Part 1: Chapter 18: Calling Out Father Oh
Thorin found Sona sitting in a small clearing of trees near the overlook facing the Mountains, ripping her hair out with that awful brush, muttering words under her breath.
All at once she heaved her brush against a tree, obviously still angry. Had she held this in all afternoon? Because of Dwalin's words? Or what, was there something else? Why had she come after them?
He hesitated just beyond the tree line, all his questions stalled upon finding her so.
Then she sank her face into her hands and cried out behind them, shaking all the more.
"A comb may serve you better?" he asked, as she jumped up and turned to face him, eyes wide to be so torn from her thoughts.
Whose comb? He looked down to see he clutched his own in his hand. What? When? His hand had pulled it out without his thinking… He looked back in her eyes.
They were red from crying.
No... Why did she weep? Could he aid her, and help make it stop?
A hint of lavender teased the air about her as her chest rose and fell with the panic of his sudden company.
And he recalled he startled her by offering the aid of a comb...
I only have my comb. He looked down at it and then back at her, tear tracks staining her smooth face... lovely no beard and all... She hurt, and he felt helpless. He was certain the conversation from their midday meal still weighed upon her. I'll let her use my comb… Dís would be appalled and her sass would be unending… It can't hurt to let her use my comb… Dwalin would never let him hear the end of it. Let him say what he will. Thorin held it out toward her trying hard not to stare. Somehow they had offended her, in their manners, from their ways. He wished he knew just how, so he wouldn't repeat the blunder...
"Akmînruk zu," she said.
His throat tightened as he heard her speak the Khuzdûl.
How it sounded. Like to brush his soul: her voice over those words––low, flute on air.
And he recalled her Hindi equivalent, Thun'yuh Vod, how she taught him to say it their last evening in Imladris, just last night! and he recalled the comfort she offered after hearing Lord Elrond's disparaging words. Those words–– of madness–– she heard all of them and still accepted him, still offered him company––her small finger over his––And friendship. He wished to do the same for her, but he couldn't move, nor could he get himself to open his mouth. Aside from that, he had no idea what to say.
She reached for the comb and he gave it up, keeping his fingers tucked, being careful not to touch her.
He tried to think of something, anything; he should have thought of that before he hurried out to get her. Maybe it would have been better to let Dwalin come for her.
As he mustered his nerve she turned back 'round and sat, pulling her hair forward to work it with his comb. His comb. In her hair... Quit that and say something, Thorin.
And then she sighed. He had the fiercest urge to quash the distance between them and hold her. Never before had he felt such Pull behind desire for contact. Juzrazur grew stronger. He was unsure he'd ever get used to this… For the briefest moment he shut his eyes and imagined the weight of her there, the darkness in her feelings eased away.
Stop. It was useless, considering the circumstances, and he opened his eyes roughly as he stifled the thoughts. She was distraught, and needing the ear of a friend. He could be that friend. And he would if she'd let him.
Stone face set, he sought and located the brush she'd thrown against a tree. He moved toward it. Motion is good, yes, and maybe he could even do something like, talk to her–– "You have been gone a long while."
She stopped the comb. And then she barely shrugged, signaling his dismissal.
Ahh, he was not about to give in to that. She'd have to say it first, and then they'd see about it, now that she was here… Why was she here? Maybe all in all, she enjoyed their company, at least when they didn't upset her… Likewise he enjoyed hers, and that was enough. One could call it a boon. He only wished he knew a way to help her feel better, very aware whatever he said could too easily worsen her discomfort, especially considering he wasn't sure of the cause.
"So tell me," she spoke to him! "Are Elves always this annoying?"
Elves? Why does she ask about Elves now? That put a smirk on his face, and he stepped a bit firmer toward the brush. But what she said!
Never mind that––Just answer. "No." He went for her brush. Once he had it, he wandered back toward her, taking seat in the grass far enough away as not to intrude. "Though I do not know what they have done, I can assure you they are generally more so."
She let loose a dry laugh and his lips turned up more at the sound. "I believe it."
He stole a sidelong glance at her; she'd just detangled the ends of her hair…
"Wizards aren't much better for that matter," she added.
Thorin huffed a laugh as he went for his tobacco pouch, feeling strangely relaxed by her remarks, because they somehow understood each other on this topic.
It surprised him to feel such a level of relief that it wasn't him or his Company that had caused her distress, but rather Elves and Wizards. He was almost happy for it, except she was upset.
"It's just so incredibly frustrating, you know?"
He filled the bowl of his pipe, lit it with his mini flint hammer and settled into smoking, hoping the activity would keep him steady over this new ground of topics. Maybe among them she would tell him why she came.
"You'd think the supposed greatest and wisest minds of Middle-earth…"
Greatest? Wisest? Who? Those we left behind in the Elven City? Surely you jest. He looked at her, gratified to see sarcasm there. She'd gotten the comb several hand widths up her hair length, to mid chest level, the scent of lavender washed over him and all he could do was breathe deep...
"…would listen…"
Elves? Listen? No… they never listen. They sometimes look like they are, but… this was charm. There'd been a time he thought they listened, but that was before, long ago, when he was still very young.
"…when someone tried to tell them about a great danger that threatens pretty much, oh I don't know, EVERYONE."
What danger? His back flexed straight. What threat to everyone? He froze all motion to hear her next words.
"But no, it is not for the mortal human to tell them of what is to come."
Our mortal lives mean nothing to Elves... But wait…You wanted to tell them what is to come? Surprise clawed at him from the inside. Whatever it was, Lord Elrond did not want to know. Thorin was likewise reluctant to learn, but the Thief desperately needed to share it, and he was determined to give her his ear.
"UGH…" She sighed loudly, frustrated at Elves, to Thorin's surprise.
He had thought she favored the Elves more than it seemed she did now, a pleasant discovery in spite of the circumstances.
"Lord Elrond dismissed your concerns?" He blew out smoke before feeling her eyes upon him, but when he went to look she was grousing at her hair again.
"No. No he did not. He would have had to actually meet with me in order for that to happen."
Lord Elrond had offered no council. Thorin set his jaw. Leave it to Elves to disregard the cares of others. Of Sona. Of his Company. Of his People. These things were only expected. But this threat was to everyone, she had said, whatever that meant. Would not a 'wise one' want to know? Lord Elrond's choice would leave all things to chance, when something could be done to thwart a coming evil.
"It was the Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien."
The Elf Witch of Terrible Power… Thorin anticipated Lord Elrond would summon her, and Nori had confirmed it before they left. She came out of concern for the Necromancer in the South of the Woodland Realm… Thorin had not expected her to take an interest the doings of a handful of Dwarves and a lost woman of Men traveling with them, other than to perhaps stop them from their purpose... Except Sona was lost from another world… that may have peaked the Ancient One's interest. Something new in an old, old world… She was one of the oldest Elves remaining in Middle-earth, known as a Friend to Dwarves once, back in the days Khazâd-dum's halls were lit with life and filled with golden lanterns…
Thorin's eyes fixed on the progression of Sona's hands, with his comb––his comb––in her hair, upward winding, combing out the snarls, her hair a luxurious mass of shining tresses his fingers wholly ached to touch. Still these cravings, she is not here to covet; you are here to listen.
"And she, above all people, I thought would want to listen to my warning."
How much do you know of this Elf? Likely far more than I...
"But no, all she had to say was a super cryptic and unhelpful 'you may go home once you've found who you are looking for.'"
Thorin stopped. Who was Sona looking for? He stumbled in thought a good long moment. Who? Surely not––No. Just because he–– no.
He looked sidelong at her, refusing to let his mind go where it wished. Impossible. Might just as well trust the promise of an Elf.
Her eyes fell downcast. Thorin wondered if she knew who she was to find. Had that person also passed from her world to Middle-earth? Or was it someone from here? If then, who? Blocking his wish to answer that himself, he let the question float as he focused on her saddened face. Had this person made her unhappy? Or was she grieved because this person was lost?
But this was nonsense. Why spend thought on the advice of Elves? Their words could mean anything. And nothing.
"And like…what does that even mean?"
Ahh. Thorin's mouth partly opened on the stem of his pipe. So no, the Thief did not know who the Elf Witch had in mind. Elves. And Thorin had no idea, yet still he wished, confound it Mahal.
She ripped on her hair again… and he cringed, breathing tight––go easy. To keep himself from intervening, he gripped his pipe and puffed once more, forcing his hands still.
"I find this person I'm meant to be looking for…"
Who might that be? Why did he wonder when he dared not speculate?
"…she didn't even bother to tell me who it was, by the way…"
Aye, that she did not. Elves.
"…though I think I have a good idea––
Who, then?
"…and then what? She sends me back to Sokhal?"
Sokhal…? Thorin tried not to think about 'sendings' as he wondered where Sokhal was in relation to Kaleforn'ya, and how far that was from Middle-earth…
"Do I just say, 'here I am! Found him!'"
Him? What made her think this person would be male?
"'Now send me back'?"
Indeed. Then what? He turned at the panic welling in her voice and faced her head on, ready and eager to listen. He took a draw from his pipe as he held her in his eyes, wishing there was some way he could be of service.
"It's just, here I am trying to help them save all Middle-earth––"
Save all Middle-earth? You mentioned grave danger, yet I thought you––
"…from a fate worse than complete destruction…"
––wanted to go home. What fate is this?
"…and just…" He held on, not about to let go of her eyes. She cried out with her jaw clenched and compassion filled him all the more. She was so angry, clutching the comb like she wished it held a hammer. His comb––!
"I'm not even supposed to be here!"
I am glad you are, even if only for a while.
"Bilbo is!"
Thorin frowned, considering.
"He is supposed to be on this Quest."
And yet he was not.
"He is supposed to meet Gollum."
Gollum? Who in Mahal's name is Gollum?
"He is supposed to find the Ring…"
––the Ring…?
"And he's not here…"
I am here.
"… and now I guess I have to do it…"
What…? Wait…
"…and I don't even know where to start or where this all happened…"
Thorin pressed into the ground beneath him. Let's just start with now.
"…and I'm going to ruin everything…"
No no no no… not possible.
"And everyone in all of Arda is going to die or be enslaved and tortured and it's just going to be absolutely awful…"
The Ring… Mahal help us… not that one… 'Adad'ē.
"…and it's all going to be my fault, and…"
No, Thief, not your fault... not possible.
Her tears were freely flowing now. Thorin retrieved his handkerchief and reached it toward her––One small thing…
She took it to her eyes, shaking as she breathed––Let me dry your tears.
He hoped she would never offer it back. Oh, how he wanted to hold her. But she avoided his eyes, not wanting him to notice her upset. He hoped this didn't mean she wished him gone, and he quashed his longings. A friend would not assault a friend with unwanted touching, and he knew she did not like it much, having rarely seen her touch any of the others in the Company, so he went stone still, except for one thought. What ailed her?
"What ring?" Mahal should call on his brethren for aide, if it be the one.
She stopped like she'd scraped against something scalding hot.
It could not be, that such a terrible doom stood before them now, and yet…
No. Thorin did not want to believe it.
Suddenly surprise and fear wrestled over her face; she surely thought she'd said too much.
And Thorin recalled Tharkûn's questions about his 'Adad from long ago, before they had met and Thráin had passed on the map and key. Tharkûn had asked whether Thráin had his ring of power that day he'd gone missing in battle. Indeed, he had. After meeting his 'Adad, Tharkûn never brought it up again.
The Thief bit her lip, and Thorin gnawed on his own from the inside. Still she said nothing. He watched her think, all those emotions clamoring for purchase. She wavered and shook, and he knew she considered what she could tell him safely.
So he waited.
And then a dark cloud crossed over her features, and she slightly, ever so slightly recoiled… from him? And he realized she wondered if she dared trust him. He was a muddle of pent up feeling, wishing he were worthy, but… he hadn't earned it. He had turned her away when first she asked. She had never asked again. His eyes shut briefly, for bracing, convinced quite soundly she would determine she could not trust him. But yet still she said nothing. And so he looked again.
A flash of anger took hold of her.
He settled into his stone mask, hiding as well as he could.
And then she looked at her hands. One held his comb. The other, his handkerchief. Her face cleared like a new day and she smiled. And his heart swelled realizing she looked to these––his personal belongings––for care and comfort, for grounding. Warm and open she looked at them, and then at him, but not into his eyes: to his person, as a friend. Perhaps trust would follow. And he could not help take note: His comb, Mahal's forge; strands of her hair were left through the teeth.
Jewels––
"It all began with the forging of the Great Rings."
No.
No, no.
Kâmin zashar… no.
And as she began to speak, it seemed the wind and the trees grew silent.
"Three were given to the Elves; immortal––" She cut her words off, and he thought she saw her swallow, glancing quickly at him before moving on. "Seven, to the Dwarf Lords…"
'Adad, where are you?
"…great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls."
She trusted him; she trusted enough to confide this great evil. Elation and dread filled him twofold.
"And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men."
'Imrad uzbâd–– the Wraith Kings. Long buried, but...
"…who above all else desire power. For within these rings was bound the strength and the will to govern over each race…"
The Dwarves had scoffed at this… Rings of power held no sway; they were mere pretty things. Dragons consumed four of those gifted. Two Sauron reclaimed before the end of the First Age, angered he could not sway the will of the Dwarves.
"But they were all of them deceived."
The Line of Durin had been the last of the Seven Houses to hold a ring of power, a useless, powerless, overly audacious bauble that's only hailing was to bring evil upon the bearers…
'Adad'ē. Taken for your ring?
For what larger purpose? Kâmin zashar.
But she said the Ring.
One ring.
One…
"Kâmin zashar," Thorin growled out as he set his pipe aside. We cannot let this come to pass. He was on his feet, and standing before her in a swift move.
She did not meet his gaze, but kept hers steady on his boots. "For another Ring was made. In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret, a master Ring, to control all others."
They should meet this head on; why would she not look at me?
"And into this Ring he poured all his cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life."
Kâmin zashar… and the world with it.
Moments passed, silent, while all the night waited.
Finally––finally––she looked at him and set words to the vacant wind, as if Middle-earth herself would shush and listen, "One Ring to rule them all."
It cannot be. And even so he knew this was true.
"One Ring to find them." She barely could whisper the words. "One Ring to bring them all…" She stalled, unable to finish.
So Thorin took what was left and finished for her, "…and in the darkness bind them," staring into her beautiful, terror-struck, golden brown eyes
/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\
A/N: Need to let you know, I'll be out of town next week. I'm off on a short adventure away, taking Thorin on a trip to the Shire. Spotty internet there, plus, Thorin's going to be otherwise occupied. I'll be back May 5th or 6th.