Chapter Two

Time wore on without fail, but Prince Thorin never forgot Ik-kemath. Yet after weeks and then months of oppressive silence, he inevitably gave up hope of ever finding him.

Spring bloomed into a hot summer, and summer into a plentiful harvest. When frost settled upon the fields between Erebor and Dale, the residents of the Lonely Mountain made the necessary preparations to close their gates for the winter.

The initial snows of winter covered the lands around the mountain with the soft hush of a deep sleep. Elvish songs were no longer heard beneath the bare trees of the Greenwood, but the children of men remained at play in daylight hours, enacting great historical battles with snowballs as their weapons. When darkness fell, they were dragged inside the safety and warmth of their homes, sopping wet and worn, but victorious.

As for the dwarrows of Erebor, they continued on as they ever have, delving deep beneath the earth for the great stores of riches hidden in ages past by their maker, or smithing merchandise to be sold in the new year. They took inventory of all that they had and fortified each entrance to the mountain, bracing themselves for what was to come.

That was well, for the first true storm of the season lasted almost a full week, and brought with it a coughing virus that had every healer in every clinic scrambling to tend to the massive influx of patients. But dwarrows were hardy creatures, and only a handful of deaths was attributed to the epidemic.

Even the royal family was touched by the sickness. Lady Dis was confined to her rooms for two days, though no more. She would not be overcome, neither by the words of others nor any illness, and had returned to her duties faster than any other. Her sons were also affected, but they were waylaid far longer. However, their healer, Master Oin, was certain they would recover, and gruffly insisted that their overprotective mother and uncle leave them be.

Thorin did his best to follow those orders, but he loved his nephews fiercely, and had experienced too much loss in recent years. He visited them at every opportunity, and he might not have left their side at all, if something did not happen to draw his mind away.

As it was, he was just returning from a visit, when he finally... finally heard it again. Ik-kemath had returned.

It was stronger now, perhaps more sure of itself, but it seemed angry and stricken, very unlike the happy tunes Thorin remembered when last he'd caught it. The words were still indecipherable to him, but he knew at once thatit, or rather he, was expressing both fury and grief.

Thorin immediately set aside his intended destination in favor of pursuing it once again, running at times, and leading his escort on quite a chase up and down the halls of his kingdom. But just like the previous year, he listened and searched for hours, and came no closer to solving the puzzle. One moment, the voice was strong and close, as though the singer was standing right next to him, but then it swiftly faded, fleeing so that it would not be discovered.

Many days and dark nights went by once again, and Thorin's frustration increased with each failed attempt to find Ik-kemath. His immediate family, all of them fully recovered, did not fail to notice his sudden long absences and sullen countenance, but in spite of their pleading, he would tell them nothing. He did not want them to either tease him about this preoccupation or think him a fool. Like most of his kin, he was rather proud, pressed by his forebears to be overly concerned with appearances.

But when a month passed with no further progress, he was forced to admit that if he truly wanted to discover the identity of Ik-kemath, he would have to seek some assistance. At length, he decided to confide his troubles to his cousin Balin, son of Fundin, who was wise and honest, and could be trusted to act with discretion if necessary. As a counselor to the king, he retrained a wealth of knowledge on many subjects, which he freely shared, but he also didn't shy away from challenges, or mince words for the sake of propriety. Thorin held him in high regard, even if they disagreed at times.

At the first opportunity, Thorin sent a message to Balin, requesting his company for dinner and an ale. It was quickly returned in the affirmative.

They took a meal together in one of Thorin's favorite pubs in Erebor's market district, and after reminiscing of their recent endeavors and exchanging playful banter, Balin pressed the prince for the reason for their visit.

"As much as I have enjoyed this time together, Thorin," he began with a sardonic but sincere smile, "I have never known you to arrange such a meeting with no purpose."

"You wound me, old friend," Thorin retorted, aghast. "Perhaps I simply wished to escape my duties for a time to enjoy a more social activity."

Balin stared at him wryly. "You have many admirable qualities, my prince, but sociable is not one of them."

Thorin's lips twitched in agreeable amusement before fading to seriousness. "I have an ongoing... ah... personal matter which I have been unable to resolve. I need your advice."

"Of course."

Thorin spoke then without pause and described the beautiful voice that had him enthralled, his desire to find the creature that possessed it, and the inexplicable circumstances that prevented him from discovering the truth of the matter. He had been trained from a young age to make very formal and lengthy speeches if the situation called for it, but he rarely waxed poetical about anything. His words were hardly anything the scribes would be inclined to record, but they were certainly passionate.

Balin listened without comment, though his eyebrows traveled further and further up his forehead in hearing this ardent discourse. If he was confused or concerned about Thorin's peculiar obsession, he did not say. When Thorin was finished, he asked, "You said you've only heard the voice during the winter months?" After receiving confirmation, he shrugged and said, "Well then, the answer to your riddle is obvious isn't it?"

Thorin gave him a pointed look that said otherwise.

Balin shook his head and concluded, "Your mysterious singer is a hobbit."

Thorin frowned. "Hobbit? You mean one of the halfings?"

"Yes, but do not call them that in their presence. They consider it a very rude, derogatory term. They won't say it to you, since you're the prince, but they'll be very offended if you do, and will not aid you willingly if you say that to them."

"Indeed? I was not aware of that," the prince admitted. "But why are you so sure the voice belongs to a half- a hobbit?"

Balin appeared less-than-impressed with such a question. "Because the hobbits reside here, in Erebor, during the winter and then leave for Dale in the spring." Thorin still seemed perplexed, so he wondered, "Are you not familiar with our arrangements with the hobbits?"

He shook his head. "I have had no dealings with them. They were..."

Balin caught on and closed his eyes sadly. "Forgive me. I had forgotten. Negotiations with them were Frerin's domain."

Thorin swallowed thickly. Their father, as the king, oversaw everything, but the entire royal family had a share of running the kingdom. Thorin's principal duties, while he was still the crown prince only, primarily involved the men of Dale and Esgaroth, as well as Erebor's Weapon's Smiths and army. His sister, along with her sons, handled many of the mountain's internal affairs, the jeweler's guilds and the markets. And Frerin, before his death, held converse with the hobbits and the Elves of the Greenwood. Once he had gone, his duties reverted back to Thràin.

Balin cleared his throat. "What do you know of hobbits?"

Thorin knew very little, and admitted this to his friend.

"Ah well," Balin said with a sigh, "I'd best give you some background then..."

And he told Thorin that in ages past, all hobbits were nomads, rarely at peace and unable to settle in one area for long, because the world was so full of danger. Though they could be fierce and tough in a pinch, they were not warriors by nature, and they were vulnerable. In order to ensure their own survival, they formed alliances with other races: men, elves, and dwarrows, offering their services in a variety of ways, the chief of which was the growing of food and beneficial plants. They were beloved and blessed by Yavanna, and possessed the uncanny ability to coax all manner of flora from even the most inhospitable terrain. So in exchange for protection and temporary dwellings, they tilled the land, and worked in such trades as they had skill.

In time, some of the more adventurous clans of hobbits did indeed desire to move on and build homes of their own, and they were granted lands governed by the kings of Gondor and Arnor. With their permission, they moved west, closer to the Grey Havens, from which the elves set sail and leave Middle Earth forever.

Others, however, chose to remain where they were, the lands of Erebor being one of them. Eventually, they entered into treaties with the Elves of the Greenwood, the men of Dale, and the dwarrows of Erebor.

"The hobbits with whom we currently have dealings spend the spring and summer months living in temporary shelters in the cities of men... Dale, for the most part. They work the land side-by-side with them. When the harvest comes, they transport their crops and other goods to Esgaroth for processing, and from there, ships issue forth to transport their wares to the Greenwood, Erebor, and many other nearby cities. When all is done, and the first frosts of winter cover the earth, half of their population (for they are quite numerous) live as guests in the halls of the Elvenking, while the rest take refuge in Erebor with us.

"Within the mountain, the hobbits are housed in the lowest halls, mostly in the Bone Caverns. While they are here, they are expected to work or apprentice themselves in the markets, the kitchens, or the clinics - anywhere they might apply their skills, as per the trade arrangements agreed upon by their representative and ours. Service and goods for protection and shelter."

Balin paused to let Thorin digest this information while he wet his throat with another ale. Once he had finished, he went on. "Aside from the season, the fact that you have been unable to trace the source of this voice when you hear it is another telling fact that would indicate a hobbit. As you are well aware, the Bone Caverns where they live and the markets where they work are very close to the city's main entrance, which is also the heart of the mountain's ventilation systems. Voices carry far through those tunnels, so it would not be unthinkable that you might hear the voice far from where its owner resides."

"I see," Thorin said slowly, processing all that Balin had told him, and agreeing with his conclusions. "Well, that's one part of the mystery solved."

"True," said Balin, "but I'm afraid that narrowing it down further will be another great challenge. Hobbits are wary and distrustful, with good reason, unfortunately. If you still wish to pursue this further, you'll have to very careful about how you go about it. They won't just tell you what you want to know."

Thorin kept silent, wondering what he should do, and contemplating if his desire to find Ik-kemath was strong enough to warrant the effort. But when he recalled the comfort and joy he'd found in the echoing songs, he decided that he did indeed wish to see this personal quest through. "What do you recommend?"

Balin leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard, his eyes straying to the ceiling. "Well, you could ask your father to set up a meeting with the Thain, that's their leader by the way, but since you asked me for advice instead of him, I presume you don't want him to know about it."

Thorin nodded. He might not know much about hobbits in general, but he did know that his father had little love for them. He would be most displeased to learn that his son and heir had developed a fascination with one of them.

"Perhaps," Balin mumbled thoughtfully, "you could talk to Dori."

"Dori?" Thorin repeated. Dori was another distant cousin. The royal family had dealings with him and his brothers on occasion and liked them well enough, but they were not close in affection by any means.

"Yes. He runs a tea shop in one of the middle-class markets, and he employs a number of hobbits during their stay. He might be able to make some beneficial introductions. Or at the very least, either he or his brother Nori may have overheard some information that might be useful to you."

Thorin thought it over, and since he could think of no other options, he assented that it was a good place to start. "Very well. Would you set up a meeting for me?"

Balin smiled. "Of course, my prince. Might I recommend that you go to his shop during business hours? I believe you might gain the most by observing the hobbits, in addition to speaking with Dori. But I can certainly tell him to expect you and to make time to sit down and answer any questions you can think of."

Thorin stood up and came to clap his friend on the shoulder. "Excellent idea. Thank you, Balin. As always, you never fail to grant good counsel. Thanks to you, I may soon see an end to this torment."

Balin reciprocated the gesture. "Not all. I am happy to help. I only hope that this whole thing turns out well for you in the end."

To be continued...