Credit where credit is due: In my haste to get this out of my hands so I don't make any more changes, I completely forgot to thank my lovely beta-reader Bec for a great job. Thanks so much for the suggestions and the support. Without you this might never have seen the light of day.
As for the characters: Don't own them; wish I did, though. :)
Mountain Bells
One small pebble can start an avalanche.
It was the smell that first alerted him - followed by the flash of color on his left. Thorin tensed. Battle instinct, honed after a lifetime of fighting, made him grip his battle axe tighter and raise it slightly. Slowly, he turned his head. There. His vision narrowed, focusing on the startling evidence of life right in front of him.
Out of nowhere, something seemed to hit him like a punch in the gut. His chest felt as if an iron band had settled around it and his breath caught in his throat.
Five slender green leaves danced like wispy tentacles on the breeze; in their midst a bright blue blossom swayed softly back and forth. It was a plant. Its roots clung defiantly to the impenetrable, grey wall of rock, searching for fissures to anchor it.
Unbidden, a name came to him. Mountain Bell. And with the name an image. Hands, gently holding a bunch of the blue blossoms that other, much smaller, grubby hands had picked as a gift.
"Come, smell the flowers."
Suddenly, Thorin found he could breathe again.
The words filled his mind. The voice, beloved still, though now merely an echo of a distant past, filled his heart. He did not notice how his lips stretched, curving the edges of his mouth up into a smile. If he had, he would have been surprised, as the simple pleasure of a joyful smile had long since ceased to be a part of his life. Or so he believed.
Like him, the tiny blue flower was a child of the mountain. Unlike the dwarven race however, who thrived on digging deep into the core of the mountain and deeper still, Mountain Bells flourished best on the highest heights, sinking root among pebbles and in crevices. Picking them had been a dare even for a small dwarf prince - and one of the first adventures he could remember. He had been so proud to present his mother with the small bouquet. For days, she had carefully kept the blossoms alive in a beautifully crafted vase. Their fragrance had filled her rooms.
"Can you smell the flowers, Thorin?"
"It might be wise not to stay here for too long. I do not like the look of those clouds." A second, much deeper voice pushed itself into his awareness. He needed a moment until it registered and he could identify its owner. Balin.
The older dwarf had come up to him. A frown creased his forehead as he worriedly studied the dark, roiling mass in the sky. The smell of rain lay heavy in the air; in the distance thunder rolled off the side of the mountain. An already present hint of burnt air grew stronger as a new bolt of lightning struck close, threatening to rend the world asunder. The ground beneath their feet trembled.
"Thorin?" Balin glanced at him curiously.
"What is it?"
Thorin dragged himself back into the present. He turned his head and looked around him to where the others perched precariously on narrow stone outcroppings or stood propped against the coarse rock. Dwalin, watchful as usual, resting his arms on one of his axes, returned his look dispassionately. Bofur supported one shoulder against the hard rock face while his eyes scanned the darkening sky. He hunched deeper into his cloak until only the tips of his hat showed from underneath his hood. Oin and Gloin sat side by side on a mossy boulder that had been left on the path from an old rock fall. Their eyes were closed, their heads leaned back wearily. The hobbit stood with his back tightly pressed into the overhang, wide-eyed, his hands nervously clutching a walking stick in front of him, his chest still heaving raggedly. Behind him, Dori was fussing over a resisting Ori while, obviously bored with their older brother's mother henning, Nori simply looked on. Somehow Bombur had managed to find a shelf big enough to hold his considerable bulk. He sat wrapped in his cloak, munching an apple. Next to him, Bifur mumbled something under his breath. And bringing up the rear, Fili and Kili crouched on the path with their heads together, whispering. When they noticed his gaze upon them, Kili looked up and flashed him a grin. Fili, more serious, gave his uncle a nod.
His company. Twelve dwarves and one hobbit. His responsibility, all of them, whether he liked it or not - and his alone, despite of what he had told Gandalf earlier.
The path from Rivendell up into the mountain pass wound its way along small ledges and steep inclines. Sometimes it was barely passable. They had hugged the cliff side and carefully picked their way up, always up. The air had got thinner and Thorin couldn't help notice how some members of his company had started laboring, as much as they had tried to hide it. He had called a rest. But Balin was right. The storm was closing in on them. This short respite was all he could grant them or else the weather might defeat them all.
"Dwalin, lead on," Thorin growled with a nod at the barely visible path.
"Aye."
As one by one the others roused themselves and followed the old warrior, Thorin stayed where he was, his back to the rock, shielding the bright blue splash. Curiously protective of the plant behind him, he did not want to see it exposed to any harm. Against all the odds it had survived in this inhospitable place. He would not risk it being destroyed accidentally now.
When the last of them had passed him by, Thorin turned to look at the Mountain Bell one last time. Almost of its own volition, his hand stretched out to touch it. At the last moment though, his fingers stilled. For a heartbeat, the tiny flower lay cupped tenderly in the broad curve of his hand. His fingertips barely brushed the petals as he pulled his hand back.
He tore his gaze away from the brave little wildflower that had brought back such a vivid memory of an all but forgotten childhood. Thorin grabbed the axe that he had propped against the rock earlier and walked on. Behind him stayed proof that life would find its way into the most unusual places. And not just life, but also joy.
Ahead, a flash of lightning lit up the sky. Rain began to strike his face. If any of the others had turned around at that moment, they would have seen the fleeting shadow of a warm smile on Thorin's face that defied the icy drops.
"Never forget to go and smell the flowers, son."
One ray of sunshine can thaw a frozen heart – even if only for one beat.