A/N: WOW! Guess you guys enjoyed seeing Sona blissfully ignorant to dwarf customs on hair. I must admit, it was absolutely a delight to write and I enjoyed all the secondhand embarrassment y'all seemed to suffer. ;-)

Thank you so much for the plethora of reviews - I think we're just about to top 400? Holy smokes!

And even though this site doesn't seem to be posting them, I am still getting emails about them AND the review count is going up, so I know they're registering. Hopefully the website will sort this out sometime this week...


I've got thick skin and an elastic heart

But your blade it might be too sharp

I'm like a rubberband until you pull too hard

I may snap and I move fast

But you won't see me fall apart

'Cos I've got an elastic heart

-Sia


Her guitar was shattered.

It had born the brunt of the sword strike intended to behead Thorin, and she did not for a moment regret its sacrifice. Thorin was worth more than any object or physical possession. They all were.

Which made Sona feel all the worse about her reaction.

She sat cross-legged before her pack cradling the cedar wood pieces in her arms and blinking back tears.

She would not cry.

Not now.

Not in full view of everyone else.

Sona could feel the entire Company's eyes on her—minus Thorin, of course; he'd gotten up and left as soon as she'd finished with his hair. It was as if the Company was holding its collective breath, waiting to see how she would react to this bit of news.

How did someone react to being amputated?

She felt naked.

Lost.

As if she was missing a limb or part of her heart. She couldn't think of a time in her life where she didn't have a guitar.

This can't be happening.

Her hands shakily cupped the head of the instrument, still pristine and in one piece. The only portion that still was.

What will I do now?

Minstrel in Waiting. That's me.

How can I play for them with no instrument?

Her throat was tight and raw as if she'd been sobbing for hours. She swallowed hard around the lump building there.

I can't look at this anymore.

Getting carefully to her feet, she dumped the guitar pieces onto the blood-covered kurta she'd already decided to burn. She then pulled the fabric corners together, using it to carry the shattered wood, and, keeping her eyes down and away from what were surely curious looks, dumped the entire bundle on top of the campfire.

She returned to her pack (after telling Sasha to return to Fíli) and began inventorying what was left; unemotional and robotic with her movements. She made two piles, one of things she'd acquired in Arda (like clothes, soap, and the bangles Arwen had given her), and the other of things from home (like the vial of lavender essential oil her mother had given her because she knew Sona liked to dab it on her neck and wrists, her lipstick, and of course, David's urn).

Everything was fine. Not even Sona's phone had suffered a scratch. She stroked its glossy touch screen wondering if it would even power on anymore—she'd been in Middle Earth for a long time.

She slowly repacked her bag, somehow feeling that they would be moving soon—they'd been at that camp for a while, and she didn't for a minute think Azog had stopped chasing them.

Which then made her wonder if she should even be continuing on with the Company at this point. She no longer had her guitar and she'd found Gollum—

"Good day, lass."

Startled, Sona looked up. Bofur was standing beside her, head framed, as always, by his ridiculous hat and newly refreshed braids. He was looking over her neatly packed bag and Sona realized that she had been staring at it, lost in thought.

"Yes?"

He took that as invitation enough and sat down next to her with a broad smile on his face, though there was a hint of wariness in his eyes. "That's a lovely bag. I particularly like the buckles. They're of a material I've never encountered before."

"They're plastic." Sona felt a smile edge onto her face. Ah, the curiosity of dwarves. How had this question not come up before? "It's a process that's been developed in my land where the plastic is poured while melted and then hardens into any form you need. It's very convenient and cheap to produce. Not as durable as metal though."

"Your land is very different, it would seem." He didn't mean it as an insult and the twinkle in his eyes made Sona snort.

"Yeah, you could say that." She picked up a twig and began tracing lines in the dirt, hands anxious to be doing something.

"Aye. Do you recall when you asked about widows and Ones?"

Sona froze then carefully angled her face toward him. "Yes?"

"You said it was because you wanted to understand our ways and to avoid future misunderstandings and potential offense."

"Yeees…" Sona did not like where this was headed. What had she done now?

"I imagine there are some deeds that for your people are insignificant, whereas for dwarves… well, they carry much meaning and weight."

"Oh no…" Sona closed her eyes. Please no. Please don't say I insulted Thorin or any of them somehow...

"Oh aye!" Bofur's smile only broadened and Sona wanted to smack him. He seemed to be enjoying her discomfort far too much. "Hair, like our language, is sacred. You never touch another dwarf's hair without express invitation and then it usually is only between family, close friends, or couples."

Sona squeezed her eyes even tighter. Why did Thorin let me do it? Why didn't he stop me?

Because I was too busy yelling at him once again, and not letting him get a word in edgewise.

"—and then there is the matter of gifts."

Sona groaned. There's more. How can there be more? How many things could I possibly have done wrong? Wait a sec—

"Gifts? But I've never given any of you a gift…" She trailed off wracking her brain, thinking. Was Bofur just giving her a warning? So she wouldn't somehow cause a future issue?

He just raised an eyebrow at her and continued, his smile not weakening for a moment. "Gifts carry great meaning to us, and, as before, are generally only exchanged between family, close friends, and couples. I won't go over all the different kinds of gifts and what they could mean or imply, or what is traditionally given for certain occasions, though I will mention that flowers are typically given by a dwarrow-dam to indicate her favor and desire to court."

Oh no. Nonononononononono.

Sona buried her face in her hands, knowing it was bright red, as she could feel the heat of embarrassment pouring off her skin.

She'd only meant the lavender to help Thorin sleep and the flower crown was a teasing joke between friends.

She certainly wasn't trying to court him.

Not at all.

No.

Never…

Never?

"Don't worry, lass." Bofur patted her shoulder lightly. "We know you aren't familiar with our ways. That's why I'm telling you." He got to his feet and extended his hand to her. Taking it, she allowed him to pull her up.

"Now why don't you come and get some lunch?" He guided her toward the cook fire, where the others—minus Thorin—were eating and talking together as if Sona hadn't just committed an awful social faux pas in front of all of them.

Bless these dwarves and their understanding hearts.

Her stomach rumbled and she realized she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. Had it been lunch the day she'd fallen from the cliff?

Before the Ring.

Sona pasted a smile on her face and graciously accepted the hot bowl of vegetable soup from a grinning Bombur, before sitting down next to Bifur, who'd slid slightly closer to her once she settled down to eat.

She had much to consider, not the least of which was how she was ever going to make things right between her and Thorin again.


Lunch finished, they all cleaned up and packed up their things and Thorin still hadn't returned. No one else seemed all that worried, so Sona attributed her anxiety over his absence to do more with the fact that things were still very not okay between them.

She pulled out her hairbrush and sat back down next to Bifur. Her hair had dried enough to be easy to manage, and she figured she ought to put it up before they left, otherwise it would be an untamable snarl again when they stopped tonight.

Pulling her hair over her shoulder she started yanking her brush through it when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Bifur made a few quick motions with his hands that she didn't understand, but then pointed at her hair and then back at himself.

"Oh!" Sona smiled and nodded vigorously. "Yes, please!" She was touched he considered the two of them to be close enough friends to ask to do her hair. She handed Bifur her brush and he made a face at it, but took it anyways.

She turned her back to him and pushed her heavy mass of hair over her shoulder, while wondering why he didn't just use his comb if he didn't like her hairbrush.

Maybe dwarves just don't share combs…

The thought came to her as Bifur gently began working her brush from the bottom on up to her scalp, detangling it as he went, making quick work of her snarls.

But if dwarves didn't share combs, then why had Thorin allowed her to use his?

It just didn't make sense.

She sighed quietly, and a smile crossed her face as Bifur made quick work of her hair. Sona absolutely loved it when others brushed or played with her hair—perhaps because it reminded her of being a little girl and her mother doing it every morning for her. Her eyes slid closed.

Or maybe it's just because it's relaxing.

Sona didn't have further time to ruminate on dwarves and hair and combs as Bifur was once again tapping on her shoulder and holding out both her hairbrush and the unbound end of her long braid to her.

"Oh! That was fast." She took the hairbrush and braid in one hand, and felt up to her head with the other. He'd very quickly and efficiently pulled it up into a neat Dutch braid—essentially an inside out French braid—and a style she'd never been able to do to herself.

She bound the end off with a black elastic band, and then turned to Bifur, blinking back tears from her eyes, not certain why she was so overwhelmed by emotion.

Guitar. Thorin. I'm an idiot. Ring. And I miss my family.

Oh, right.

"Thank you, my friend." She placed her hand softly on his shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. "My mother used to braid my hair like this when I was a child. It's the only style that's ever managed to keep my hair in line."

He smiled brilliantly at her in return, and, as always, she wasn't certain if he'd fully understood her, but he'd clearly understood the sentiment behind her words.

Sasha whined just then and pointed in the direction Thorin had left earlier. Everyone turned in time to see the Company's leader emerge from the trees, and Sona felt her heart ease at his return.

"Good, you are packed." He looked them over quickly, his gaze seeming to skip right over Sona and she forced herself not to be upset by it. They still needed to talk, but based on the way he was carrying himself—as though he was ready to jump into battle again—something much more pressing was at hand.

"The orcs have found our trail, and…" Here he paused, his eyes flicking briefly over to Sona. "Closer still, there is a rather large bear."

Sona quickly scooped up her pack amid the flurry of activity from the others and blew out a resigned sigh.

It appeared it was time to run again.


A/N: Don't worry, we get more Sorin' moments in the next chapter. :-)

In the meantime, I thought it was time for Bofur and Bifur to get some time to shine. Speaking of Bofur, if you aren't reading Lisa Halette's story "Veiled" - you should be! It's a Bofur story and I looooooove it! It's in my faves in case you want to find it.

Next update should be next Sunday, the 10th.

Can't wait that long? Be sure to check out YMR's "Biriz Akmath" (also in my fave's) - it's this story from Thorin's POV!