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One was aware of the Forge on many levels. Heat could be felt long before one got near. Flickering light reflected down stone corridors and the taste of melted metals hung in the air. Yet it was the sound of a hammer hitting an anvil resounding throughout the halls most “felt” first. It seemed to fill more than just the space; it filled the heart and soul as well.
With graceful movements, the Lady moved quietly but determinedly towards the sound. Each step of her foot caused a beautiful flower to blossom from the cold stone floor and bloom as if searching for the sun. Her husband complained about each flower he had to pick and remove from his forge when she would visit but he also never discarded them and he often recreated them in precious gems and metals to gift to his wife.
As she approached the heart of the forge, her husband did not look up for he knew she was there, but then she was aware of this and had no needed to announce herself before speaking.
“Have you reached a decision, My Husband?” The Lady asked with a voice like warm honey.
“I have, My Wife,” said her husband, his voice deep and rumbling like an avalanche, as he brought down his hammer to meet the anvil once again.
“And what is your decision?”
“I forbid it.”
The Lady stood still amid the blooming flowers around her feet and her gauze-like gown billowing about her as if there was a light breeze.
“After all they have done and endured, you would still deny your child this one wish?” Her voice was still honey warm but there was a marked tone of disappointment that only her husband could hear.
“Never has such a request been granted.”
“And do you not feel denial to be unfair?”
“Life is unfair, My Lady.”
“This is not life, My Lord.”
Her husband brought down his hammer with a great clang, but then let it rest on the anvil. “If I were to grant this supplication, how many will follow? How many more will make such a petition?”
“How many have asked in the past?”
“Less than the number of fingers on one hand.”
“Then what makes you believe that granting this wish would cause more to plead the same?”
Her husband heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head. “The number, whether great or small changes nothing! I will not grant his request!”
“Not request ... wish.”
“What is the difference?”
“One is cold and unfeeling. The other is warm - as your heart should be.”
Another growl-like sigh escaped the Lady’s husband, and clasping his hands behind his back, he paced about the forge. He did not look at his wife but clearly had her words on his mind.
“No!” The Lord stopped and crossed his arms across his chest and gave his lady a determined look. “I will not change my mind!”
She on the other hand, simply gazed back at her husband, no smile or frown upon her face. But she too was determined and knew the time had come to act.
“Very well. Will you bravely tell him yourself of your decision, or simply ignore him and allow him to suffer?”
It was outrageous and the Lord bellowed as much to his Lady. His voice echoing around the forge and into the halls beyond, but she was unmoved. He would now have to tell his child of his final decision, or else look cowardly in his lady’s eyes.
“Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, come forth!” The Lord demanded, with a wave of his hand.
Thorin Oakenshield materialized in front of the couple and was as handsome as he was in his prime years, no trace of grey on his head or in his beard.
“You called for me, My Lord?” Thorin bowed his head and did not look up.
“Why have you asked for this audacious request?”
Thorin looked directly at Lord Mahal, and answered without hesitation. “Bilbo Baggins is my One. I cannot endure eternity without him.”
“You should be grateful for what time you had with him! Many do not meet a One, in life or after!”
“I am grateful, My Lord.” Thorin said, humbly.
“But you would be so selfish that you would demand his admittance to the Halls of Waiting?”
“Not demand, My Lord. Entreat. Beseech. I ask as your servant; allow Bilbo to be with me here in the Halls.”
“Servant! A servant does not ask, he follows! He obeys! He accepts that he is not master! And as master here, I will not permit one from another race into the Halls of Waiting!”
Thorin slowly sank to his knees and hung his head. His grief all too clear on his handsome face, a single tear traced a watery scar down Thorin’s cheek.
The Lady had heard enough. With a graceful wave of her hand, Bilbo Baggins appeared out of the mist and stood next to Thorin.
Such a small creature - Lord Mahal wondered at his child's choice of companion - but even he could see that the Hobbit was quite comely and the honey-golden hair and dazzling eyes were so much like his own beloved wife's.
As soon as he saw Thorin on his knees, Bilbo dropped to his own in front of him. Thorin reached out and cupped Bilbo’s face and gently brought their foreheads together.
“Lord Mahal has denied my wish to bring you here,” Thorin whispered to Bilbo. “I could not persuade him. I have failed you, sanâzyung.” Thorin gently traced the contours of Bilbo's face with his calloused hands, as if trying remember his beloved before he disappeared.
“You have not failed me,” Bilbo said soothingly, before turing a pointed and furious glare towards the Dwarrows maker. “It is Mahal who is unjust!”
“You dare to judge me in my own halls?!” Lord Mahal thundered, incensed.
“I judge anyone who would be so cruel!” Bilbo spat out, continuing to glower at the Dwarf Lord. “I am but a small Hobbit, hardly worth your notice, and yet you would deny Thorin and me a place together, for no other reason but spite!”
Lord Mahal’s volcanic fury was building to erupt, but his anger was stayed by his own lady as she moved forward and spoke to Bilbo.
“Bilbo Baggins of The Shire,” Lady Yavanna said. “Have you a wish you would ask of me?”
Bilbo glared at Lord Mahal for a few long seconds more, looked back to Thorin and planted a kiss on each cheek. Finally he turned to answer the question. “Yes, My Lady. If I cannot be permitted to enter the Halls with Thorin, may he join me instead?”
Lady Yavanna gazed lovingly at her child and a gentle half-smile graced her flawless face. “If he so desires,” Lady Yavanna answered. “Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, is most welcomed in the Ever Green Fields.”
“I cannot allow this!” Lord Mahal roared. “My children should only reside here, in my Halls! Here they are protected.”
“You call Thorin your child,” Lady Yavanna said, “but you also refer to him as servant, and now you would deny him leave if he so chooses. Answer me husband, is he truly your child or merely your prisoner?”
Lord Mahal took a step back. He could not have looked more stricken than if his beloved wife took up his hammer and struck him with it. “Your words cut me deep and cause me pain.”
“I did not wish to inflict pain, but I must speak the truth. For I have never lied to you; am I not your One? And what would you do if your position was that of your child's? What would you do if you were in Thorin's place?”
Lord Mahal released a long sigh. He knew he was defeated and by the compassion and wisdom of his own wife. “If our places were reversed, I would move mountains for you.”
Lady Yavanna smiled. “And I do believe you have moved mountains for me.”
“Yes, my One.”
“Then, allowing a single Hobbit to come to the Halls should be easy work for you.”
Lord Mahal turned to Thorin and Bilbo, who had risen throughout the exchange between the Lord and Lady. Thorin held Bilbo in a protective embrace, but Lord Mahal saw the cleverness in the Hobbit’s eyes and knew him to be a perfect match for his child.
“Bilbo Baggins of The Shire,” Lord Mahal grumbled, “If it be your desire, you are welcome to come to the Halls of Waiting to be with Thorin.”
“It is my desire, Lord Mahal,” Bilbo said, a beautiful smile spreading over his face. Lord Mahal could now understand why Thorin was taken by the fiercely loyal Hobbit.
“Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. I hereby grant your wish.”
Thorin had no words to express his bliss. He simply closed his eyes, pulled Bilbo into a tighter embrace and laid his cheek upon the honey-golden curls he loved so much.
“Thank you, My Lady. My Lord,” Bilbo said after a few long moments.
“Yes, thank you,” Thorin repeated, as both he and Bilbo receded back into the mists.
“I wonder where they have gone to?” Lord Mahal said, picking up his hammer. He was quite aware that as both his Lady and himself had granted the wishes of their children, those same said children could come and go between the realms. Would they go directly to his Halls or spend time in his Lady's fields?
Lady Yavanna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened those seconds later, she had an answer. “They are in the Fields at present.”
Lord Mahal nodded and was set to resume his work when his lady spoke again.
“And what of the others in your halls that have made similar requests?”
“I will grant them their wishes,” Lord Mahal said, with a small smile. “They may bring their Ones, if they desire.”
Lady Yavanna graced her husband with a brilliant smile and bend down to bestow a kiss upon his whiskered cheek. “I will leave you to your craft, my love.”
But before Lord Mahal could start or Lady Yavanna could leave, a messenger arrived in the forge and begged forgiveness for interrupting.
“My Lord,” the messenger said, clearly nervous. “There is a request from the Halls for an audience with her Ladyship.”
Both the Lady and Lord were perplexed.
“Who from the Halls would request an audience with Lady Yavanna?”
The messenger looked down as if gathering strength then looked up to gaze at the Lady. “A pair of brothers from the line of Durin,” the messenger said, still avoiding his lord’s gaze. “They wish admittance to the Ever Green Fields to follow their Uncles.”
Lord Mahal brought his hammer down on his anvil with a mighty clang and released a thunderous roar in his frustration, while his lady’s birdsong-like laughter filled the forge and rang out through the halls.