A.N: Okay, this is yet another prompt from the hobbit-kink meme of Lj. I love that site. It has really helped me with my writing.

The key-word to the prompt was resurrection and a river much like the river in Greek myth called Letha. The waters of that river when drunk by spirits, erase their memories, making it easier for them to enter the Underworld. I hope everyone likes this story and I am planning on making this a Thilbo story.

This is set after the Battle of the Five Armies.

So enjoy!

The stars twinkled happily in the night sky, almost seeming to mock Bilbo in his grief-stricken state. He swiped a hand over his face, ignoring the burning of his eyes as fresh tears traced the shape of his cheek, sliding down his jaw and dripping from his chin.

In four days, The last true King Under the Mountain and his heirs will be laid to rest deep inside the mountain and Bilbo will have to say his final goodbyes to three dwarfs he had come to care for deeply.

He abandoned the happy starlit sky for the great halls of stone that made up Erebor, wiping the tears from his face. He would not break, not until he was somewhere more private. He would not share his grief with anyone but the very ones that he grieved for.

He quickly took the same path he had taken for the past 2 days, straight to the room holding his dearest friends, his heart aching at the painful memory of the last words he exchanged with Thorin Oakenshield, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain.

/ ~ / ~ / ~ /

"Farewell, good thief. I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed. Since I leave behind all gold and silver now and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you and take back my words at the gate."

"Farewell, King Under the Mountain!" he had said, filled with sorrow, kneeling down at Thorin's side. "This is a bitter adventure to end so; not even a mountain of gold can amend it. Yet I am glad to have shared in your perils-that has been far more than any Baggins deserves."

"No!" Thorin had replied. "No, there is more good in you than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer above hoarded gold, than this world would be a far merrier one. But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell, Bilbo Baggins."

/ ~ / ~ / ~ /

As soon as he entered the room, Bilbo fell to his knees as the memory played over and over through his mind.

Bilbo felt his anger rising and could only sit there and yell as it burst into a bright flame and consumed him.

"Why?! Why was fate so cruel to you, my friends? To give you back your mountain only to have you fall in defense of it? It's not fair! You should be here, Thorin, you should be welcoming your people back to their true home, instead you are to be buried and only your tomb will welcome visitors now!"

"And what of Kili and Fili, Fate? They were young still, by dwarf rights, but they are to be placed beside their uncle, to become nothing more than dust and memory! IT'S NOT FAIR!"

And quick as a shadow fleeing light, his anger fled, and he fell to the floor unconscious.

Of course, as it is with all great and seemingly foolish ideas, they always come right as a person reaches the end of their tether and Bilbo Baggins was no exception. His mind whirled and swirled, memories mixing and stretching on and on, until finally it calmed and one memory kept repeating itself.

As if it was another riddle whispering in the dark, begging to be solved.

/ ~ / ~ / ~ /

It was on a particularly stormy night, when they were all sequestered away in some cave too small for 13 dwarfs, a hobbit, and a wizard, that Bilbo first heard the language of Kuhzdul spoken.

Bilbo was tucking into a nice hot stew that Bombur just got finished preparing when a low whistle caught his attention. He looked up to watch Bofur looking out the cave entrance.

"Great Mahal, will this storm ever let up?" He said and gave his head a good scratch before placing his hat back on.

"Excuse me, Bofur, but what does Mahal mean?"

Bofur had the great sense to look sheepish at the question.

"Well, Mahal, well he is the great maker, the revered one."

"So this Mahal," Bilbo stumbled over the word, "he is a deity of sorts?"

Gandalf piped up from his corner of the cave, "My dear Bilbo, Mahal is another name for Aule."

Bilbo's eye's widened, "Oh! Really? How interesting!"

Bofur nodded as Ori sat down right beside Bilbo, "If you'd like, Mister Baggins, I could teach you some of the history of the Dwarfs, that is if Thorin says that it is okay."

The hobbit quickly raised his eyes to meet with those of Thorin's and could only hold his breath.

He let it out in a slow hiss when Thorin nodded, "Only the history of Erebor, Ori, and only what he needs to know. Anything else..."

Ori swallowed visibly. "O-of course, Thorin."

So Ori and Bilbo spent many a quiet evening on the journey talking late into the night about the history of the mountain city known as Erebor, until one night a strange story caught his attention.

"One such story says that when the mountain was first being excavated, Thrain I had stumbled upon a strange cavern that held a river that looked like silver glass-"

Bofur piped up at this, "Aye! Some of the elders say that the river had..strange properties, but they are just stories after all."

Bilbo shook his head, "Well, the elves have waters that are purported to help ease pain and speed the healing of wounds, so It shouldn't be too strange that Lonely Mountain would hold waters such as that."

Ori spoke again, "No, these waters were of a different sort. There is no name in Khuzdul for the river, it is only known as The Forgetting. The myth states that the waters of The Forgetting could grant life to the dead."

Bilbo sat and pondered a bit over the information, but one thing caused him to speak again. "But if it grants life, why it is called The Forgetting?"

The young dwarf shrugged, "Don't know. There are more texts about the mountain in the Chamber of Records. but they were all but lost when Smaug laid siege to Erebor."

After that night, they no longer spoke of The Forgetting, choosing instead to focus on happier pursuits, like the learning of Khuzdul, which Bilbo took delight in learning as too few outsiders are ever allowed to know it.

/ ~ / ~ / ~ /

When Bilbo opened his eyes again, he knew then that if the legend was true, that there was still hope for his friends.

Now all he needed to do was talk to Ori.

But as he threw his covers back a voice startled him and he jerked his head up to fall upon a familiar face.

Gandalf the Grey.

"Dwalin found you unconscious in the Grieving Hall and brought you here. My dear boy, whatever happened?"

The hobbit shook his head, "I'd rather not talk about Gandalf. It is rather improper."

"For a hobbit, yes, but you are not in the Shire at the moment. "

Bilbo shook his head, and not wanting to tell Gandalf of the plans newly forming in his mind, opened his mouth and let a half-truth fall from his lips instead.

"Just a bit of the vapors is all. Its having to do with the Baggins side. It happens when we least expect it. All better now."

He jumped out of his bed, and quickly tidied his blankets and began to edge around Gandalf to reach his door, but the wizard stepped in front of him again.

"My friend are you sure you are well?" The grey wizard asked, concern clear in his voice.

Bilbo nodded quickly, "Y-yes, of course. I just forgot I have something I need to discuss with Ori. It's pertaining to my memoirs-I did tell you that I was writing of my adventures, right? Well, I would be terribly remiss if I put any sentence down to paper that was not truth. Always have the full story, I say."

Gandalf looked at him oddly for a moment and then stepped aside to let him past. "Of course, Bilbo, we wouldn't that, now would we?"

Bilbo didn't need any more incentive than that to dash out of his rooms and break into a run down the halls.

'Now to find a map.'