Part 2: Chapter 4: Run Down to the Sea
Soon the Company of Dwarves were all at the river bathing, with the Dog Sasha taking particular interest in the water, splashing and whoofing and chasing the fish swimming among them.
Thorin watched quietly, scrubbing his tunic and trousers in water over a rock in an attempt to remove some of the blood stains, still reeling from Glóin's words, Nai'adâl –– shared Dreams with the Thief! He slowly finished up, left the water and sat on the bank, where he arduously began working his aching body back into his wet clothes.
Balin was at his side.
"Has she woken?" Thorin asked, glancing past him as Kíli, Fíli and Dwalin headed out of the water to fetch their clothes, Sasha close behind his oldest Sister's Son with a bounce to her step and her tail wagging, refreshed by the water. She did not appear to worry.
Thorin could learn from that.
But he was not a Dog, with no ideas how Dogs think––
"Not when I left," Balin answered, smiling off at his N'adad and the others, all were clearing out and heading back.
Once Thorin's trousers were over his feet and his boots were on, Balin assisted him up, and into his tunic, the pain through his chest and back riddling every simple motion.
The others were on their way down the path.
"Let's get back then," Thorin muttered, growing more and more uneasy with how it would go with them when he next saw her awake. Nai'adâl. Those Dreams. Did she have any idea?
He wrestled his mind over it, uselessly, only half listening as Balin said, "Hear that?"
There were hollers up ahead, and Thorin suddenly alerted, and, rounding Dwalin's shoulder he saw her––!
Awake––and well––! She stood bunched between her happily barking Dog and Dwalin, Fíli and Kíli close by and the other Dwarves some feet away, watching alert to his reaction, all of them keyed on him.
Yet––
There she was.
Alive, and … laughing! Mahal, his heart was full––
––and it burned.
Was this nothing?
He stared hard, to be sure of the sight of her standing there, living, breathing, smiling, laughing, so vibrant––Kaylîth––
––He remembered her falling upon him, the crashing of her being into his, and then the sight, that heavy blade of the Orc bearing down upon them, breaking over them, the blow pounding out the air from their lungs, leaving them gasping, a shatter and a snap––now he knew, that break was her guitar––
Mahal, my fault, I embraced this risk, I ran to him, to Azog and his mace, without thought, and–– she could have died for that, taking that mortal blade like she did, the one meant for me.
––Asti, Biriz Akmâth––
How could I?
––She had warned him, as he ran; he remembered this as well, her voice, her words, ones he had received confused while in his blind killing-fury.
No. no––
The flash of anger spiked through his core, and he held tight, no matter the pain––stifle it–– keep firm the stone mask.
His heart beat against him like an internal fist, hard and in protest.
"Hi," she said, raising one hand and waving it. So easy, so… in passing, this motion, and yet she looked at him, away, and back again, agitated toward him, why––?
Didn't matter––her voice––
He drank it in, along with her––
Biriz Akmâth'amê.
Dwalin signed him, urgent-eyed, 'Use care, your head, and mind your bossing, Buhel; she does not know your depth of feeling.'
Thorin ignored Dwalin as his eyes passed over Sona, whole and well, battered some, bruises coloring her skin, but well, and very awake––
––and staring at him, assessing, so intense, so intimate. he was held fast under her gaze, never wavering, as she cataloged each blow, counting the cuts, no… resting on the one on his lip last ––the cut, surely not his lips–– and then to his black eye, the gift from Dwalin, from when she fell––
But she came back. And then. And then––
Nai'adâl. They Dreamed together… she sang to him, while snuggled in his arms. It was real. Those Dreams had all been real, and shared…
Stop––
Oh Mahal––
I want you to hold me, I want to hold you, Asti. All I ever wished and never knew.
The Company left them be.
Everything seemed to still. Except the water. He could hear that passing in the stream behind them. Recalling Dwalin's warning, he tried to keep calm as best he could, firmly setting his stone mask, only looking at her, alive, well, laughing.
But now her smile was gone, a question took over her face, and then she sighed.
That sound! ah, the urge to take her in his arms.
She studied his face, as if she could sink into it, digging for something, he didn't know what, and she tensed for what she found, clenching her hands, her irritation swelling. Thorin did not know precisely why, except for the obvious: she was angry for his mad dash toward death. Aye, that anger is earned. Yet, an unease mixed into his already confused emotions.
She should not have cared that much, not for him, not that way, not ever. Not to throw herself upon him, to save him, fool Dwarf.
No.
It would not do.
Yet a dark and terrible hope sprang within him in response to her deed––could she love him? Is that why––? Treacherous thought! The stream had not cleansed him.
She walked toward him, staring at him. She continued quite intensely staring–– because of Nai'adâl? No.
"I'm so glad you're all right."
She spoke––!
Move, move now. He nodded, stiffly in reply, not trusting his voice to work.
She seemed to pale then, searching his eyes for something, still digging.
He stiffened his back, imagining rods through his feet to keep him in place. He would not move to her, no matter how his body willed it.
He waited, heart pounding, attempting to remain as still as possible, calming his features, closing his hands, he would not lift them to her, no matter how they ached to hold her, he would not. And yet here, in this moment, they both stood facing each other, quiet, awake. He looked at her for the first time, knowing she was his One.
"Are you mad at me?" she asked.
Mad for you–– He couldn't say that. He could only stare. What was this question? He looked on as her eyes settled into a glare and anger flushed her skin–– How she set herself tall!
How can I not be? And yet Oh Mahal, you ask this question.
And I would answer 'yes', if I could get my lips to move. So he breathed, instead, watching her legs widen for balance, her feet in a fighting stance–– or for dancing–– as though she would dance with him.
Aye, he wanted to kiss her.
Oh! But then, this was a kind balm, aye, that's what it was, she was angry at him! He almost wanted to smile, step in and hold her close, they were so close–– how she cared.
Her irritation swelled, almost like it had the day they met, only this was different now–– she cared for him. Why else? And this helped him keep still. He would feel her anger unobstructed, taking all of it, for her, for her release––
His own ire rose to meet hers, though he kept a tamper on it, and stored it under his stone mask. He felt so very charged toward her. And beneath all of this, a deep sense of happiness blossomed in return, more than he'd ever known, how is this possible?
Her hands flew to her hips, surely in challenge. "Because for the life of me, I can't think of one reason for you to be upset with me," his One glared and huffed at him as she spit her words––wild Cat.
"If anything I should be mad at you."
Aye, aye. True, that.
"Ē'ze," he whispered.
How he wanted to tell her. "For the life of you. Aye, Thief; that's the heart of it."
She was close now, and he saw––he almost touched––her anger as it blossomed up all 'round her, like a flower expanding.
He kept his hands as still as lead weights. He could not take his eyes away, nor one step back. No. He rather leaned closer, if only to feel the air she breathed. And then he begged her. "Do not ever do that again."
"Do what again?"
Do what? You cannot mean you do not know––
Her eyes flew wide and her face grew more stern, her gold stud flashing in the morning light. And she had drawn closer, so he tilted his head to see her eyes better, and share a bit of how he truly felt––
"Oh wait." Her hand came up; she would muzzle him!
This frustrating detail, of course. And now his anger spiked in a way he had not anticipated. She did not care for his opinion.
Recall yourself, Thorin. He tightened his jaw as if for a blow. She would reprimand him like the others. There was nothing he could say to make this better.
"You mean the part where I saved your life?" With that she drew away, folding her arms closed, shutting him out. No.
Thorin swallowed hard.
Still her anger blossomed larger.
"Well that's easy, Grump-muffin."
Why did she call him that, now? What she'd called him just before she fell? Surely she did not find him pleasant either time, like a muffin should be, so she could have stopped at Grump––
"Don't ever do something so stupid again, like, oh, I don't know, attack an entire pack of Warg mounted Orcs by yourself and I won't have to."
Stupid. Aye. This was her mind, and he agreed, finding her opinion well earned–– And still, had he not braced his feet before, he thought he might have fallen back, the turn of her words cutting like no others before.
As she said her piece she flushed all over, with her anger now full blown.
Thorin's ire was equally hefty, aimed mainly at himself, by Mahal's truest strike––His words came in a whisper, quickly: "It's not for you to risk your life for mine."
Her skin grew all the darker in her fury.
And he had thought it had been full blown!
"Oh, but it's for you to do it for me, like I'm some damsel in distress, is that it?"
He drew his head up, confused. What did she mean? What is 'damsel in distress'? And yet he knew this had nothing to do with his request.
"You misunderstand me."
"No, I don't think I do." She cut him off, yet again.
He was not ready to give up, not yet. He resolved to dig his feet in further and at least clarify her misunderstanding.
She turned away and gathered the clothes and her wash kit scattered on the ground, he wondered why she'd dropped them.
"You're behaving just like every other pig-headed Man I've ever met…"
She shouldered past him, the contact waking pain, and her voice rose with each passing word. And he relished that ache, as she touched him, first time since she woke.
"…whose fragile little ego can't handle a woman helping him."
"That's not it at all!" he said quickly, talking fast to get the words out before she muzzled him again.
He followed her back to the stream edge, ready to argue, explain.
"Would you be yelling at Dwalin if he'd done what I did?"
Thorin frowned, confused once again. "No, but––"
"Exactly my point!"
NO, it's not! You are not Dwalin! But he kept his mouth clenched shut.
She took a seat with her back to him mostly, and began taking her boots off.
"If you would just let me finish one blasted sentence without willfully trying to misunderstand me, perhaps I could explain." Frustration gripped him like the Warg's teeth.
Why did he force this? He should leave, but his feet held to the earth.
Mahal, how could this be?
How was she Ē'ze?
He forced himself to keep well away from her, fearing he might act on his desire to touch her, so starved he felt.
She sat tall––so angry–– and opened her hand toward him without looking, waved it, giving him leave to speak. How she moved–– So Queenly.
Stop. Stop these thoughts.
"This is to do with you."
How she sat there, an ear to him.
"Asti."
She raised a brow in disapproval.
That would not stop him. "Dwalin is a Warrior, trained to fight. You are not." He looked at her tenderly, stepping toward her, reaching out his hand in supplication. "You have no call going into battle, ever."
"But I couldn't just watch you get killed." A startled look crossed her face, fear tinged with worry––
He cringed, recalling Thrór–– his severed head held high, the Pale Orc gloating––She would have seen him lose his head.
She'd looked away, fast at work removing her second boot. But then she stopped fussing with it, as if she just remembered something. And then she looked up at him through her lashes, oh that look… "I can't lose you too."
He was frozen by the eyes under the lashes.
Me too?
Slam… stun… Asti?
Her words seemed to have silenced her as well; her wide eyes looked about herself at nothing. And then a flush began darkening her skin. Thorin felt as though he saw beyond what she wished to reveal–– her naked, raw emotions.
What do you mean?
"Any of you," she rushed to add, her face coloring all the more.
Ahh… but I saw––
"I can't lose anyone else I care about."
Thorin had never been struck with an arrow. He wondered if it felt anything like this. She would have pulled this brash shield move for any of them.
How you care–– for all of us. But not–– not specifically for one. Or do you…? A fool's hope was worming its way into his heart.
His breath caught, hitched upon that. How could he dare hope?
"I couldn't bear it."
Nor could I, and––
Thorin clenched his hands, his body, as he tried to clench his heart.
She had her boots off now, as she checked the second one carefully before setting it beside its mate. Was she using her boots for grounding?
Couldn't be helped. "Even so," he continued: he would beg, barely able to hold onto his voice past the emotions welling through him–– "You must promise never to do it again."
Silence answered.
She did not look his way as she stood and reached for the edges of her bloodied tunic, lifting it, releasing appalling scents into the air, mixed with her own––
His eyes flew wide––she's––she's––
She was taking her tunic off.
"What are you doing?" he asked. It was futile. He already knew.
"What's it look like?" she bit back, and he felt it. If he had air, he would have laughed––
She faced her back to him and pulled the battle-wasted garment off over her head, gagging at the odors it contained.
oh
Oh MAHAL. His eyes trailed down the wide swath of purple, the rioting welt now bared to him as if she did not care.
Why did she––?
Her back–– That welt––
He couldn't breathe past the damage hailing across her delicate skin, bruises and cuts abounding, and the big thrash of raw purpling where the sword had smashed her guitar upon her–– That was his doing.
And there was more. Her entire back was scratched, mottled and bruised from her fall. He could see bruises shaped like fingers over her arms: she had been dragged.
Asti. Birashigami Biriz Akmâth'amê.
She let the tunic go to the earth as she stepped away from it, her disdain clear in the hand that released it.
The garment fell to the ground.
He could almost feel the impact as he watched, trying for composure as some tears welled. I long to cradle you against me, you in my arms, to comfort you, and hold, to feel you breathe, to sooth your aches, to cleanse and bandage––those wounds, my fault.
Ē'ze––
The sound of flowing water carried on.
She took that on herself.
Their talk finished, he would accept, he was dismissed.
He'd leave as bidden, there'd be no promise.
And yet why wouldn't his feet move?
Just like in Imladris––
But there she had called him back.
Would he ever learn? It had been easier then.
He stood confounded, wondering how he was to live this way… determined to find some measure, some way. For the Quest, for his People. He had to move.
She reached for the waist of her trousers.
I should not be here–– I will vanish. Head ducked, he turned back to the camp, to his Company. They waited and they needed him, however miscast he was–– Ze'binishki.
––no counterpart––
Mahal, kuf ze'binishki?
No answer came, only the sound of water running.
Like the water in the stream, carry on–– So he left her to bathe, seeking his comb to undo all the knots in his hair.
/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\
A/N: On Khuzdûl. A reader has asked I provide the Khuzdûl translations. I've contemplated this and agree it's a good idea, as Thorin is using more Khuzdûl while the story progresses. I will not translate all of it, allowing room for context and discovery. I've backtracked to earlier chapters, adding these translations as time permits, and from here on out I will provide limited translations. The Khuzdûl is from The Dwarrow Scholar. Any mistakes are Thorin's.
Binishki – Cast Away, Miscast
Birashigami – my apology
Kaylîth – living
Kuf ze'binishki – Why a One cast away?
Nai'adâl – Shared Dreams
Ze'binishki – A Cast Away (miss matched) One – miscast One
Thank you Jenny-Wren28 for your continued Beta assistance and steady enthusiasm!
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