DISCLAIMER: ONCE AGAIN THESE CHARACTERS BELONG TO THE FANTASTIC J.R.R. TOLKIEN. I IN NO WAY RECIEVED PROFIT FROM THIS. TWAS FOR FUN.
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The sun had fled the sky, making way for the silvery moon, with it's white and ghostlike rays penetrating the cold dark. The air had a stillness of waiting rather then peace, and the cold in the air was a sharp one, biting in with it's sharp chill. Bilbo shivered and settled deeper into his bed. Looking up at the dark blanket of lights above him, he viewed the unparalleled glory of the night sky. The stars shone with a brilliance that he had not truly noticed before while in Bag End. At least if he had gained anything on this journey, it was an appreciation for the beauty about him. The day had become altogether much more agreeable in the last hour, he was comfortably full of a decent meal and half ready to fall asleep.
He turned his head and watched Thorin as he once more stared moodily into the fire. Since the incident earlier that day the dwarf had been much more pleasant, at least in his outwardly mannerisms towards the Hobbit, but had now sunk back into his customary and solitary thoughts. What Thorin could possibly find so interesting in a campfire Bilbo didn't know. He himself preferred to spend these evenings chatting lightheartedly with the other dwarves after a good meal. But Thorin was not one that enjoyed this.
The silence was broken as a deep and rich baritone voice began to sing softly in a language that Bilbo had in all his years never heard the like of. It was rolling and ancient sounding as the very hills, yet fresh as a day in Spring. He could not understand the words, but the song fascinated him. It was not Elvish, of this Bilbo was sure. Thorin did not seem to have great love of elves, and it did not seem likely he would use their language. The song had a wistful edge to it, and one of mourning and joy at the same time.
Bilbo listened, until the words came to an end, and silence creeped over the world once again save for the crackling of the fire and the call of those few birds that dare the night.
"Was that Dwarvish?" He asked softly, his eyes widening in awe of that which sounded so very alien to him.
Thorin seemed startled that Bilbo had spoken at all. "I... I thought you were asleep Hobbit. Had I known I would not have troubled you."
"Oh, no. That's fine. You didn't keep me up at all." Bilbo hastily replied.
Thorin nodded, and seemed to turn back to the fire. After a few moments he slowly answered Bilbo's first question.
"Yes."
"What?" Bilbo asked.
"That is the language of my people". Thorin answered with his back turned.
Bilbo was genuinely surprised. Thorin had actually answered his question, and one pertaining to dwarves at that! Silent for a moment, he decided to press his luck.
"How many languages do the Dwarves have? From what I learned in Rivendell the Elves has several. Is it the same with Dwarves?"
Thorin frowned at the mention of Elves, and looked at Bilbo. "Why so many questions Mr. Baggins? You should be resting."
Thorin looked back at the fire, but could not help seeing the disappointed look on Bilbo's face. By Aule. Why?! The Hobbit had saved his life after all. Perhaps he should answer a few of his questions, he was in Bilbo's debt after all.
He sighed, at least there was no one to hear him.
"My people have but one spoken language, the Kuzdul. We have spoken it since the beginning."
"And that was the language you were singing in?" Bilbo eagerly asked.
"Yes." Thorin smiled slightly underneath his beard. This halfling did indeed have a thirst for knowledge.
Bilbo paused for a moment, as if weighing his words, "What...I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to...It's just I would like to know...But what were you singing of?"
Thorin's heart sank. No one asks about a Song of Memory. The Dwarves knew enough of music and hearts to let well enough alone. It is the way one remembers those who have died by immortalizing them in a song from one's heart.
He did not and would not tell the Hobbit what he had been singing of. The Burglar would never understand anyway. The fire, the shattered dream, the lost love. Nolathrodel, his Nola, would never come back to him. They were both so young, and taken from each other so soon! Nola, whose dark hair fell about her shoulders in soft waves, eyes that could see through one's soul, and had a smile that the Arkenstone would envy. The Song of Memory was all that he had left of her. This was a private matter.
A young Thorin, bright eyed and young, with a joy for life like that of the world on the first day of Spring. Life at it's fullest, brimming and growing. Unquenchable, tireless, and a desire to explore all the mysteries that life might hold. .
A Dwarf maiden is beside him, dark and beautiful. With eyes that are like dark pools of knowledge with a merry fire burning within, cheeks like a fairy, and hair as long and fair as the sea itself. Nola, a princess of the Longbeards, kindness and understanding in her countenance, with a beauty unsurpassed.
They stand before a golden case studded with many small gems, images of great deeds of the Dwarven people adorn it, with many impossible tales of courage and insurmountable obstacles. Yet there they stand, a memory of another time and a symbol of pride. Kept inside is the greatest surviving heirloom of those of Durin's Line, the Heart of the Mountain, the Arkenstone.
Thorin smiles at Nola, she has never set eyes on the glorious stone. "Nola, are you ready?"
Her eyes widen in expectation, and wordlessly nods.
Thorin opens the case, allowing a silver light to pour forth;shining like so many moonbeams with a brilliance that has not been seen in this world since the Silmarils. The stone seems to hold a lifeforce of it's own within it's crystal walls, with the very edges barely shining out. That which does make it from the core of the stone to the outer world is breathtaking, stealing away any words or thought the viewer might have. Holding the person fixated with it's aura of otherworldliness.
Nola gasps, with little sound escaping. The light is reflected from her eyes, as she views this which does not seem real, as if it is meant to return from whatever book or tale it had somehow fallen out of.
Thorin breaks the silence, his words coming in a soft whisper.
"Someday... when I am King Under the Mountain, and you are my Queen, this stone will be yours."
Nola turns from the stone to the face of her lover, "I already have a gem beyond worth. This stone, wondrous though it be, cannot compare with the raw beauty of the jewel I already possess."
Thorin's face takes on a look of puzzlement, he does not understand.
Nola laughs lightly. She caresses his face and smiles, "I would not give up my jewel for ten such Arkenstones. For that jewel is you Thorin. No other will ever compare."
"It was an accident that you heard it at all Baggins." Thorin said thickly, " It is .. what would be called in the common tongue a …. a Song of Memory. Not for other's ears. nor to be discussed."
Bilbo sensed that he had struck a raw part in the Dwarf, "Oh...Sorry."
"You had no knowledge on this matter Mr. Baggins, and so I will not hold it against you." Thorin answered, stirring the fire that had died low. He placed more wood upon it, as the hungry flames leapt up to meet with it in a fiery embrace.
A sharp screech, accompanied by a yowl, sounded sharply in the air. Splitting the quiet around the two. Thorin lept up sword drawn, gazing suspiciously into the dark. Bending, he picked up a torch from the fire, peering at the shadows that fled the orange glow.
Bilbo stood up as well, drawing Sting and looking especially anxious but resolute if a battle should ensue.
Thorin glanced at Sting, and with a slight note of relief said, "Your blade does not glow blue, so it cannot be orcs thank the Valar."
"Oh, well that's good then..." Bilbo felt a great deal of tension leave him.
"I do not like these woods. Keep alert. There are other foul creatures besides orcs to fear. If they choose to do battle, it is best to be ready for such." Taking the torch he did a final scan of the surrounding woods, seeing nothing yet remaining untrusting of the area around.
After a moment he continued, "I shall take the first watch. Go to sleep now Mr. Baggins, you may well need it."
"Very well..." Bilbo said slowly, "But mind you don't take longer than your own watch hour! I can do my part, and I insist to take my fair share." Something told him that Thorin would not of his own accord allow him to watch long, if at all, and he was determined to prove that Hobbits could do just as much if not more than Dwarves.
Thorin smiled underneath his beard, guessing the Hobbit's thoughts. Well well well, perhaps this journey was doing some good for the poor fellow. Here he was now making demands to the Heir of Durin!
"As you wish Mr. Baggins. Now to sleep! Your watch may come sooner than you think." Thorin looked genuinely amused.
Yes, the journey was doing some good after all it seemed, at least where Bilbo's character was concerned. The spark that had been growing lately was getting stronger, much to Thorin's surprised pleasure. Perhaps there was something more to this hobbit after all. But the way Bilbo held his sword! It was enough to make any well trained warrior want to correct it. It would be no good at all if the Hobbit would be unable to defend himself if they ran into trouble.
Thorin settled himself into a more comfortable position, one in which he could see very well in. No, the Hobbit could not defend himself well. Perhaps it should be remedied.
He shivered as a cold wind blew across the camp and cut through, sending a chill down to his very bone. It would be a long and cold night, but he was a Dwarf. Patient and enduring as stone itself. The dawn was not long in coming, and he could wait.