Part 2: Chapter 9: But Now Comes the Day

Another something unexpected. And Thorin knew with Sona's teasing, all was well with them. So much she valued his fellowship, that she would play with him, but mean no malice by it. They shared a level of friendship akin to siblings. Often had he pulled Frerin's hair in younger days, and Dís even later.

But this?

No––

The Thief was nothing like a Sister, not to him.

How could he say such a thing, close friends? Indeed, it seemed it would be a long while before he came to his senses regarding this––new truth–– Baktith.

His One cared for him deeply, and he returned this caring. He looked forward to the deepening counsel of friendship, as well as the banter that comes with it, yet he had not thought of this.

He should have.

Now with joy he felt a keen pain weighing.

This living would be hard, but they lived, kaylîth. And he would do all in his power to keep them all living, breathing.

He stayed there on the hard bench, absorbing the edge of it against his thigh, thinking of too many concerns, with a mind far from sleep.

Bofur joined him after some while. "My Lord, still keeping warm?"

Thorin nodded, not about to admit he couldn't sleep.

"Might I join you by the fire?"

Thorin nodded again, gesturing toward the flame he stared in, to welcome the Miner, who sat across from him and pulled out his pipe and leaf.

"I'd still be sleeping, but I woke to the sounds of the Bear passing by the wall, then well, thought I'd have a smoke before settling back in."

Thorin took to subtle nodding, swaying into them, with hopes Bofur would keep talking; it soothed somehow, the ordinariness of it. Well, except for the part of the Bear-man passing by the wall.

There would be introductions in the morning, when perhaps the Man would show.

But now they sat before the fire, welcome company.

"I told the lass, as you heard already."

Sona.

Thorin's eyes were suddenly fixed on the Miner.

Bofur signed 'heard' as he spoke, recalling Thorin's short conversation with Fíli just before the race to the Bear-man's house.

"I explained some Khuzdûl ways, you know, about the thing of gifts and hair––" He stopped then, staring at Thorin who continued staring back at him, to absorb any shred of news, how was she when you said it?

Bofur looked slightly confused and startled by the intensity of Thorin's gaze.

So he blinked to ease it, discreetly swallowed and moved back. Yet he would not give up his curiosity. With a firm nod Thorin's hand went to his lip, pressing his teeth, but it wasn't enough.

"How did she take it, Mabakhnrukul?"

So much that was new. Who would think it after nearing two hundred years?

But the question fully eased Bofur, who sighed and smiled at the same time. "Oh, a mite shocked, I'd say. Like she'd stepped all over it, and well, it seemed so. She said "oh no" and took it with her eyes clenched shut."

Her mortification. This was a lesson she hadn't wished to attend.

"She asked for us to tell her when she got something wrong, and well, Bifur would have. She cringed and all, embarrassed, covering her face, but still I could see it."

She blushed then.

"There was more to it than shock, seemed to shake her feelings, all come to the fore. Birashigami. It was just after she saw her guitar, but the timing couldn't be helped."

Her guitar.

Too much. Thorin worried his lip, glad for their prior conversation all the more. She needed the easing of her mind, to sleep, to recover.

"You know she cares for you, yes, my Lord?" Bofur asked, jarring Thorin from his thoughts.

Thorin glanced sidelong. "We are friends," he said low, repeating, keeping 'close' to himself. Imhed'ul Mahal.

"Oh, that's good," Bofur beamed, nodding while looking a tad shy for the curious Miner. "I mean, she hasn't given anyone else flowers, see? Even not knowing what they mean to us. Could'a happened, were all of us equal to her in her mind, in her heart." He smiled, eyes turning in to the fire. "It's obvious to all of us you're more to her than the rest. Pay attention, if you don't mind my suggesting it."

I do–– I am–– I will.

"Why don't you tell her that you care more for her, as well?" Bofur didn't hesitate staring straight at him, his rugged smile good company.

Thorin wasn't angry, even knowing Bofur should already realize the answer to his question. "Do you have Juzarazur, Bofur?"

The Miner's smile broadened, followed by a wink, clearly understanding his Lord wouldn't answer his too-forward question. "Aye, though they've not yet shown their face."

"So you've no idea, but a bit of one, in any case." Thorin smiled back at him.

Bofur bobbed his head, hiding his big grin behind a draw of his pipe.

Bombur and Bifur join them just then, each with a nod of greeting, and Bofur quipped, "Bear woke you too?"

Bombur headed straight to the fire as if he hadn't heard the question. Bifur sat next to Bofur, nodding and shrugging 'Bears,' attuned to his brother as if he waited for an answer to a question no one asked.

Perhaps they had heard––

The Cook dipped his ladle in the pot and stirred. "Ah good, hot and ready now. Anyone like some broth?" He poured for all, and then looked Thorin in the eye with a fragile smile, holding the cup.

"Aye, Bombur, I would." Thorin nodded encouragement, accepting it.

His Cook beamed and sat among them with his own. It was a vegetable broth, with a meat stock from jerky Bombur had stashed somewhere in his bags.

After Thorin finished his pipe weed and his broth, he bowed out and left the Brothers to themselves in an attempt to get rest before dawn came.

The others all hunkered in the sleeping quarters, a barn by the looks of it, filled with loads of fresh hay. Thorin took a spot away from them, near the door.

The Thief slept curled around the little Bean, Peanut she called him, with Sasha at her back and Fíli on the other side.

Thorin rested his head on his arms and let his eyes close, not expecting sleep, but wishing for it all the same.

But what if he did?

His eyes popped open and he looked at her sleeping there, at peace. Nai'adal. Would he Dream? How could he stop it? She didn't know.

It was not right she didn't know, but––

She couldn't know.

Somehow he needed to avoid those Dreams.

He shut his eyes again, and pushed himself deeper into the hay, not bothering to pull out his bedroll, not expecting sleep in any case.

Oh, but he must have.

Light came through the slats of the wall.

And she was there, right next to him, was he Dreaming? He could feel her breathing, and she had her bedroll, wrapping it around him and up beneath his chin. Not Nai'adal, he knew he roused from sleep and she was already woken, yet still with him. Better that it was no Dream, better so…

She stayed there with her hand, fingers over his beard, slight shifting the hair, waking his spirit.

Why did she continuously want to touch his hair?

He would remain forever lost if this kept on.

She tucked him closer into her bedroll, and he breathed deep, her lavender, like home––

Ē'ze––

Biriz Akmâth'ule––

Nungu Azsâlul'abbad Zabal.

Thorin kept his eyes shut, unwilling to break the moment or to startle her.

And he wasn't sure if it were only wishful thinking, but it seemed she lingered with him. Was she watching him now?

Was there something to Bofur's words? He wondered if he frowned, and tried his best to clear his mind, taking another deep and even breath as her hand still touched his bearded cheek.

Maybe his hair fascinated her. But why, when–– she couldn't be attracted, she wanted his friendship.

She had no idea––

Well, now she did. Now she thought he slept.

She took a deep breath, one he felt as well as heard, and he wondered.

And then she was gone. He relaxed all the more, dozing in the warmth she left with him, duly tucked in her bedroll as she'd seen fit, wrapped in the lavender smell of her, almost as though he were wrapped in her arms. Now he wanted to dream, to feel the comfort of her holding, to rest happy in the extra care she showed for him.

But the movement of his Company woke him fully, and his Sister's Son's, it seemed, had come to gather him. Thorin's eyes cracked to their chuckled greeting. A sly look passed from Kíli to Fíli; they had noted the bedroll draping over his body as if she owned him. Well.

Thorin blew out, shifting beneath the cloth, reluctant and yet eager to move all at once. But his Sister's Sons took pleasure, drawing time out of a moment he wasn't inclined to rush. They nudged each other, gawking at him, smiling brighter than their usual luminescence. Though awkward, Thorin didn't mind, rising with a curt smile.

Kíli laughed then. "Tharkûn sent us to wake you, seems someone else beat us to it." His eyes remained fixed on the bedroll.

"She didn't wake me," Thorin began, feeling slightly peeved.

Both lad's faces gleamed loud with their doubts, smiling all the same, and Thorin shut his mouth. Any words would only make things worse.

His mind wandered to the Wizard in quiet deflection. "And Tharkûn?"

Fíli nodded, smiling deeper at the dodge. "There'll be introductions soon."

Thorin laid the Thief's bedroll out over the hay–– she had tucked him in it to keep him warm–– he still felt warm. He did not let his mind wander where it wanted.

Friends. Close friends. What a poor choice of words.

Still. That was what she is, and he as well for her, and that was good, no question.

He pushed his hair up and back, stretching his limbs, stopped up some by the remaining aches. Healing would take a while, he frowned, considering he didn't have a while to take healing. Settling his features, he followed his Sister's Son's out into the main hall, expecting to find the others of the Company.

He could smell breakfast cooking, porridge and cakes, Bombur was already at it, with Glóin and Óin's assistance. The others milled about.

But they were not all there––

Thorin's eyes searched the place twice, and Sona was not in it.

"She's at the hives," Tharkûn told him, as if Thorin had asked.

"Hives?" What did he mean? Thorin looked out through the open door and noticed Bees bustling and buzzing beyond the frame, Bees larger than he'd ever seen.

"Aye," Tharkûn took a breath and blinked once, as though he braced himself. "There to meet Beorn."

By now all the Dwarves were watching the two of them.

"You watched her go out there, without a mind to try and stop her, or at least tell us?"

"She was quite confident."

Thorin frowned all the harder. "She's a Pacifist, Tharkûn, and who knows what the Bear-man will do–– do you?"

"No," the Wizard shoot his head, to Thorin's consternation. "but rest assured she's in no danger."

"I'm not resting," Thorin nearly growled. How can Tharkûn know? And why did he have that funny look on his face, again, as if he knew a secret, and there was something naughty about it, something about the Bear-man and the Thief, just the Thief.

Thorin focused on the door, determining to go and get her. "Where are the hives?"

"You'd best stay here," Tharkûn replied, in answer to Thorin's next move.

The Wizard's non-response was not a bother to Thorin. "I'll follow the Bees." He was outside now, with Tharkûn beside him. The others hovered on the inside of the doorway.

"They're on their way back," Tharkûn muttered and smiled at the same time in that infuriating way he mastered ages ago. "I suspect she's charmed him."

Thorin stared at the Wizard with his jaw dropped.

Tharkûn actually wagged his brows then. "You'll only ruin it."

Ruin what, and––what––? Thorin felt his skin flush as he glared the Wizard down. Did the blasted Wizard read his mind?

Fíli was suddenly at Thorin's side, a hand on his arm. "Sasha is with her, along with the golden Dog and the little Nut."

"Bean," Thorin muttered, relaxing slightly.

"Peanut," Balin corrected, staring out the door and into the meadow. "There they are." He pointed toward a grove of Sunflowers.

And there she was, walking out of the field of flowers––

––far more golden, Biriz Akmâth––

––smiling with the sunlight glancing off her hair, smiling up, to the one at her side––

A giant of a Man, all told, at least as tall as Azog––

And yet, no foe, as such.

And yet Thorin's heart raced for battle.

Not his. Not his.

And yet––

Thorin exhaled and concentrated on the weight in his boots, and washed his face clean of any scowl, donning his stone mask.

He had no call, and would bear no posture as if he had one.

Frozen, he wondered how he was to look at this: The Man's eyes combed over Sona's whole body, as if he touched her, staring down at her while he carried two large clay pots in his arms.

The Thief looked back up, carrying her own pot, and, Mahal help him, she blushed. The Man, the Bear-man––? He was telling her things.

And she smiled and looked upon him the whole way back.

What if she liked him? What if she more than liked him?

Why had I not considered this?

The fellow batted his brows the Thief, flirting with abandon over something, who knew what.

And she giggled –– giggled––! In response to this brazen baiting.

Thorin stared at her mouth, her throat, absorbing the sound from afar, this laughter she had. Kethem 'udban'ul––

Mahal, why did you take my capacity to reason when I got lost in the fogs?

Meget'ul Amgât'ē––

Binumral'ame zê'biniski'ul'ê––

How should I handle life should she choose to bond with another?

Mahal.

His heart hammered to break through.

His feet held firm, and he waited at the door.

The Man bore a long thick mane of hair over broad shoulders strong from heavy working. He wore no cloth above his waist, all of it decked in scars. His forearms wore shackles as bracers––

He had been prisoner.

Thorin wondered who, and how he got away.

But this thought skipped away as he watched them approach.

Ē'ze.

She liked the Man. This he could see by the ease in her walk, and how she kept her eyes on him as they walked closer.

She was barefoot. So easy she felt.

A lump grew in his chest, he had no idea where from.

"Yes, I suppose we did already have a treat this morning," she said to the Bear-man.

What treat? Now he could hear them. He wished he could stop himself from gaping and scowling.

"The honey was delicious," she went on.

A sigh escaped him, relief. From what?

That it was honey, and not something else?

"I can't wait to have more," she finished.

There must be honey in the pots.

The Man grew serious at what she had said. "Neither can I." He did not mean the honey.

Thorin's heart rammed all the harder as he clawed his hands into fists to hold himself still. He had no place, to own such jealousy.

"Now," the Man rumbled, sparing the crowd within his door a glance, "will you please introduce me to your escort so I may properly welcome them to my home?"

Her escort––

"Yes," she said, at once staring straight at Thorin, clear through his heart.

Irritation flickered across her forehead, and she blinked, and swallowed, and looked a bit–– confused if he thought about it.

Bofur and Bifur stepped outside, at once forward and curious. The Thief felt no threat, so neither did they.

Thorin worked to keep his stone mask set, though he knew he failed miserably.

And now the Man glared steel, his lips curled in distaste. "Dwarves," he drawled, letting the word stand on its own.

Thorin could almost see the hair rise upon the Man, as he tensed, ready for fighting.

But the Thief was onto him, slightly frowning, her hand was on his arm in the breadth of a second. "Yes. Is that a problem?"

It was obvious it would bother her if it was, judging by the crease in her brow, and Thorin took comfort in this, however small.

When the Man looked back at her, she eased.

"Are they your escort?" the Man asked, still poised for battle.

"Yes." She'd slipped into a polite smile, one that did not reach her eyes, her hand pressing into his arm.

What was she doing, there? Did she think she could stop him, with her hand? Thorin was fleetingly reminded of the Trolls, and how they required a song––

"Then no, it is not a problem."

Thorin almost barked a laugh, but caught himself. Her hand was enough.

And now she patted the Man's arm where she'd held him, as if he were Sasha, her Dog, who bounded in the field near-by with the golden one. The Bean was at her feet. Peanut.

"Come," she said, looking over the Company. "Let me introduce you to my friends."

My close Friend––the closeness is ours.

The Company was all outside now, watching with interest, all calm by the fact that she was so at ease with this… very large Man who was a Bear. She proceeded to name each in the Company, stopping last at Thorin with a sparkle in her eye, and was that a warning?

For what?

"This is the leader of our Company, Thorin Oakenshield."

And now the Man stared down at him as if he were some Worm. "Leader of your Company?" The Man did not like this news, it was clear as his muscles tensed all over his shoulders and his hand gripped the pots so hard Thorin thought they might implode at the pressure there. But then, then––

Thorin was not sure if he could take it––

––Then the Man put his hand on Sona's shoulder, as if she were his.

No––

Ē'ze, she would make her own way.

Blood rushed through him, it was all he could do to stay still. And yet she had bargained for peace… their Pacifist. He could not ruin it.

Thorin held this peace, waiting.

"Do you mean he is your lead escort?"

Thorin exhaled, feeling the way open before him–– he'd take it.

"Uhhh… well…" she stammered, not seeing the breach… "That is to say…"

"Aye," Thorin reached for her, like he had done before in the Elven City, hoping he would catch her eye. "I am."

She saw his hand, and her eyes jumped to his face as big relief blossomed there, spreading one of her most pleasant smiles. For him. And as quick as a blink her hand was in his, and he caressed the tops of her knuckles––

With that he led her inside.

/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\

A/N #1: It has been a long while. I am slow. For those of you still with me, a wave hello. I hope you enjoy this new chapter, and I hope to have more to share soon.

A/N #2: The Khuzdûl:

Dums'ul Binumrâl – Law of Widows

Mabakhnrukul – that which is discovered, new discovery

Baktith – new fact (truth)

Nungu Azsâlul'abbad Zabal – Flower of the Lonely Mountain Purple (lavender)

Imhêd'ul Mahal – blessings of Mahal

Kethem 'udban'ul – Bells of the valley, sublime.

Meget'ul Amgât'ē – loadstone my desire

Binumral'ame zê'biniski'ul'ê. – Mine without love I'm of miscast Ones.