Part 1: Chapter 5: A Song Was Sung Unheard by Men or Elves

Tharkûn did not like where they had stopped, the ruin of an old farmhouse. For the next several minutes he did his level best to pressure Thorin of the need to find the hidden door to Imladris and seek the advice of Elves, and Thorin's sour, sad mood sank into full blown anger.

Thorin noticed the Thief waiting at the edges of the abandoned shed and wondered what she wanted, but promptly shoved the thought aside, fully adamant he would not be persuaded to seek out Elves.

"We could make for the hidden valley."

But who said the Wizard would quit? "But I've told you already I will not go near that place."

"Why not?" Tharkûn hounded. "We could get food, rest, advice."

Just then the Thief moved between what used to be a doorframe, and Thorin saw her smile. Somehow, for reasons he could not define, it only made him angrier. "I do not need their advice."

"We have a map that we cannot read." The Wizard leaned into his staff. "Lord Elrond could help us."

The Thief's chin shot up; she knew Lord Elrond. Thorin settled deeper into his stone face. This was getting hard to manage, keeping calm. Perhaps she could use some history, though she said she knew their 'story' from 'books'.

"Help." Thorin sneered. "A dragon attacks Erebor. What help came from the Elves?" The Wizard moved to cut in, but he was not about to stop. "Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls, the Elves looked on and did nothing." He stepped toward the Wizard, full on in challenge. "You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my Grandfather, who betrayed my Father." He lowered his glower and glanced toward the Thief, wiping expression from his face. The look of shock on hers was somehow gratifying. Your favorites are not as 'kind' as they wish the world to think.

"You are neither of them!" Clearly angered, Tharkûn used his height to tower over him, not the blustery magical looming spell he wielded for periodic emphasis, but a trick of intimidation the Wizard had clearly learned from Men.

Thorin glanced past him but settled his weight. He would not play that game.

"I did not give you that map and key for you to hold on to the past."

Enough. Thorin threw his full glare back up at the Wizard. "I did not know they were yours to keep."

At that, the Wizard twirled and stomped off, leaving Thorin alone with the Thief, who stood there staring at him with her mouth ajar. He wondered if, in all the 'books' she had read, no one had ever challenged a Wizard. For a fleeting moment it looked as though she considered saying something. Thorin almost hoped she would.

But she darkened under his gaze, and quickly spun on her heels after the Wizard, her long dark braid flinging out behind her, leaving a hint of lavender on the air. "Gandalf, wait," her voice was strained, and Thorin wondered again, fleetingly, what it was she wanted, when she stopped before her Dog and Fíli, and ordered the Dog to stay.

Fíli glanced back at him sheepishly, and shrugged, holding the stick in his hand he'd been using as a toy with the Dog. His Sister's Son's guilty expression was surely brought on by having ignored up to now the Ponies and his Brother, who, equally careless, was content to watch the game of Dog, stick and Dwarf.

Thorin rolled his eyes and admonished them both. "Fíli! Kíli! What did I say about the Ponies?"

"Is Tharkûn coming back?" Fíli asked a pipe smoke later, approaching Thorin with pain in his eyes beneath the welcoming smile. Thorin was sure his Sister's Son's ache was not on behalf of the Wizard.

"Only he knows."

Fíli nodded, undaunted, his sad look unchanged. "The Ponies are secured just past the high grass. Kíli is with them, I am going back, but could you come, please? I would like to speak with you."

"Come Fíli." Thorin put his arm his shoulder and pulled him close as they made way through the grass, stopping just in view of the Ponies and Kíli, who was fletching arrows. Thorin turned to his oldest, tapped him brow to brow. "What is it, then?"

"She, uh." Fíli let out a breath. "I had not even thought––"

"Of course not," he kept his eyes fixed on the lad's.

"It's just–– I had hoped––" He clamped his mouth shut and looked down. "Doesn't matter."

Thorin grabbed his arm, squeezed until he looked up again. "Go ahead, say what you think."

"I remember 'Amad when her face looked carved in stone. For weeks, N'adad. Then she would shift and still again, for weeks into months, no matter what I said to her, not even when I broke my arm."

Thorin's throat grew tight. "I know."

"Sona–– do you think––"

Thorin waited for him to finish the question, but after a long moment, when he did not, Thorin answered. "I do not know." He shook his head. What could he say? He knew no more of the Thief than his boys who had asked all the questions.

"Should I not have asked?" Fíli's eyes shot straight to his, the concern burrowing deep.

"It is fine, Fíli." Thorin smiled at him, hoping to lighten his heart. "She did not seem to mind your questions too overly much, where I have seen her angry on my account." He nodded. "I think she likes you."

"I'd like her to like you too."

Thorin frowned. "That is––" he bit down, shrugged, remembering. "––it's not likely, after how poorly we met." And then he nudged him, hoping he wasn't wishing for something impossible. "She's Binumral, Fíli. You know from your 'Amad; Widows find their own way."

Fíli nodded, looking off toward his brother. "That can make it hard for ones who care."

"Yes." Thorin nodded, swallowing, hurting somehow, unsure whom he was thinking of, unsure of everything. "Yes, it can."

"She does not seem broken, not like 'Amad after so many years––" Fíli observed.

Thorin shook his head. He did not know what to make of it. He felt sad, but not only for her, and it made no sense. Why did he grieve for her loss when she strove to pretend there was none? But that wasn't all of it, and he couldn't figure out the rest.

Never mind. Binumrâl… find their own way.

Thráin had broken with the loss of Arís, his heart shattered, his mind weakened, laid open to the sickness as if in welcome, and that evil took hold like a raging Warg, dragging him off to parts unknown––

"Have you changed your mind? Do you want her to stay?"

"I––" What? "I haven't thought about it." He shook his head. "Tharkûn. He thinks about it." He laughed shortly, unable to shake the image of her face from his mind. This was–– getting uncomfortable. "I must focus East, on our Quest, Fíli, to the task put before me."

"You––"

"I must." Thorin nodded once, unwilling to argue.

Whatever it was that Fíli wanted from him, he was certain it was something he could not provide. It was not up to him. And in any case, he did not want it.

"OK, N'adad." Fíli warmed, looking back at him, smiling. "Tomorrow is another day."

Thorin slapped his shoulder. "Watch the Ponies with your Brother. I will be nearby." Thorin backed away and circled the perimeter of camp, to stand opposite Dwalin, who now looked extra solemn, while Bombur prepared supper and the others settled into camp. The Warrior nodded in greeting from over the fire, and Thorin returned the gesture, looking toward the mountain, away from the others, wishing he did not hurt, unsure why he did.

Fíli. Thorin smiled, thinking of his Sister's Son, who more than likely missed his promised Ahu'ze, Danîe daughter of Zâfir, though he wouldn't admit it. Glóin had warned them it would be so.

Boisterous hollering and loud crashing sent Thorin rushing, blade drawn, toward the harrowing sound of his Sister's Son's battle cries.

"Come! Du bekar!" he shouted to his Company, racing toward where the lads were guarding the Ponies. He made the clearing with Glóin and Dwalin at his side and the others on his heels to find Fíli, Kíli and the Thief's Dog engaged in combat with three giant Trolls. Suddenly Fíli crashed on top of his Brother, thrown by a Troll, and another Troll reached to grab them when Thorin's blade sliced into his arm, sending him bellowing backwards in pain, the Dog snarling and biting and pressing him back further. Thorin's Company jumped into the mix. They sprang, blades flying, chipping away at the flailing legs and arms of the aggravated Trolls, bringing them to their knees, their faces within easy reach of swords, axes, hammers and the rocks from Ori's sling. The Company had almost brought them down when Kíli, now off to the side and trying to free the penned up Ponies, got caught from behind and lifted above them all, his body splayed between two of the giant Trolls.

Kíli, no.

"Lay down your arms, or we'll rip his off," one of them hollered, his breath stinking of decayed teeth and gums, mixed with the scents of shit and living filth that permeated the Troll camp. Thorin felt his gut roll.

Kíli's eyes were on him, beseeching.

Try as he might to think of escape, there was none.

"No, N'adad!" Kíli protested, seeing Thorin's choice, fighting with all his might to get free.

But Thorin shook his head, heaved a sigh and thrust Deathless into the dirt before him. The others grudgingly following suit, each of them with their eyes riveted to Kíli strung helpless in the air.

"You can't!" His Sister's Son shouted. "They'll kill us all."

Likely, unless the Wizard saw fit to return––

A second later the Trolls were grasping and pulling and tying and shoving them all into sacks that they then tied off at the top. At least the Trolls had left their heads exposed to the air, however putrid it was, but Thorin still felt a blinding suffocation at being so confined. They last caught the Dog, still barking and fighting with all her fervor. Thorin wondered where the Thief was, and hoped, with surprising desperation, that she was with the errant Wizard. One Troll harnessed her Dog to a rope he tied to the fence posts holding the Ponies; his hands came away bleeding from the Dog's relentless teeth. Not about to give up, she began to chew vigorously on the rope that bound her. It did not take her long to free herself. She dug her paws forward in the ground, growled at the Trolls as if she would attack again, but then sprung up and out over the brush in the direction of their abandoned camp.

Thorin wished he could do the same, and bite his way out, but his teeth were no match to the Dog's and nowhere near the ties that bound him. He needed a knife, and all their weapons were in a heap before the fire. Tied, unable to move, feeling lost for having failed them all, Thorin clenched his teeth to keep his body's panic at bay, watching on in utter horror as the Trolls muttered and fussed over an enormous skewer and two heavy cross posts to support it over the fire. Mahal help them, he had led them to this. They were going to be burned alive––

"Don't bother cooking 'em! Let's just sit on 'em and squash 'em into jelly!" one of the Trolls suggested, picking his teeth with a bone from Balin's slaughtered Pony, her remains in a heap by the fire.

Kíli, watching on next to him, began to shake, his fear taking hold. "N'adad, I'm sorry, they came for the Ponies–– I thought we could take them––"

"We both did," Fíli added in defense of his Brother, his voice a bit more calm. "But we did not see the third."

"Shhh," he hushed gently. "Be calm. Stay ready. Did they get all your knives, Fíli?"

His Sister's Son sighed. "Aye, all that I can reach, tied as I am."

"They should be sautéed and grilled with a sprinkle of sage." Another Troll said, the one closest, nudging Glóin with his foot.

"Why don't they kill us before they eat us," Kíli asked, squirming as he fought the knots binding him inside his sack.

"This is how they enjoy it, laddie." Dwalin muttered under his breath.

"Oh, that does sound quite nice," said the Troll with the bone.

"Then why did you give up?" Kíli glared at Thorin, anger supplanting his fear.

"Get off, Bombur–– can't breath." Bofur groused, pushing up from beneath Bombur.

Thorin, eyes locked on Kíli. "You live. We may all live–– yet." He didn't know where his hope came from. The Wizard was never on time.

"Never mind the seasoning, we ain't got all night!" The third Troll came at them, and a hush fell among them. "Dawn ain't far away, let's get a move on! I don't fancy been turned to stone." He reached his massive meaty hand toward Bombur when the second Troll whacked him with a cooking ladle and the two Trolls began fighting, one nearly falling on top of Nori and Bifur in the skirmish. They both scooted closer to the rest of them as best they could as they all watched the Trolls lunge at each other over the fire.

Suddenly a light hand gripped Thorin's shoulder–– Who's––?

He jerked from his spot on the ground to find the eyes of the Thief upon him; they were round, hard with purpose, and wild beneath the surface.

"Asti," he whispered in Khuzdûl, you.

Surprise and renewed fear swept over him. She–– She came back? What was she doing here? She did not hold his gaze; her eyes dropped to the knot around his neck. Her hands came at him, a flash of colored metal in one of them as the other curled around the rope, her knuckles pressed into his throat. He relaxed his neck to slacken the rope, give her better purchase; cool skin greeted firmly as she pulled herself closer. He could see her pulse beneath her skin, beating; he could smell her breath of mint leaf, lavender in her hair, and a hint of sage, sage! mingled with the stench of Trolls–– his stomach heaved but he kept it in, breathing fast, keeping on the surface of her scent near him. Her scent. Only hers.

She grabbed the rope as though she could pull her way through it; the flash of colored metal caught his eyes again, coming at him–– It was a small blade in her hand. Callused fingers touched him as she levered it beneath the rope, its smooth backside against the skin of his neck, and then she began sawing at the thick knot from the inside out.

Her cool fingers made his heart pick up speed, and all he could do was stare into her face, open, caring, set with single-minded purpose, as she tugged back at forth, hacking through his confinement.

She swallowed, and he could hear her quick intake of air.

And that pulling feeling he'd had since the fogs in the Shire, it rebounded upon him, and he realized: it was her. This Thief. But what in Mahal's name did that mean? All he could do was stare.

But quietness alerted him, his breath stopped to listen; Dwalin and Balin were watching, and the Trolls had turned as one.

"Sona!" Kíli called gently, warned to silence by Fíli's kick to his side, but the Trolls were already aware.

"Oi! Who's that there?" the first Troll asked, lumbering large.

"Can we eat him?" the second one asked, hovering over the first's shoulder.

"Run," he asked. He ordered. He–– sank his eyes into hers. You have done too much. Please do as I say.

But she stood firm, and he knew. No, not that––

Rope severed, she dropped the blade inside the sack, into his outstretched hands, bound palm-facing. He caught the knife, warm from her hands, and breathed tight like he could hold her safe, but he wasn't even free. Please.

He felt her breath caress his face, her skin but a half hand-span to his lips. His tongue pressed the back of his teeth.

So close, she paid no mind to his request, but rather smiled a playful sad smile, and she made herself tall, and she answered the beasts, "Her," for she was her own person. And she turned to look at them with power, but weaponless, raising her hands above her head–– Submitting? No.

But she stepped away from him, and the open space was a void. He gripped the blade and began sawing through the knot at his wrist.

She stepped past the others who all vehemently urged her to run.

Why was the rope so thick?

She set herself firmly in front of the fire, and her shoulders held a stubborn edge, and he knew. No––

And he was only halfway through the ropes at his hands.

She had placed herself between the trolls and the Dwarves. No.

No. What was she doing?

"What?" the third Troll repeated, and Thorin blinked at the absurdity.

"Her. I'm a woman, not a he."

Thorin swallowed, confused, his mouth dry, but entirely certain for her this mattered.

"What does it matter?" the second Troll demanded, suddenly reaching for her. "Put 'er in a bag and let's eat 'er too."

No. His hands were free and he immediately went after the ropes tying his feet.

"Okay, while I prefer not to be eaten," the Thief began, making absolutely no sense.

"We don't really care what you'd prefer, Missy," he said as she ducked away from his groping hands.

She lunged toward her backpack, signing for her Dog to stay. But then she asked, "Would you grant me one last request before you kill me?"

What in Mahal's name? Why?

All the Dwarves grew silent.

"It's the gentlemanly thing to do, after all."

Gentlemanly? She truly was from another place––These were Trolls she bargained with––

She lowered her arms but did not step back.

Thorin continued to saw on the ropes at his feet.

The Trolls huddled and discussed her bargain while all the Dwarves stared at her as if she were an unstable beam in a waterlogged mineshaft. She paid them no mind, but instead dug through her backpack.

Suddenly the Trolls decided. "Alright, we'll give you your last request, so long as it's not to let you or them go."

"Of course not," she dismissed breezily, as though she came to sell the best manure to the farmer with the largest plot of land. "I would never insult your intelligence by asking for that."

The Trolls puffed at the flattery while each and every Dwarf groaned in protest, or dismay, depending. Thorin frowned. For him it was clearly dismay. She glared back at them for silence. His frown deepened. Did she want them to sit quietly while she gives herself over to death?

Why was the blasted rope so thick?

Just then she pulled something out of her sack, and Thorin instantly and rather sadly dismissed the possibility it could be some weapon she was drawing––

"No, " she said almost smugly, lifting a stringed instrument from its case in her bag. Her guitar, he remembered; that was her name for it–– "What I was going to ask is if you would grant me the honor of playing a song for you?"

A song. She wanted to sing them a song. What was he going to do about her?

With Mahal's blessing he could decide later; for now he was finally free of the ropes. He slipped out of the binding fabric of the sack and clambered across to Fíli, the Thief's blade firm in his grip. They would break free of these Trolls, or die trying.

/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\

Khuzdûl:

Asti – you

Ahu'ze – his One