Part 1: Chapter 2: Some Kind We Never Forget
Guided by starlight and a sliver of moon, Thorin made his way to the outside of camp while the others readied for supper. He needed to take in the night air alone, to feel the cool breeze brush his face and sift through his hair, and think. But he couldn't help watching. Fíli and Kíli were arguing the merits of sword versus arrow, when Fíli's head shot up at a sound outside camp. Thorin heard it, too... the whine, and recalled the Dog it likely belonged to, and the Thief in its company. They must be out there, following. He looked across the ridge, and frowned. Well, so what if they were. He shrugged off the thought and looked back to camp. Nori clasped Ori's shoulder as he sauntered past him toward the cauldron of soup, where Nori then, all wire and elbow and determination, pressed Bifur aside to secure supper for his brother. Dori was hefting the ale sacks, making sure everyone had some. Balin and Glóin sat at the edge of the fire, heads bowed together, going over finances no doubt. Across the fire sat Bombur and Óin, and Bofur, who played his flute, trying unsuccessfully to get the others to sing along. Seemed the mood was rather quiet now that the Hobbit had not come, as it sank into the consciousness of the Company, this Quest is ours and ours alone. Dwalin stood at the other side of camp, attuned to him and the others just as they both guarded the periphery. Dwalin's head bowed ever so slightly while his eyes widened with welcome, and Thorin returned the gesture.
All the same he still felt watched. The odd part was he sensed no threat, two things rarely experienced together. More strange to feel this, after the trouble with the Thief and her Dog. Keeping an ear out to hear what he was missing, he lifted his wrist to check the bandages, grown loose after the day's tasks. Now was good a time as any to change them. He removed the wrappings, pulled the clean strips Óin had given him from his pocket, and rewrapped the wound, pleased to see it had not festered.
After a while, Fíli brought him a bowl of the soup Bombur had prepared, with Kíli at his side, both lads more somber than usual, very like the rest of his Company. They stood and waited while he took a few bites, Fíli stared over the ridge while Kíli took turns looking from his brother to Thorin's bowl. "What is it, Fíli?"
Fíli frowned into the distance, as if he waited for someone coming.
"What of Mister Boggins?" Kíli asked, crossing his arms and looking directly in Thorin's eyes. "Wizard was sure he'd come, and so where is he?"
Thorin cocked a brow. "Who am I to say?" Kíli held his gaze like a shield. Thorin bent in closer. "How am I to know?"
Kíli shrugged, looking angry.
"Did you lose the bet?" Thorin asked, lips twitching in the direction of a smile.
Kíli only frowned more.
"Who will take on the job, N'adad?" Fíli asked, still watching the star-lit horizon. "We needed a Fourteenth Member, Tharkûn said, and the Wizard insists they must be a Burglar, and that they should not smell of Dwarf..."
"We are Son's of Durin, and Durins are not superstitious, not when we have each other and this Company." The brother's looked to each other and back at him. "The Wizard thought it best." He pulled them into himself, brushing each across their forehead with his brow. "As for his concerns, we shall see. Go, get rest. We ride early."
They each smiled as they made their way back to their bedrolls by the fire.
Still feeling something about, Thorin settled in against a tree out of the light, and waited.
Sure as he expected, once the others had fallen asleep, except for Dwalin who watched from the opposite side, the Thief and her Dog came out of the woods and crept about the camp. Thorin stood, watching her case the edges before she entered, seeing her hand held no weapon. His own went to his hilt, and he stepped in behind her as she crossed the line, passed Glóin, where for some odd reason she stopped, her face hovering a sword length above Glóin's, eyes going over the elaborate braids in his beard, like she knew each one. Impossible. She did not know him, not any of them; Thorin would have heard about someone so strange... She pulled back slightly, blinked, and tiptoed on, stepping just beyond Fíli, who evidently also remained awake. His Sister's Son's hand flew out and caught the Thief in her tracks. She yelped while Fíli smiled as though he just won the bet Kíli had lost. But then the Dog shot in, gnashing and snarling in front of the Thief. Fíli let go and backed off just as Thorin picked up speed and the others scrambled up from their rolls, grasping for weapons.
The Thief proceeded to speak of damming things. What? There's no water––Then she muttered something about her ties being loose, and Thorin frowned, trying to understand, giving up as quickly as confusion set in.
"Thief," he hailed low.
All of them heard him, and stilled, at the ready.
As the breeze shifted against his face, she slowly turned to look into his eyes.
She had the nerve to enter here, and look innocent about it? His anger sparked, but still he waited.
But the blasted Dog, registering his presence, snarled, hunched and jumped at him. She grasped the leather about his neck and yanked him to her side. "Heel, Sasha!"
The ties again. What? No, that's what she called the Dog.
She had him stopped at her feet. Thorin glanced from him to her and continued to wait, wary of the Dog, curious to see what the Thief would do next.
"I am not a Thief," she lied.
He looked deeper into her face. "Are you saying you did not steal from me?"
Her hand on the leather jerked, and he thought she would release the Dog, but she pulled him closer. "Well, I did only just the once––"
"––Once is enough once you're caught," Dwalin retorted from Thorin's right flank, waving his ax, waking the others to Khuzdûl curses and jeering.
"––and I apologized; I was desperate!" She shouted over them.
Thorin just stared at her, amazed at the nerve, while his Company muttered on. Her expression shifted from shock to indignation before settling into a frown, as if being caught stealing was somehow unjust.
"Come now, Thorin, can you not see she is starving?" Tharkûn thrust a steaming cup into her hands, a bit of the remaining soup. A second later she had downed it. And after that, the Wizard had his arm around her, and steered her toward a log to talk.
The Wizard. Leave it to the Wizard to confound situations. He followed them to the log, where Tharkûn had the gumption to feed the toothy beast some of their jerky. "Gandalf, I am not finished with her." The Dog bared his lips to him at his words.
"Ah, I see you three have met." Tharkûn took the time to sit. "Splendid."
"No, it is not splendid," Thorin gritted through a clenched jaw. "That beast attacked me––"
"Only because you threatened me with a sword the first time we met." Bare handed, she took a step at him, signing to her Dog for stillness. "And then attacked me the second time."
"You stole from me," Thorin filled the remaining space between them, torn by the fire in his gut. What did she expect, a peace treaty?
"I came to you for help." She met him head on.
Help? Thorin studied her, frowning.
"How did you expect me, a woman lost and alone in a strange land, to react to you waving your sword around?"
Where did this one come from? "You could have started by asking for help," he retorted. That would have been the reasonable thing to do...
"Kind of hard to do when you tackle me before I even get a chance to say anything!"
Thorin bit his tongue, irritated by the fact that she had a point. Then he blinked, feeling the heat off her face, realizing they stood so close.
Then the Grey One muttered some nonsense about the lengths she had come to steal one of Thorin's biscuits, and they both stepped apart, thankfully. Thorin felt terribly uncomfortable within her aura, like he should know her. Infuriating. Impossible. Then, acting as if he weren't there, she turned to Tharkûn and said something about seeking his advice, "for help. I need a Wizard."
Thorin nearly choked. This was bordering ridiculous. "What for?" He demanded slowly, taking in her form, wondering about the nature of her odd manner of dress. Her face colored at his question, but he felt no urge to spare her, she was experienced enough, he could tell it. She was well beyond the age of a maiden of Men––Not to say she was old, no. Certainly she was not plain; her single braid fell far down her back, clearly unattended from days of traveling alone. It was thick, and loosened her hair would fall below her waist–– He shut his eyes briefly to stop admiring. Surely she was married, and this was all so utterly irritating. "Why are you out here, woman? You need to go back to your husband. Back where you belong."
The Thief stood tall and her Dog began to growl. "How dare you––"
Tharkûn cut them both off. "Sorry, my dear." He shot Thorin a pointed look for silence. Thorin forced his breath down through his teeth. "But let us go back to why you think you need a Wizard."
And there she proceeded to weave the most outrageous tale of coming from another world to Middle-earth, and that Middle-earth only existed in some 'book' from hers. As she said it, Thorin could not help looking her over yet again, at all the strangely placed seams, everything oddly cut, and her pack, full of buckles made of... he could not tell what, and a silent argument ensued in his mind as he listened.
She was not lying. This could not be true. His mind looked to the evidence, but he would not believe it.
She spoke of magic and the Wizard agreed he was the one to come to for aide. And her name was Sona. Sona, Thorin thought of song and cursed himself just as the sun began to cut light through the trees. He would listen no more. "Gandalf, you cannot possibly believe this thieving Easterling––" he said, focusing on her skin tone, placing her as near as he could to any place she may have fit beyond the Mountains he came from.
"Whoa, how about you lay off the name calling and the racism––"
Racism? What was that? He glanced over the new word but did not stop his speech. "––and all this foolishness about a 'book' and how this has all been written." Thorin turned his back to her, eyes resting on his Company, who watched, some curious, some worried, all hovering at the edges of earshot. This –– Thief behind him –– claims to know their history? All of them? Before they have lived it? How can that be? "No one's future is written. I will listen to this rubbish no longer," he said, ready to go back to his own.
"Erebor."
He stopped, and as unwilling as he felt, he looked at her again. "How came you to know of Erebor?"
"I told you... I've read the book."
'The book'. Mahal save us. This was too much. "Lies," he spat. He would have the truth. The blasted Dog stopped him just as he realized he was coming for her again. Instead he turned to Tharkûn, gripping his hilt. "She is a spy, Gandalf. A filthy, Easterling spy," he growled out the words, fully exasperated. "What proof do we have that she is as she says––a lost traveler from another world––other than her word? And what good is the word of Men?"
"Now you listen to me, Thorin Oakenshield––"
Oakenshield? Her voice had risen and he wondered if the others had heard, held still by what she'd said. How would she know this? His honor name? Not many beyond the Dwarves knew it, the name he had bitterly won at a cost he could never forget.
He looked up at her, caught in the fire of her amber eyes. Her nose, now flared in anger, held a tiny gold stud that winked in the dawning light. Her flushed face was dusted and streaked with dirt from days of travel, framed by loose strands of hair that had pulled free from her messy braid, dark with golden honey wisps streaked through it, so bedraggled and unkempt... He felt a twinge of guilt; perhaps he was being too harsh. But now she was beyond the Dog with her finger thrust in his face. He clenched his hands into fists to stop himself from smacking that finger.
"If one of the Maiar trusts and believes me, that should be more than enough for you." How she spoke to him––as if he were some miscreant! And what–– What did she call Tharkûn, the wise one now scrambling for his dropped pipe? In the Common Speech, Gandalf. Elven, Maiar, Istari, in Khuzdûl, Tharkûn, Thorin's brain filtered through names he had learned long ago. Aside from his name in the Common Speech, who among the race of Men knew Tharkûn's other names, much less the nature of his being, that he was one of the Maiar? But he could not think further, because she would not stop. "And for your own edification, I'm an American, not an Easterling––"
Amer––
"––but even if I was, there's no reason to assume I'm a spy or somehow beneath you in any way, shape of form just because I'm from the race of Men and have slightly darker skin than you."
––what did that have to do with anything?
"I am a living, thinking, intelligent being just like you––"
––you are nothing like me.
"––and am in every way your equal."
You certainly have no fear. He stared at her, wall in place, set not to move a hairbreadth out of her way, as if to dare her to move through him.
"I will not be spoken of as if I'm not here."
I should not speak to you at all.
"And when you do talk to me it will be with courtesy and respect."
I would rather not.
And finally she stopped admonishing, though her voice still echoed forcefully in his head. What was he to make of it? She had not lied. She made him feel like a fool. And he had absolutely nothing to say about it. His stone face set firmly, he gave her his shoulder and walked back to his Company.
They immediately all came at him asking who the Thief was, how they met, what she stole and what they were going to do with her, except for Fíli who was looking back, assessing that infernal Dog.
Thorin rolled his eyes and slapped Fíli on the shoulder to refocus his Sister's Son's attention upon the pressing concern of the stranger in their midst, who now appeared to be in some deep and emotional discussion with the Wizard. He watched her make a circular motion toward them all and wondered if that was a dismissal. Clearly she did not think much of them. And this was all the same to him. Why should he care? His heart still beat fast in continuing annoyance. Surely he did not. Then she reached into a hidden pocket in her breeches and pull out a kind of circlet, a shiny black three-quarter band she put on her forehead and lowered over her eyes, tiny holes on the upper edges clearly not large enough to see though–– Thorin squinted at her, wondering how she could see now, with the world of trees around her reflecting back at him. Shaking his head, he turned toward the others.
"The lass doesn't seem too threatening, Thorin," Dwalin muttered, looking back at her over Thorin's shoulder, "rather flustered and pink in the face at the moment, but nothing more 'n that."
"You did not have dealings with her Dog, Dwalin." Thorin muttered, fingering the bite wounds through the bandages, holding his wrist out toward his friend to see. "He has sharp teeth, and he listens to her."
"She listens to her." Fíli corrected, eyes again focused on the blasted animal. "She has a sweet face. She's watching us."
"She's a she?" Bofur asked, glancing studiously toward the Dog.
"Of course she is," Fíli retorted, indignant. "But I've not seen her kind before––"
"Oh, come on, Fíli, you act like you've just met your One." Kíli moaned as if this were a dry lesson added to an already full day.
Fíli smacked him. "What do you know about that?"
Kíli shrugged, a superior expression working itself into a smirk across his face.
"But the lass, Thorin? What do you intend to do about her?" Bofur asked, the tips of his hat nodding with the question. Balin's intelligent eyes strayed from Bofur to Thorin, as his old friend repeated the question silently.
"Nothing. She will not stay with us. She can go back where she came from."
Balin pointed his head forward with that look in his eyes, as though he just caught Thorin stealing some sacred scroll from the Thrór's private library. Thorin frowned at him, wondering what in Mahal's name that look meant now. "And what if she cannot? What if she's lost, or without a place to return to, as we have been?"
"What if she is, Balin?" Thorin shot back. "What am I supposed to do about it? I have my own people to look after, and this should not include every stray we meet on the way."
The answering spark in his old friend's eyes only fueled Thorin's agitation, an unease that showed no signs of abating anytime soon. "And you remember how it felt when we were overlooked by those we thought would help––"
"Enough, Balin. I never met that ... Thief in all my days, nor made her promises I now fail to keep, so do not compare me to old faithless allies of our past."
"You are not faithless, Thorin. That is my point." Balin said, never one to back down. Thorin only stared at him for many long moments, until they both looked back in her direction. She was standing now, rigid and pale and looking like the wind had been knocked from her lungs, but surely the Wizard had done nothing to harm her. No, Tharkûn was staring back the way they had come, with a look of sadness that made him look older than old.
Just then, the Thief began pacing and raising her voice, "What do you mean he didn't show up?" and Thorin could not help it, he walked back toward them.
The Wizard muttered something under his hat.
"No, see, you don't understand…the book is called The Hobbit."
Thorin frowned. Did she mean the grocer?
"He's the story's hero!" The Thief's clear voice was rising above them like bells pulled with increasing force. He found himself wondering if the Thief could sing, and quashed that thought as quickly as it came. "It does not work without him!"
The Wizard did not seem to notice the growing storm right in front of him. She grabbed his arms. "There are things that need to happen––"
Whatever she was about to say was cut off by a suddenly woken Wizard who clamped a hand over her mouth and muttered powerfully, "Do not say anything about what has been written. You could ruin it all!"
She wrenched herself free, tripped over her Dog, and yelled at the top of her lungs, "THE STORY IS ALREADY RUINED! YOU HAVE TO GO BACK!"
"We do not go back." Thorin let his words fall like a hammer.
The fire-crazed Thief spun about, searching the road and the fields around them for the missing Hobbit.
This had to stop. "Not for some straggling grocer. He had his chance." He glanced pointedly at Tharkûn. "It is time to go."
That look came into the Wizard's eyes. The one that spelled trouble. "A moment, Thorin, if you would. I have had a rather brilliant idea, if I do say so myself."
The Thief tensed at the comment, holding her Dog closer, and Thorin wondered how well she knew the Wizard from the 'books' she spoke of.
Thorin braced himself.
"Your Company needs a Burglar," Tharkûn beamed like a Dwarfling in Bifur's toyshop. "And I promised you a Fourteenth Member."
"No." How dare he suggest it?
"Oh, hell no!"
Hell? Thorin wondered for the briefest second. But she agreed. That was new.
Then the Wizard singled him out, his brows raised in challenge. "And why not? Has she not already proven she can steal from you quite handily?"
Thorin glanced at her sheepishly, already knowing he would never hear the end of this. And it was utterly annoying. "Aye," he grumbled, settling himself in the bad mood he kept for company in these tiresome moments. "But I sought a Burglar to employ. Not a Thief to steal from me." He glanced down at the blasted Dog, who, as if on cue, growled back at him. "Nor one with a Dog she can sick on me undeserved––"
"Oh, it was most certainly deserved," the Thief muttered, clasping hard to the collar of her Dog.
When would this day end?
"And you," Tharkûn persisted in his useless persuasion. "I have already told you I cannot get you home, but will gladly take you to those who can."
And who might that be? Thorin wondered, but he dared not ask, truly not wishing to know.
"Those who can? I thought you said El––"
"And besides, Thorin," Tharkûn cut her off, clearly hushing her, also not wishing for Thorin to know. Elves. Surely it was about Elves... "Are you truly going to leave her here, alone, in the wild?"
Thorin clenched his arms over his chest. "She is not alone. She has that infernal beast for company." He pulled a hand up over his shoulder to point the way behind them. "The Shire is less than a day's walk. If she seeks civilized society she can join the grocer––"
"Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór!" Tharkûn bellowed, towering above them, his presence expanding like a mountain about to heave the earth-core's fire. "You tasked me with finding a Fourteenth Member for your Company. Well I have found her. Sona is my choice. She will be your Burglar."
"No, Gandalf." Thorin would not be swayed, no matter the power behind the Wizard's argument. "You had your choice. You picked the Hobbit, and for whatever reason, your gamble failed. I will not let you saddle this sacred Quest to restore our Home with a stray you picked up on the road. Or her Dog."
The Thief's mouth dropped and her wide eyes glanced Thorin's way, a flicker of admiration peeking through her awe, followed by her customary scowl. Did no one deny the Wizard in the 'books' she had read?
"I am very sorry to hear it," Tharkûn muttered, looking older than old yet again. "Very well," he glanced to the sky, an aura of hope straightening his stance. "If you will not take her, I will."
"What?" The Thief asked.
"You will travel with me, my dear," Tharkûn answered, as though he had solved all the world's problems.
"But how is that any different than what you were just proposing?"
Thorin wanted to laugh, however bitterly, at the accuracy of her statement, but he kept his peace. The Wizard had practiced stubbornness for years upon years, far beyond the measure of Thorin's lifetime. "Very well," he capitulated grudgingly. "But she is not one of us. I cannot guarantee her safety. And you will be responsible for her fate."
"Yeah, I'm standing right here, thanks."
He would not grace her a glance. He would not speak to her. He would not. Instead he returned to his Company, ready to set out.
But setting out had to wait as Tharkûn brought the Thief forward for introductions. Thorin watched his Company assess her as the light of day expanded. Dwalin had put on his war mask, aimed to intimidate, while most of the others looked on with varying degrees of curiosity.
"Sona will be traveling with me for some time," Tharkûn announced over everyone's mumblings.
Some time, Thorin echoed in his mind. How was he likely to endure it? Dread mixed with a strong desire to move all mingled together in his agitated state. The Quest. He would focus on the Quest, and it pulled him, he felt it. He would reclaim their Homeland, and who cared for the extra company they kept?
"Sona," the Wizard spoke her name gently, "this is the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. You have met their leader."
She laughed, looking like she smelled a dead Warg. At least the distaste was mutual. Dwalin swelled at her, intensifying his war mask, causing her to fidget. Thorin signed for him to curb it, she was intimidated enough, and peaceful traveling was a greater priority, and having her at ease would help that.
He glanced back at her. She was chewing her lip while taking in the names of her new travel companions, clearly overwhelmed by the number of them. Thorin realized the similarity of family names would no doubt cause her some confusion. She likely thought like any other outsider, that they were all the same, hairy, greedy, smelly and closed to the world. It could not be helped. He stared past her, resigned, and feeling a weight he could not define.
But then she startled at Balin's name, like she knew it, but could not place it. Fear touched the corners of her eyes, followed by indignation when she caught Dwalin glaring madly. Thorin signed him again, more forcefully now, and with his own glare for emphasis. Dwalin gave a slow nod in return, gentling his edge and pulling in his ax. Thorin laughed inside at the futility of it; the Thief would not be able to tell a difference in his Warrior's regard.
His Sister's Son's were charmed. Too charmed. After thumping them he glanced back, wondering what they saw. And she was smiling, nodding her welcome. Thorin's mouth went slack, caught off guard by her openness. She shined. How in Mahal's name had he not seen it? He searched for lies in her expression, but found no hint. Suddenly her Dog barked at Fíli, wagging her tail. Thorin could have sworn she was smiling.
He glanced to the ground, feeling a hint of regret that they had not met on better terms. But it could not be helped now. What was done was done.
But he was jarred from these thoughts when she called out Glóin's name. "As in Gimli son of Glóin?" Stunned silence followed as all eyes were on hers.
"Aye, lass." Glóin stared at her star-eyed. "And if you don't mind me asking, how do you know about my son?"
Fortunately the Thief was lost for words. But there was admiration in her gaze, and hope, and respect? and warmth?
And he watched her struggle to tell them. No. Thorin moved. She could not tell them. Foreknowledge was nothing to trifle with––What were they to do with it? His Company did not know about her 'books.' and he was not about to start explaining now. He would not let her knowledge harm them, or control them, or confine them. He took a step in front of her, toward the Ponies, toward departure, looked deep into her amber eyes and signaled "no."
She nodded back, eyes questioning, before turning behind her as if someone should be there.
That was it; he could look no more. He took that moment to address his Company. "Mount your Ponies. We have tarried long enough."
They were moving again. High time for it. A cool wind brushed through them, and the air was fresh. He could feel some of them watching as the Company followed, listening to the Ponies steps and laugh-filled chatter behind. Finally they were on their way. And the Mountains called, and the Mountain Song rose in his mind, and he wished to, but he hesitated singing. He had been an arse. To have ruined a friendship before it ever started. He could have just listened to Balin, always the calmer one until battle struck. But now the Thief was back there, and he wondered if she was one of the ones he felt watching. Not likely, not after his blundering. Sona. That was her name. Why did he keep thinking of song? He focused on the Mountains ahead. They would pull him through. They pulled now. He started humming low, and let the air fill him. A smile tugged its way to the corners of his mouth. One step closer, one at a time.
/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\
A/N: My thoughts on Thorin, and my process here:
Bagginshield is my OTP. I'm all over it, from the rocky start, to friendship bromance, to romantic love that was never expressed in time, to heartbreak: very much like the tragic love we see in Yule Brenner and Deborah Kerr's "The King and I."
I never thought I'd consider working on a story with Thorin where Bilbo is not in it. But then my friend Jenny-Wren28 asked me to Beta her AU, specifically to help make sure Thorin stays in character, and I couldn't resist that call even knowing there would be no Bilbo. So, that being said, I started off a bit worried. Fortunately I did not need to worry long. The story is an Alternate Universe: What if Bilbo had not come along, for whatever reason? (And I have ideas about that which may one day be expressed, ohhh plot bunnies…) What if there were someone else Thorin could find as a romantic interest? AUs give me the freedom to check out another scenario. Jenny-Wren28's story works exceptionally well, Sona and Sasha feel so real, and when Thorin began showing up more and more, I found myself moving beyond Jenny-Wren28's Beta, projecting Thorin's PoV until I was writing scenes. Now here we are, my friend and I in a collaborative effort that has been beyond amazing…
I am not new to writing, but this is my first foray into FanFic.
Repeating here, in case anyone is worried: Sona and Sasha belong to Jenny-Wren28. She has given me permission to use them in this story. In fact, she is very happy I'm doing it.
The rating will most likely rise as the story progresses.
E