Chapter 24: And Light they Caught
Thorin left the flower crown on a stone, his heart aching, yet full.
It couldn't be helped that he felt such things, where she did not. And she did not know their ways.
Gazing at the crown by the light of the moon, the daisy petals looked like river pearls… and he wondered what it'd be like to be truly crowned. It was not something he wished, or even ever imagined. As far as he knew, though all others denied it, he was not King. Not yet––
'Adad'ē, where are you?
He returned much later, Dwalin still at watch. 'Thought I'd have to come get you after waking Bofur.'
Thorin shrugged, stretching out over his bedroll. 'So I'm here now.'
'What kept you?'
'Flowers.' Thorin didn't elaborate.
Dwalin's eyes went wide, Thorin could see from clear over the fire. 'Flowers?'
'Aye.' Thorin contemplated. And decided. 'Don't ask. I was thinking of Thráin.'
Dwalin nodded, leaving his head low in sorrowful remembering. 'I think on 'em often, our parents, yours and mine.' Dwalin glanced up, a fire back in his eyes. 'But you're thinking something else, right?'
Thorin didn't answer.
'You're ours and we're with you, barring his unexpected return.'
That was as close as Dwalin would come to saying hope as you will; until then you remain our King.
His mind wandered back to Sona. He thought he'd have trouble falling asleep, for though he was weary, his soul raced, while his heart wanted to run wild as well, even knowing it was no use. He was only there to be her Friend. His heart must feel it, to recognize and accept. There was room for nothing else. But he kept thinking, how much she wanted to know of him… even so far as all manner of details of his craft. She wanted to see his Forge!
––He woke there, already busy preparing his workspace, setting out his hammers and chasing tools. He tied his hair back with a leather strip, leaving his warrior braids free. Coals heated for the tempering of gold, his choice of metal for hammering today, and while he waited he pulled a gold sheet square, five fingers wide and an eighth inch thick: he would make a bead for hair.
But he startled, looking up––
––At walls vaulted and high, with an opening like a diamond at the peak, to take out the smoke, the large graceful bellows suspended with a nose over the coals to keep the temperature steady, the table-sized anvil with 'Durin'ul' inscribed at its base, all four corners with space for a name, three of them inscribed, Thorin's had been the most recent addition, many many years ago––
This was not his Forge, where he'd worked metal decade after decade, set in the Blue Mountains, much less grand in it's design but with equal function.
––This was his 'Adad's, the one they had once shared in the Mountain an impossible long time past. Yet here he was, in the Forge he had learned upon, set deep and high within the steep peaks of Erebor––
––Sona was in the doorway! How did she get here?
And then he remembered; she had asked; she has come for a visit––
There she stood, leaning against the wide-angled door frame dressed in a cobalt sheath of a top and leggings, all tight to her body clear down to her knees, showing every curve––he longed to touch–– to just below her knees where the fabric draped over her calves, stopping just above her feet–– Those feet were bared open in orange sandals, her toe nails painted flame red, and the curve of her arch––her soft skin––Oh Mahal––She wore a gold chain around one ankle! And there were gold rings on several of her toes. He swallowed, looking up at her. She reminded him of a hot blue flame. Then he smiled––She does love fire shades––Her arms were bare, her fingers threaded together, the skin of her shoulder touching the rock of the Mountain.
––And so I will show you.
"Come," he beckoned her over with a nod of his head; his braids swayed over his chest, still covered with a linen shirt, though his sleeves were rolled to the elbows and his collar unlaced. The shirt usually came off last, once he finished and the metals cooled.
But not today––
He put a leather apron on, and handed her one as well, turning her gently to tie the cords behind. Her skin was cool beneath the taut fabric, her hair bundled up high in one of her stretching ties. His eyes traced the sinews of her neck, over her shoulder, partly bare, without blemish, down her back where he tied the knot. So close, his knuckles in the sway of her waist––he lingered before letting go. No flame shall touch you…
He brought her round the large oak work bench where a vice secured a wood block with a wedge and a hole in it, the space where his saw blade could dance. He'd been holding the gold sheet steady over the wedge and sawing the shape of the bead's outer edge with a horse shoe tension saw.
He bade her sit on a stool before it.
She smiled up nervously as she sat, and he smiled back with a bow of his head, hoping she'd feel more at ease. He stood in the space behind, pocketing her between his body and the work bench.
"Put your fingers here." Drawing himself around her, he carefully set the fingers of her right hand over the sheet of gold, very near where he knew his saw would pass, to keep the gold steady over the block of wood in the vice. "Keep them still." And he began to saw, his hand resting over hers to make sure she minded, and to keep the sheet firm.
As he drew the blade near her fingers, back and forth, back and forth, to pass along the edge of their tips, creating a tiny, smooth cut, her eyes drew wide, so wide, and then she smiled. "It's hot!"
"But only while I move." He continued flexing the blade back and forth, almost with a waltz beat, his lips turned up at her continuing astonishment. You do this to me. All over. Everywhere.
She turned her head, and he was caught in her gaze, in those soft gold eyes, so close, he could feel her breath on his cheek––He gripped her hand more steadily. "Careful, a sudden move may cause the blade to snap."
She blinked, skin flushing, her lashes fluttered as she closed her eyes to swallow. He followed the line of her throat with his eyes, wishing he could trace it with his fingers––with his lips.
"Can you feel it?" I am warm all around you. He shifted her closer into his left shoulder, breathing in the scent of her hair, lavender, Mountain's Flower––Nungu Azsâlul'abbad Zabal––as he continued playing the blade, but not kissing or touching her face.
She had not asked for that…
"Am I the blade?" Her lips quirked into that famous crooked smile she wore when she teased.
"You are action I move with." He bent closer to her head, his bundled hair caressing her face on the side. Her smile remained, yet warmed and grew larger.
Next he had her grip the cut sheet in a long prong over the coals, now ready to soften the metal… When it reached the right shade, and it was soft for working, his hand guided hers off, and they brought it together to the anvil, where she held, and he hammered, and the rhythm shook through their bodies together, ears ringing to the sound of the beats.
First he put the runes in, adding dimension along the edges, flipping, embossing. Then they turned the length to angles, wrapping it into a six-sided bead.
"It's for hair?" she asked.
He nodded from behind her, careful to keep their hips apart.
"Who's it for?"
He pulled his head slightly back, angling his face to see hers better. Her beautiful gold brown eyes, soft and open, and so close. "I haven't chosen."
She smiled, those eyes widened with a slight surprise. Or was that disbelief?
"Truly. I haven't." He grinned, and that made her grin all the more, and she gave up the chase, looking into the bead, her gold-flecked hair twinkling in the light of the coals.
And then she leaned into him, and he knew she felt his heat––
––Waking him from the deepest sleep. Since when did he sleep so soundly out in the open? And… Mahal… what WAS that? He looked around the camp until he found her…
She was awake, stretching over her bedroll––her arms flexed long over her head. Then she turned quickly––she did not look his way–– and began rummaging through her pack, to pull out her wash bag––Sona was headed to bathe–– and a second later she rose, facing the river.
He'd dreamed of her again. It felt so real––
He still felt it. Quite evidently. And so he remained in his bedroll, keeping his dream to himself.
He shut his eyes, opened them, waiting for the images to fade, as happens with dreams… but not this time. Just like in Imladris, the details stayed with him as if they'd truly happened, while he willed his body to calm, a challenge given these… circumstances.
This was impossible.
He watched her leaving, her form backlit by the rising sun, so agile and so lovely shaped, he stared after her––wanting–– as she scampered down toward the water.
Yamal, Gold Song. I hope the lesson pleased. It felt good to have been so close, and part of him couldn't help it––He wished it had been real.
Once she was gone, he spotted Dwalin leaned against a nearby tree sharpening Grasper, chatting with Nori at his side, who was tuned to some detailing work on a small picking tool in his hands. The Warrior glanced up and smirked slightly when he caught sight of Thorin, but signed nothing. There was no way he could know. Still Thorin felt a flush of embarrassment go through him. Dwalin had let him sleep through sparring. 'Why didn't you wake me?'
'Not often do I see you rest soundly, Buhel.' Then Dwalin pointed at the Mountains. 'We are on the steps.'
He looked away to the fire, as yet unable to rise without exposing too much. Bombur and Glóin conversed head to head as Bombur filled the bowls and Glóin added the seasons on top. Glóin finished some quiet remark, pointing at the kettle, before glancing back at Thorin with his eyes raised, assessing, confirming, as if he knew. Just as sure he looked away, nodding at something Bombur said.
Not possible.
Breakfast was ready, and Bombur sent Kíli off to let the Thief know.
Thus began a grueling day of climbing.
When the Thief glanced his way, every time, though there were not many times this strenuous day, she turned two shades darker–– But he excused this –– exertion of the climb… nothing more–– And besides, he noticed she turned the same shade when she'd look at Fíli or Kíli.
He felt confused by all of it and kept forward, except that he had to look back along the trail to see that those behind followed.
He could not shake the feeling, the beats in his blood, the weight of the hammer, her soft skin beneath his hand–– It stayed with him as the day wore on, and he could not tell if he smelled lavender from the blooms in his bed roll, or as a residual memory of the dream. No one smells when they dream. Nothing like he'd ever known or imagined… what was that?
And why a hair bead?
Never mind. He could only imagine how embarrassed she would be if it indeed had been, due to some strange magic, a shared moment between them in sleep…
Not possible.
By afternoon they made it high past the steps of the Mountains, starting single file up the slopes of the pass they took, when it started to rain and winds picked up. The path became more treacherous, more slick with each step they took, and Thorin saw the Thief lose her footing more than once, with Dwalin catching her falls; the Warrior caught his eye, and in the gale wind blocking out audible voices, his Friend signed, 'I've got her.'
The way was slow, the path up the pass narrow. They hiked up one after another, with Dori at the fore. Glóin and Bifur made the way ahead of Thorin. His Sister's Son's were behind him, with Kíli closest and Fíli just beyond, followed by Sona and Dwalin, Balin, then Nori and Ori, Glóin and Bofur, with Óin and Bombur at the rear.
Pick, staff and ax: all of the Dwarves used what tools they had to ascend the pass. No room for conversation, the way was too hazardous for much beyond concentration of foot placement, hand placement, staff placement. Soon they would need ropes to angle up the steeper slated sections.
Thunder cracked above them.
The rumbling shook the ground; Bifur jumped slightly, shaking his boar spear at the mean gray sky.
Dwalin yelled, "Look out!"
Thorin swung to see him shoving the Thief to the rock face of the Mountain. His eyes followed his Warrior's fearful glare to see a massive boulder hurling toward the Mountain above them. It hit, the ground shook, the shattered bits bouncing and striking over and about them.
Thorin whirled his head back toward Dwalin, who was using his body to keep many of the stones from hitting Sona. She crouched with Sasha pulled between her legs, both protected by Dwalin's bulk pocketing them safely against the wall of rock.
Then Thorin pitched back, facing where the rock had come from, toward the opposite side of the pass. Astonishment stole the air from his chest: a humungous hulk of Mountain, alive and grotesque in the shape of a person, hurled stones larger than full grown Oaks.
More thunder cracked and the ground shook with nauseating force; it was moving beneath them.
"This is no thunderstorm!" Balin hollered, seeing––more than one of these vast beings. "It's a thunder battle! Look!"
He pointed at another, where the whole of Thorin's Company made up a size far smaller than the span of its hand.
Sona stood up, talking to her Dog before she noticed the Giants–– horror stopped her mouth and paled her face.
"Storm Giants!" Bofur yelled. "The legends are true!"
Thorin's eyes whipped back toward the Monsters, fearing they could hear.
Indeed, a head turned, a tree-sized stone in it's mountainous hand–– It let it loose and the stone came hurdling their way.
"Take cover, you fool!" he hollered at Bofur and any one else who could hear, at the same time signing for everyone, 'Cover, now!' his eyes scanning them all, all as yet unharmed––
––to stop on Dwalin, then Sona.
The Dog still plastered her legs, unwilling to move off, and barking; she yelled but Thorin heard nothing through the storm. He blinked once, eyes back at Dwalin, waiting a fraction of a second.
'I've got her, Buhel.'
The boulder struck, pouring more rock upon them.
"Hold On!" Nori shouted with curdling intensity rarely heard from the Spy.
The Mountain they stood upon broke apart.
Fíli hollered, "No, Kíli!" reaching out for his Sister's Son's hand––a gaping chasm opened between them and he could not reach.
Shaking, moving, breaking, shifting: all did their best to cling and not fly. Thorin forced his head up, scrambling for purchase, to see they stood upon the knee caps of one of the Giants.
Its knees had split apart––
––and the deep moving gap split Thorin's Company, opening a chasm of air and void between Fíli and Kíli, who shouted frantically one for the other over the tumultuous divide; Thorin's throat caught, fearing Fíli would jump after, but the ledge he was on suddenly dipped and moved far too far away.
Thorin stumbled back, grasping at the wall, keeping hold with his ax wedged in a groove of the rock, as others did the same with hooks, mattocks and pickaxes. Sona had no such tools––Dwalin grasped her wrist and took a leap across the divide. The Thief, clutched in his hand, sprung with him, just as the ground beneath them disappeared.
Thorin tasted bile, clinging helpless on the huge rolling wall as all of his Company struggled to keep purchase. But then just as quickly the Mountain face came round, the Giant's knees slammed back one against the other, and once more and the earth stopped and went still.
They were together on the ledge again.
A collective sigh went up among them.
"It's all right girl," the Thief crooned gently to her Dog. "We're safe––"
What soothing, to hear her voice––
Another blast sounded–– they all looked on one last enormous bolder headed toward the mountain just above Sona, her Dog and Fíli.
Sona shoved Fíli and Sasha out of the way––
"NOOOOOO!" Thorin hurled the word, scorched painfully raw yet powerless from the root of his being, demanding, begging, anything but––No, Mahal NOOOO–– as the boulder struck and shattered, and he was frozen, watching, unable to move, his chest held fast in an invisible vice, a saw blade on his heart––Sona––
She fell to the ground. A mass of tiny rocks smashed over her; she almost disappeared beneath the ruble on the ledge, but Thorin could see her there––
The vice loosened ever so slightly. Was–– was she well? Could he breathe again?
And the world was suddenly quiet.
Balin looked about, his eyes taking account, lastly landing on Thorin, his manner calm, "We're alright! We're alive!"
But just as he spoke the ground broke away on the ledge where Sona lay beneath debris.
Thorin could not breathe for fear.
"Where's the Whatsafist?" Dwalin boomed.
Too beside himself with worry, Thorin found no voice, no matter how his mind screamed, just get to her–– must get to her!
"Here!" her voice came from below.
Dwalin and Bofur peeked over the ledge, and both hollered in panic. Thorin was running, stumbling, tripping and keeping his feet, until he, too, could see over. She caught on a smaller ledge and it was breaking beneath her––
Sasha whined and bayed, pacing the edge, showing just how Thorin felt as he struggled to remain calm, he must get to her! He released his ax; it clattered on the ledge as he dropped to his knees, evaluating, spotting the best way down to her. He dug his fingers in the rock at the edge, and he could feel the breath of the Dog, warm and pleading, brush over his face. I will get her. He scrambled over the edge and lowered himself down. Hoping beyond hope he could reach her in time, he tried desperately not to disturb any rocks from all the loose ones around them and held his fingers in a grip lock. I must get her.
He looked from the Dog to Sona, who stood plastered to the side of the sheer cliff, the purchase crumbling away beneath her feet.
"Thief! Do not move!"
She laughed! From that spot! How?
He frowned on, angling closer to her––
"No chance of that, Grump-Muffin."
Grump-Muffin–– He frowned more, lacking all sense of humor. There was no grip beyond where he'd fixed his hand. And she was getting scratched up along the edges where her skin caught the rock–– she bled.
He moved in any case, he reached all the quicker, farther––as far as he could stretch––
"Rope!" Bofur called, and Bifur hauled out picks and ropes and … "Here, here! Now, lads!" Thorin heard the calls from above as he eyed the ledge she stood upon.
They had no time.
The balls of her feet barely fit there, less than half a foot width wide. How she managed to keep balance––with her pack on, no less––would have amazed him, if he hadn't been scared beyond all reason. Scared of losing her. Ē'ze. He couldn't lose her. Ē'ze, just hang on… hang on… I will get you… I must.
She looked up to see him staring down at her, her cheeks scuffed from the rock, fear spread all through her features and sunk deep in her eyes; she saw her own doom, yet she smiled, seemingly happy to see him, the one she called Grump Muffin––
He jammed his fingers further into the rock, to lower himself beyond the limits of the length of his arms… he couldn't reach her… she would have to help…
And she did… Her arm came up, her hand grasping toward his, scraping on the cliff face, scraping her arm, and he … had her, he had her! He felt the tips of his fingers brush hers, cool callused tips against his flesh… Aye, he did! Just a bit more, just…
The rocks gave, the chasm opened––
And Sona fell away
/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\