Part 1: Chapter 7: The Grasses Hissed, Their Tassels Bent

"Stay together!" Tharkûn shouted, aiming his staff in a gathering motion toward the trees. "Hurry, now! Arm yourselves!"

As if they needed to be told.

But he glanced at the Thief; she stood there lost with a foreign object in her hands, and Thorin knew she wouldn't use it even if it meant her life. He caught Dwalin's eye. 'Keep her safe,' Thorin signed to him. 'Between us.'

Dwalin already had her by the arm, pulling her behind him as he nodded his assent. "Stay behind me," he groused at her with command.

She nodded with scared eyes as she grabbed her Dog's harness. "Stay, girl."

The Dog keened her objections as she sat with her back up against the Thief, her head bobbing toward where Fíli stood, his dual swords at the ready.

Just then a bellowing came through the woods. "Thieves! Fire! Murder!" and a sleigh pulled by the biggest Rabbits Thorin had ever seen burst through the brush to slide to a bouncing halt just in front of Tharkûn. The Wizard had his staff outstretched and his new sword in hand, flashing the light of the sun. A scraggly old Man stood atop the fraying sleigh, barely holding on.

"Radagast!" Tharkûn beamed, housing his sword. "It's Radagast the Brown! What on earth are you doing here?"

Instant relief spread through the Company as they all gaped at the new arrival, a strange old Wizard with the snarliest hair Thorin had ever seen, and, wait–– was that bird dung caked through it from beneath his hat? Thorin cringed, just looking. Wizards.

"I was looking for you, Gandalf." Radagast blurted, jumping from foot to foot, clearly unable to keep still. "Something's wrong. Something's terribly wrong."

"Yes?" Tharkûn asked.

"You have got to be kidding me!" The Thief burst out, and Thorin looked at her, shocked that she'd interrupt, wondering what she found funny. "I've been saying that for days––" She stopped as their eyes met.

Had she? Then quick as lightening she looked away. Thorin felt a nagging sense that he had not been paying attention...

"Just give me a minute," the Brown Wizard fussed. "Um... Oh! I had a thought and now I've lost it. It was...it was right there, on the tip of my tongue!" And then his face twisted and he stuck out his tongue, curled around–– "Oh! It's not a thought at all! It's a silly old...stick insect." Thorin's eyes expanded as Tharkûn leaned in and pulled out a long twig bug.

Enough. Thorin stepped away for some air and space to think, and headed up past the Thief who was trying her best to get closer to the Wizards. Why listen to their nonsense? He was out of patience.

He stood apart, eyes roving over his Company. Fíli and the Dog played with a long stick the lad had found the day before–– he had cut it to the length of his dual swords just for this Dog and their game. The Thief whistled and the Dog bolted away from Fíli toward her. She now sat next to Kíli, who appeared to be blocking her view of the Wizards and fully absorbed in peppering her with questions. The Dog sat on her haunches in front of them both, waiting for the Thief to let on what she wanted. He watched the Thief hand Kíli a strip of travel jerky, and then gesture toward the Dog. The lad held it in his hand with his fingers closed, and she was smiling, and it looked like mischief, that smile–– And then he understood, his lips slightly moving up. Ohhh, watch the finger's, Sister's Son, this one has teeth–– Sure enough, Kíli had to snatch his fingers back to safety, and he shot a glare at the Thief. Next thing she was laughing––she had a gravely warmth to her laugh, and Kíli laughed, too. And she held out her hand to show him how to hold the food next time, flat-handed, palm open. Her laugh softened to a smile at Kíli, who bathed in the attention. Thorin had to look away, and think. Could she tell how much the boy missed home? It looked like she did, but how could she? Kíli hid it well. But Thorin knew. His Sister's Son would often draw out his stone-sake from Dís when he thought no one was looking. He missed the battle games, the fluting, the dancing, the smithing, the parties–– But he always found a way to keep his joy, and this Thief appeared to make it easier. Thorin's eyes followed from her hand to her arm up to her shoulders and her neck––

He glanced to the Dog.

His skin felt hot. What was this? He did not need it.

Just–– watch the Dog. She was lolling her tongue at the Thief and Kíli as they both beamed over her. But then she froze, risen on all fours, nose pointing into the brush behind the Thief and Kíli, tail pointing opposite. Thorin, alarmed, stepped up, scanning the brush behind them, keeping the trio in his periphery.

A Warg cry split the air––very close.

"Was that a wolf?" The Thief asked. Thorin desperately wished it were.

"No," Bofur answered, mattock in hand. "That was not a wolf."

The growl followed, clearly in lunging distance, and then Thorin saw it, leaping––

He jumped, and reached, and twisted, pitching his ax ahead of himself as he whirled his sword at the throat of the beast and caught the Thief in his free arm, ducking just as the Warg's teeth past over them, the claws of it's front paws slashing the dirt to either side of them. She rolled with him to a stop, like they were in some wild dance, and she could move––! And they came to a halt with him curling her beneath. Elbows in the dirt, he ducked over her, shielding as the animal passed.

For a second he froze, realizing she fit as if she were meant to–– No. Not possible. Shaking his head away, he pulled his right foot smoothly beneath his shoulder and pushed himself off the ground. "Warg scouts," he warned, scanning the brush for more of them as he offered the Thief a hand up. She took it and came to her feet, seemingly unscathed, yet shaking and green, eyes wide with shock. He looked into them, asking silently, was she whole and well? She seemed to understand, giving him a single shaky nod before he let her go. "Which means an Orc pack is not far behind!"

"Awesome," the Thief muttered.

What did she mean? He watched her stagger off, away from the fallen Wargs. He wished he could follow, but––

Three of the foul beasts lay dead amongst them. Dwalin's Grasper had finished off the Warg that attacked the Thief. Dwalin and Fíli looked it over, assisted by the Dog, up to her neck in Warg's blood. Kíli retrieved his arrow from the second. The third had been smashed by Bofur's mattock; Dori crawled out from beneath it, muttering about the vile stench of Warg breath. No one among them appeared to be injured.

Thorin glanced to the Tharkûn to find him glaring at him with blame. His own eyes shot open in surprise. "Who did you tell about this Quest beyond your Kin?"

"No one," Thorin pressed back, incredulous. How could the Wizard think he'd tell strangers?

"Who did you tell?" Tharkûn shouted as if he spoke to some errant child.

"No one! I swear!" Did the Wizard know anything? What Dwarf would do this? He stepped up, glancing at the Thief, stopping: was she losing her breakfast? But Dwalin was with her, assisting her. Thorin's eyes then swung back to the prickly Wizard. It hadn't been her; Thorin was sure of it–– He had been the first person she had met.

"She had not met anyone other than us, so it was not Sona," the Wizard said with challenge in his tone and as if he had just read Thorin's mind.

"No, it wasn't the Thief," Thorin repeated for good measure, not sure why he felt the need to say that out loud.

"No?" Tharkûn asked back, still frowning but with a slight smile to it. "So sure? You doubted her before––"

"No." Thorin looked down at one of the Wargs. "Not possible," he said flatly, unwilling to explain further. Focus, Thorin: We have more pressing business. "What in Durin's name is going on here?"

"You are being hunted," The Wizard groused back, emphasizing the word "hunted."

"We have to get out of here––" Thorin looked to them all.

"We can't," Ori cried from up a hill. "We have no Ponies. They bolted."

That too, what next?

"I'll draw them off," Radagast offered.

How? Mahal save them all.

"These are Gundabad Wargs," Tharkûn argued. "They'll out-run you."

"These are Rhosgobel Rabbits," the Brown Wizard countered. "I'd like to see them try." With that, the giant Rabbits bound through the air, rapidly leaping away, pulling the sleigh with the Brown Wizard behind them.

"Move," Thorin called to everyone, and almost everyone did just that, gathering their possessions in a hurry–– The Thief hadn't heard him.

He glanced to Dwalin, who nodded his own concern. 'I'm taking her pack,' he signed, just as he did it, turning and blocking her sure argument with a few choice words: "You need to be able to keep up."

Indeed. Thorin was surprised at how much he hoped she could. Warg cries sounded from many directions. He hovered there a second, staring at her until he caught her eyes, and then he once again asked her to run.

And she ran.

They all ran. And ran. The cries of Wargs and Orcs all about them, at least eighty of them, most likely closer to one hundred, shifting away in the direction the giant Rabbits had run. But then, the cries grew sharper again, closer again, and Thorin wondered, running full out, one quick step hard on the heels of the next as they dodged through brush and rocks and scraggy trees, if the addled Brown Wizard were circling back––

Just. Keep. Running. And as he did, guiding with his ax and his shoulders and his eyes as he pressed on, keeping his Company close, heading from rock to rock to keep cover.

But to where? They had nowhere to run.

They made it to a large cluster of rocks, where Thorin slowed and the Company gathered together; he motioned for those behind to stop, but Ori kept going, pressing to race past the rocks. "Ori, no!" Thorin grasped him by his sweater. "Come back." He hauled the lad behind the shelter of the rock and they all looked about, all of them panting for breath, the Thief bent double from the last sprint, but still with them. Thorin suppressed a sigh, trying to gauge where the Orc pack was, Warg howls and Orc hollering both near and far away .

"All of you! Come on! Come on! Quick!" Tharkûn ordered, and however foolish it seemed, they were all running again, back out into the open, running somewhere, Thorin had no idea where.

And then, of all things, he heard the Thief start gasping with laughter, muttering, "Gimli... full of... crap," between intakes of air.

Gimli––? What? And then it clicked: Gimli could run. Thorin almost smiled through the grimace of the exercise: Was the lad's jest of Dwarves as 'mere sprinters' somehow in her 'book' about them?

Then just as they got to the next rock, up top he saw the hind-side of a Warg and its rider scouring the area for them. He signed for his Company to get against the stone, catching Kíli's attention, holding his gaze and signing for him to kill it.

Kíli did not hesitate; he leapt to the open, aimed up and fired, hitting the Warg and felling it and its rider from the rock to the bottom in a howling mass just before the bunch of them, where Dwalin, Bifur, Fíli and the Thief's Dog rapidly dove upon them, axes and swords and teeth tearing into them.

Thorin had no hand in the action, as his were otherwise occupied, because as the Warg and Orc came tumbling down, the Thief had dived her face into his chest and there she stayed, trembling like a tender reed. He braced his free arm to hold her, stopping short, doing his best not to overly touch, shutting his eyes only briefly on the strangeness of it, the sweet, tight and absurd strangeness of it. At the death sounds of the Wag and Orc, she pressed herself all the harder into the fur edging his coat. He felt horror shuddering through her body at the death cries, and he could not help it; he relaxed his arm around her waist and pulled her close, hoping she could feel that she was not alone. He would not leave her here alone––

He felt her breaths slow, in and out, in and out, in and out, as if she counted them, as if she were smithing–– keeping the beats––

He hovered with her, imagining for the briefest of seconds–– smithing––

But the cries of others harkened closer, this kill was a beacon to them, and they would bring death.

He smiled at the scent of lavender and sage in her hair, the scent of the Mountain. He would hold her apart; they would have to kill him before he'd let go––

"Move! Run!" Bellowed Tharkûn, spurring them all on once again.

But to where?

There had to be somewhere. Get her to somewhere––

Thorin let go of the Thief's waist to grab hold of her wrist, and then they were running once again away from the rocks.

Dwalin flanked him to the right. He looked deep into the eyes of his friend and right hand. He signed to him, 'keep us all together, keep our backs to each other, the rest between and ahead, every last one of us alive.' And to himself, keep together, one step then another, never give up, never let go––

Dwalin nodded sharply once; he knew, his face alight and grim with agreement, twirling Grasper and Keeper as he ran.

Nori ran to his left, with Kíli two strides in front of him, and Fíli a bit farther out. Balin, Ori and Dori were just beyond them, and out front ran Bombur, Óin, Bifur, Bofur and Glóin–– with Tharkûn in front of them all.

"There they are!" Glóin hollered as he pointed back behind them. Thorin knew from the snarls and shrill cries echoing in multitudes off the sloping grasslands around them just who Glóin meant and he did not bother to look, but held tight to her arm and continued to run. Keep together, one step then another, never give up, never let go.

"This way! Quickly!" Tharkûn shouted back, heading them all off to the left.

Where are you leading us?

Thorin could not see where the Wizard was.

Just then the Thief slowed and faltered a step, and Thorin tightened his hold, looking down at her feet as they continued to run, matching their pace, pulling her forward with him, keeping her with him in the pace–– one step then another, never give up, never let go.

"There's more coming!" Kíli stood up ahead, facing them, an arrow cocked and then fired into the pack barreling upon them from behind.

"Kíli!" Thorin came to a stop at his side, with the Thief stumbling into his backside; he pulled his other arm around to help her steady herself beside him. He looked deep into the eyes of his Sister's Son, eyes he would keep alive and smiling.

"Shoot them!"

"Gandalf?" The Thief stared off toward some more rocks just beyond them.

Where was the Wizard?

"We're surrounded!" Fíli cried out, now some distance away from them in the open field to their left. "Where's Gandalf?"

Thorin sought his face out there across the swaying grassland, his eldest Sister's Son out there alone, but no–– the Thief's Dog was at his side, teeth ready for any errant Orc or Warg to cross their paths.

"He's abandoned us!" Dwalin groused at his side, swinging Grasper forward, the Thief between them both and closer to the rocks at their back.

Just like the Wizard.

"No!" The Thief pressed from behind. "He's just over––"

"Hold your ground!" Thorin hollered to all of them. They would stand and fight to the last. It was coming. And yet he felt the Thief at his shoulder attempting to push past him–– Why? His hand tightened and he forced her behind him. Stay put, please.

"This way, you fools!" Shouted Tharkûn from a next patch of rocks just beyond the ones at their backs where they stood.

Mahal save us. Thorin grabbed the Thief's arm once more, hoping the blasted Wizard had a plan. "Move on! Quickly! All of you!" And again they ran, and he struggled to slow his steps so she could keep pace. Most of the Company ran before him as before, Dwalin pressed right behind, he could feel the heavy thud of the Warrior's steps through the earth beneath them, but––Thorin straining over his shoulder to see if his Sister's Sons were following. No–– no. Both were engaged with Orcs and Wargs farther out.

Thorin stopped at the rocks where he'd last seen the Wizard, gently pushing the Thief behind him again, toward what appeared to be a cave entrance, as he scoured the field for the last of them out there, his Sister's Sons.

"Fíli! Kíli! Come now!" Thorin shouted, but they would not heed his call.

"Wait... where's Sasha?" the Thief asked, her voice shaking behind him. Why wasn't the Thief in the cave?

Her Dog fought alongside Fíli in the open as he swung his dual swords at Orcs and Wargs, springing as though she had wings, teeth bared. And Kíli shot arrow after arrow, hitting his mark with each one he loosed, but–– Mahal, There were too many–– "Kíli! Fíli!"

At his angered cry the lads both turned and looked at him for the briefest of seconds before making a dash toward him, much like they used to when he called them home from the sparring fields for chores and lessons, but this––

"SASHA!" the Thief's piercing cry washed over his backside, sending chills clear through to his hands, tightening his grip on the weapons, his right bearing the new sword; his left the ax.

Many seemed to stop at her scream, including the Dog, who looked back at the Thief for direction just as a Warg leapt at them, sliced clean by Fíli's undercut, the Orc above it falling from the last of Kíli's arrows.

Thorin was in the field, each step a claw into the dark–– Digging, pulling, heaving himself forward. He had to get–– them–– back.

Eight steps and he reached Fíli, a Warg and its Orc slain before them by his sword and ax. All in a turn he grasped his Sister's Son, butted his head with his own and shoved him toward the cave just as he let go, scrambling, digging, pulling, heaving, himself forward after Kíli. He would not lose one; he would not. "Kíli!"

The lad ran full out toward him, his sword drawn and swinging, and several Wargs went down before the two came together and Thorin had him by the scruff. "Listen next time," he huffed, and the lad grinned and they ran on together like ball peen hammers on their course, slaying any Orc or Warg that crossed their path.

And then they were down the cave. "I shot at least twenty, N'adad!"

"You need more arrows." He winked before looking over the room.

The Thief was on her knees, a puddle of emotion, her tense muscles shaking from released fear, her face awash with tears, crying against the body of her Dog, who squirmed and whined and licked at her face to cheer her. Indeed, the Thief smiled through her tears; he knew–– because of the Dog she thought she almost lost was right there in her arms: that fierce flash of love and loyalty, all teeth and strength and power of will–– Sasha.

Well done, Sasha.

He could see as his eyes passed over the room, they were all here, even as the sound of battle continued above them. Had the Orcs and Wargs set upon themselves in their frustration? No matter. "Is anyone wounded?" He called among them.

Just then a war horn sounded, long and thin. Elves? Thorin looked up the cave just as an Orc came tumbling down to stop at the bottom, lifeless.

Thorin paused a moment as the Dog–– Sasha, bore down upon the Orc to check for herself, snarling with enough menace to wake anyone from a feint. He watched her blink as her muzzle rose up, looking somehow... satisfied.

But there was something else Thorin wanted to know. His eyes narrowed at the arrow protruding from the back of the foul creature. He leaned down and pulled it out, now certain of his suspicion. "Elves," he spat, glancing toward Tharkûn, who had his back turned from him, and flinging the fouled wood against the flagstones.

Flagstones.

This was no ordinary cave. He looked up at the sky. It was no cave, at all, but an overhang of rock set loose by time. But the flagstones: They were set in a pattern that mimicked natural stone lines that rose along the walls, shaped like a bowl with one side cracked open a quarter wide, with a flagstone path leading out of that space. They were at an entrance.

Dwalin wandered down it before coming back. "I cannot see where the pathway leads. Do we follow it or not?"

"We follow it, of course!" Bofur did not wait for Thorin to object, but heaved his mattock over his shoulder and turned Dwalin back around the other way. The way inside––

Outside he could still hear the Orcs and Wargs braying and howling, but inside was no less dangerous, if one foolish enough should come within looking for allies.

"I think that would be wise," Tharkûn mumbled, surely thinking Thorin didn't hear.

Thorin suppressed a snort and motioned for the others to follow on, he waited behind. There was no better choice beyond this one. He watched the rest of his Company queue in behind Bofur and head into a day lit path toward the sound of water.

Then he turned to the Thief. She had knelt again, and was still shaking as she tugged gently on the ears of the Dog, her other hand holding to the Dog's collar for grounding. "Please don't scare me like that again, girl," she whispered. Thorin looked back toward the daylight on the path, feeling like he trespassed. But he couldn't leave her. He took a deep breath and waited, hoping she would rise and follow along.

"I'm serious."

Thorin had to turn back around at the plea in her voice, to find her head-bumping the Dog. He smiled partly seeing this, one of his favorite ways to share affection to those he loved, shared between the two of them. The Dog seemed to smile back at her.

"I don't know what I'd do without you."

He should not hear this––

"You're all I have left of––"

"Are you coming?" Thorin interrupted gently, hoping she knew he was there.

He knew what she would say, had she finished, as he watched her hands go to her face, her shoulders scrunching as she tried to hide the movement, hide the tears. "Yes. In a moment," she muttered, her hands still subtly rubbing at her face. She would have said her husband, her family, her friends, her world: everything from before, not including herself, which she still had. But then she held her hands out, fingers extended, and he saw how she shook all over, but most visibly in her hands. And he ached for her, because he knew how that felt, at least part of it, the part about life and home being taken away. Her hands were seconds later back on her face as she tried to clean herself up without him seeing.

The Thief––

Sona––

––Didn't want him to know, but–– He pulled out the handkerchief from Dís, the one she had taken when they met, and he held it to her, holding his face to the side for her privacy. He felt her gaze travel from the cloth to his wrist, up his arm to his face, and he bowed away in deference to her wish, and he waited.

Soon she took it with thanks and put it to those big wet eyes. Eyes he had only barely glanced at.

He nodded, trying to keep from turning. "We should not linger." His breath caught on the ache in his throat, remembering those eyes, grieved by death and fear.

He gave her a moment.

Soon her breathing quieted and somehow he could feel her turn, so he took some steps down the path and then hesitated, listening.

But then he heard the slip of her shoe against the flagstones, and he made way slowly, following the path to the open river valley, hushed by the sounds of crashing waters nearly everywhere.

"Rivendell," Sona––

The Thief––

––Gushed like the creek rapids cascading near the path.

She immediately knew where they were; that was not so surprising. No. What surprised him was the burn he felt at how gleeful she was to find herself here, of all places. Among the Elves. Of Course: Elves must be the Favored Folk in her 'books.'

Tharkûn, just ahead, turned to face them sidelong and gave a single nod, still avoiding Thorin's eyes. "Indeed, it is the Valley of Imladris." He let his staff encompass the Elven City. "Here lies the last homely house, east of the sea."

Arrogant Elves, to think they are the last–– or the first.

At these words, the members of the Company shuffled about each other in varying degrees of discomfort and curiosity, staring from them to the City and back again.

And though Thorin had more than enough of Wizards for one day, he could not hold back, not anymore. He came around full on, facing Tharkûn. "This was your plan all along, to seek refuge with our enemy." He tried to set his stone mask, but he could not bury his irritation. How could he ever have considered the Wizard someone he could trust?

He glanced past Tharkûn to see the Thief suppressing laughter, and he frowned all the more, wondering what she found most funny; his words, this situation or maybe both.

"You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield." The Wizard groused like one delivering judgment, as if he held the station to do such things. But he did not: Thorin knew the Wizard's constraints, set by the Valar for the good of the common folk and as a check to his power––

Dwalin's eyes passed between the two of them, disgust and aversion distorting his mouth.

"The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself," Tharkûn finished, frustration coating each word with bitter tastes.

Now wait––

Balin caught Thorin's eye and signed, 'don't mind him, you stay calm.'

Thorin suppressed a laugh. But he had to speak up; the Wizard had missed the point, as usual. "You think the Elves will give our Quest their blessing? They will try to stop us."

"Of course they will! But we have questions that need to be answered."

Thorin sighed, looking to the flagstones. He could not deny it.

"If we are to be successful," the Wizard went on; his air of superiority clipped his speech. "This will need to be handled with tact." He glared at Thorin with a measuring eye, as one convinced the object of his focus lacked any good traits. "And respect. And no small degree of charm––"

Thorin stared back at him, undaunted by the sting of the Wizard's assessment.

"––Which is why you will leave the talking to me."

Tharkûn thought him a fool; perhaps that explained his presence among them.

And with that the Wizard stepped away down the path.

Thorin's eyes tracked him until they stopped on the Thief. He looked on as she picked up her pack and slung it over her shoulder. She all but skipped toward the main gate, her whole body happy to be here.

Thorin, resigned to accept, swallowed hard and followed on.

/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\