Part 1: Chapter 16: On the Wind I Heard a Sigh

"Slower than chilled lava up a snow frosted mountain slope, that's our pace, Thorin." Dwalin muttered as they made their way through the hidden passage.

"It wasn't that slow," Thorin grumbled beneath his breath. Well. It wasn't all that fast, either. The way was longer than he remembered, each step so far compared to when they'd come in. The sound of the water had long faded. He did not miss it so much as Sona. He stopped at the entrance, staring at the spot where she had cried, after the Wargs and Orcs, with Sasha at her knees, safe and sound. He almost smiled, sadly, fingering for the hanky now tucked back in his pocket. It felt like ages past.

And this was after having tarried a half hour in the hills above the steps and before the passage, after Bofur had rather jokingly asked why they weren't waiting for Tharkûn, and somehow eased by Bofur's jovial tone, Thorin had come to realize, indeed, maybe leaving so quickly, not to mention unannounced, had been a rather hasty choice.

The time passed on by nearly an hour before Thorin saw the uselessness of it. They were off, and Tharkûn was no where to be seen, and they were wasting time––

"Thorin?" Dwalin glared at him with the question he knew he wasn't about to answer.

Thorin looked out into the blue sky above them, met with sounds of bird calls and the wind touching his cheeks, not the howls or cries or Elven horns or hooves of horses galloping, nor the near taste of death, as it had been before, except they had been saved by this entrance…

Someone, Elves most likely, had cleared the fallen Orcs, leaving no trace. He thanked whomever silently, breathing deep the fresh air. It didn't matter that he did not welcome it; at least it didn't smell of death.

He turned to Dwalin with his war mask firmly set, and then he addressed them all: "Be on your guard; we're about to step over the Edge of the Wild."

His insides welled with pent up feeling. There was no room for waiting, and what was he waiting for? Tharkûn would come on his own.

Thorin dared not think how he would feel once that happened, when the Wizard would show, and the Thief would not.

He gave way for his Advisor. "Balin, you know these paths, lead on."

Just as he spoke he heard a sound coming up the path behind them, like faint falling water, nearing them, though they were well past the falls.

Someone approached; they all heard and instinctively drew their weapons just as Thorin made the silent command, each Dwarf arming up double with swords and axes.

Just then the Dog––The Thief's Dog––! darted past the corner and under Fíli's blades to lick the underside of his Sister's Son's checks. Fíli began to giggle at the onslaught of Sasha's tongue upon him.

Behind her came Sona––

Asti!

––nearly running into the clash of weapons his Dwarves held against her, all of them immediately relaxing once they knew it was her.

She looked at those closest to her, the reception of blades in the hands of her friends from before, her face a mixture of shock and joy.

Joy? She was happy...

Thorin froze, watching her watch the others as they looked to him for direction. He breathed in, swelling in his own happiness, taking in a hint of lavender and sage on the breeze. She was here. This relief, it was deep, and suddenly he felt he could move again, but he didn't know what to do, and there they all looked to him for guidance. He wanted to laugh at the irony, but held still instead.

'Now what, Thorin?' Dwalin signed, a smug look on his face.

'Who knows?'

And better yet... What was she doing here?

All of the Dwarves were staring between the two of them, and then she noticed, eyes widening in understanding when she looked at him, and this felt like a hammer to his heart. She was there.

But this felt strange, because why was she nervous? She was chewing her lip, looking at him, growing worried. He pulled his own lip in, and then stopped. Quit, Thorin. He couldn't move, and her eyes only seemed to grow larger.

She came … she followed! Why did she follow?

Who cares…. She came!

But now what? The Company waited for his word, but not a single one minded the delay, he was sure of it, all of them quite happy at the turn of events. They knew his mouth would catch up with their circumstances soon enough...

No, far worse–– She waited, growing more agitated by his dumbfounded silence by each fractional second he delayed. What was he to say? How could he ask her to join them, without asking her to join them? And yet he had to say something.

"Lose someone, Thief?" He partly smiled, glancing back toward Imladris. Aye, that hit the mark. "Wizard's late, but knows the way."

Thorin turned and followed Balin up the path, smiling broader––that was a good word–– hoping his attempt at humor would ease her discomfort.

But why?

"Well in that case," Dwalin muttered from behind. "We can go faster than the snail's pace he was keeping us at."

Thorin heard Nori snigger along with his Sister's Sons, but did not look for the reaction. He couldn't trust his face not to show too much.

Thorin kept a hard pace that morning. It helped him think. Or so he hoped.

Was this what Arwen meant when she spoke of a race? And just what exactly did that mean?

Why had she followed?

She had said she wouldn't, and the memory was a cold blade.

Yet here she was. Why?

Had the Elves told her they could not help? Then why was she not with Tharkûn? Surely they had not thrown her out: he took a glance back as she was teaching Bofur a new song, one of her more silly ones, he could tell by all the laughter about them… with Dori in misery, nearly stuffing his ears for silence… No, no. Elves had not thrown her out. She was too happy.

Then what?

She could have waited for Tharkûn.

The Wizard was likely just a day behind them, if that.

Instead she came ahead. Alone. He shuddered to think of her alone out here where the Orcs chased them before, not knowing––

Who would let her out of Imladris without an escort? That was reminiscent of the vilest deeds of Elves… He did not believe these ones capable.

So she left unannounced.

Why?

And Arwen knew she was coming! Arwen…

Arwen knew he couldn't out run her…

She most likely knew he hadn't left the safety of their lands before now…

She had not been wrong.

Blast the Elf.

But––no harm was done.

No. Now he heard her soft vibrating flute of voice singing funny lyrics to Bofur who took the harmony notes and flew with them, the interplay of voices sending the others into fits of laughter, all except for Dori, who muttered and whined for an end to it all as the song circled round and round for a good long while.

Thorin couldn't help but smile, but he kept it forward, down the path they headed, clouds banking on the Misty Mountains to the East, happy he could move, happy she came, by Durin so happy, but why? So confused beyond measure, so determined to keep to himself...

Finally, far later than it should have been, Thorin called for lunch.

He sat on a log off to the side from all of them as they assembled and searched their gear for the nearest bite to eat. He didn't feel hungry, so he pulled out his sharpening satchel instead, and drew Orcrist just to look at the metal, hoping it would ground him.

What in Mahal's name was he to do? What could he even say to her, now that she was here, after all that?

And why was she here?

That question never stopped.

He hoped perhaps she would say something of her own volition, out of the blue somehow, explaining everything. But that was about as far fetched as wishing the Dragon had vanished.

So, he resorted to what he'd gotten used to in Imladris. He took to a task and waited. Maybe an answer would come with time.

He watched sidelong as he drew his sharpening stone lightly across Orcrist's edge, honing, admiring, holding the vibration.

Dwalin had taken a seat next to the Thief. He then began to give her a thorough once over, checking every thing he might have thought could be amiss, finding nothing. And so he was left with a proud smile of satisfaction, until his eyes settled gloomily on her new Elven cloak. Thorin recognized the upset in his Friend's eyes.

"What happened to the one I gave you?"

Thorin shook his head without moving, already bracing with the knowledge she wouldn't understand the question Dwalin asked, the one not contained in his spoken words.

"Oh!" the Thief exclaimed, stuffing food in her mouth and proceeding to say things no one could understand. But, in the process of all that, she pulled Dwalin's cloak out; it had been folded within her pack, surrounding David Ho'ard Jones Jun'yor's vase of ash; Dwalin's face fell, seeing the cloak, but the Thief didn't notice, and clearly she meant no harm or had no aim to injure by returning it. He caught his Friend's eye, 'ease up, she saw it as a loan, not a gift.'

Dwalin nodded, signing assent, but his eyes were still heavy.

The Thief took a second look at the gloom looming large upon Dwalin's cheeks, and partly smiled, partly smirked, "Oh come on, don't be like that. I'd feel forever guilty if I had a cloak and you didn't. Besides," and then she bumped Dwalin on the shoulder as one quite dear to her. Thorin's heart warmed at the obvious show of friendship. "I don't need another one of you guys to start calling me thief."

Thorin would have choked if he'd been drinking.

Dwalin's eyes expanded threefold and he took the coat, no questions.

And suddenly Dwalin smiled, far bigger than his usual, sending a flash of it with a wink Thorin's way. But it did not take the Warrior long to frown over it, that smug one.

Everyone kept busy eating, stealing glances at the Thief when they thought she wouldn't see, wearing happy faces with questioning expressions. Their curiosity mirrored his own, but surely paled...

"I suppose those are the Misty Mountains?" she asked over the sounds of lunch. That voice. And he thought he could leave…

Dwalin grunted "yes."

Thorin settled into the motion of sharpening his blade Orcrist, ready to be traveling on.

"Dwalin?" she asked a moment later, still eating.

"Hmm?" The Warrior was also still eating.

"If it's not taboo––"

Taboo? That is a funny word. He had no idea what it meant...

"–– to talk about, what's the Dwarf stance..."

Dwarf stance? Thorin grinned. Whatever it was, she charmed him.

"...on widows and widowers?"

Hard swallow, and Thorin's eyes shot to her face, in profile, lovely profile. She would ask Dwalin that? And Oh Mahal she was licking honey off her fingers.

He loved honey...

Thorin ripped his gaze off that sight to settle on his Company, many of whom looked at her with their mouths to their boots. All stared between her and Dwalin, each one almost bodily veering away, with Nori looking particularly horrified, perhaps moved by thoughts of his 'Amad. Kíli looked like he wanted to punch the Warrior, which would have been foolish if that were the case, but Thorin knew better: Kíli often appeared on the verge of violence when he was particularly discomforted, like now. Fact was, none of them wanted to stand where Dwalin stood.

Or answer what Dwalin must. Binumrâl.

Dwalin looked to him quickly for answers, his color rising.

'Do your best,' Thorin signed. He had no suggestions and could not intervene.

"Because you all seem to have no qualms about talking to me about just about everything..."

I wish I could talk to you…

'I've no idea what to say, Thorin.' Frustration and panic wrestled over Dwalin's face.

'Try starting with One. Explain it.'

'You've got to be joking...'

'I cannot do it.' Thorin held his gaze. 'You know as well as I; it leads to the answer to her question on Binumrâl.'

Dwalin gestured toward him ever so slightly. 'Do you want me to tell her you––?'

'No.'

Dwalin faced her.

"...but one mention of David..."

David Ho'ard Jones Jun'yor.

"...or anything he gave me, and you all clam up and treat me like I've got some horrible disease..."

No.

"...or something or... or, no that's now quite right. What I mean is…"

She stared at Dwalin staring at her with his mouth still open.

"That." She grew urgent under the surface, fidgeting some. "What you're doing right now." She waved at him as if the poor panicked Warrior couldn't see her. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. What is the deal? Would you please tell me so that I can at least stop causing awkwardness and stuff? Because if I don't know your beliefs..."

Beliefs, does she mean customs?

"...how can I respect them?"

Dwalin looked back at Thorin like his eyes could bore holes, clawing for guidance, or maybe for permission, and Thorin signed, 'Speak freely, she asked you.'

And then this time Dwalin looked back at the Thief with war mask intact and ready, just as she whipped her head around to see where the Warrior had looked before. Thorin already had his eyes on the blade and the stone, enveloped by the shearing motion of the task at hand. But when she turned again to face the formidable Warrior, Thorin looked up again, just to watch her hair, all mussed and needing attention, slide over her shoulder and back again.

What he wouldn't give to weave his hands through it, to untangle it, to feel her lean into him, enjoying his hands upon her, enjoying him.

Thorin shut his eyes, dismayed by his own thoughts. They were only growing stronger, and there was nothing he could do.

"What you have to understand, lass," Dwalin began, "...is Dwarves only ever have a One."

/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\