Chapter Text
Dwalin shifted slightly on his bed. He was over 340 years old and he was tired. He was sure Mahal had forsaken him at this point. His best friend, his kings, his brother, his lover, and all his other family had already passed on. Only little Gimli remained, and he was off with the same elf who had locked the Company up!
“Hmmph,” Dwalin croaked. “Save the world and thinks he can go off gallivanting with an elf of all creatures.” Dwalin grumbled some more before finally settling down. He hoped to die today. Perhaps that was morbid, but he missed his Ori, his brother and everyone else. Some days he even missed Nori. “Miss chasing that little bastard,” Dwalin mumbled as he closed his eyes for the last time. He felt a lightness settle over him. When he opened his eyes again, he was not in Mahal’s Halls.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he growled. “Where in Mahal’s name am I?” Dwalin couldn’t see anything but shadows of what could be people.
“You, Dwalin Fundinson, are in the presence of Manwe,” a voice said.
“Fantastic! Have I been abandoned by Mahal? Is that why I can’t be with my people?”
“No, I have not forgotten you,” Mahal said as he left the shadows and strode over to Dwalin. “You needed to live this long to see everything that would pass.”
“Why?” Dwalin asked suspiciously.
“So you could prevent it,” another voice said.
“What?”
Before he could get an answer, Mahal touched Dwalin’s forehead and his eyes closed again. He opened them once more and found himself outside of Bag End.
“Oh for–” Dwalin cut himself off as the door opened and Bilbo Baggins stared at him.