Part 2: Chapter 3: By Silver Streams
Kaylîth… Imhêd'ul Mahal.
Biriz Akmâth, Ē'ze…
Asti.
How did it come to this?
Night wore on.
Thorin watched Sona sleep, taking comfort in her breathing, taking care to keep her covered when the furs would shift, keeping still otherwise, as any shift woke pain. Her Dog had joined her this night, sleeping rolled against her legs. Thorin was glad for her, and not only for the warmth she provided his Thief. This Dog saved his life and Sona's, taking out the Orc with her teeth–– Âkmînruk zu Buhel'ul Ē'ze. Now and then, as night wore on, he'd bob off to sleep, dozing against the tree he'd leaned on. Then he'd wake with a start, the startle itself waking pain as well as his mind's sudden jarring concerns–– was she well? ––until his eyes lighted on her and saw her body's subtle shift as she was breathing.
Kaylîth.
Glancing over the Company, Thorin saw Glóin was on watch now, staring into a patch of Aspen trees to their west, toward the most vulnerable access to their camp.
Low and searching, "who, who, who, whOoo, whOoo," Nearby a Horned Owl began her call, stringing her 'whos', all in hammer succession, even and sure. Thorin glanced up toward her voice and spotted her in a high branch in a patch of Aspens, her solitary form silhouetted against the partial moon behind her.
The Owl waited up there, Thorin knew it.
And she was lovely, majestic, so high, black against the moon.
Crickets filled the space of the night between.
Soon the Owl called again, to her mate, to no reply. Not yet.
Thorin couldn't help it; he glanced at Sona, eyes burning, heart full. Call me, I would answer.
There was a deeper peace in the voice of the Owl's call. She knew her mate would answer, either sooner or later, for it did not occur to her something could be wrong. Thorin heard this in the even-spaced nature of her calling––'who who who, whOoo whOoo'–– no rushing, no worry, there is now, only now. 'I'm here. I wait––'
Thorin took rest in it, watching the Owl when she called again.
Glóin's head turned his way, the motion drawing Thorin's eye. The Treasurer held his gaze, stone mask firm but for the softness there. No challenge, no word. They both listened for her next call, both of them knowing it would come.
She hooted her series of calls five more times, until when, some distance to the east, her mate echoed her call: several small 'who's, then two longer ones, with the same cadence of his mate, all in return to her. The Owl's head shot up and she turned her gaze east into the Pines at the answering 'whooo's. Thorin smiled, and found Glóin smiling along with him, pipe in hand and ready to light it.
Thorin would not partake, certain that smoking would only send him to painful coughing at present, but he nodded in welcome comradery; it would do well to smell fine leaf burning, and they listened together as the pair of Owls hooted calls to each other for the duration of Glóin's bowl. The Owl pair quieted, having found each other, Thorin was certain, sometime shortly before dawn.
The Thief still slept, her Dog curled next to her.
She had partially escaped from the fur of his coat… He moved to secure it over her shoulders, she was still cold, the teeth marks and bruises achingly painful to look upon, his hand hovering over the wound, not daring to touch.
Did she feel this in her sleep? Did she hurt?
She rested.
The Dog lifted her head as he came close, but there was no threat in her, only watching, and then she laid her head back on Sona's leg as Thorin tucked her closer in the fur. Loyal–– the Dog had paced and skidded close to Dwalin as he carried the Thief from the Eagles Carrock. Climbing down, Thorin had mostly overlooked the Dog, so focused was he on Dwalin's moves with the Thief in arms–– not his. The Dog's outward pacing had matched the turmoil in Thorin's heart–– a powerless sense they both had shared–– Sasha, Buhel'ul Ē'ze––
Ē'ze. The forest surrounding them woke to the sounds of birds and other wildlife. He wondered when she would wake––
His Company was already at it, up and about with the morning routine.
Bombur set a kettle of water on the fire, starting breakfast.
Aye. It was time they resume, head on.
Thorin was, however, exceedingly reluctant to leave Sona's side as Dwalin came to him and asked him to join a few of them at the river, for bathing, "we all stink."
"No," Thorin answered, short and simply.
Dwalin's eyes shot wide at the gruff denial, evidently he'd expected a different response. "Later then," he muttered, put out, sauntering off. "Fíli, Kíli, let's spar some, give your N'adad time to tire of his own air…" He motioned to the lads, who followed him, looking from one to the other as though this were the newest sport. Dwalin sent a hard look Thorin's way. "I'll haul you to the water myself, Buhel, if you haven't seen to it by the time we get back."
Thorin's hackles rose at the back of his departing friend and his Sister's Sons, off to spar. He wanted to go with them, to ease the edge, loose emotion–– Aye, to hit something. Hard. He tensed at the thoughts coursing through him, he would have no such release, and just that small movement of protest woke deep pains that wove through his chest, sides and back. Blast it, Mahal. Anger burned through his gut, no way to quench it.
Fíli called the Dog, her head shot up but she stayed put, still wedged against Sona's side. Her body shook with pent movement, and she 'whoofed' low, looking from Fíli to Sona, resting her head once more with short whine.
"Sasha," Thorin muttered low.
Her eyes went to his, studying, waiting.
"Go," he nodded toward his Sister's Son, "wrestle for the both of us. I will look after Sona–– Banthel'ê."
This caused Fíli to smile a great smile as the Dog quickly considered Thorin's offer, her eyes on his as she weighed his promise, one she seemed to find worthy, as she came to her feet, gave another low 'whoof' and with a lick to Sona's cheek she was off.
Soon Óin came to check on Sona, Glóin at his side. They both took seats near her, Glóin next to Thorin, though the Treasurer made no motion to speak.
Perhaps it was support. Aye, support. Glóin nodded to him with a partial smile. One to another, like kind, One'd.
Morning wore on.
Kíli, Fíli and the Dog returned from sparring just when Bombur began passing out breakfast.
Thorin smiled. Timing.
Dwalin was not among them, but Thorin was sure he was not far off.
Fíli and Kíli approached with the Dog, who, upon seeing the Thief yet slept, bounded off Fíli's side to check on her with a lick to her face, a thorough sniffing, and several low 'woofs' as though she would wake her.
Sona did not move, but her breathing was deep, and the Dog returned to Fíli's side, seemingly satisfied of the Thief's well being.
Thorin wished she'd wake.
Now.
"Thought we'd bring you this," Fíli handed Thorin a bowl of porridge and berries.
Thorin nodded his thanks.
"We see you haven't moved this whole time," Fíli muttered, crossing his arms, shushing the Dog who nudged on the Thief.
"No," Thorin settled his eyes on her face, so eager to see her wake up.
"Mabujbmê, you've chosen," Kíli said.
Thorin glanced up at the lad, surprised from his musings by the bluntness of his youngest Sister's Son.
Kíli was beaming, actually beaming the lad smiled so hard.
"Aye, I did not think," Thorin answered. He should never have––
"You thought you lost her, N'adad." Fíli rejoined, knowing Thorin's full mind.
Thorin nodded, comforted by her breathing. "She doesn't know, didn't ask."
"You do not regret," Fíli stated this rather than question him.
No. I only feel more lost than I've ever been, and yet––
Since there was no question Fíli asked, Thorin decided not to answer.
He rested his eyes on the Thief, so quiet and vulnerable, and cold. Again she escaped the fur of his coat. And so he shifted off the tree to her side and tucked her back into it. "She's too cold from Tharkun's spell. Speaking of, where is the Wizard?"
"No idea. He took off after dinner and has not been seen since," Kíli answered, still smiling like he'd won some bet.
Had there been a bet?
Most likely.
"But you have not heard." Fíli stepped up, suddenly almost as excited as his N'adad. Seems he had not won the bet. "Tharkun mentioned this morning, the Eagles… he called them with a Moth, of all things."
The Moth––
Mahal.
Just then Tharkûn came through the clearing from the Aspens, as if he were on some urgent call, or a bee had stung him.
The Wizard headed directly to them, joining Óin to look over the still sleeping Thief. He's the one who left her so. Where'd he gone to all this time?
"Well then?" Thorin grew more impatient with each passing moment. "When's she going to wake, Tharkûn?"
"Soon enough," he replied, vaguely, now suddenly calm and slow mannered, as would be expected of the Wizard. "This morning most likely," he added, as he sighed with a smile––
a smile?
––and glanced knowingly at Thorin.
Thorin only wondered what he meant by that.
"She'll be ready to bathe once she wakes," the Wizard said.
Wait–– Thorin's eyes shot wide. The Wizard winked when he said that!
"You might want to make a trip to the river yourself, Master Dwarf."
Mahal, blast the Wizard. Just like Dwalin–– "I prefer to be here when she wakes."
"Suit yourself." Tharkûn shrugged.
Soon Óin asked Thorin for liberty to send someone to fetch fresh clothes from Sona's knapsack, for when she woke, she would surely be needing them.
Indeed, her tunic was badly soiled from her ordeals. "Ohh, aye…" He motioned to Nori, 'Could you fetch it? To me?'
Nori was already at it, his face crestfallen.
"Nori?"
"It… Her guitar. It is all smashed up."
No. Not––
––That. Her guitar, her voice. The body of the guitar was caved, the neck snapped. That was the snap he heard, he felt, as Sona sprang between his neck and the blade heaving for it––
What a cost. For his mad rush.
Stop now, we move on.
Thorin tried to do just that, pressing past the thought of what he'd cost her––
Impossible.
So he must move with it.
Move––
Nori brought the bag before him.
Thorin reached around the knapsack beneath the remnants of the Thief's beloved instrument, checking the contents of the bag, ensuring the integrity of the vessel she carried of her husband's remains. He found a tunic and one of the slim-tight pants she called 'leggings' she wore beneath. Then he found her wash kit––
"Speaking of bathing. You need it."
That was Dwalin.
Thorin swung round, instantly regretting the rash move as pain shot through his sides at the motion.
"It's about time you get to the River," Dwalin butted on.
"Not leaving 'til she wakes up––" Thorin whispered, or hissed, rather, not wishing to stoke the ire building inside himself with air for words.
Dwalin stepped up, challenging like a steel-horned ram. "You smell like rotten Warg dragged from a stagnate, shit-swarmed, bug-infested swamp," Dwalin insisted, craning his neck further, as to make himself bigger… "…and if you fail to move your arse in the direction of the river NOW, I'll see fit to haul you there myself, and I don't care if I hurt you while I see to it." Dwalin was in his face.
"Not leavin til she wakes up," Thorin repeated, again with minimal air. He held his ground fully, even leaning in, so angry he felt inside.
"You want her to wake up to you, you smelling like that?"
That was it. "Blast it, Dwalin. I will be here when she wakes––"
"Make haste, then."
Thorin glared heavy on Dwalin, wishing to Mahal he could fight this one out, and then slowly turned to the Wizard, exhaling. "I stink… Is there time for me to make it to the river and back before she wakes?"
The Wizard only nodded, saying neither yes nor no.
Wizards.
"I'll go with you," Glóin offered. Thorin was sure his Treasurer meant to give company, but there was some other motive as well, with the way he looked from Sona to him and then away, as if embarrassed. "There's something I've been meaning to talk over with you…" Glóin said, looking firmly at nothing.
Embarrassed. Aye… But for what?
Thorin, feeling pain as he gained his footing, gingerly fetched his wash kit from his own pack, and he and Glóin made way for the river, where they stripped down. Thorin was slow at this task, for the pain it caused, and now he could see the bruises on his body resulting.
Glóin dove in with all due speed.
Thorin joined him with what speed he could, wishing to be finished with bathing and questions. "What concerns you."
His Treasurer's face turned nearly as red as his hair. "Well, Thorin, I was just meaning to ask… It's rather a mite awkward. You don't know about it, so I'll be being the one to tell you, and it's a topic no one speaks of after they've heard it the first time, you follow?"
"No, Glóin. Explain." Thorin lathered the soap over himself, newly remarking the hardship his body had taken–– beneath the heavy purpling bruises and swollen areas with broken skin, in some places there would be scars where bone had exposed, other spots where a Warg tooth broke through the leather in the bare-plated sections of his brigandine. It was a thing of amazement, the speed of his healing. He drew a hand down one of the meaner gashes, his skin sore to the sensitive touch: a rib had broken through, but it was set, and this was the healing scar–– Such wounds were often fatal, absent a Wizard on hand.
Kaylîth.
He saw the truth in his injuries: he'd nearly died, and this… this was gifted time.
Âkmînruk zu, Tharkûn. And before the Wizard, Sona–– Ē'ze, nO––
"Well that just means you're not to talk to anyone else about it," Glóin continued, and Thorin tried to remember the train of thought. "… ever again, except permitting with your One, if they're amenable to it."
"What are you talking about, Glóin?"
"It's about Dreams." Glóin paused as his eyes shot to his, briefly, and held there. "Nai'adâl. Have you had dreams with Sona in them?" The question was steady and sure.
Glóin already knew the answer.
Thorin stared, dumbfounded, before finally nodding. "Dreams, realistic, visceral, with her––"
Glóin held his hand up. "No need to say more."
"I'm in no mood to say anything, Glóin. Explain."
"These Dreams are not just your own. She has them too, at least she would, were she a Dwarf. I don't know if it happens among People of Men." Glóin smiled like he just found a stash of coins in an unused hidden pocket. "But, based on how she was the morning before the Storm, I'd guess she does, she's in those Dreams, she's with you, mind. In any case. Nai'adâl. They're a form of communication between Ones. Part of the bond. Gets easier controlling…"
controlling?
"… Dreams once you've been together a few years."
"Mahal–– wait, she…" Thorin attempted to wrap his mind around the thought she may be sharing these dreams, when his mind tripped on the full meaning of Glóin's words. Years…
"I have not––" he stammered. "She–– hasn't, doesn't…Years… A lifetime?"
Thorin felt fully exposed, and not because he was buck-naked in a stream, washing up so the Thief wouldn't be repulsed by his stench when she woke up.
But this! She Dreams with him? What was this new gift? More to point, how was he to live with this way?
"You'll be having these, laddie, from now on out. Best get used to them."
Thorin stared at Glóin, his eyes narrowed as he catalogued the conversations in the Dream he–– they–– had just shared.
She sang to him, 'Dream a little dream' –– this cannot be.
"Looks like you have your answer," Glóin huffed a laugh bowing slightly as he reached for his feet beneath the water.
Thorin continued wide eyed, washing slowly, waiting on the Treasurer to provide something… helpful. What was he thinking?
What could be helpful?
How was he supposed to discuss this… Dreaming… with the Thief, aside from any other matter of Ones? "She is Binumrâl, she doesn't know she's my One and I am not about to tell her, nor shall anyone else dare…. So what?"
"You need to know of them, Thorin. Ones share Dreams. Together. How this sacred gift falls specifically with each One pairing is a mystery, for no Dwarf is to tell another anything of Nai'adâl." Each word was carefully spoken, as if he read from some sacred scroll, as if he'd read it many times, and yet Glóin was uncomfortable, fidgeting as he washed.
How long had he rehearsed?
"This gift is neither written nor discussed with anyone, anytime, apart from when a close friend or kin discovers their One and signs manifest that they are Dreaming, and then a loved one takes the matter up, and explains. Once. And then they never speak of it again."
"Wha?" Thorin moved rather slowly, what with the pain any motion caused, and he wasn't sure, but it seemed the knowledge of what Glóin told him took a few heartbeats to sink in–– the meaning, what meaning… Oh Mahal.
Glóin looked him steady in the eye as he washed himself with precision.
But this news… This… Dreams. "Do you mean…?" He couldn't finish the question. Which question?
But Glóin nodded anyway. "She's in them, you have said."
Thorin's hands stilled from their tasks, his jaw slack.
"I saw, the morning before the Storm Giants," Glóin went on. "She woke rather shook up, staring from you, all around, and flush, I dare say it."
Indeed…
"You overslept that morning, something we rarely see."
How they watched him.
"Dwalin had no sparring partner that day… And then, once you woke, you were rather confined to your bedroll for some time." The Dwarf chuckled, going even redder, if that were possible.
Thorin's own skin flushed, remembering.
"And then later, the lass, she would stare at you every given moment you were not staring back at her.
No… Thorin was sure his friend exaggerated.
"Neither of you caught the other at it, but it happened. Then the storm came, and the Storm Giants––"
The colors in Imladris, the brush, the Forge in Erebor, the bead… sleeping beneath the stars in Erebor, dreaming Dreams. Together.
Together?
Could that possibly mean?
Oh, Mahal… could she possibly? Could he be hers?
"Well then, that's a good thing, I'd say," Glóin finished, "Keep it to yourself now, but know this; it's shared, Nai'adâl, what's going there, if she's in them, in your Dreams." Glóin continued his washing, having moved to cleaning his soiled clothes, looking pointedly away from Thorin, and moving off for privacy.
This wouldn't do. "Wait, Glóin. What if I've got questions?" Thorin hesitated as his friend stilled from his task.
"Well then now is the time, you should ask me these questions, though I may not have the answers."
"How do I know she shares them?"
"Aside from the obvious, of asking her…" The Treasurer actually laughed here, shaking his head. "No, I don't suppose you'll do that." Then he peeked up at Thorin through his thick brows. "Has she said anything, spoken to you, inside the Dreams?"
Aye… but…
"Can a One Dream of One who does not return Juzrazur?"
Glóin just stared. Eventually he shook his head. "That's beyond my experience, Thorin."
Thorin nodded, however unsatisfied. And then he dared say what he thought. "She does not know."
"Neither did you."
"I do now." Mahal help him, he needed to avoid these Dreams. But how? Never mind that now–– "So then… who would speak to her as you speak to me?" Thorin knew at this point no one had done so–– there had been no time since her fall and his declaration.
Glóin shrugged, shaking his head.
"No one," Thorin said firmly. She does not want this. She didn't ask for it… But what if…? No. Just no. "No one will speak to her."
Glóin grunted, and Thorin was sure it was to hide more laughter. "You might have a word on this with your Sister's Sons, because I'm guessing Fíli already considers himself up to the task." With that, Glóin left the water.
And Thorin finished, wrestling with this fine new bit of news, gifts.
Imhêd'ul Mahal––
Nai'adâl.
How was he to look at her next, when she woke from Tharkûn's sleep?
/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\
Khuzdûl:
Kaylîth – Living
Imhêd'ul – Blessing of
Buhel – Friend of friends
Banthel'ê" – my oath of oaths, my promise
Mabujbmê – You have chosen
Binumrâl – Lost loves, Widows/ers
Juzrazur – tiny chain. With Ones – Pull. They feel each other's life-force, as though a tiny chain connects them.