I can bring tears to your eyes;
resurrect the dead,
make you smile,
and reverse time.
I form in an instant but I last a life time.

What am I?

Chapter 1: Prologue

My dear Frodo, you asked me once if I had told you everything there was to know about my adventures. And while I can honestly say I have told you the truth, I may not have told you all of it. While some of my adventures were the subject of bedtime stories, I expect you don't know an awful lot about after I met uncle Thorin. Now that you are old enough, I think it is time for you to know what really happened.

It began long ago. There was the old city of dale, its markets known far and wide. Full of the bounties of vine and vale, peaceful and prosperous, for this city lay before the doors of the greatest kingdom in middle-earth: Erebor.

Stronghold of Thror, king under the mountain, mightiest of the Dwarf Lords, Thror ruled with utter surety, never doubting his house would endure, for his line lay secure in the lives of his son and grandson.

Ahhh Frodo, the place we call home, Erebor. Built deep into the mountain itself, the beauty of this fortress city was and still is legend. Its wealth lies in the earth, in precious gems hewn in the rock, and in great seams of gold, running like rivers through stone. The skill of the Dwarves is unequalled, fashioning objects of great beauty out of diamond, emerald, ruby and sapphire.

Ever they delved deeper, down into the darkness. And that is where they found it. The heart of the mountain. The Arkenstone. Thror named it "the king's jewel" and took it as a sign, a sign that his right to rule was divine. All would pay homage to him, even the great Elvin king Thranduil.

But the years of peace and plenty were not to last. Slowly the days turned sour and the watchful nights closed in.

Thror's love of gold had grown too fierce. A sickness began to grow within him. It was a sickness of the mind. And where sickness thrives, bad things will surely follow.

The first thing they heard was a noise like a hurricane coming down from the north. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot, dry air.

He was a fire drake from the north, a mighty fire-breathing monster. Smaug had come.

The city of men was destroyed, and much wanton death was dealt that day. However, it meant little to Smaug. His eyes were set on another prize. For dragons covet gold with a dark and fierce desire.

Erebor was lost, for a dragon will guard his plunder for as long as he lives.

Thranduil would not risk the lives of his kin against the wrath of a dragon and so no help came from the elves that day, nor any day since.

Robbed of their homeland, the dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness, a once mighty people brought low.

The young dwarf prince, Thorin took work wherever he could find it, laboring in the villages of men. But always he remembered, the mountain smoke beneath a full moon, the trees blazing like torches in the night. For he had seen bursts of dragon fire high in the sky and an entire city turn to ash. And he never forgave and he never forgot.

That, my dear Frodo, is where I come in.

For, by the power of the soul, and by the will of a wizard, fate decided I would become part of this tale.

It began…well it began as you might expect.

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole full of worms and oozy smells. This was a hobbit hole. And that means good food, a warm heath, and all the comforts of home.

And that morning I got an unexpected but not unwelcome surprise from an old friend.

Memory