Part 2: Chapter 2: He Drank From Yet Untasted Wells

"Binibritami, Asti," stay––

Rock slapped softly against Thorin's back at the jarred release of the Eagle seconds before, and he woke to his body encased in pain, the beating wings of Eagles and their cries above them, intermingled with Company members calling his name, Sona's name. Where? His arms were empty. Thorin succumbed once again to darkness.

Next he woke ––pain somewhat eased–– to see the dawn had come. Tharkûn hovered over him, sinking his eyes deep into his own, then deeper, away, ministering some magic to minimize the damage and subdue the aches. But Thorin's arms were empty… loss…

No. He grasped Tharkûn's wrist and squeezed, wishing to call the Wizards' attention back to his eyes.

The Wizard did not respond to the press, continuing his healing chant.

"Sona?" He gasped it.

Tharkûn shut his eyes and swallowed, irritation coming to the surface of the Wizard's features, and Thorin's agitation only grew with each miniscule moment of silence until finally the Wizard answered, "Let me finish here. Your brash move left you badly injured, leaving me with quite the task of healing, and I require all my focus, Master Oakenshield, to get you whole enough to walk down this Carrock."

Leave it to the Wizard to answer without answering. And to remind him of his mad rush. One he was not likely to forget anytime soon.

"The Eagles did not wish to set us lower, with the Orcs in such high numbers and their arrows ready," the Wizard continued, well knowing that was not what Thorin asked.

"Tharkûn." His voice was rough, weak from little air, as though a lung had collapsed. He tried to catch his breath, panic setting in –– had he only dreamed she lived? in both places, asleep and waking?

And that is when the Wizard hushed his panic with a hand to his head, sending calm through his being clear to his bones, but Thorin knew this was a spell, and he resisted, wanting an answer.

Tharkûn's eyes raked over him, his face poised in a frown mixed with a smile not far beneath, eyes full of worry and his typical admonishing spark.

"Between the two of you, it's a wonder either yet lives. Master Dwarf. The Lady Sona now rests––"

Rests? "No––"

"Shhhh." Tharkûn hushed, not easing Thorin's rising panic in the slightest. "She is well, though badly fatigued from her ordeals these past days. I have sent her to sleeping, so she may heal undisturbed."

"Where?" Thorin tried to sit up, to reach, straining to find sight of her, and felt the jab of grinding bone misaligned, several of his ribs, broken, dangerously sharp inside. He froze just as the Wizard grasped him tightly by the arms and held him down.

"Stop with that, you'll stab yourself with your own ribs there. Be still now."

Thorin blinked and nodded, unable to ease the burn in his eyes.

Tharkûn's hands gripped his face, held him still, forced his calm, his attention. "She rests beside you. Óin looks after her. Ease yourself and let me finish and we will be on our way."

Thorin kept still as the Wizard's hand hovered and he resumed his healing chant, and there was an easing to his breathing, as his lungs felt ––opened–– and the bones of his ribs settled to proper alignment and hardened faster than the normal healing time, though remaining full of aches and soreness, as though he'd been beat with many hammers, his chest, his back and his sides, each in their turn.

Tharkûn finally opened his eyes and quieted, before calling Dori and Dwalin over to either side of Thorin, and then the Wizard winked and nodded, directing them to "assist their Leader to a seated position."

Leader. Some leader. The Wizard's words hit low. Thorin clenched his teeth in pain as he sat up, irritably accepting the helping hands of his friends.

Tharkûn wasn't finished. "You're only to sit," he ordered, glaring down at Thorin as he shifting his staff from left to right to underline his point. "These two will see to it, that you do just that."

Aye, to restrain as well as assist. Thorin briefly glared from Dori to Dwalin, his face contorted with recollections of the last time they held him, before settling his eyes back on the Thief––

––Kaylîth, Ē'ze––

Thorin awaited the Wizard's next order.

"We need to be sure your skull is hale from the blow you took to it."

Is that all? Thorin shook his head, testing for dizziness. Though ire and denial teased at him, he kept his mouth shut.

Then Tharkûn looked to Nori and Bofur. "You two scout the easiest way down; Lady Sona will need to be carried."

Carried–– Mahal's Coals to Water, most likely he would be unable…Thorin put a hand to his chest feeling the places where the ribs had broken, now rapidly healing, however still quite painfully impacted.

Still, he wondered at the Wizard. Popped lung, broken ribs, these were injuries that should have taken weeks to heal this far–– perhaps longer. Saved again for his recklessness.

Tharkûn moved off, back to the Thief, lying stretched out. Óin had cleared her face and arms of dirt and blood, leaving the scrapes and bruises exposed… so many. She had no cloak, Thorin wondered how she lost it, and he wondered if she were cold…

He missed holding her.

Dwalin pressed his shoulder, gaining his attention. But then he said nothing.

Thorin waited but a second before glancing away, ahead, back to the Thief.

"Thorin?" Dwalin asked, fingers digging, seeking explanation.

Nothing more.

All the Company stood close enough to hear Dwalin's question, except for Nori and Bofur who hadn't returned from scouting a way down. The Carrock was not all that large, after all. They waited, some looking directly at him, Fíli and Kíli and Balin and Bifur, and Glóin, and others staring ahead, Dori, Ori, Bombur, Óin, who focused on his patient, the unconscious Thief––

Gold Song––

––she had nearly––

He didn't wish to explain. Hadn't that been obvious, what that was? So he kept his mouth shut and stared at the rock beneath him, before his eyes quickly returned to Sona.

Tharkûn glanced up from the Thief. "Thorin, go ahead. Take a turn up here," the Wizard waved his staff in a circle over the small area of Carrock. "See if the head blow has left you dizzy."

Thorin, at once released by Dori and Dwalin, took to his feet, glaring from the Wizard back to Dori and Dwalin as he moved to Sona's side, kneeling on Óin's left.

'She's cold. So cold.' Thorin signed the question to the Healer, unsure he could keep his voice steady, 'why so cold?'

'Needs sleep to recover, special sleep,' his Healer replied, nodding as he signed. 'A spell of the Wizard, he says it will chill her.'

Thorin moved to remove his coat, carefully and slowed by pain, and handed it to Óin.

I want to hold you, Asti.

Thorin, with Óin and Dori's assistance, had her quickly wrapped in it.

Nori and Bofur returned just as they finished bundling her.

"We've found a good enough way down, seems…" Bofur nodded, hat bouncing as he glanced about, from Sona to Thorin, and then Óin and Tharkûn, concern spread over his features. "... as well as can be seen without leaving ya'all here too long."

"Let's move, then," Thorin wanted to throttle all this silent mooning about. "Get off this rock, find some place…" His eyes settled on Sona, as a pang went through him, both of pain, and heartache. He could not carry her. She lay asleep and vulnerable, as all sorts of crashing feelings coursed through him. "Let us find…some place safe. We need to get down, now, before nightfall, so we can set a camp."

Nori eyed him, assessing, as Thorin's hands adjusted the coat around the Thief, and he saw the slightest shift of 'no,' as if the Spy thought––

Thorin only wished he could. "I am fit to walk…" He signaled Dwalin.

The Warrior approached, wary, and Thorin's eyes followed him as he got closer, angling up, challenging. But he was well aware of what was necessary, as he remained kneeling by Sona's side. "…but I cannot carry her."

It seemed as if the Company let out a communal sigh, and tensions ebbed as an outtake of breath.

"Dwalin," Thorin made firm eye contact with his friend. "You will carry her down."

Dwalin extended his hand, and Thorin took it, rising––biting back the pain.

Then Dwalin had Sona scooped in his arms before he glanced at Nori, eye cocked for direction.

"Well then," Tharkûn muttered, "we'll be off. I've some idea where."

"I bet you do."

Thorin did not bother to ask, instead he followed Dwalin, Thief in arms, following Nori, who followed Bofur down.

They picked their way carefully, avoiding missteps, thank Mahal.

Thorin climbed behind, aggravating silently the entire way, watching as Dwalin carried her, worrying as they took the way slow, each treacherous step and turn, his eyes on his friend's back, who held her, her head resting on his shoulder, her feet tucked in to his side, so she would not catch on the rock bracing the path.

Sometimes he would recall the dream, where he did hold her, and felt the bite of it, for however real that dream felt, her heart beating against his chest, her hair brushing his cheeks, her song, the scent of lavender, of home, of her, it was not real.

This was real, climbing down from a Carrock where the Eagles had dropped them after Thorin made a mess of things ––and then some.

How he wished he could carry her.

Bracing pain stretched through his core, chest and back as a steady reminder of fact. But for Tharkûn, he too would be carried.

Wishing got him nowhere, although they did make their way down. Thorin needed many rests along the way, with the pain coming now and again in waves, twofold from his over-tender ribs and lungs hurting to take in the air required. This was all too frustratingly noticeable by his snail pace even when they moved down, bit by bit. It took the whole day long as they labored the steep switchbacks to the valley below.

They set camp in a protected alcove jutting a stream. Bombur sent Kíli and Fíli to fetch the water for cooking, all were hungry. Glóin and Óin were quick to get a fire going, and Óin directed Dwalin to "please bring Lady Sona closer to it."

"Wait," Thorin stopped them, pulling out his bedroll, making his way to them.

They nodded, quietly, silently, as he rolled it out. The outer leather, a large solid piece of darkest blue edged with two narrow cross-woven sections, had an oil treated side to face the ground and keep the inner layer dry. Then he laid out the inner layer over that; soft, thick, midnight blue, embroidered in silver at the edges, evoking mithril, again, by his N'amad, with the names of his fore-bearers, recited in honor, and the names of the living, with prayers for sleep and comfort and their after-born's good fortune––the same as on his handkerchief, the one the Thief still had.

She'd needed it. For crying. It was the least he could do––

But then, there was now. Now what… what had he brought on her?

Dis would be sorely disappointed with him now.

Never mind. It's no good, thrashing yourself, done is done.

He gestured for Dwalin to bring her, lay her there, where Thorin tucked her in, Óin just opposite making sure this was done 'proper', her back over the embroidered hammer and anvil of the Durin Crest, her head upon the Raven Crown. For a brief moment he imagined her there, donned in the Queen's Crown. Queen? Stop, fool Dwarf. He blinked and pressed this fantasy from his mind. Hot coals to his heart, how dare he picture this? Or even think it? No. Thorin tucked the fur of his coat closer around her, the Stars of Durin on the bedroll framing her head, her hair like darkened gold against the deep blue. He shuddered slightly at the coolness still hanging close to her skin, too cool, she would catch a fever, so chilled.

Thorin went to tucking further, though he'd already ensured this just a moment before. I will keep you warm, Asti. Even when––

No.

Especially now. What have I done?

Later, after Bombur's welcome supper by the campfire, Dwalin left his log to come beside Thorin, to make sure he'd eaten.

He had, absentmindedly. Now he sat propped against the tree right next to where she lay, watching her breathing. In and out, in and out.

Kaylîth, Ē'ze.

"Why'd ya rush him, Thorin?"

Dwalin… he asks his questions.

The Warrior made a lame attempt to keep quiet from the others, whispering further beneath his breath. "Just about the most stupid, half baked action I've ever seen you take."

Aye, it was that. Thorin nodded, saying nothing, only remembering.

Âkmînruk zu, Dwalin, for this blow of truth.

"You've no word?" his friend asked, seeking some explanation where there was none, none sufficient.

"No." Thorin felt he could look nowhere, so he rested his eyes on the Thief, and continued to focus on her breathing. Up, then down, up, then down.

"What did the foul Orc say?" Dwalin pressed.

His Company, his Kin, his One, his head. No. Thorin would not repeat it. Rather watch her breathing… Up, then down, up, then down, kaylîth.

"I was tryin' to get off the blasted fallen Pine, Thorin, and I do not know the Black Speech as well as N'adad'ē," he shrugged his shoulder toward Balin, sitting with his pipe lodged between his chin and mouth, clearly listening, as he nodded slightly, tensing…

Balin had heard the words, then…

No doubt Fíli and Kíli heard them as well: they were deep in a conversation, one with the other, both frowning, with Kíli frowning hardest, as usual, going on with each other as though none of the others were about, though they whispered soft enough none could hear their words…

And Ori as well had heard those things and understood. The lad glanced at him and away, looking more pale than after he'd read aloud the blasted leather for his bounty…

"I should've taught you better," Balin muttered, but there was no joy in it.

It did not matter.

None of it mattered.

"Taught who, what?" Dwalin asked, his exasperation vibrating through his whispering.

"The both of you, one thing and another." Balin took a puff from his pipe, looking at no one, frowning deeper.

"Whatever that means," Dwalin groused. "You sound as cryptic as Tharkûn."

Thorin looked for him, finding his spot empty. The Wizard, it seemed, had left the campfire. No one was quite sure where he was off to…

Wizards.

Dwalin glared at Thorin once more.

Thorin glared for a moment, and then took his eyes off, back to the fire, then back to Gold Song.

"Since you won't explain…"

Azog saw it all. All of mine, all of me. I cannot say it. Won't repeat it.

"… you blasted stubborn dim witted Fool Dwarf, will you at least assure us you'll not catapult yourself like that again, when your enemy so clearly has the high ground advantage, on a Warg, no less?"

"He's alive."

That silenced the Warrior. At least for the next several moments.

Thorin could barely move, could not take his eyes off Sona shamed by his actions from before.

Finally Dwalin whispered, "Your spirit has taken damage, Buhel."

At that Thorin's eyes whipped to him but just as quickly settled back on the fire.

"You will keep you head, next time," his friend assured.

My head––

"And the Pale Orc will be off guard."

Next time…

Aye. There will be next time.

"What course shall I take?" Thorin asked him finally, as a counter to all his thoughts. "How shall I succeed?" Do they not see? He is divided to ruin by his own choice. What if she should not come?

It would take strength beyond Mahal's to leave her behind.

She did not ask for this.

How soundly she slept, how far away, at peace.

"I chose her. Sona Anand Jones of Kaleforn'ya. Without call, against Binumrâl, I chose anyway. And for her sake I stayed in the Mountains, fully aware of the danger, I kept my Company there. I would not flee the blades of Orcs, not even for my People's sake. I have––"

"Rubbish Thorin," Dwalin cut him off.

I have no counterpart.

The camp had grown silent. All were listening.

"We weren't leavin' her either." Dwalin continued, his voice lowered with his rising ire. "And she cares for you. We all have seen it. Why in Mahal's hottest furnace would she throw herself on you to save your sorry hide?"

I have no counterpart. And yet… why, Asti?

"Why indeed? It's not for love of me, and even if it were, even in my wildest dreams, Dwalin, this is not good!" Thorin jabbed the words out, feeling angry of a sudden.

He took a deep breath, wishing for the night air to fill him–– Instead he was slammed with racking pain through his ribs, front back and sides, and he clenched, to keep himself from coughing. One the spasm was under control, he remained hushed.

But it was not pain or shame that moved him to silence.

He felt lost. How was he to lead this way?

Sona.

"She fell. My choice ripped from me like a reckoning. Then she was back. Alive." Kaylîth, Ē'ze. "Bruised, beaten. Bitten." Thorin nearly growled the words. "Then the Orc horns. We had to run."

Dwalin and Balin listened with slight nods of their heads. The others acted as though they did not hear. Thorin knew otherwise.

"Then Azog, he was there, he said things…" They all knew, even those who did not understand. "No one should hear what things he said, and imagine. I had to silence him, finish where I failed, before."

"You did not fail, laddie," Balin interjected, shaking his head, hung low.

"Save your praise, Balin, it rings hollow." Thorin knew Balin spoke of the time before the gate's of Moria, but the gaping aches of the night just past pressed deeply. He had run to his own death, and then–– "I was goaded. I allowed it." He swallowed, still watching Sona breathing, coming to a decision, one he had offered before.

"Biragishami, Buhêl'amê. There is no excuse."

He knew they all listened, absent Tharkûn, who had not yet returned, and the sleeping Thief.

Biriz Akmâth'amê.

He stared from her, into the fire, one fist twitching tight, opening and closing, so happy she yet lived. Kaylîth, Ē'ze.

It was a genuine quandary, a fine mess, this… choosing. "I still have a Quest before me, with no clear path to see it through."

He was met with silence.

"Birashigami––" I would free you a fool's errand–– "I said atop the Mountains, after she fell. I mean the offer still––"

"Shut up, Thorin." Balin said it, cutting him short of repeating.

"We'll pretend we didn't catch your meaning, you stubborn fool Dwarf," Dwalin muttered, moving off to a far tree to take the first watch.

"We're in this together," Fíli shot in.

Sasha yawned at Fíli's voice, loudly, as if she spoke agreement. Then she cozied up to the Thief, turning her head under to sleep.

Many heads nodded assent.

"To the end," Kíli added.

The bitter end? Thorin didn't want to know. It looked dire when he looked ahead. So he looked to Sona, sleeping soundly in his furs, in his bedroll. Now. Here. All more than he would have had, but for her

/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\