Part 1: Chapter 22: The Shadow Lies Upon His Tomb
"Of course," Sona said tightly, her smile pleasant but guarded as she placed her guitar against the oak tree behind them.
Did she rather not speak with him? Or was it the subject of Moria that set her on edge?
"I kinda expected this conversation to happen," she said, her voice hushed low like the time before. Clearly she dreaded the topic–– a grave thing, a thing she rather not contemplate, much less discuss. Yet she was driven by need.
He pulled a hand over his beard. and it was for his People, for Balin, she spoke a warning. Aye, it was a thing he must know.
He stood awkwardly a moment, wondering what he should say.
"Mind if we go for a walk?" she offered, now standing at his side.
Relief spread through him. She only needed a moment. Perhaps he could lighten the mood, buy her time, ease her cares… "I should've thought you had enough of walking today?"
That made her smile, and he relaxed a bit on the inside. Then she gave him a knowing look and pointed at her ear. "Little pitchers have big ears."
Ahhh, she did not wish to be heard. But they could not go far.
"Well," she came to the point, "what do you want to know?"
Nothing, thank you. But that would be a waste of knowledge, your knowledge, and we need to know all we can––
"All that needs knowing." He smiled, trying to ease her cares with his expression. Somehow he knew it calmed her. Plus, by asking her to tell him everything, he would have time to listen, to hear her, watch her as she talked. He chose to walk the periphery, just out of sight of camp, far enough out where no one could see them or hear them, but close enough where a shout would be heard and the Company could be there with axes in an instant… He kept her to the inside, enjoying her company, no matter the grave concerns they must discuss, maybe even all the more for it… Where did that feeling come from? "Though we could begin with Moria."
She nodded. "Okay. Moria… There's a Balrog," she remarked abruptly with no hesitation.
Thorin halted. He heard that right? "The Balrog––"
She caught his gaze over her shoulder, surprise clouding her features.
Thorin recalled the sketches of a flightless winged-demon of fire and smoke with legions of Orcs under its command. Dwarves delving deep had aroused it in Durin's time, and it vanquished the First Father and laid waste to Khazad-dum. Still feared by the few who travel through the dark ways of the Mountains, it hadn't been seen in over an age…
"You knew about it?" She frowned, confused.
Thorin barely nodded. "Durin's Bane…" That's what they called it. "…is re-awoken."
"And the mines are completely overrun by Goblins," she looked ahead of the path he chose as he kept close to her, making the bends as they walked. "Soooo back to what I told Balin… it's just not a good idea to go there."
"Indeed," Thorin agreed, studying her face, creased with a look of worry. "There's more you're not telling me."
She partly shrugged her shoulder staring West. How she moves. "If you do not wish it, you do not have to tell––"
"It's Balin himself."
Balin…?
Sona looked entirely crestfallen, eyes grieved, head bowed, shoulders slackened like she carried dead weight. "He leads an expedition of Dwarves to retake Khazad-dûm."
What? No. Why would he leave the Mountain to do that? Do we fail re-claiming the Mountain…?
"And they are successful."
They… who? Balin and…?
"At least at first. But then the Goblins and the Balrog show up, and well… Gimli––"
Gimli?
"… and the fellowship he's traveling with find Balin's tomb later."
Nooooo. No. no…
"After. The entire city is a tomb for that matter."
He cannot do this––"Balin…" Thorin groused, looking back toward camp, imagining his Advisor, his oldest Friend, gone off with too many Dwarrow to die in barren halls… And Glóin… Stone silent ponderings set a fire in Thorin's heart, Glóin's lad was like one of his own, and a memory passed his mind, three Dwarflings fallen asleep at play, one gold, one brown, one red haired, all wrestled together and wound to the point of dreams… And she had said Gimli––
"How––with Durin's Bane––does Gimli…?"
"No," she stopped him from more horrid thoughts, staring into his eyes like she could read his soul. "Gimli and the fellowship escape…"
His face eased, utterly relieved, though questions remained. The Fellowship… who comprised it?
"…though at great cost to one of their number."
One of them dies… who then?
He did not ask. He would not… but waited into silence… wondering…
Who? She acted as if she knew them personally, not from her 'books', and there were battle deaths in their future––though not Gimli, the cost she spoke of–– And yet, how deeply she mourned one she'd never met. Or had she? Thorin let his mind wander over that, and left her to think in quiet as her face remained melancholy. His eyes wandered to her hands that clenched her braid with fierceness, like she would claim the moment's victory and press worry from her mind through the strength of her hands. He wished he could be the grounding anchor she sought. Watching her fists tighten over her hair, he kept quiet, asking nothing. Clearly the subject troubled her, and he would let her rest from it.
"Don't you wonder about your Quest?" she asked, breaking the silence, surprising him. "If it's successful?"
"For the Lonely Mountain?" Aye, fearfully he had wondered, but he would never allow himself to ask. "There are dangers I should know of, to be better prepared against them." This was the logical truth, though the thought of actual knowledge somehow made his insides roll with dread. "You know what these are––"
"Well… funny you should say that."
Why was it funny? Was this not a serious topic? His head jerked up and his eyes held her face, her lovely face, and all he could do was smile slightly as she dropped her braid. She was chuckling, too, and staring at his mouth… almost like she wanted to taste it. Nonsense, utter nonsense, and how could he think such things now?
"It's just that, I don't really remember much about it."
You don't–– remember. Then why do you ask what I would know? He considered a moment. She had not asked that–– she asked if he wondered about success. Do they make it?
Did she know the answer to that?
"I read the book when I was just a kid." Her smile faded as she let her frustration loose with a low pitched sigh, and he knew she wasn't happy for her lack of memory. "Most of what I know has to do with you know what." She pointed to her gold band, Gold. Sona. But her face, eyes pointed with dread, spoke of another ring… One they would not name.
Thorin nodded. Kâmin zashar. Of course. Far outweighing a small Quest to regain a People's treasured Homeland…
"And for that matter," she continued, looking away at the greenery along their narrow path. "I've no idea how much I do know is even accurate any more since Bilbo never showed up."
"How so?" Thorin asked, catching her eyes again in his, eager to know her thoughts, confident that they'd gotten by so far… "The Halfling was to find this…artifact. What else was he to do?"
She held a palm out to touch the high grasses swaying lightly in the wood-cloaked breeze. His lips curled as he wistfully envied the tufts of foliage brushing beneath her hand.
"Well, for starters he saved you from the Trolls."
"So did you," he winked, but she wasn't looking.
"You're welcome."
Her words only made him smile more. And she swallowed on her laughter, pulling her hands up in mock surrender. "Honestly, he's important."
Thorin just stared at her.
"He saves you from all kinds of stuff."
"Such as?"
"Giant spiders, for starters."
Spiders. Thorin set his stone mask. He hated Spiders. But this posed no problem, truly. "That is simple; you tell us where they are, and we avoid them."
She frowned and curled her nose, breathing aloud yet again. "That's the problem… I don't know where they are."
Ah, well then. "I see." He took to pacing, hands clasped behind him. However unpleasant, Spiders were a problem for another day. He began leading her back toward their camp.
Something else gnawed at him. This was the second time she said she hadn't remembered something of their Quest. He wondered, who wrote the 'books' she'd read? How was a story so pale, when it contained Trolls and Wargs and Orcs and Giant Spiders and Dragons? And Dwarves. Had the writer portrayed Dwarves as boring?
He laughed inwardly and held no bitterness. These 'books' no doubt came from the Elves and Men who wrote them, and his Thief was undoubtedly most focused on the fate of the… the artifact. A wider World stretched beyond their scope of deeds, successful or not. "Do you know of other perils that stand before us?"
"Let's see, you already know about Orcs and Wargs," she used her fingers to count. "… and you know what."
The artifact.
"Done with trolls," she continued. "I just told you about the spiders…"
And then she bit her lip while she pondered and his teeth pulled at the flesh of his own absently, fortified by the fingers of his free hand pressing hard at the indent between his lip and chin… He nearly forgot the topic, such an unpleasant one in comparison to the view of her face–– Pay mind, Thorin, of what she speaks.
"I don't have to warn you about the Dragon."
Thorin laughed outright, and Sona's head whipped up, mirth lighting her eyes.
"And then we're going to meet some really dooshee Elves."
Dooshee…? What? Is that Hindi?
He looked at her doubtfully–– We've already met Elves…
"I'm serious! Their King puts you in jail and everything and Bilbo breaks you out using old wine barrels and it's all very clever."
The Elven King, Thranduil. No Friend of Dwarves. Thorin frowned, thinking. "We travel through Mirkwood along the Forest Path, but I do not intend to step one foot North of that path."
He'd wanted to avoid Thranduil's realm when he'd plotted their course, but it was a danger he'd been willing to risk, with the Forest Path being a lot safer than the old Dwarf Road to the South, cutting very near Dul Guldur where the Necromancer had been setting up a stronghold attracting the vilest sorts…
Thorin knew King Thranduil was an Elf without honor, but he'd expected no trouble for merely crossing through on the Forest Path… surely the King would not jail them for trespass…? But it was good warning. They would keep their guard up.
He glanced briefly at Sona, who blew a stray strand of hair off her face before she asked, "Is Mirkwood where the dooshee Elves live?"
That expression again, did it describe Elves? "Dooshee?" he repeated, hoping he said it right, catching her laughing behind her hands as he muddled over possible meanings. "From how you say it, I gather this is not a good trait?"
"Nope. It's not." She looked like she just heard one of Bofur's more explicit jokes… "It's short for dooshbag––"
Dooshbag?
"And don't ask me what that means, because we are not having that conversation."
Then why do you use the words, Thief? He wondered, smile-frowning at her with his mouth good and shut, but only for a moment before he returned to the topic at hand. "Then aye, that is where the dooshee Elves live…" he repeated her words, feeling daft about the expression but enjoying the smile it evoked from Sona. "North of the Forest Path."
"So we just avoid them," she said, suddenly frowning like she mislaid her pipe, although she didn't smoke…
He was going to ask but then she was just as quickly beaming once again, and then she cried out "Ohhhh!" and scrambled past him to the side of the small path where a thatch of lavender bloomed along the edge.
Thorin stepped with her toward them. She bent into the tall sprouting shrubbery and breathed deeply to better catch their scent, and all he could do was stare. A feeling of bemusement settled over him. Lavender, the Purple Flower of the Lonely Mountain. And she liked the scent. He knew she liked the scent––She wore it… why wouldn't she like it? But he'd never seen her near the blooms themselves…
Nungu Azsâlul'abbad Zabal––
All at once she snatched a handful and thrust the bunch toward him.
Wha––
"Here you go." She shook the bundle, impatient for him to take it.
Why? What was this? What's she doing?
A game? No, she couldn't–– she wasn't able. It was not her way.
Thank Mahal.
But she wanted to give him courting flowers? She had no idea–– He stared at them, slightly frightened, to be honest, if he were to measure fear by how hard his heart beat against chest, fully armored yet unprepared for this assault.
"Don't tell me you've never seen lavender before," she admonished as she took a step toward him.
Uhhh. No. I have. It's Lavender. Nungu Azsâlul'abbad Zabal. Swaths of the bloom purpled the Mountain each year in summer… But Thorin could not move, nor could he open his mouth to explain. How had they gone from 'dooshee' Elves to Sona gifting him courting flowers?
"You should put some under your head tonight when you go to sleep."
What's she saying? She continued to hold the flowers at him, looking slightly irritated; he knew she wanted him to take them, but––
What had she said?
"You hardly sleep, and when you do it's light or fitful––"
What? What's that got to do with anything, and wait–– you watch me sleep?
"Don't think I haven't noticed…"
You did. And now you give me flowers. Why? For no reason other than to help me sleep? Could that be it? As before, he still couldn't open his mouth.
"It'll help you."
It will remind me of you.
"The smell is very calming…"
And Home.
Lavender. Purple Flower of the Mountain. I know. He stared at them. Do I take them? Surely she doesn't mean… She might not understand why I wouldn't.
Gold Song– he thought of her, too, now, when enveloped by that scent–– the essence of Mountain and Sage–– that scent in her hair.
His heart battered on. She would help him sleep? He was sure these blooms would bring no rest tonight. She set her jaw, about to force the issue, when he could finally move and lifted his hand to receive them. I will take your flowers… though you do not wish to court me.
His pinky grazed her hand before she let go, her skin cool to his touch.
There is no way you ever would.
It was bold, that touch. He blinked at his audacity, biting down regret.
It was not his place. She was his Friend, missing others, her family, her home.
David Ho'ard Jones Jun'yor, whose ash he helped her spread to the wind––
A custom of her People…
"I really hope it works––" she said, finishing with a sigh.
What works? He wondered, having lost the thread, still not quite able to move.
And then someone coughed. Thorin jumped and turned, irritated to be caught off guard so… to find Bofur standing before them in the direction of camp. The Miner whistled and fidgeted and smugly kept his eyes to the trees, for privacy, for clearly he could see the flowers. Thorin held them tighter in his hand, feeling warmer. "Yes, Bofur?"
Bofur could not hide his pleasure. "So sorry to interrupt––"
"Tellin' tales, Bofur," Thorin groused under his breath, frustrated and slightly off balance, knowing the flowers were a token of friendship, yet certain Bofur would assume deeper meanings. It felt like glass beads in his boot, because the Miner was wrong.
"––But dinner is ready." Bofur waved Sona's guitar, smiling wide, bobbing his head down and winking all at once. "And Lady Sona, as the Minstrel in Waiting, I believe you owe us some songs."
She laughed, oh how she laughed, and the sound was like a twinkling down his spine as he could smell the lavender he was crushing in his hands. "Indeed, I believe I do, Master Bofur," she said, making way. And here Thorin felt the distance, staring at her in wonder; she came from a world away, so far far away.
Why flowers?
It isn't what you ever dare hope, Thorin. Just because Bofur might assume; or any one else, even–– Just. Calm. Now. And Thorin set his stone mask.
She moved off but stopped at the quiet behind her, where Thorin still waited, his arms pulled back, his free hand linked to the wrist of the one clenching the blooms, the scent deepening around him. She turned to see if he was coming.
He tried to smile, knowing he failed at it. his feet gripped the ground through his boots for hold where he felt he had none.
He couldn't.
Not yet.
"I'll be along." Later. Much later. "You have given me much to ponder."
She smiled back at him, the biggest, boldest smile, as if she knew what she'd done… but that was impossible. She looked so––happy. Well. She will now play music–– and music makes her happy.
And she and Bofur were back on the path to camp.
Thorin lingered, his hand pulling forth the sprigs of lavender.
Reason settled the beating of his heart.
She did not know their customs.
She did not wish to court.
Nor did she wish to torture him.
She only wished to ease his sleep.
Catching the ache in his throat with a hard swallow, he tucked them into the long pocket of his coat, to pack into his bedroll later that night.
'What kept you so late out there, Thorin?' Dwalin signed before they nodded off. Nori had the watch. 'I thought I'd have to hunt you down and have the Whatsafist––"
––Pacifist––
'…force your dinner in you.'
––She brought him dinner that first night––
––He would forsake this needless aching.
Thorin glared over at his Friend, reminded too sharply of his current struggle.
'Nonsense.' Thorin signed, each move sending a waft of her lavender into the air around him. Nungu Azsâlul'abbad Zabal … No one had seen him tuck the flowers away, but surely Dwalin could smell the blooms. 'You're not my 'Amad.'
Dwalin snorted. ''Course not. Just your Friend.'
Thorin nodded, grateful, saying nothing for a time, until finally he thought of something. 'She doesn't know our ways.'
'She can learn 'em.'
Thorin chuckled quietly, but stopped himself. Does she want to? He could not hope too keenly. What would she think if he did learn? Surely it would cause her pain, just like the colors in Imladris…
Thorin rolled to his side in a vain effort to put those thoughts away.
They looked easy on each other now, and Dwalin was thoughtful, with no teasing in his eyes. 'She was off while you were gone, kept looking back toward the woods.'
Thorin's eyes narrowed. 'What should that mean?'
'Nothing.' Dwalin shrugged, keeping his face neutral. 'She only truly settled into song once you were back.'
Thorin let that rest in his mind a bit.
Sona––
––Gold Song––
You care for me.
Then Thorin smiled at Dwalin, whose confident eyes reflected the warm firelight back at him. 'Âkmînruk zu, Bâha-amē.'
'Lomil ghelekh, Buhel.
/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\
Khuzdûl:
Nungu Azsâlul'abbad Zabal – Flower of the Lonely Mountain, Lavender
Lomil Ghelekh – sleep well
A/N: Post Date Mini-Dedication to Maybe a Pilot, who happens to love the lavender scenes in "On The Road To Find Out" by Jenny-Wren28, and looked forward to Thorin's PoV on the subject of flowers.
To those who have asked, yes, I plan to write stories for Dwalin and Nori, each involves the other, though it will be a while until I get there. Something's cooking on the edges. First, there is this story, and there have been long delays, so... we shall see.
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