your armchair... plant your trees, watch them grow. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But, sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell."

"No!" Bilbo cried. "No, no, no—Thorin, don't you dare! I won't let you go; not now. After all we've been through together, it'd be a pity to go and let you die now," he said—trying feebly to interject a bit of the sort of down-to-earth humor that seemed so common among Halfings. "No, need to die in friendship, if we can just as well live in it. I've got to keep you around a while longer, you see? There was nothing in the terms and conditions about letting my employer die, you know... Thorin? Thorin? No, Thorin! Stay with me, I'm right here!"

But Thorin was weary, and content to let himself go; so he closed his eyes, and Bilbo's voice faded away into the hazy distance. The pain faded also, and for a moment Thorin thought that he had made a great mistake—that he had stepped into a great black void of nothingness, that perhaps there was no life beyond death after all. No halls of waiting where he might go to sit with his fathers—and perhaps no renewal of the world to wait for. He saw nothing, felt nothing, heard nothing.

Then it occurred to him that he was still thinking, at least; and that must mean there was something beyond death, even if it was a vague nonphysical existence of endless thought. He did not particularly like that idea, though. He wanted to be doing something. But what was there to do, after death? His work on the earth had been finished; perhaps there were no tasks to be accomplished beyond that. Perhaps there was nothing after, except for the longing memory of what had gone before. If so, Thorin did not think he could live with it—but then, he was not alive anymore, was he? He was dead... or was he?

I may have died, but I don't feel dead, exactly. I feel more alive than ever—so alive that, if I were to go back to what I used to call "life", I would feel as though I had stepped into a dreamworld, grey and hazy and paper-thin. But is there any reality more real than the one I've left behind—a reality waiting, where I can live to the fullest in this new state of... true aliveness? Oh, if only I knew! If only I had known before I had gone and died...

Suddenly it seemed that a great sea rushed beneath him, vast and spreading wide in all directions, farther than the eyes could see. The dark water (was it water?) rippled beneath his feet; yet he did not touch it, but seemed to fly over it at a pace swifter than any horse could run—yes, and swifter even than any bird could fly. This great ocean was endless; he knew that much. But the speed at which he traveled seemed great enough even to reach the end of that which had none.