A/N: I have shamelessly stolen and reproduced lines of song from "The Hobbit", Chapter 1, for the purposes of this story. I mean no harm and seek no profit other than the pleasure of picturing the Dwarves sing.


12.

The Hall of fire was Bilbo's favorite place in Rivendell. He had stepped into it quite accidentally, while exploring the Last Homely House and he had made sure to return at least once a day since. The hall was long and dark, lit only by a fire that the Elves tended all year round. But it was an inviting kind of darkness - that of peace and quiet thought when one needed it and wondrous music when the heart craved for it.

Bilbo had run into Canafinwë in the Hall of Fire more often than not. He appeared to have been adopted by Lord Elrond's minstrels and invited to sing every evening. The haunting experience of Weathertop made Bilbo reluctant to hear him again, but, before long, he sat in rapt silence, completely caught in the emotions Canafinwë's voice conjured. Bilbo did not have to understand the words, the power behind them was enough to transport him far back into the depths of time, to worlds beyond the limits of his imagination. And even if the musician's voice retained its gut-wrenching quality, Bilbo found sweetness and beauty and joy behind all the sorrow in it.

Bilbo often fell asleep in a cushioned alcove he'd discovered, for the Elves made their music long into the night. He would wake up in tucked in his bed, not knowing who to thank for carrying him from the hall with such great care.

For Dwarves however, Elvish music wasn't nearly as fascinating. They said it hurt the heart and eventually, the ears as well. Seeing how they carried various musical instruments with them and Bilbo had witnessed the quality of their singing in Bag End, he thought it best not to argue with them on the matter.

On one particularly fair evening, after a particularly good meal (the Elven cooks had admitted Bombur into their kitchens and had prepared one of his Dwarvish recipes), the company lounged on the balcony and Thorin called for some music.

One by one, the others brought out their instruments and Nori began a merry tune on his flute. His brothers joined him and Bombur tapped the rhythm of it on his drum. Fili and Kili played their fiddles to enhance the tune and Bilbo smiled at them. It was odd but refreshing to see the brothers otherwise than armed to the teeth and wielding instruments that were not made for killing.

Bifur and Bofur's clarinets joined in and all the Dwarves (even Thorin) tapped their booted feet against the marble floor to the song's cheerful tune. Bilbo thought it a great shame that there was nobody to dance with. He made a mental note to have Ori teach him the song sometime. It must have been well known and well practiced by his friends, as each played his part in perfect harmony with the others. They began to sing as well, all their different voices mixing wonderfully in a cheerful choir.

Apparently, the Elves thought the same. After a few songs, Bilbo noticed a throng of them gawking and whispering among themselves beneath the balcony. The laughed and cheered the Dwarves, asking for more songs and then repeats of each. In the end, they consented to let their guests rest only after the Dwarves promised they would play for them in the Hall of Fire.

And so, the following evening found the entire company in the fire-lit hall with what seemed like half of Lord Elrond's house and the Lord himself in attendance. To Bilbo's surprise, Thorin had brought with him his golden harp. But, for the better part of the evening, he sat aside with the harp on his knees and sometimes nodded along with the songs of his kinsmen.

"You play the harp?" Canafinwë asked him when the singing came to a halt. He and he other minstrels had brought refreshments for the Dwarves and Canafinwë placed a golden cup in Thorin's hands.

"Sometimes," Thorin nodded.

Perched in his favorite nook, Bilbo could only just hear the exchange through the low murmur of many Elven voices.

Canafinwë seemed to weigh the delicate instrument against Thorin's thick-fingered hands.

"May I?" he reached out for the harp and Thorin parted with it after a moment of hesitation. "It's a wonderful instrument. Exquisite craftsmanship. Perfect tune," the Elf plucked a few notes delicately. The harp seemed small in his arms.

"Do you play as well?" Thorin watched him carefully.

"I do, when I can," Canafinwë replied. " Which is not very often. My harp is not something I can carry with me into the wild. But perhaps, while we are here, we could… That is, if you will, perhaps we can play something together?"

There was a sudden lull in the murmured conversations around them.

"I doubt we will find a song that we both know," Thorin said.

"You might be surprised. And if not, you will just have to teach me one of yours, " Canafinwë suggested with a smile, in all likelihood aware that many pairs of eyes rested on the two of them.

"We shall see," Thorin replied noncommittally.

At least he hadn't flat-out refused, Bilbo thought. Although Canafinwë's suggestion didn't seem to hold the same appeal to Thorin as his father's forge-work had.

Canafinwë tilted his head in acknowledgement and then stepped aside, allowing Thorin to join is company. Everyone in the Hall watched the Dwarves gather around their leader and exchange whispers among themselves. They let Thorin walk closer to the fire and returned to their seats a few moments later.

Slowly and almost inaudibly at first, the Dwarves began to hum. All other noise had ceased and their voice's gradually grew louder. Thus accompanied, Thorin sang.

Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away ere break of day

To seek the pale enchanted gold.

The words were in the Common Tongue, but his deep voice gave them a mournful quality that touched everyone in attendance.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,

While hammers fell like ringing bells

In places deep, where dark things sleep,

In hollow halls beneath the fells.

By the second stanza, Bofur joined him and Fili also, with his softer and lighter voice.

For ancient king and Elvish lord

There many a gloaming golden hoard

They shaped and wrought, and light they caught

To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

It was solemn moment that grew with the words the Dwarves chanted. Their longing for the treasure they had lost and their pride for the wealth they had possessed rang clear in every line of their dirge.

But many of the Elves gasped when Thorin stepped closer to the fire and sang the chorus in his own tongue. The other Dwarves faltered, too surprised to carry on the words or the tune. For a few moments, Thorin's deep, harsh voice alone held everyone in thrall. Bilbo felt himself shiver and tears pricked his eyes.

Fili and Kili sat up and walked to their uncle's side, singing the rest of the song with him. Half facing the fire and half the crowd, they chanted the last verses slowly and then fell silent.

Bilbo blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his eyes and take in the sight of Durin's heirs. In that very moment, they looked every inch the Dwarf Lords they were, their faces grave and their shadows long before them.

Nobody in the room clapped or cheered as they had noisily done it before. Only the crackling of the fire broke an otherwise absolute silence. From it, Lord Elrond rose and walked to the three Dwarves, bowing deeply.

"You do us great honor, Thorin Oakenshield," he said. "Not since time beyond count have I heard the tongue of your people in such moving song."

Bilbo recalled something Gandalf had mentioned about Dwarves being very secretive with their language… or had he read it in a book somewhere? I was something about how you did not want to hear a Dwarf speaking his own tongue because it meant either cursing you violently or yelling fierce battle cries and meaning to kill you very violently.

But Bilbo saw Thorin return the bow, a rare smile on his face. His nephews did the same and stood by their uncle proudly, obviously pleased.

"It was in Eregion that I last heard your forefathers sing in Celebrimbor's halls, Thorin."

At Lord Elrond's words, there was a shuffle and a small gasp near Bilbo. He glanced to his right and saw Curufinwë with his father. Bilbo had no idea how or when they'd gotten there.

"In those days, the People of the Jewelsmiths always welcomed their friends from Khazad-dum, for they loved our ale and we loved their hearty laughter. We had much profit from one another in those days, shared wealth and knowledge aside. That is when I learned your ancient tongue," Lord Elrond said. "Ah, yes, the Dwarves had fewer secrets in those days," the Elf Lord smiled at Thorin's surprised expression. "They were willing to teach us, but found it much easier to learn our speech than we did theirs. Celebrimbor was the exception, of course, being his father' son and so supremely gifted, but even he could not sing in Khuzdul. He tried, of course, but a well aimed tankard silenced him once, I recall. We never knew who did it, it may have been Narvi himself or someone else. But after that, even Fëanor's grandson understood his limitations."

Some of the Elves chuckled and Thorin's slack jaw made an amusing sight in and of its own. But Bilbo heard Curufinwë sigh. He glanced at the two Elves and saw father embracing son. Curufinwë's face seemed lined with sorrow and his eyes filled with painful longing, before he closed them and laid his head on his father's shoulder.

"You lived in the City at that time?" Thorin recovered some composure and asked.

"No, my home was in Lindon, at King Gil-Galad's side, but I was in Ost-in-Edhil often enough to befriend the visiting craftsmiths from Khazad-dum."

"Then perhaps…," Thorin hesitated, giving the Elf Lord an uncertain look. "Perhaps you can tell me more about my forefathers?"

Kili and Fili drew closer, ready to repeat the plea, although the anticipation on their faces spoke for itself.

"It would be my pleasure," Lord Elrond said. "But we must remove ourselves from this hall for that. Story telling is thirsty business, I am told, both for the teller and for his audience. Anyone who cares to join us is most welcome," Lord Elrond turned to the silent assembly.

He beckoned Thorin to follow him and if the Dwarf was unhappy about the Lord's open invitation, he showed no outward sign of it. They walked out of the hall with Fili and Kili at their heels.

Their friends let fall their musical instruments and hurried after them, followed by a great number of the Elves.

Bilbo hopped off his perch and sped in the same direction. But as he tried to wriggle through the throng of sweeping robes, he was puzzled. He'd passed by Curufinwë and his father still standing in the same spot, holding onto each other. Bilbo could have sworn he'd seen the younger Elf's shoulders shake, while his father petted him soothingly.


A/N: I know I've put myself in the ridiculous predicament of having two sets of characters with the same name (Ambarussa and Curufinwë) but it's beginning to irk me as much as it probably irks you, dear readers. I shall have to remedy this very, very soon.