Part 2: Chapter 12: The Moon Set Sail Upon the Gale
Thorin took to the air just as the sun went down, finding a spot along by the wash creek, below, out of sight from the Bear Man's lodgings. He began loading his pipe, amazed he somehow managed to get out without even Dwalin following.
A Wolf cry pierced the growing dark, followed by others nearby. No Wargs, these. The sounds were a comfort, as it portended a certain safety––the two kind did not roam together, natural born foes.
It seemed indeed the Bear Man kept his borders well protected.
Somewhere between observing the far side of the water, and listening to the Wolves, Thorin realized he was no longer alone.
Nori had found him, but he said nothing, waiting at the edge of the path as if he would be invisible.
And he would be, to many.
How long had he been there?
Only Nori knew.
"I overheard something."
Thorin nodded toward a sitting rock across from the one he had found, motioned Nori to sit.
"There you are––" and that was Dwalin, right behind him. So much for a moment alone. He took the spot opposite Nori, so he could glare between the two of them, if need be.
After they each took their time loading their pipes, Nori starred at Thorin with his unreadable expression.
"What then? Go on." Thorin somehow both enjoyed the company and felt impatient at the same time.
Nori took a glance at Dwalin, and both seemed to communicate something silent between them. Blast secrets.
Then Nori looked him directly in the eye. "Just now Sona told our Host she has no interest in his romantic intentions."
"Romantic," Dwalin snorted. "He's a Bear, and more clumsy––"
Nori stared at him until he quit snorting.
Thorin gaped, pipe loose in his hand, smoke neglected, contemplating the Thief saying such a thing. That she would be so blunt? Thorin smiled, feeling irked all the same. She'd never said anything so blunt to him, regarding romance. Then again, he'd never given her cause, none like the Bear Man's blundering advances, even with Balin calling question to Thorin's forward behaviors, holding Sona's hand when she wished it, taking her side as her lead escort––
––Dennar'ê––
So Sona silenced the all-too-eager Beorn.
And with Thorin, the subject never came up. Why would it?
That made Thorin wonder what she thought of romantic intentions in general, but he kept his wondering to himself.
Both Dwalin and Nori stared at him, as if he were some book they could read.
So he nodded––stone mask set––not bad Spy work for Nori, in spite of providing nothing Thorin didn't already know.
Nori returned to his telling. "Our Host already knew this––"
What? Beorn could not have noticed––he did not know her that well.
"––and well, you may be surprised at this bit: He told her, Sasha––Well. Sasha introduced herself as Chases Butterflies––"
"The Dog," Dwalin leaned in, "named herself?"
Nori nodded.
Thorin glanced at Dwalin and shrugged. Made sense. The Ravens had names as well.
And Thorin thought: Chases Butterflies––Fierce, loyal and brave Sasha's name for herself. Thorin recalled her, earlier in the day, playing in the fields, a game of fetch the staff with Fíli ad Kíli and the golden Dog––Chases Butterflies––This chosen name fit her, and how she clearly loved life, and indeed chasing Butterflies––there were many Butterflies in the field, and she was after them, leaping and barking at play.
"I wasn't finished," Nori went on. "Chases Butterflies said Honey has a Mate."
After saying that Nori glanced briefly to the ground, watching the passing water, and then back to Dwalin, and then firmly back to Thorin, where he waited for any questions.
"Chases Butterflies––" all Thorin could do was repeat.
Nori nodded. "She talks, aye, and our Host can understand her. Sona can't anymore than we do, and she appeared just as surprised. But that's not the detail you should notice. Chases Butterflies said Sona has a Mate––"
"You said Honey before," Thorin interrupted.
Nori glared, waiting before he spoke. "Aye, I did, that's how she said it."
"So Chases Butterflies calls Sona Honey." Thorin finished without saying the rest, pleased to have discovered the source of his earlier irritation––that's what with the Bear Man calling her Honey.
"Aye." Nori stood there, like a spring ready to fly, but not for long. "I'm trying to explain. The Dog said has. Has. And our Host repeated this after Sona corrected him: he said it was curious, Chases Butterflies said she does. Our Host said nothing more to this, listen. Chases Butterflies knows their deceased has passed on. Dogs remember then as well as now." Here Nori slowed for a moment, watching Thorin carefully.
Who then?
Thorin had no answer for it, but somehow his heart seemed to open with hope––could Sasha––Chases Butterflies–– mean me? And immediately Thorin quashed that hope, as well as the irritation that accompanied his need to quash it––Even if she did, this does not mean Sona thinks likewise. Sona was as confused about all this––by Nori's telling––as I am.
They all smoked a while in silence.
Then Dwalin nudged the Spy. "Did you learn anything else about our Host, creeping?"
Nodding, ignoring the jab, Nori knocked his pipe against the rock beneath him, and began refilling it, taking his time. And then, in the quiet, he finished. "Our Host doesn't hold a grudge, unless it's Orcs."
That was something they held in common.
Azog––
––bluewhite eyes glowing, prodding––
Anger gone, spirit dying, Thorin failed.
No, he dreamed, the edges all unrefined.
He tried to wake, and failed.
––Azog mouthed a name beneath the bluewhite eyes glowing, but no sound came––
'Thráin.'
––Thráin Adad'ē Kaylith'ul Anran'ulê––
Azog knew, he nodded. Shook his head with his mouth now closed. He would never tell. Instead he cut himself, smiling straight into Thorin's eyes as if he were there––
––really there––
Thorin was still in the lodgings of the Bear Man, Sona slept soundly, as did all the Company around him, undisturbed by this––sorcerer's attack.
That was no normal nightmare, no––
He was glad he had removed his outer kit before sleep, as the rest of his clothes stuck, and there was ice, like the ice he dreamed of, and it hurt to swallow.
What was that sorcery?
He quickly slipped out of the frozen clothes and into his fur cloak, binding it shut, then he snatched his smoke satchel and headed for the door, almost running with his need to get out.
He remembered what he saw when he held the artifact––
––These two were getting stronger.
Had Thorin seen the future?
Lu lu lu––
––that was a sorcerer's trick.
He nearly ran into Tharkûn on his way out the door.
"Where are you off to?"
Thorin pushed past his scrutinizing eyes. But Tharkûn kept pace beside him, blast his prying gaze.
Thorin stopped at a rock on the far side of the glade, moon in full view.
And the Wolves again, one after another, calling through the night.
Thorin took a deep breath, happy for the warmth in the air––
––happy for the cry of Wolves.
"Did something wake you, Thorin?"
Thorin returned his gaze, attempting to see nothing but the Wizard's face, setting his stone mask, pulling out his pipe and pouch of tobacco. He began to load it, calculating some reply. He wished he could ask him a question about the ability of Wizard's to enter other people's minds––but that would bring him too close to the topic of the artifact. He would not betray Sona's trust. He could ask nothing.
"A bad dream, and I woke."
No, it was no dream.
Tharkûn's eyes expanded in doubt. "I could help, you know."
Thorin frowned, unsure he wanted what was offered. "You bring trouble, Tharkûn."
The Wizard laughed, filling his own pipe, and thankfully asking no further questions.
A while later they saw the Bear Man return through the large gate, pulling a sleeveless vest over his shoulders as he entered, the manacle glinting off the light of the moon.
Thorin was up early the next day, with little sleep after the nightmare––
––if that's what that was.
Thorin doubted, but now he no longer had ice in his bedclothes to prove otherwise.
After watching Bifur braid the Thief's hair, with speed––Imhed'ul Mahal.
It ached every time––this longing to touch her hair, to be the one braiding. Blast these feelings. He remembered the time he held her, after the Wargs attacked, the scent of lavender in her hair, and sage, the brush of her braid against his hand, holding her close. Or the time after that, when she spoke of her Mother and her Sister, and asked Thorin if he were King, how she gathered lavender while she asked him things, weaving strands into shape––a crown I would discover––the tail of your braid brushing my fingers when you turned away after crowning––
––stunning me.
––Only later did I recall the feel of your hair––
––Asti.
Thorin was again outside, aching, body and soul, and unsure of just about everything.
He wanted to leave the fenced gates, join the Bear Man on his midnight hunts, however, he was as yet in no condition for combat––so distracted––his lack never failed to show in the sparring sessions with Dwalin––
The creek provided cooling consolation after their sessions.
That morning, coming back from the water, Thorin caught sight of Sona, decked in the colors of a lapiz stone––in her blue kurta, golden tan leggings, and her golden embroidered shawl gracing her shoulder and whipping in the wind, tiny crystal beads sparking under the sun. She was through the Aspens in another separate glade, adjacent to the one where he'd settled with his harp––
She danced––!
––his Gold Song––
Moving like fire and water in the breeze over the meadow––
Her flowing scarf flickering around her, hugging her blue form flashing, keeping with her movements, strong movements full of grace––moving to some music she hummed. Thorin strained to hear words, but she did not sing them.
Asti––
––you dance to music in your mind, humming song––what story are you singing––?
––I would join you, if I could––yet I see you move––and how you move––I wonder at the meaning in the motion of your hands, your feet, arms, legs––all of you. There are symbols in the moves of your dance, full of life–– Is this dance a custom of your people? I would know them, Asti, if I could.
Then he shook himself, to break free from her beautiful spell––
Your dance––
It was no good watching her, when she did not know he was watching, staring––
Creeping––
Oh, no. No. Yet, even as he forced himself to to leave, he could not help glancing back one last time as he turned away––
––and then he heard the footsteps of others approaching.
He headed toward whoever it was, to find Fíli and Kíli on their way to the wash creek, Thorin lead them off a little farther down, out of sight of the dancing Thief––
––Mabujba Ē'ze Binumrâl––
––Not his. She made her own way. He would not watch, and neither would anyone else.
This, of course, did not deter the Thief from watching him while he sparred with Dwalin each morning after breakfast. It baffled Thorin, as he knew she did not like the fighting, still he saw her, day after day, tracking his moves. Sometimes Dwalin would catch him off his guard, mostly when Thorin would look for her next to his Sister's Son's, or anyone else who came to watch, Bofur and Nori, among others, all who watched either to learn, or to alleviate boredom.
"She's watching your ass, Buhel," Dwalin said in the first session, loud enough for all to hear.
Thorin's jaw dropped, blood rushed to his face––more than the usual sparring flush, surely––full of embarrassment that his Friend would speak so loudly where Sona could hear!
It wasn't until Thorin turned toward the onlookers––to get hit yet again by Dwalin's wood––when he realized Dwalin spoke in Khuzdûl, and Sona could not possibly understand.
And sure enough, she was watching his ass. And it was his ass, not Dwalin's, because whenever Thorin looked, her eyes found his, and Dwalin's wood found a hit upon him.
Blast it.
"You take unfair advantage, Dwalin."
That moment Bofur saw and heard, and his banter rang back to them in Khuzdûl, "Watch Honey, get a whompin'."
And he did.
Sona didn't pay a mind to Bofur, not while her eyes were on Thorin, not while the taunts were in Khuzdûl. Thorin tried not to think about it. He tried to get the sessions finished with as few hits to himself as he could manage.
Each day, even as his body healed, he felt tired, stretched from restless sleep, and after sparring he went for the water.
After the water he would head for his harp, in the glade he found before, and day after day the Thief found him there, and they spent the time together in the music, a blissful reprieve. He wished he could live in those peaceful moments of simple company forever.
Night after night he tried to rest and sleep. And not to Dream.
––at least he faced no further Sorcerer's attack.
His temper stretched, with a lack of finding rest, aside from those quiet times with Sona and his Harp.
He did his best to manage this by saying as little as possible most of the time.
Still, they all took note.
Breakfast after restless nights was a pleasing distraction of Bombur's pastries and sweet pies, clattering plates and chatter.
That is when they spent most time with the Bear Man.
He had stopped making flirtatious advances toward the Thief, just after Nori had told him about what Sasha––Chases Butterflies–– had said––Of course she talks––Her word had been enough for the Bear Man.
Dís always said her Cats knew a thing or two, and shared their mind with her in their own way.
And the Ravens. Thorin could speak with those.
He watched Chases Butterflies play with the golden one, always together in the fields, in the lodging, twisted among Fíli and Kíli while sleeping at night––Thorin wondered for a moment what the golden Dog called herself, and made a point of asking the Bear Man after breakfast, as both found themselves at the edge of the glade watching Fíli and Kíli and the Dogs happily at practice.
"They have bonded," the Bear Man observed, nodding his chin toward the playing Dogs.
"The gold one, how is he called?" Thorin asked, observing how the Bear Man took his question.
"Ah," then the Bear Man turned to look at him as if there were something new to study in his face. "She calls herself Smells the Flowers." And then Beorn waited.
Thorin smiled, "she's a she," he said low, remembering how he'd made the same mistake with Chases Butterflies, back before they had been––more politely introduced. A hand to his wrist, Thorin looked back at the Dogs and his Sister's Sons at practice.
"You like Dogs?" The Bear Man asked, as if he'd been goaded, and had to ask something.
Thorin smiled more, and nodded. "Chases Butterflies has fighting heart."
Beorn's jaw dropped in surprise, then a smile opened on his face that could have swallowed his lodgings whole, so big it was.
As for the other Dog––Peanut, the little Bean kept close watch over the Thief through the days, and slept curled against her at night––
After breakfast, the Bear Man went off to sleep during the heat of the days, while the Dwarves took to tasks of mending kits, sharpening blades.
Bifur began carving a new comb. Thorin had a pretty good idea who it was meant for: every time he did the Thief's hair, with speed––Imhed'ul Mahal––the Woodmaster's brows twisted in distaste for her brush.
Tharkûn was seldom to be seen. In fact, Thorin suspected he was on some unspecified mission, so obvious was his absence during their stay here.
Wizards.
In the midnight hours, the Bear Man would leave, to hunt Orcs. Thorin envied him every time, as he sought rest in an uneasy sleep.
The manacle glinted off the fire light, every time the Bear Man moved through the lodgings before he would hunt.
The urge to remove it grew as the days passed, and yet he knew somehow the Bear Man would not sit still for it.
Perhaps Balin could help him find a way. Somehow they must win the chance.
And, seeing the board day after day, Thorin wished to know how the Bear Man played chess.
And so, on this late afternoon the game was set.
The little white Mouse had found Dwalin's plate again at the midday meal, and after letting her have her tiny fill, Dwalin picked her up gently, glaring at the Bear Man all the while, who was listening to Balin's suggestions on who would win what, depending.
Sona whispered something to Bifur, glanced at Thorin, and quietly exited the room, Chases Butterflies and the Bean following her, heading to the back rooms, or the exit, most likely seeking some necessary solitude––however I miss you when you leave.
Every evening Sona would some time to stray off and be alone, and Thorin knew it was nothing against their Company, no––you crave your private time, for grounding, Ē'ze.
Sometimes that was when she went dancing.
And then he remembered how she looked, dancing––
He wanted dwell on this memory, her dancing––but now––now I need focus.
"Now if you should win, Master Beorn, you can ask us a favor. And the same goes for us, if I win, I can ask you a favor. That will be the prize."
"You already have my aide, at Honey's request. What more favor could you ask?"
"Well," Balin glanced at Thorin, who shook his head. "Let's just see when we get there, eh?"
"You assume you will win, Old One?"
Balin laughed, studying the board. All the pieces were fashioned in the likeness of various Bears––even the Horses. "No, certainly not. This is a fine set you have here."
And indeed, Balin had to fight to win, and both the Bear Man and Balin had few pieces left by the time it was finished. Beorn kept his Horses to the end, but Balin won check mate with the Queen.
"Your Honey speaks like a Queen," Beorn rumbled low.
My Honey?
Thorin glanced over the room, noticing she had not come back from before, wondering and worrying slightly, even though there was no cause––even though it was perfectly safe here for her to seek private time. It was light outside still, and Chases Butterflies and the Bean were with her, she was safe for dancing––
Again he saw her his his mind, dancing, his Thief in the glade. Blast these recurring imaginings––Friends do not creep on Friends––nor do they creep on Mates––
––Ē'ze.
"Guard her like one." And now Beorn's eyes were fixed on Thorin.
––Dennar'ê Uzbada'amê––
––my One––she is regal––
––Of course I would guard her––
––And she is more.
The Bear Man must know by now––he was no fool.
She is my close Friend.
Thorin glanced at Dwalin, next to him. He still had the Mouse on his shoulder, who appeared to appreciate the view. Thorin knew there was nothing greater than the greatest of Friends.
He needed to keep them alive. All of them.
And they all stood endangered between himself and his adversary.
Or did they?
Sona had the artifact––
––the Necromancer sought more than revenge.
They were all ensnared to win or die.
"Well?" Beorn asked, annoyed to be owing Dwarves yet again, in spite of Honey.
Balin glanced at Thorin, smiling, and Thorin gestured for him to speak the request. "I should like permission to have my colleagues here," he gestured at Dori, Bofur, Thorin and Oín, the four most capable for the task at hand, "remove that manacle from your wrist."
Beorn's face lost expression as his eyes dropped to the device, and then to Thorin. "That's not––"
Thorin raised his brows, not taking his eyes of the Bear Man.
"It is in fact the agreement we made before we played, Master Beorn." Balin held his voice sure sitting across the table from their Host.
"You set this up." His eyes were on Thorin.
"And if I did?" Thorin would not be dissuaded without argument.
"I want to keep it. I have reasons."
"Fuel for revenge?" Thorin recalled his own mad dash at Azog, a dash for vengeance that nearly killed himself, nearly killed his Thief. Thorin imagined her once more, at dance in the glade––There would be no dancing, but for the loss of her guitar, but for the bravery of Chases Butterflies––"You don't need that." Thorin's eyes went to the manacle, the sores beneath, and frowned back at Beorn.
Suddenly Tharkûn was in the room, showing up as if from nowhere, smiling his satisfaction. "You may as well let them at it, Master Beorn, surely by now you've learned first hand the stubbornness of Dwarves. And besides, now is the time to look to the future, not to dwell in the past."
"Tharkûn," Thorin glared at his sudden presence. "You're back."
The Wizard nodded and smiled, swaying that way he did, pulling his staff across his line of sight, surveying the hall, keeping his secrets to himself.
With that, amid mutters and grumbles, it was settled, tools were procured, Dori braced the Bear Man's arms to hold him steady, Thorin began a careful separation opposite the seam, with Bofur bracing the metal steady while Thorin cut through it, all while the Bear Man glared in Thorin's face, subduing growls––
––Thorin kept his eye on his work––
––and soon the the manacle took an honored place on the mantle and the Bear Man's arm was finally free. Oín kept Beorn still long enough to apply a healing salve and bandage to the chaffed skin, and orders for him to wash it daily until the lesions healed.
/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\
Khuzdûl:
Uzbada'amê – Queen Mine
Thank you Jenny-Wren28.