Part 1: Chapter 8: He Named the Nameless Hills and Dells
Thorin and Company made their way to the Elven Gates, where Tharkûn waved his staff, turned, and gave the Dwarves one of his more intimidating looks, as if that'd make them behave, and with a nod he turned to address the first Elf to approach, one with dark hair and a pinched expression, clearly not too happy to see Thorin's kind gathered at his steps.
The Thief stood ahead of them, twirling slowly as she looked up at the spiraled towers surrounded by cliffs and rock faces of the narrow valley, nearly all of the natural cliffs decked over with falling waters, living vines, and more towers that seemed to grow out of each other like mushrooms, barely a straight line in sight. The burn in his chest did not diminish as he watched her; clearly happy now for the first time, perhaps, in all the days he had known her since she stole her way among them. Perhaps this was where she was meant to be. Why did it hurt? Why did it matter?
He clenched the hand that had held her as they ran from the Wargs and Orcs that hunted him.
At least she was here in one piece.
And here she would be safe.
That was a comfort.
He wished he could look away, but his eyes seemed trapped by the smile on her face, turning below the spheres and towers as she took in the circular angles of the typically spindly and overly flowered Elven architecture. Tharkûn passed between them and she stopped moving, and suddenly she was staring back at Thorin, her face full of spirit and smiles. But too soon her expression faded, except for the lingering wonder in her eyes. For one long moment she only looked at him, assessing. He wondered what she saw.
He blinked, and swallowed, frozen. She saw him.
But what did that mean? This would not do, Thorin: move. He blinked again and forced his eyes to seek the Wizard. Oh but this was much less pleasant. Tharkûn spoke with the prune-faced Elf who had found them on his doorstep, clearly uncertain and not too happy with his find.
Thorin stepped over to stand beside Dwalin, his warrior, his right hand, his friend. Dwalin glanced fiercely at him, and signed, 'The Elf is not pleased. We're pissed on, between rocks and hard spots. We could leave now but for the Orcs behind us.'
'Aye, He's quite the hospitable Elf, that one,' Thorin signed back, and then he shot a glare at Tharkûn. 'The Wizard planned this part, but for the Orcs behind us.' He looked away, maintaining his guard with a wary eye over his surroundings just as he continued to think of her. Why did he continue to think of her? "His Thief likes Elves," he whispered close to Dwalin's ear, not sure why he spoke at all.
Dwalin's brows shot up as he looked back at her before angling his head toward Thorin. 'His Thief?' He shook his head, adamant. 'She's not his.'
Thorin couldn't help the flash of smile that suddenly tugged at his mouth.
But it was gone the second the Elf horn sounded; the same one they had heard above the hidden pass. And then he heard the horses; he felt the echo of their many hooves hitting the stone beneath his feet, coming nearer. "Ifidî bekâr!" he ordered, gripping his ax, signing to the Company with his left hand, 'tighten the circle,' and to Dwalin, 'Thief to center.' He didn't want to see her overrun by Elves on horseback, even if she did prefer their company to others–– "Close ranks!"
The Thief wriggled and pressed against them––against him, oh Mahal––to get back through, muttering, "Whoa, guys, calm down!"
Dwalin growled, repeating "guys" aloud while he pressing her again deeper within the circle; it would have been funny, except for the Elves––
"Calm ourselves ya say?" Bofur quipped under his breath. "They're horsed and bearing down on us, lass, an we'll be ready for 'em."
Indeed the Elves were upon them, circling with their horses, glaring down from the added height of their fast mounts. They circled, hemming the Dwarves closer and closer, waving lances with banners flying, but the Elves did not draw upon them, and slowly the horses came to a canter and then stopped.
Thorin watched the leader–– Lord Elrond, if he were not mistaken––greet Tharkûn, with the Wizard responding in the Elven way, a hand to the heart and then open, as if Elves were. Tharkûn called the Elf 'Friend' in Sindarin. And then the Elf was off his horse and embracing the bemused and beaming Wizard.
Thorin's Company let out a communal sigh; relieved it would not come to blows, loosening hold.
The frustrated Thief finally stopped struggling to break through.
And the Wizard and Elf continued their greeting conversation in Sindarin, where all of them listened but only few of his Company understood, one being Thorin, Balin another, and Fíli, and perhaps Kíli if he'd paid attention to lessons. And Thorin couldn't quite curb his irritation at the Wizard, his 'friend,' for such utter thoughtlessness. The conversation moved from greetings to substance when the Elf, hefting an Orc blade for emphasis, described how his party had just come back from slaughtering a pack of Orcs near the Hidden Pass.
The same Orcs that had nearly chased us down.
"Strange for Orcs to come so close to our borders," the Elf continued, surprising Thorin by switching to the common tongue, a language they could all understand. "Something, or someone, has drawn them near."
Me, or my head; I am their prize. Thorin stepped forward to answer for that just as Tharkûn spoke up. "Ah. That may have been us," he said contritely, smiling over himself as if he apologized for some minor social misstep.
"He's laying it on thick," the Thief muttered.
What? Laying what thick? Thorin looked her way, his interest sparked by the irritation in her tone, one that spread into her face. Her face.
Not now. No.
His eyes turned and met the Elf's, who looked just as confused. He sought out Dwalin, and signed, 'Keep everyone close.' He stole another glance at her and signed what he felt, 'this one, too.'
Dwalin shot back the dopiest 'of course' smile he could muster as he nudged the Thief back behind himself and center of the others. Thorin gave a slight nod, suppressing the urge to smile back. Then the Company tightened fractionally, though few would notice a change.
Thorin stepped to face the Elf, Lord Elrond, acknowledging welcome.
"Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain." Lord Elrond knew who he was. He spoke with the smooth steely voice of a Ruler of Ages, wielding the power of persuasion in the command of his voice, assured all who could hear him would listen. The Elf stepped forward, to meet Thorin where he had stopped.
Thorin stilled, putting on his stone face. "I do not believe we have met."
"You have your Grandfather's bearing," he said with an evaluating eye.
And you think I am like him? Be it good or ill?
"I knew Thrór when he ruled under the Mountain."
"Indeed?"Thorin's grip tightened on his ax. You seek to impress but I already know your age. "He made no mention of you."
Balin shot Thorin a look, lifting his right brow and signing, 'remember your lessons, laddie, and there'll be ale after, otherwise it might be stitches and splints.'
The Elf rose in his disdain. Switching back to Sindarin, he invited them to supper, speaking as though he were proclaiming harsh judgment over a band of thieves.
Glóin protested, "What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?" each word rising in thunderous blows.
Thorin's face grew hotter, and then the Company joined in, grumbling with Glóin in unnecessary outrage, until Tharkûn finally interrupted to correct them.
"No, Master Glóin; he's offering you food."
Everyone relaxed at once, this sigh of relief much louder than the last.
It was then Thorin noticed the Dog sitting patiently beside the pinch-faced Elf, all relaxed, her tongue lolling as she observed the gathering of Dwarves all chattering amongst each other. Even her Dog is at home here. Of course.
Dwalin stepped next to him. They leaned into each other as Dwalin whispered, "You wanted me to keep everyone close, eh?"
Thorin looked back at him, "Yes, and?"
Dwalin pulled a know-it grin across his face. "You signed, 'this one, too' about our spare Thief."
"Yes, and?"
"What're you going to do about her, Thorin?"
"It is out of my hands." He looked away, not entirely sure what he meant, but seeing the Elf City all around them, he was certain he was right.
"So we stay," Dwalin asked.
Thorin looked back to see his Company waiting his call. He nodded to them all and then signed to Glóin, 'lead on,' and the Dwarves followed Tharkûn up the stairs.
Dwalin, Fíli, Kíli and Thorin waited at the bottom for the Thief to catch up when they all saw she was stuck in conversation with the pinch-faced Elf. She extended her hand and they watched to see why, but the Elf could not bring himself to ask. So her hand lowered, and Thorin was caught by the fleeting glimpse of exposed sadness that washed over her face.
Thorin was about to ask his Sister's Sons to go fetch the Thief and her Dog along, sure they needed rescuing, but before he could open his mouth Fíli and Kíli were bounding off toward them, no doubt to do just that. He couldn't help the slight smile, and Dwalin gave him an eye suggesting he knew what Thorin thought.
"So, not entirely out of your hands?" Dwalin called over his shoulder as he hurried on ahead to fetch the Thief and her Dog.
What? No. He could not entertain it. He frowned slightly as he made his way up the stairs, then turned at the side of the ledge and watched as Dwalin reached the Thief and her Dog, both next to the Elf, who had just offered to escort her up. Dwalin shook his head when he took her pack, Fíli took hold of the dog, while Kíli took her elbow and bowed, offering to escort her up. She went gladly with Kíli, smiling at each of them, one after the other, beaming her amusement, and then she turned to wave off the Elf, and his face was more pinched than before, and Thorin thought he heard her laugh out loud, but no, he most likely only imagined it.
They were climbing the stairs.
Once, as the Thief climbed, she looked up and their eyes locked.
Entirely, Dwalin. Thorin curbed his smile as she drew closer. Completely and utterly entirely.
"Thorin Oakenshield," Lord Elrond called out behind him as he stared over the cliffed expanse of the City.
Thorin turned. Tharkûn stood next to the Elf, eyes expectant. An Elf Maid stood between them, alight in a gown of beaded lavender and pearl, boasting the most expressive grin Thorin had ever seen on an Elf.
"Meet Lady Arwen Undômiel, my daughter," Lord Elrond continued, his arm outstretched toward the Elf Maid. "She wanted to greet you, but she will not be at dinner."
Thorin lowered his head slightly, "Greetings, Lady Arwen."
"Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór," she smiled all the more, if that were possible. He wondered if there was some joke he missed. "You bring such interesting companions."
What? She thinks Dwarves interesting? He forced a small smile as he contemplated the meaning beneath her comment.
"That would be Lady Sona of Kaleforn'ya," Tharkûn offered, "a traveler we met along our way." His brows cocked up as he glanced and Thorin and he grinned. "She's quite special, and a good friend, that one."
Thorin had to stop his jaw from going slack, what in Durin's name––
Thankfully Lord Elrond changed the subject. "Will you sit with us at dinner, Thorin Oakenshield?"
Thorin's brows creased as he counted Lord Elrond's second purposeful reference to his honor name, and it struck him that the Elf invited Oakenshield, a Dwarf who had made his own reputation, not the King in Exile, the Heir. His face relaxed and he breathed out a barely discernible smile, unsure why this eased him. He knew better than to trust Elves, so why did it feel like he wanted to? Never mind that–– he wants to sit with you at dinner.
"You may bring a companion, if you would like," Lord Elrond added, his tone inviting, his face friendly.
"I may," Thorin stated, unsure how to receive such grace from the Elf. His mind suddenly flashed to the Thief. Sona. And he blinked. No. What is wrong with me? Balin is the logical choice. It would be good to have his Advisor at the table.
"Oh, lovely, a companion for dinner!" Lady Arwen said, one brow slightly raised, and he saw mischief. Then she glanced away, down a hall.
Thorin just stared at her, watching the Elf Maid's eyes as she smiled bigger, bringing the moon in her profile.
"Well, I must go; I want to meet Lady Sona before she dines," she said, eyes still lingering down that hall, and then she turned to him. "Later she will come this way as dinner assembles." That smile again, like she knew. What did she know? "And from here the dining halls are that path just beyond the wash falls." She looked into his eyes and––winked, her hand lifting lightly to point the way behind them. Her smile, already so big, shined the brighter. Was that her way of saying he should wash up? He looked away, at all the many halls, no one place to the other in a straight line, and felt confused. With that she bowed her head in farewell, "Until next time," and headed down a different hall than where she'd been looking before. Thorin returned his gaze to the hall that had interested Lady Arwen–– the way to Sona's rooms––
––The Thief's.
He swallowed, wondering why his throat hurt.
"Come, Thorin, let's wash our hands of Trolls and Orcs." Thorin followed Balin down the way Arwen had pointed, that opened up into a wide-circling veranda with an open cliff high above it, from where water fell and crashed to either side, the veranda spared drenching by a second protruding cliff some twenty feet above them. A smaller stream fell from it, over a star structure of suspended glass that separated the water into at least a dozen thin and steady streams… These fell into a curved and spiraled draining basin just below hand level, each stream with space wide enough for an individual to stand between. Beyond the thin streams a third thick sheet fell, with a mist that rose up behind and coated the air in a pleasant scent of salt and lime. He had to admit it felt good to breathe. "Maybe here you can be reminded of the value of cool water."
Thorin said nothing, only quietly removing his bracers and setting them on a nearby ledge as Balin did the same.
His advisor smiled that 'I told you' smile before he pointed his eyes toward the soap pearls on a second ledge near the basin. They each took a pearl and put their hands into the water, cool but not chilling. "He's not so bad, I've heard tell. His society is far friendlier than King Thranduil or his court; Thranduil never offered us food, much less a place to stay when the Dragon came." Balin had the nerve to wink then.
"Do you think I need reminding?"
"That these are not the same Elves that wronged us? Yes." The mettle beneath his Advisor was not concealed by his warm smile. "Don't tell him anything and we should have no problem here."
"Tharkûn will want me to show Lord Elrond the map."
"No, Thorin––"
"Friendly, but not enough to trust, then?" Thorin kept his face neutral. He pulled a dry-cloth from a curved branch that had been shaped to hold many folds, and wiped his hands. Balin followed him, doing the same, both of them hanging their cloth back on the branch. "We cannot read that map. The Wizard says Elrond can."
"But he might––"
"Can't be helped, Balin. We must know."
Just then Lady Arwen approached them from one of the joining halls, carrying an armful of gowns, all colors of the rainbow, most of them jewel tones. She smiled at him, bowing her head in renewed greeting, but with that mischievous edge, as if she knew some secret he kept and found that fact amusing. Her smile increased as she passed, but she did not slow her step. Thorin frowned, breathing deep; these were strange Elves.
"Indeed we must," Balin said, sighing with him as they watched her disappear down a different hall.
"Perhaps you would not mind seeking out the Wizard?" Thorin glanced at him. "I'd like to have this meeting as soon as possible." At that he smiled just a little. "I will wait here."
Balin clasped his arm, winked again, and was gone.
And Thorin wondered at the state of his mind, or his heart, or his––what was it, this pulling? He wanted to leave this place, but the thought of actually leaving made him almost sick. What was worse, he had a sinking suspicion he knew exactly why. He did his best to turn that thought aside, breathing in the soothing air, wondering at the Elves' abilities of sensual manipulation, but welcoming it now, however begrudgingly, considering his mixed up feelings––
"Did you tell her she had to stay here?" Kíli appeared at the opposite side of the fountain, glaring at Thorin through the falling water.
"Stay? What do you mean?"
"Sona," Fíli interrupted, now next to his brother, his face colored with a rare frown. "She said you told her she's not of the Company, and then she said she's not coming with us when we leave here."
"She did?" Thorin asked, shocked though knew he shouldn't be.
She loved this place the second she laid eyes upon it; he saw that, and he, well––
"She also said we act like we think the Elves will kidnap her," Kíli rolled his eyes but his frown remained intact. "Did you, N'adad?"
"Did I what?" Thorin felt lost.
"Bar her inclusion from the Company." Kíli stepped up, looking ferocious.
"I did." Thorin replied. "It was the first day." His eyes panned slowly from Kíli to Fíli. Dwalin had just stepped up behind Fíli, wearing a scowl even Mahal would respect. They were all after a piece of him; he wondered how she had phrased what she said; she had only told the truth, but was she bitter? Or had they grown to care so much simply because she was such lovely company? Most likely the latter, and he could not think her unkind. "She came for aid. I did not notice; I would not listen. Tharkûn took her in."
They were all silent, weighing the news. Dwalin gave him a knowing glance as the sound of rushing water underscored all thought.
"That was daft, N'adad, being such an arse the first time you met her." Kíli's brows were nearly joined together by the frown between them.
"Yes, Kíli." Thorin nearly chuckled at the harsh truth, but at the same time he wished he had never been so––daft. "Mine was a poor grade." Thorin nodded toward his youngest. "I expect you would do better."
Kíli's lips tugged up as he fought the loss of his frown.
"Well, she did steal your dinner first," Dwalin reminded them all, his face lightened in turn, as if Thorin's regret somehow made it better.
Fíli, still weighed heavy with care, raised his brows, leaned in and asked, "So, she's to stay here, then, when we leave?"
"I did not know we would come here until we arrived." Thorin breathed out, his hands stretched, fingers extended, trying to release the tension. "As for the Thief, she can do as she pleases; travel with the Wizard, stay here––"
"Come with us."
"I cannot ask that," Thorin stared into Fíli's eyes, conveying his meaning silently and hoping his Sister's Son understood. "I would not stop her. I thought she would remain with Tharkûn." He looked up, shrugged. Elves. Water spray dusted them with a turn of the breeze, the waters gurgling and hissing beneath the undercurrents of his thought. Elves. She looked on them with awe, as if they were magical, wonderful, beautiful. The heroes in a dark world. Oh, irony. These were the ones she had favored from her 'books' –– Book that retold their history, their lives, the ones they lived now. He tried not to let the sting burn. "But this place. She is happy to be here."
"Why can't you ask her?" He would not let go.
Kíli stared on wide-eyed, while Dwalin crossed his arms, settled into his smug face, and waited. But Thorin didn't notice; he was still looking at Fíli. You know why, Sister's Son.
Fíli shook his head as if he heard.
"I cannot––" Thorin stopped. Cannot what? Cannot ask her into the Company? And why not? What is it you think you cannot do? "Enough questions."
He took this moment to leave, and thank Mahal, none of them followed.
But after a short while Thorin discovered that wasn't the case.
"N'adad," Fíli called from behind some ten minutes later, after he'd gotten lost in the maze of curved paths and winding stairs among vines and rock and waterfalls.
Thorin stopped without turning around or saying a word, wondering when his Sister's Son would let it go.
Fíli caught him. "You left these at the wash falls." He hugged the bracers he had bundled with his sew kit under his left arm. "But first there's something I want to give you." He motioned toward a bench in an alcove of the hall, surrounded by statues of Elven maidens tending the air, arms outstretched in poses reaching nothing. Thorin's brows creased as he wondered if they were supposed to be dancing. He was familiar with stone, and the art of sculpture. The Dwarves would keep the angles and the textures and the veins in the stone, and in the resemblance created retain the nature of stone, in reflection of love toward the honored one's reflection in shape, where Elves tended to wash the nature of the stone away, softening the stone to a smooth cold polish, taking the shape of the person remembered into something far too literal for Dwarves' taste. It was unsettling, what they did with the stone, and it that made the sculptures look––dead.
"Why are you staring at the statues, N'adad?"
Thorin looked back at Fíli as they sat on the bench. "They are ugly."
Fíli snorted. "That's why you shouldn't stare. Now give me your right arm shirtsleeve; you don't need to take it off, I can reach. I'm going to stitch you a quick pocket here." He indicated a spot on Thorin's sleeve just below his wrist.
"What for?" Thorin asked; he knew, but he wanted to hear the lad talk about anything other than what Thorin thought he really came to discuss.
"You'll see." He smiled, not looking up as he whip-stitched a narrow pocket with an overflap to his sleeve. "There." He patted it and then reached down to a lower pocket in his vest and pulled out a small blade. "I want you to keep this in it, blade facing your elbow."
"Âkmînruk zu, Inûdoy," Thorin said, moved to stillness, remembering their moment together in fear. Now they smiled together and his heart swelled.
Then Fíli pointed to the blade with his eyes, 'look.'
It was blackened silver, so as not to catch the light, fashioned like a three-cornered comb, with its cornered edges slightly higher than the blade; it would not cut into his arm should it slice through the pocket: if fact, it was impossible for it to cut through the fabric at all, with this shape. In hand, it would easily cut through ropes, and given a close struggle, it could be used to find a juggler. Fíli slipped the small knife inside the new pocket, folding over the flap. "You can open the pocket with your fingers, so," he demonstrated on his own, sifting his fingers down and fishing the blade out with a downward flick. "Works with one hand, and you can draw out the blade without being seen." A wry smile lit his Sister's Son's face. "Kíli has one too, now. Just in case we're sacked again." And he winked. But he did not look away.
Thorin waited.
"Do you know what's happening here?" Fíli asked.
Thorin frowned. That was vague enough for him to choose his own question. So he did. "We are going to speak with Lord Elrond about the runes on that Map. You know this." He had a good notion this is not what Fíli meant. This he did not want to know. He was ill at ease enough as it was.
"Yes, of course," Fíli smiled the face of a diplomat. They were standing and ready to take leave.
Thorin pulled him in close and tapped his forehead with his own gently, looking deep into his Sister's Son's eyes, seeing Dís there, in the shape of them. Then he let go and they both stepped back.
Fíli then flashed a devious grin, a slight nod of his head proceeded his customary bow. "At your service, N'adad, should you need my advice."
Thorin stared at him, his smile stiffening. "Balin will be there."
Fíli pulled his head back and shrugged, coming as close to rolling his eyes as he could while remaining polite. "And he will help with the Map better than I could."
Thorin's face eased. "Yes, he will."
Fíli's brows rose as he leaned in, gripping Thorin's shoulder. "You know where I will be."
"With Kíli and the Dog."
"Sasha." Fíli's face opened into the widest of grins. "Aye." He paused, eyes brightening. "Danîe would love her." And with that he turned on his heals and nearly bounced in his saunter down the hall.
Was that the way to their quarters?
Thorin stood watching the blank space for a brief while, thinking nothing.
Instead he sat down again.
Then he reached into his heart pocket and pulled out the blade the Thief had used to free him from the Trolls, his eyes widening over the rainbow wash of the metal, remembering her face as she brought it near his neck. He pressed the lever and opened and closed it several times, twisting it in his hand and looking at its shine. Playing with the lock bar. It was a clever design, the blade resting snugly and sheathed within its handle when closed. Checking the edge, it was sharp, but could be sharper. He pulled out his pouch with his travel stone and trop and quickly swept the edge with the stone and then finished with a polish from his trop. He sat a moment longer, keeping his mind still, flipping the switch that opened the blade, folding it back, flipping again. Except his mind would not stay still. He needed to return the knife to the Thief. The thought made him chuckle. She still had Dís's hanky. Perhaps he could get it back in a trade. Still smiling, he pulled open the new pocket and wedged the blade next to the one Fíli had gifted him.
Now, to find his way back: He opted to follow the way Fíli had gone, being sure to take no turns until he found himself in a familiar hall, the one where he had first met Lady Arwen. He stopped short, standing in that same place, shocked certain she had known he would get lost. But now he had his bearings, and he smiled slightly. He knew exactly where he was: the dinning hall, the wash hall, some halls in between, the hall toward their chambers, yes, that was the way, and just opposite that––the path to Sona's.
The Thief's.
He frowned briefly in thought. Had Lady Arwen actually seen he would get lost? It was as if she left him a message to find later, to mark the way, in addition to the suggestion to wash that he had understood initially.
What else did she see?
He shrugged, resolved to ignore it. Elves and their games…
/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\
A/N: Note on my usage of Khuzdûl. I'm using The Dwarrow Scholar's translation tool for the Khuzdûl in this story. Any mistakes in the language are mine. There are two tags I want to mention now, though, as an explanation to something people might assume I've gotten wrong: In my story, Thorin calls his Sister's Son's a shortened version of that in Khuzdûl : 'Inûdoy.' Thorin has long since dropped the 'Sister's' (N'amad) of 'Sister's Son's' (N'amad Inûdoy) and kept 'Son' (Inûdoy) when he calls them in Khuzdûl. He's been doing that since they lost their Father. They noticed, and followed the pattern: From Mother's Brother ('Amad N'adad), they have dropped 'Mother' and kept 'Brother' (N'adad).