Part 1: Chapter 6: With Foes Ahead, Behind Us Dread

She would play them a song? Why?

Thorin flung himself tight against Fíli, grasped the binding, angled himself for leverage, made space and slipped the blade beneath the rope just as Sona had done to him before––

Sona––

The Thief had done––

Thorin swallowed, sawing on his Sister's Son's binding with the blade the Thief had given him, the one who now stood before three angry Trolls, and he sawed and he sawed, with as much force and speed as he could muster without strangling the lad in his grip, who rushed him on with his fiery eyes, both of them driven by the need to hurry.

"Oh yes, please let's have a song!" one of the Trolls blustered, clapping. "It would be so nice. We ain't had any sort of entertainment for so very long."

Entertainment? Thorin rolled his eyes and dug the blade deeper into the rope, with Fíli frowning and eager, looking on.

"We ain't got time. Sun'll be rising soon." The second Troll, the one with the now cleaned rib bone between his teeth, pointed toward the Mountains. "Just bag her and be done with it. This lot ain't goin' nowhere."

You will see, Troll; you will see very soon who goes where.

"Oh come on, Bert," the first one said again to the one with the bone. "Can't we just have one song?"

This was ridiculous.

The Troll nearest the fire looked back at this whiner–– "I suppose just one song won't hurt. We ain't savages after all."

Dwalin and Nori nearly choked on a shared gasp of suppressed laughter, followed by Thorin. No, of course these were no 'savages.' All they wanted was a bit of torture, with Dwarves for Diner as the end reward. Nothing 'savage' about it! Just then Thorin got through the rope and pulled down Fíli's binding cloth, finding where one of his blades was stashed. Thorin grabbed for it and pressed it gently in his Sister's Son's hands, butting their heads together as he let go and moved on to free Dwalin. Soon Fíli was also free and hard at work on Kíli's ropes.

The protesting Troll flung himself to the ground next to the first one. "Just play your jig and be done."

And he could see her from the corner of his eyes, pulling her guitar up ever so slowly, adjusting the strap over her shoulder, over the braid. She let her fingers slide over and sounded the strings with what looked to be a flat scale. And then her hands gently glided to the keys where she began to tune her piece. Thorin almost had Nori free.

"Hurry up!" The third Troll bellowed, and Thorin knew her secret––

"I thought you said you weren't savages." She flung their words back at them with a knowing glare, as though they were capable of compassionate reason. "If this is going to be the last song I ever play, I'm going to do it right."

The Thief did not lack boldness, or courage.

"Shut yer gob and let 'er play, William!" The Troll smacked the other upside his head for emphasis.

"Thank you," the Thief replied, and nearly every one of the Company grumbled why she would thank these stinking foul creatures.

"She plays for these?" Bofur muttered under his breath, "after I asked and got nothing?"

Except Thorin realized she still was not playing. She was stretching the moment, buying time. Time for him and the rest to cut their way free and kill these bastards.

Then she began to play, sliding her flat scale over the strings, and singing about a long long time ago–– the Trolls were somehow charmed, clapping to her rhythm, quite oblivious to what Thorin and the others were about. She sang how music used to make her smile, and Thorin could tell by how she settled in that this would be a very long song, at least for the Thief. He tried to focus on the words as he continued to hack his Company free. "Bye by, Miss American––"

American–– he had herd that term before, but––

"Pie, drove my Chevy––"

A what?

"To the levee, but the levee was dry..."

To the water-line, a dry bed–– was the Chevy a horse?

"Them good ole boy's were drinkin––"

They drink when their horses cannot?

And then she lost him, so many strange words strung one after another, he just hacked at the ropes ahead and continued through, sped on by her string of words, each one a bead of sand in a time turner glass, ticking the minutes to the end––

The Trolls had quieted, and Thorin stole a glance, and was shocked to see they were dozing off, first the Troll with the bone, followed by the one near the fire, and lastly by the one who had been most excited for music. And Thorin could tell by how she slowed the stanzas in her eighth verse, she was nearing the end when she sang, "this will be the day that I die––"

No. Not that. Not this day–– He dug deeper into the ropes binding Glóin; they were almost all of them free now, and the Trolls were silent–– In spite of her ominous words, this all seemed incredibly easy. By her voice and Mahal's blessings, each of the Trolls had fallen asleep.

Glóin, now free, turned to cut Óin out of his bindings, while Nori and Bofur stole quietly to the remaining Ponies, to free them from their holding pens. Kíli leveled his most gaping smiles at the Thief, and she signed back with her thumb up, 'I–– ' but never finished–– No, wait, she could not know Iglishmek, and her face opened into a wide grin, and Thorin gaped at her, somehow unable to look away as she turned to her pack.

Dwalin muttered, "get the weapons," and seconds later he had Grasper and Keeper in hand, and, spinning Keeper in his right, he set himself like a battle ram toward the nearest Troll–– That is when, beyond Thorin's wildest understanding, the Thief stopped everything by hurling herself toward Dwalin with a loud cry, "NO!"

Trolls attacked, one grasping the Thief, cutting off her voice, sure to crush her before their eyes–– Before his eyes. "I knew you was trouble from the moment we saw you!" It was the one who hadn't wanted to hear her sing–– Thorin took a step toward them. He had been too slow to get his sword, and now–– Mahal, no. "I'm going to pop your 'ead off right now!" The Troll began to clench his fist, with her in it, and Thorin's own chest felt the hold of it; he could not breathe. Dwalin was in the air, blades flying, but he would not get there in time––

"The dawn will take you all!" Tharkûn's voice boomed from atop the boulder to the East beyond them. A dark brown flash blew past, and the Dog was on the Troll, clamping her fierce jaws over his fleshy leg as the Wizard slammed the butt of his staff down, splitting the boulder in two.

The Troll hollered in pain, swinging the Thief high above him as he struggled for balance.

Thorin rushed toward them, finally able to move, and caught her just as the Troll let go. She was warm, she was solid, she was breathing, thank Mahal. The boulder crumbled to the ground, releasing the sunlight behind it and turning the Trolls into stone.

"Are you injured?" Thorin asked, checking her up and down as he put her on her feet, gratefully seeing no sign of damage.

She shook her head, regaining herself.

"Good," he sighed out, now examining her face, searching for the reason behind her action before. Why? That–– there was no answer for. "Then perhaps you will explain. Mahal save us, but what were you thinking?"

"I couldn't let Dwalin kill Jelly!" She lengthened like an angry cat.

"Who?" Jelly? Did she mean–– No, she couldn't possibly. "It does not matter. That was––"

"Jelly?" Dwalin huffed from behind him, interrupting with patience as frayed as Thorin's. "Do you mean to say you actually named the filth?"

"Who cares if I did?" She challenged, crossing her arms, closing herself off. Why? "I couldn't very well just let you kill them. Especially not in their sleep."

She made absolutely no sense. Thorin frowned, trying to understand.

But Dwalin was quite ready to argue–– "Aye, you very well could." He shouldered past Thorin, waving Grasper before his puffed out chest for emphasis. "They're savages, lass, and would have continued to wreck havoc and ruin! I was doing the world a service in meeting out their punishment."

Thorin couldn't argue with that––

She looked flamed, eyes burning back at the Warrior, to Thorin's utter bafflement. "And what was their crime?" She reached out and–– Thorin's jaw dropped: she pressed Grasper down, hand close to the blade. "Being hungry?"

What? We––

"When you're hungry enough you'll do anything for food."

Wait, did she think of herself and the day they met? When Thorin caught her thieving his dinner and his handkerchief? Thieving, because she had been hungry?

But–– WE were dinner!

How could she defend Trolls? Leave them loose on the world? They kill for sport and a meal as their prize. How do you then answer to those who die at the Trolls' hands, or to their families? After you have left the Trolls alive and free to their devices? That is cruel to the defenseless, cruel to the surprised, who only wish to live their lives.

"They're Trolls," Dwalin groused without hesitation. "That is crime enough. They're a menace."

Âkmînruk zu, Dwalin.

"No." She would not back down, but jabbed her hand forcefully toward the Trolls' remains. Thorin felt sickened. "They were living, breathing beings and therefore had as much right to life as me or you. Who are you to decide––"

Why did you come back? "ENOUGH!" Thorin commanded. "You," he grasped Dwalin to get his attention. "Go and make sure everyone's got their weapons back."

Dwalin leaned his head toward him, and Thorin let go.

"And you––" You confusing, conflicted, senseless, bold and outrageously brave Thief, "Next time I tell you to do something, I expect to be obeyed. When I say run, you run."

"Why," she asked. That was all.

Her Dog was back. Thorin gripped his wrist as he recalled her teeth and the mauled leg of the Troll.

"Why?" Thorin repeated. Did she have any sense? He had thought–– "Must I explain the obvious? I lead this Company––"

"You've already made it abundantly clear that I am not a member of your Company," she shot back at him, stepping toward him, extending a finger out toward him.

I did.

"That you don't want me along––" Two fingers stretched out.

I––

"That you want nothing to do with me." Three––

Not quite true anymore–– The Dog barked at every one of her assertions, blast it. And then her iron chin jutted up, reaching his eye level.

"So why should I listen to you?"

Because––

"Besides you should be thanking me."

"Thanking you," he muttered, dazed and reminded–– He had intended to, and then–– this outrage.

Tharkûn was at his side, a hand on his arm. "She had the nous to play for time."

True, and a bold move that was.

"None of the rest of you thought of that." The Wizard concluded.

Surely the Wizard had never been tied in a sack. Thorin glared up at him. He seemed to find something amusing about the confounded situation as he glanced from Thorin back to the Thief.

And Thorin looked at her, his heart full of conflict, but mostly grateful–– She was whole, and they were free and unscathed because of her. He nodded at Tharkûn, who was tugging him aside for more words.

He had questions of his own. "Where did you go to if I may ask?"

"To look ahead," the Wizard said with his face blank.

Leave it to him to remain cryptic. "And what brought you back?"

"Looking behind."

Thorin smiled, nodding down. Confound the Wizard.

"Nasty business," Tharkûn continued, eyes passing over Thorin's form, clearly checking for damage. "Still you're all in one piece."

"All thanks to your Thief," Thorin rolled his head back in her direction, but stopped himself from actually turning.

"Mine, you say?" Tharkûn smiled slightly, his eyes tracking Thorin's gesture to settle upon the Thief.

What was that supposed to mean? Thorin's eyes narrowed, assessing the Wizard.

"Indeed, that was a clever scheme," he continued, ignoring Thorin's agitation at his last remark. "And quite audacious for one who carries no weapons, at least non of a conventional kind."

"She is not without her defenses," Thorin agreed. Her songs, he thought, recalling the feel of her calluses on his neck–– His own hand went to the spot, following the trace.

"Trolls," Tharkûn muttered, taking in the breadth of their surroundings, recalling Thorin to the truly pressing question: these Trolls, now set in stone, and the reason for their presence here, a place that was not their usual home––

"They must have come down from the Ettenmoors," Tharkûn added, nodding. An unsatisfied look clouded his expression.

The Troll-fells to the North–– "Since when do Mountain Trolls venture this far South?"

"Ooh not for an age," Tharkûn shook his head, ominously frowning. "Not since a Darker Power ruled these lands."

Thorin glared up at him. Darker Power? What in Durin's name did that mean?

"They could not have moved in daylight," Tharkûn mused with a glance at the sky.

No, Thorin nodded, looking about them, up at the hills and back at his Company. Bofur and Fíli and Kíli were hovering by the trees near the Thief, who was quietly chuckling at something. Thorin's mind tripped on that, wondering how she sounded, wondering what made her laugh–– He looked back at Bofur and the lads, none of them able to look the Thief in the eye. What was going on? But he didn't have time to dwell. Instead he glanced back at Tharkûn. "There must be a cave nearby."

And with that they returned to his Company, to gather a search, to root out any other potential trouble close to them in addition to these three stone trolls. "Dwalin, Glóin, Nori, come," he called them to him as he headed toward his lads and the Thief and Bofur at the tree line. "Bofur, grab your mattock, come with us. The rest of you," he motioned to the remainder of his Company, doing his best not to glance at the Thief. "Gather your belongings, we leave as soon as we return."

Finding the Troll cave did not take long; they only had to follow the stench. Tharkûn lead the way and they found the entrance within minutes, and promptly lead the way inside.

"What is that stench?" Nori sighed out, as each of them hacked on the foul air.

"It's a Troll Hoard," Tharkûn grumbled, as if everyone should know it. "Be careful what you touch," he added, a warning no one needed, with all the feces and half-eaten carcasses and left-over food things, urine puddles and other bodily fluids plastered all over the walls. The Wizard pressed his way further inside. Thorin followed close behind, torch in his right hand, Deathless in his left, holding his elbow up to shield his nose to the putrid air. Somehow the air improved the farther back they went, and Thorin felt a shallow draft; there was an opening to another end, farther in–– He headed for it, passing a huge pile of gold and jewels, glittering gems and valuable coin, scanning over it briefly with his torch as he passed, not breaking his stride.

"Seems a shame just to leave it lying around," Bofur said nonchalantly from behind. "Anyone could take it."

"Indeed," Glóin replied pointedly from farther back "Nori, get a shovel."

Thorin kept on. He glanced back and saw Dwalin roll his eyes at the three of them before settling in to guard the entrance and their backs. Thorin turned and noticed a profusely dusty and cobb-web-covered weapon's rack filled with rusting blades, and headed there.

He pulled a few corroded rods out of a base rack when he spotted two very unusual heirloom quality blades beneath an inch of dust and grime. He reached for them, pulled them from the rack, appraising them. "These swords weren't made by any Troll."

Tharkûn came to his side, awake with curiosity.

Thorin handed him the longer sword and began examining the unusual grip in the one he still held, the hilt evidently built upon a dragon's tooth.

"Nor were they made by any smiths among Men," the Wizard mumbled, pulling the blade slightly from its scabbard to reveal a shining metal, sharp as if honed yesterday, yet bearing the maturity of beloved use from very long ago. "They were forged in Gondolin." The Wizard looked down at him, his eyes filled with wonder. But hearing those words, Thorin wanted none of it. He pulled his observing hand away from the unusual hilt as if it had suddenly sprouted thorns. Gritting his teeth, he moved to return it. He would not keep an Elvish––

"You could not wish for a finer blade," Tharkûn spoke out, full of admonishment as well as certainty.

Thorin stopped his hand. Why waste it? Where's the harm in looking? He flipped the scabbard and tugged, revealing a metal of similar quality to the one Tharkûn held. Alright then, the Wizard was adamant; he would keep it. He shoved it back to its hilt and turned to walk out. He had had enough of the stench of Trolls.

"We're making a long term deposit," Glóin said as he and Bofur and Nori buried a few caskets full of gold and gems in a hole they had dug close to where the gold was piled.

Dwalin only stared at Thorin.

"Let's get out of this foul place," Thorin grumbled past them, stepping firmly toward the entrance. "Come on, let's go. Bofur! Glóin! Nori!"

Once outside, Thorin let the blade fly in a few circles about him.

Dwalin caught up with him. "You'll keep this then, an Elvish heirloom?" He gestured to the blade still in his hands.

Thorin nodded. "The Wizard was adamant. What can it hurt? The blade is sharp and swift; I like the feel of it flying."

"Sharp and fast, that'll compliment your art, Thorin." Dwalin winked, a bitter and toothy smile crossed his features. "In your hands it'll do well enough killing Orcs." But then a shadow crossed his friend's face as he looked back toward where the others waited. "What was she on about back there, Thorin?" he asked under his breath, frowning a chasm between his stern brows. "First she comes and undoes you," he nodded as if this were the most logical choice, "and then she goes and saves Trolls from us, and almost gets herself killed in the process–– I don't understand her at all."

"Are we supposed to?" Thorin asked, just as baffled, not really wanting to think about it, not really able to stop, especially now with Dwalin full questions.

Moments later they were all together, and the Wizard came up last, calling to the Thief, holding out a sheathed dagger toward her. She spotted the long blade in his hands and her eyes grew round as river rocks. "Glamdring!" she named it, bursting with excitement.

Glamdring? Thorin knew that name, and to whom it had once belonged–– Long lost sword of an ill-fated King–– All he could do was stare.

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!"

What's a gosh––?

"That's so cool!"

Thorin frowned slightly; any blade might be cool, but that is hardly a most special feature. He studied her, wondering.

"I'd completely forgotten this is where you would find it!"

Wait–– She knew they would find it? What about–– He looked down at the blade in his hand––

"Is that what it's called?" Tharkûn remarked with a knowing twinkle in his eyes as he thrust the smaller blade in the Thief's outstretched hand. "Take this, my dear. It will be easier for you to wield."

Her face sank. Thorin frowned, looking at her sidelong. Why was this bad?

Horror rolled over her features, and Thorin took an involuntary step forward. "I can't take this, Gandalf." She shoved the small weapon back at the Wizard.

"The blade is of Elvish make, my dear."

Thorin rolled his eyes. And that should matter because?

"Which means it will glow blue when Orcs or Goblins are nearby."

Thorin's eyes widened. It was one of those?

"I know all that," she shook her head with fervor.

She knew it had a warning charm? Holy Mahal––

"It's just that... I mean... I've never used a weapon against someone before."

Oh––

"And I hope you never have to," Tharkûn continued, seemingly oblivious to her concerns, "but if you do, remember this––"

"No," she pushed it back.

Thorin felt a slight smile pull at him. She too could say no to a Wizard.

"You don't understand. I'm a pacifist."

Pacifist–– In other words: a peace ambassador? No wonder––

Dwalin heard her and stopped in his steps. "You're a whatsafist?"

The Thief gave him a look as though he had stolen her handkerchief, but that she didn't mind overly much. "Pacifist. I don't believe in using violence because all lives are sacred."

Dwalin stared at her with his mouth nearly hitting his boot.

But Thorin knew the kind, though he had never met one. Perhaps they were more common in her world.

Tharkûn belted out a laugh. "Of course you are, my dear, of course you are." He offered her the sword a third time, and Thorin wondered when he would finally let up, stubborn Meddler, not everyone will do as you wish. "At least take it in the event you need it to cut some Dwarves out of Troll bonds again."

Thorin rolled his eyes.

This time she took the blade. Thorin's face heated. Had that last argument convinced her? But he did not have time to find out, as just then he heard the sound of smashing brush and wood against dirt coming toward them. What menace this time? He pulled in a deep breath to warn them all, "Something's coming!"

/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\

Khuzdûl:

Âkmînruk zu – Thank you.

A/N: Yes, in our AU, Fíli has a One. I've named her Danîe, daughter of Zâfir, as tribute to Daniella Blue.

And for any readers curious what's going on from Sona's PoV, check out "On The Road To Find Out" by Jenny-Wren28, listed in my favorites.

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