Part 1: Chapter 15: Of My Brother's Soul

"We need to go tonight–– within the hour. Is everyone packed?" Thorin flung his bag near the doorway of the common room where he found Balin.

"Aye. We have not heard back from Tharkûn…" His Friend drew his head up and motioned to the sofa chair across from his recliner in front of the fire.

"We do not wait for the Wizard."

Balin's eyebrows flew to his hairline as he pulled his pipe from his lips, and he seemed to puff with questions Thorin had no time to let him ask. "You changed your mind, then, laddie?"

"He's said he will follow," Thorin went on, ignoring the question. "Not that we need his leave."

"But what moves you to rush?" He offered his pouch. Balin's tobacco was a fine leaf, though Thorin did not reach for his own pipe.

"Tell me the laws of our People on the matter of Binumrâl." Thorin knew them just as well as Balin, but this had to be stated.

Balin looked as though he were about to pass horrendous gas. But then he shook his head and shrugged before leaning back and creasing his brow, considering. "A marriage binding two can only be unbound when both of the union grant permission," Balin glanced at him sidelong, pausing.

Thorin could feel the gaze but he did not return it. He waited for more answer.

"Now that's a rare thing indeed, you and I both know," he went on, hesitation edging his words, "as most wed their Ones and would never consider breaking bond. But there are those exceptions, happening occasionally in certain family lines at risk of extinction, where unions must be established among those who are not Ones in order to secure survival." Balin stopped, staring beyond him, and Thorin knew he thought of his Grandparents. Then a flash of smile overtook him. "Dwarflings," Balin chuckled, sparing a quick glance at Thorin before resettling into his advisor's mask. "These unions could only be dissolved when both agreed, and only then could one of them ever consider future marriage, even should they meet their One."

Balin stopped at the threshold of the matter. Thorin knew his Friend would consider it finished unless Thorin pressed, perhaps only to spread his discomfort more equally between the two of them. Thorin felt his Advisor's gaze once more, boring like a water drill, waiting in his own stubborn way.

It would have been amusing under less personal concerns. Thorin ignored Balin's expression and demanded more bluntly, "And when one of a wedded union should die, leaving Binumrâl, Balin. Say what our laws require then."

Balin fidgeted with reloading his pipe as he frowned harder over the answer, slightly miffed at having been so put to task. Then he sighed, and smiled wanly. "No calling. No courting. The union cannot be dissolved, because there is one missing to grant permission. Yet sometimes, when one of a bond should die, the living could meet their One. Binumrâl, with power to grant permission, will find their own way. The way to remarriage is seldom chosen; only those in the union can grant both permission from themselves and from their wedded one beyond the veil to Itdendûm, to call the marriage passed, so that, in the rarest of rare cases, Binumrâl may remarry. That is all I recall."

Thorin did not hesitate. "That is why I must leave."

"Sorry, Thorin, I do not follow." Balin stared at him, stubborn in his refusal to think between unspoken facts. "And the Elves have been kind enough."

Thorin thought of Lord Elrond's words to Tharkûn concerning his family curse, concerning himself. Could he be trusted not to fall, not to fail his people?

No.

Even he did not know. "The Elves let us stay because they do not want us on this Quest, Balin. They do not want me near that Mountain."

"But why?"

Thorin shot him a look. "You know well why." Everyone knew.

Thorin took the sofa spot across from Balin's, resting his elbows on his knees. He thought of Sona's words. Bi-polar? He shook his head, no idea what that was. But she was not appalled by his family's curse, she did not stiffen or flinch away in judgment, but rather told him of her own mother's illness, and her sister's. A woman from a far off world: she knew his feeling, telling him she had her own, very near the same. She touched his soul, and then... him, and it was hot. He drew his hand to his face, to lean into it, recalling her gold-ringed finger over his, delicately encircled in beautifully crafted Sona in the gold. He pressed his little finger hard against his lips, so hard he could feel the teeth. Surprised, he pulled his hand away into a fist. He knew he should move, but could not even breathe, just like that moment she touched him. What in Mahal's name? For a woman of Men?

Whatever this was, he did not want it.

"What of Sona?" Balin asked, and Thorin had to wonder if Balin were learning mind-reading skills from the Elves.

"What?" Thorin responded, stone mask firmly set.

Balin stared a moment before replying. "Will she come with Tharkûn?"

Thorin shook his head and shrugged, hoping just this once for an easy answer.

"You want her to come?" His Advisor asked, his face full of welcome curiosity, with knowledge and expectation bubbling up. Clearly he refused to connect the matter to Thorin's concern for Dwarven Laws...

"It may be better if she not."

"Why?"

Was Balin being purposefully dense?

"Aside from the aforementioned, Balin," Thorin directed one of his more pointed glares his Advisor's way. He thought of all the other reasons he no longer wished to hang onto, and started to list them. "She's a Thief." She stole my… no; I have not yet given it. "She argues everything––"

"I don't consider those faults, Thorin," Balin interrupted him smugly. "We needed a Burglar, we could employ a Thief, and you've never needed someone to constantly agree with you in any circumstance, or have you changed since we've spent time with Elves?"

Thorin glared briefly at Balin before continuing his futile point–– "She argues for the rights of savage Trolls to eat us. Is this useful, and if so, how, Balin?"

Balin cocked his head toward him. "She saved us from said Trolls, truth be told, laddie."

"She cannot defend herself! Not even when the largest Warg imaginable leaps onto her!"

"That's where you come in." And with that Balin's smile took over his whole face. "What's your argument now?"

"Have you heard nothing?" Thorin shot back, entirely frustrated.

Balin shrugged, accepting Thorin's ire as his smile went sad.

And Thorin regretted, feeling himself shake deep within. How could he explain it? "I–– She–– There is a pull," Thorin could barely hear his breath come out at the words. "I don't know these feelings. I do not welcome them. It is not like others before–– no mere attraction, however affectionate and altogether welcome. No, but this…" Thorin inhaled, as if he could grip it. "…this is beyond all that. And I have no time but for this Quest, nothing to offer but service to my people, to the Lonely Mountain."

Balin's eyes only seemed to grow wider. "Is she yours? Mabujba–– Have you chosen?"

"How do you even ask that, Balin? She is of Men."

Balin merely shrugged, his knowing smirk growing all the more visible as the seconds passed. "But you haven't answered, laddie. Have you chosen?"

"I––don't know." He could tell from looking at Balin just what it was he wished, but Thorin doubted any of it possible, and he wondered at the mind of his Advisor, where it had wandered off to? "But no, I have made no decision."

Balin's eyes relaxed fractionally.

"And so, as yet… will it be forever?" Thorin wondered out loud, turning his eyes toward the fire. "This pull."

"I do not know this pull, Thorin; I have never felt it." Balin's blinked a few times, smiled and shrugged. "Can't say I miss anything, eh?"

"There is a gap in the knowledge. Books have never answered these questions, and for this blasted subject I never felt the need to pay attention." Thorin stared at his wisest Friend intently, as if his eyes could burn the smile off his face. "Is she the One whether I choose her or not? Or, if I choose her not, now or ever, is that then Nê mabujba, or may I one day meet another and feel pulled again, or is there only one where this can happen to a Dwarf, and thus why the bond is called One? And thus the choice is this One or be alone always?" Why was he saying all this? To Balin? He clasped his hands over his forearms and squeezed, as if to close himself.

Balin only watched him, his face gone almost serious. He had no answer.

"She is Binumral. She finds her own way after her husband's passing."

"May not be the same with people of Men." Balin nodded, eyes still unsure.

"And there's that! People of Men. They are not restricted to One. So, Mahal strike it! Why this? Why do I feel it? Isn't that where it matters? How can I choose this One? And with Binumrâl I can do nothing until––" Thorin raked a hand through his hair, fully stopped at the notion. "She is not a Dwarf, Balin. I feel lost, and not in the way I am used to."

"If you regain your Kingdom, Thorin, you can clarify your own thoughts on this matter, and make your way. No one will question you. It is private, after all. The line is secured with your Sister's Sons."

"I can clarify nothing until she grants twofold permission, her own and Binumrâl." Thorin stared at the flagstones before the fireplace, watching the lights reflecting off the metal of his boot-caps. "Besides, she does not know these things. And even should she, what makes you think she would ever have me?" Thorin asked the question with his own clear answer–– This was not possible.

"It is not for me to say," Balin said quickly. "But she might." And there his eyes sparked the smile back on his face. "And if she does, well then. It is up to you."

"There would surely be objections." This was his least concern, beyond reach.

"At least one in your Council would not. I could persuade the others, or at least most of them."

"Enough." Thorin pressed his hands over his temples and rubbed deep. "We leave within the hour, and I am sure that will settle it."

Balin watched him rise, his face losing its ease. "Thorin."

"Gather the others."

"As you will." Balin stared down at his pipe and frowned, and Thorin wondered if it was from the order or the fact that the pipe leaf was not yet consumed. After packing his smoke satchel, he shuffled out to assemble the Company.

Thorin sank deeper into the cushioned sofa and began to fill his pipe.

"I overheard you talking about Ones," Fíli said, stepping up to the mantle pipe in hand, pulling out his pouch, smiling happy.

"And the rest of it," Thorin muttered, swallowing his embarrassment.

"What rest?" Fíli asked, brows bent in a frown like a cloud over a sun filled day.

Laws. Facts. Dreams. Madness.

Lord Elrond's words echoed; the sickness was in their blood, and it hurt just to look at Fíli, thinking one day he may fall to it also. Thorin ran his thumb over his small finger, the one Sona had touched, and kept his eyes on his Sister's Son, determined not to answer. Perhaps, if he held strong and managed to escape it, then the stain of madness marring the family line could be washed clean and Fíli kept safe. But though Thorin wished with all his heart to be true, he did not know if he would fall the way of his fathers before him.

Fíli stared at him a brief moment before he realized Thorin wasn't about to answer, and then his frown cleared. "Never mind what Elves think, or some dusty laws. What about Ones, N'adad? You asked Balin, but Balin doesn't know about them."

Thorin suppressed a smile. Perhaps Fíli was missing Danîe. He glanced to the pipe he was smoking, suddenly warming to Fíli's offer: the opportunity to learn stood right before him in the form of his eldest Sister's Son. "Inûdoy, I have these… feelings." And a dream. No need to mention that. He has no idea.

Fíli waited, staring, smirking, no help at all. And the silence lengthened. Finally his Sister's Son took a breath and leaned in, eyes sparking. "Tell me, what feelings?"

"Did you––" Thorin stopped, not quite sure how to phrase the question. "There is a pull, like a magnet–– I was talking to Balin, but he––"

"Yes," Fíli nodded, cutting him off with understanding.

"Have you always felt it? Or did it just come one day?"

"She's yours, isn't she?" Fíli asked, one eye cocked, his face gentle.

"I was asking about the pull," Thorin angled his head away, glaring slightly, not about to name any names, obvious or otherwise.

"Yes," Fíli nodded, looking serious but at the same time smiling more. "I'd say always, but I didn't define it until I met Danîe, and it was not right away that I drew the connection between the two."

Thorin nodded, looking away, following the flagstones down the hall past where he could see. "I have not––"

"Not everyone notices before they meet, N'adad. Bombur––"

"She–– She is not from Middle-earth, Fíli."

Fíli nodded slowly, his eyes gazing slowly over the room as he withdrew in thought. And then suddenly those eyes were back on Thorin's. "That explains much. When did she tell you?"

Thorin looked away, embarrassed yet again. "She didn't. She told the Wizard back when I… declined her aid after we first met. I overheard it, and engaged in their conversation. It was not helpful."

Fíli bit his lower lip, creased in more thought. "But she is well over that, N'adad, surely you can see it."

"No. I don't see it," the bitterness took hold of his voice and he forced himself to ease up. "I see a wondrous shining person who would be kind to anyone she's met, including one clumsy short-tempered Dwarf."

At that Fíli snorted. "She's seeing through your rough exterior."

Thorin laughed, not a happy laugh, but it was release.

"So, tell me what happened, when you first felt the change," Fíli continued, always drawn back to the heart of the matter.

"She passed a barrier somehow that leads to her world, where there is a place she calls Home. Kaleforn'ya."

Fíli nodded. "She sang about it."

"Aye." Thorin recalled the song of Kaleforn'ya Dreaming, and his lips turned slightly up. "I felt it in a bank of fog as I was lost on the outskirts of the Shire, near two weeks before we met at Bag End. When she passed, that is when it started, this pull."

"Juzrazur. Pull, N'adad. That is its name."

Of course, he had known it… He hadn't wanted to name it… for that would be admitting it.

"Ones share it."

Thorin's head whipped back toward Fíli. "Share?" He felt his heart sink. She doesn't. His head shook, marginally slower than his insides. She can't.

"Many things are shared."

His eyes startled back into his Sister's Son's. "Among Dwarves," he stated, unable to keep the question from his voice, unable to hide the horror blooming in his gut, that he was miscast; that he would never be able to share something he never knew he missed, but now would rather not live without.

"And who said only?" Fíli asked, his jaw pointed in challenge. This one never missed a beat.

"How often shall I repeat in one night that she is not a Dwarf?" Thorin shook his head, his attempt at suppressing his irritation only marginally successful.

"These things are not entirely unknown, N'adad. I have read some books." His Sister's Son smirked.

"She has a Home she wants to go back to," Thorin reminded, bowing his head in all seriousness, his eyes wide and open as if that could gentle the beating of his heart. He did not want her to go, and here he was, leaving––

And what of that dream?

Fíli's head sank slightly, but the light in his eyes remained, smiling like only the young could do. "So she says now."

Juzrazur'ē, his Juzrazur; his Pull. He had always thought he would have no One, because he had never felt what some with Ones said they were born knowing. To suddenly feel Juzrazar, and know it was for nothing? How, Mahal? How could this be?

"Do you refuse? You haven't––?" Fíli asked, the fire reflected back at him from his Durin's eyes.

Could he? Could he not? None of it made sense. "We are leaving." Thorin stared at Fíli as his body stiffened ever so slightly. "Once Balin has gathered the others."

Fíli's hand shot out and caught his arm. "You deny your One?"

"No, Inûdoy, I do not think so. But, I do have a choice. I can choose no."

"Nê Mabujba." Fíli shifted in discomfort, his glanced down at the tiles and furrowed his brows. "So it says in books we have been taught, though it is rarely done."

"Aye, and so then I can…" Thorin stuttered on his thought. "Perhaps I could choose later."

"Do you mean for Sona?" Now Fíli looked worried, the alternative weighing in his shoulders and his eyes.

Thorin put his hand over his Sister's Son's. "I move on, and leave choosing to take care of itself. A Mountain with a Dragon wait for me." Thorin looked away and removed his hand, unwilling to see the emotion Fíli strove so hard to hide.

"You say that every time, N'adad." Fíli stepped back from the mantle. "There is room in this life for you beyond your duty, room for you to live within it as yourself. Just you as a Dwarf. Why else would Mahal gift you Juzrazur?"

Why else?

Thorin suppressed the bitter laugh he felt. He looked up, but Fíli was already headed down the flagstones toward their quarters, likely to rouse Kíli and gather their packs.

Moments later Nori stepped quietly into the hall. "There is news, Thorin."

Thorin nodded, assuming it concerned his decision to move out. "Are you packed?"

Nori assented once as he glanced back toward the door, and Thorin wasn't sure if it was to check his bag there, or to see if anyone listened. "There's a Council going on. "

"What?"

Nori nodded again, still watching the door. "You should be there."

"I wasn't invited." Thorin felt the bitterness from before as the words slipped past. But he was not surprised. Nori turned to him with a scowl to match his inner rancor. "What do you know, Nori? Who is at the Council?"

"Only the most important folk of Middle-earth. Aside from the ones we know, Tharkûn and Lord Elrond, there is the Elf Witch and the White Wizard, and some incredibly tall Blonde Elf with searing eyes."

"Thranduil?" Thorin asked, the acid rising.

"No, no, bollocks no, far more beautiful and yellow-gold ancient than the Woodland Rat King, this one is. Glorfindel they called him."

"This is no jest?" Thorin asked, incredulous; the one who'd slain a Balrog and lived to tell it?

Nori shook his head, feigning innocent eyes. "They cannot be making decisions about us when you aren't there to speak our mind."

But Thorin signed no. "I know better than to expect they will not try."

Just then Dwalin bound into the room. "What's this about, Thorin?" he groused, glancing at Nori with a silent nod of greeting. "Why are we leaving in the middle of the night?"

"Our host has gathered a Council, it is taking place now, Nori just informed me." Thorin paced slowly in front of the fire. "As you can see, I am not at it, even when it is most likely we are one topic they intend to address, among others."

Dwalin stared at Nori, who stood on the edges of the firelight staring back at the Warrior. "How do you always learn these things?"

Nori shrugged, smiling like a brawler who knows which way the fists will fly.

Raising a brow in quiet admiration, Dwalin turned back to Thorin. "So this is why you would leave now?"

"I would leave before this Council forces a decision upon us I had no part in making."

Just then the rest of the Company filed into the room, each with their packs on their shoulders. The most of them looked tired from waking. Kíli glowered and scowled blades of burning ire straight his way, hair tussled more than usual as though he mussed it on purpose when he rose. Fíli stood right beside him, a knowing look resting there. None of the others appeared remotely pleased, their expressions ranging from glares to blank stares. Clearly they blamed him, each and every one. For what, in Durin's name?

"So we are ready," Thorin started––

"We are not all here," Dwalin groused, interrupting.

The Company fell to silence waiting on Thorin's word.

"Dwalin, I count thirteen," Thorin muttered, suddenly tired beyond measure.

"We can't leave the Whatsafist behind." Dwalin's frowning ability nearly surpassed his own, Thorin was sure of it.

"Pacifist," Thorin repeated before he could think, hearing the lack of her voice rejoining. How could he leave? "One not signed to the Company."

"What does that matter?" Dwalin asked through his teeth.

Thorin shot him a glare. "What are we to do with the Thief, Dwalin? She needs help to get home. We do not even have our own." Thorin's eyes gentled fractionally, so he dug in deeper. "We cannot help her, now can we?"

"Well what if––"

But Thorin cut Dwalin off with a raised hand. "Likewise, though she may wish it, she cannot help us on our way. By coming she would draw danger to herself. I cannot have it. I will not."

"She's never drawn the danger." Dwalin's eyes stared holes clear though him. "We found the Trolls on our own, remember? And in that instance she helped fine, putting the bastard Trolls to sleep." Dwalin bit his mouth shut, coughing, surely cutting off the rest of it, that she then proceeded to wake the Trolls to save them from Dwalin's axes… "And besides all that, Tharkûn said we could use a Burglar," he reasoned, repeating Balin's thoughts, sounding as though his Brother schooled him on what to say. "That's almost like a Thief once we get the door open."

"She does not want to come," Thorin said quietly.

"Tell me you asked her."

Thorin's head jerked up as he glared at his friend. "You dare ask me that?"

"If you know she will not come you must have asked." Dwalin's angered smirk was growing, just as a warning spark shined from his eyes. And then he signed, 'You're breaking rules, asking.'

"I didn't ask, blast it!"

"Then you cannot know what she wants!"

"Shut it, Dwalin." Thorin stepped up, glaring equally fierce. And with that he shoved past, grabbed his pack just as Fíli grabbed his arm, stopping him briefly with the saddest look, though his lips were smiling, and Thorin couldn't figure out what that meant. It was a kettle of trouble and joy, his Sister's Son's face, as though he knew something no one else did and found it powerful and blessed. But no, he wasn't alone. Glóin stood behind him with a similar face, and beyond his cousin's shoulder stood Bombur. Bombur? They all looked at him that way…

"You can't run." Fíli said simply.

They all had Ones…

Well. Thorin did not. He had not chosen. He would not. Now now.

Maybe not ever. Thorin bowed his head toward the door. "I will leave. We all leave. Now." And he walked out, hoping he was heading the way toward the hidden pass, hoping they followed, not sure of either, too tired to look. But then he saw Fíli's boots step in beside him, keeping his pace just a bit to the back of him. "I'm here, N'adad. All will be well." It was the voice he used with Kíli when Kíli was scared. Thorin's gut turned, hearing it. Was he scared? He shook his head and kept moving. "Take the path to the left up ahead," Fíli whispered, his voice sure, though grief lacing the edges. "It leads to the steps…"

The Company neared the final bridge when, turning the corner, Thorin spotted Lady Arwen on the arch opposite, joined to the path they crossed over. She stood with another Elf, extraordinarily tall, golden blonde and ancient in his shining aura, but Thorin could pay him no mind, not with the harrowing look coming at him from the Lady Arwen, as though she measured his strength and found it lacking. But then she blinked, and a level of grace eased the hardness Thorin felt within her. 'Go then,'––She was in his head––'see if you can outrun her.'

Outrun her? What makes you think she would––

At that she smiled and turned away to say something to the tall blonde Elf at her side, who turned laughing, a piercing look, but the smile true and friendly, and overly full of mischief.

Elves.

Thorin kept on.

And they headed out of Imladris the way they'd come in weeks before, with the sounds of the crashing falls heard from near and far surrounded them like an ushering to the exit; the falling sprays a constant beat through the Elven City, a vibration Thorin felt to his bones. He wondered if he would miss it. The the water grew louder as they passed up the valley the paths. This time there were no Orcs giving chase, not yet anyway. But it was all the same to Thorin; he was still running, though his steps were all the heavier for the one he left behind.

/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\

A/N: Curious about the conversation between Arwen and the Blonde Elf?

Here are the details of how that went down, Arwen's perspective mixed in with Thorin's at the exit:

The Company neared the final bridge when, turning the corner, Thorin spotted Lady Arwen on the arch opposite, joined to the path they crossed over. She stood with another Elf, extraordinarily tall, golden blonde and ancient in his shining aura...

Arwen's jaw clenched with the steel of her shoulders. "Thorin Oakenshield takes flight."

Glorfindel followed her gaze, and together they looked on as the Dwarves approached the trail toward the Hidden Pass, Durin's Heir in the front with his oldest Nephew close on his right shoulder.

...but Thorin could pay him no mind, not with the harrowing look coming at him from the Lady Arwen, as though she measured his strength and found it lacking. But then she blinked, and a level of grace eased the hardness Thorin felt within her. 'Go then,'––She was in his head––'see if you can outrun her.'

Outrun her? What makes you think she would––

Arwen would not answer to that.

At that she smiled and turned away to say something to the tall blonde Elf at her side…

"He can't outrun her... I've got her bag already packed..."

"What makes you think she'd follow?" Glorfindel asked, but it was clear when their eyes met he already knew; she had seen it.

…who turned laughing, a piercing look, but the smile true and friendly, and overly full of mischief.

Elves.

Thorin kept on.