Part 1: Chapter 4: When Durin Woke and Walked Alone

Days went by, and Thorin continued to look forward, to leave decisions for later.

Spar. Pack. Move. Camp. Spar. Pack. Move––

His Sister's Sons had latched onto the Thief, and Thorin, try as he might, could not prevent himself from listening to their conversations. The Dog took a liking to Fíli from the first, becoming his second shadow after Kíli. She bounded around them as they rode, woofing, sighing and yawning as though she added her own words to their bantering. A thaw began for the others, and they slowly opened toward her, Bifur, Bombur and Bofur including her with friendly gestures, food and polite questions; the rest hung back waiting, observing, while Thorin kept forward, focused on the Mountain far away, determined not to say a word. He settled into a sour mood by the third day, and Dwalin had a few extra sparring bruises to prove it.

"What are you waiting for?" Dwalin took a swing, nicking his shoulder just after Thorin had landed the hilt on his jaw. They turned to each other, both sweating and panting from the moves. "Why don't you just ask?"

"Ask what, Dwalin?"

"Where she comes from, what's her purpose? And if she's married, for starters."

Thorin nearly choked on a laugh. "You jest while I hold a blade?"

"It's not a joke, and I don't see why not––"

"I already asked." Thorin stilled at the admission and watched Dwalin blink.

"What? When?"

"It–– That first day. The conversation was–– forced. She found offense and refused to answer me." Thorin sheathed his blade, opting not to add the fact that his question then had been anything but polite. "I'm not about to speak to her, much less ask her that. Again. Besides, I have no time."

"Hah! We move along, day by day, and you say there is no time? Just let your boys do all the talking?"

Thorin glared and punched and shoved all at once, and Dwalin thrust back, laughing the way he does, his teeth showing, threatening to bite. "Well, you could––"

"Look, we did not start off on friendly terms. I know she prefers I keep to myself, as do I."

Dwalin's eyes widened in doubt as one of his meaner frowns creased his features. "Something's changed, Thorin." He stepped back now, pointing at him with his blocking fist, gauntleted finger toward his right eye. "Something about you––"

"Yes," Thorin agreed, cutting the Warrior off. He rolled his left arm, shrugged and pointed East. "I've a Quest, to get us to the Lonely Mountain, where a fire drake awaits us."

"I know––"

"I am resolved to take back our Home."

"Suit yourself," Dwalin huffed, gathering various weapons scattered across the clearing. "Don't think I'm not watching. And I'll make sure your Thief doesn't get lost in the meantime," he called out as he headed back to camp, just before he disappeared through the brush.

My Thief? What utter nonsense.

Thorin tarried. Confused as his breath settled. Somehow, just somehow there had to be a way to clear his head. But the undeniable fact was he seemed to favor this Thief. He had no room for such feelings. And it aggravated, like wood shards under the skin.

#

Sure enough, later that day, pertinent questions were asked. Fíli began it after the Thief described dancing on waves atop planks of wood–– surfing, she called it.

"So, where is your husband? What does he–– How is it you travel unattended?"

Blast it, Fíli, why? Thorin tensed in his seat, anticipating her response, wondering if she'd be offended, keyed to hear her answer all the same.

She made no answer. Thorin bit his inner lip to keep from turning around to look.

"Sona?" Fíli spoke again as the gap of silence grew. "I asked you a question, but seem to have lost you."

Thorin felt eyes upon him, but held firm, he would not turn around.

"I'm sorry. What else did you want to know?"

Thorin frowned, confused. Had she been listening?

"He asked what your husband thought about you going off traveling all by yourself with no escort or chaperone," Kíli piped in. Thorin could hear the laughter in his voice.

"What is it with you guys and assuming I'm married?" She asked tersely, low, as though she pressed the words through her teeth. Somehow this subject of husbands was a sensitive one. Perhaps she had no husband, and thought she was too old to get one now? Certainly the world of Men was a cruel and foolish place, if one such as her were considered unworthy due to her age, as if she were some cattle, to be graded, and degraded, treated as a lesser being. If that were so, they did not deserve her. At that he dared glance at her face, one puckered in anger, cheeks slightly flushed, and he wanted––

He let out a breath he'd been holding, closed his eyes and turned back. He wanted to know about her. And topics of husbands were irksome, and she was not too shy to show how much so. Her frown was almost golden, almost–– pretty?

No, he didn't think that. But he rather did think–– she wasn't married, and he wondered why this knowledge seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders–– why should it matter?

And then he smiled, feeling a slight satisfaction as his Sister's Sons were subjected to a bit of her ire, just as he had been before. And then his mind followed back the thought–– she wasn't married. Why should it matter?

"Well," Fíli interrupted the growing silence, "to begin with, there's the piercing in your nose." Yes, they had all seen that, but, as Thorin had already told Dwalin–– "Dwarrow-dams only wear them to signify that they are married. Not all married Dwarrow-dams have a nose piercing, but, all that do are wed."

"Oh," the Thief replied. "We have a similar tradition. Married woman can wear the sindoor––"

The what? Thorin's ears pricked up.

"It's a red powder in their hair."

Fascinating–– And she had no powder in her hair, further confirming his assumption. She was not married.

"Not all married women do, though, but only married women are supposed to. But, Fíli, I'm not a Dwarf."

No, she was not. Thorin glanced back at the ground passing beneath the Pony's hoofs.

"Yes, exactly so." Fíli continued, his curiosity animating his voice. "You are of the race of Men, and most females––"

"Woman, thank you very much."

Thorin's eyes glanced back, noting the term she did not care to hear.

"I apologize," Fíli was quick to amend. "Most women are married and have a brood of children by the time they reach your age."

"And just what age am I?" The Thief asked cuttingly.

Tharkûn chuckled low, and Thorin couldn't help half smiling.

"Not a day over sixty-four, I'd say," Kíli crooned, and Thorin suppressed a snort. "I know Men don't age the same way Dwarves do, so taking that into consideration," the lad continued on, his excitement greying like snuffed coal.

Silence followed. Thorin glanced back to awkward stares all around.

"You don't know much about humans, do you?"

Humans––? What––

The Wizard began to laugh with exaggerated enthusiasm, and Thorin rolled his eyes. "My dear, Fíli, and to a lesser degree Kíli––when he shows up for lessons––knows more about the race of Men than most Dwarves..."

Humans were of Men, Thorin considered, perhaps much the same as Hobbits, unheard of in most the world...

"As they have been tutored," Tharkûn went on, "about a great many things for most of their lives to prepare them for when one of them will inherit the throne from Thorin one day."

Thorin's jaw set, looking East toward the mountains far in the distance.

"But to further explain for you. Dwarves and Men do not age the same," the Wizard was telling the Thief. "Your lifespan is considerably shorter. Fíli here is eighty-two, while the young master Kíli is only seventy-seven."

Still green. Too green for the dangers ahead–– Thorin sighed. He had been young at Azanulbizar. Younger, even. But these were his Sister's Sons, and––

"You're so old!" The Thief objected. Thorin glanced back to find her glaring at Dwalin. "What are you, three hundred?"

The Warrior huffed, fighting a smile. Thorin turned back and relaxed into his own.

"My dear, they are not old," Tharkûn continued. "Fíli and Kíli have not yet reached their majority and are only here because their uncle allowed it."

And Thorin still wondered if he should have––

"More like they kept pestering Thorin until he'd had enough of their nonsense," Dwalin grumbled from behind.

Yes, Thorin let out a quiet laugh. They had been relentless. And he and Dís had fought, shouted and hurled objects for weeks before he set out.

"I cannot stop them, Dís."

"Yes, you can, thick-headed pig. Don't go."

"I am the Heir, N'amad; I have to do this––"

She had eventually relented, after promises from all of them, and stone-sakes for memory, hard promises from each to come back––

"And then mother made him swear to look after us." Kíli piped in.

"Dís. I will bring them home. I will bring us all home."

"As is we were Dwarflings in short pants!"

Ah, Sister's Son. You are indeed young. Thorin's lips curled in a tight smile.

"So," Fíli began again. "How old are you, Sona? And don't think I haven't noticed you didn't answer my question about your husband."

Thorin sighed. Back to that again.

"I'm thirty-two. Definitely an adult by human standards, and I don't need an escort or a chaperone to travel. I'm out on my own quite a bit, actually. And you're right. I was married."

W–– was.

"My husband drowned several years ago saving three children from a riptide."

Binumral. The Thief was widowed.

Thorin thought of his Sister as the Company went silent behind him–– How she had cried only briefly upon hearing the news of Víli's death, how she busted up her forge and all its contents–– How she did not speak for a whole year after–– How Thorin had taken on the upbringing of her young ones in her absence–– How the little ones had cried, as though they lost both parents at once. Thorin had been older than Fíli and Kíli and when he lost his 'Amad; Arís had died in the Mountain when Smaug came. He remembered the rip of losing her. He remembered feeling the heart of his 'Adad shift, compounding the loss. Grief settled over him, recalling, imagining, unable to comprehend beyond the sadness.

Did the Thief have bairns? Were they left behind in the world she wished to return to? There was no end for sadness such as this–– But for this Thief, one he did not know, one who stole from him before stealing her way into his Company, why was his own heart sinking so low?

"I–– apologize." Fíli stammered. "I did not realize. I would not have asked if––"

Ah, Fíli, you did not know. It is not your fault, just as it was not your fault when your 'Adad died, ambushed by Orcs so many years ago.

"It's okay, Fíli," the Thief said, echoing his thought. "How could you have known? It's not like I run around advertising––"

Adver–?

"––that I'm a widow."

No, she seemed to handle it with coolness, almost as if it were nothing, but then, people of Men likely did not mourn as Dwarves do. Thorin's jaw tightened, still remembering, now imagining, entirely awash with unwanted feeling. He felt her eyes upon him and looked up, meeting her steel gaze. There was something there; he could see it, and yet she hid the injury well.

Enough of this. He stopped, dismounted. "We'll camp here for the night." He turned to his Sister's Son's, who both looked like the earth had shattered. "Fíli, Kíli," he held them close with his eyes, gripping each one by the shoulder and squeezing tightly as he passed. "Look after the Ponies. Make sure you stay with them."

/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\

Khuzdûl:

Binumrâl - the widowed, lost loved