Bofur hurried as quickly as he could down through the mountain without waking the sleeping bairn, knowing that from this point on every second that passed brought him closer to the moment in time where the child was no longer satisfied with a mere proxy, her father's shoulder, for comfort - the moment when she decided all she wanted was her mother, and would raise all hell from that point onward until she got what she wanted.

Fortunately, Méra's recent deep delve into the layout of the mountain in search of him hadn't just driven her to the brink of insanity, it also seemed to impart in her a hefty knowledge of Erebor's most direct stairways and passages to get anywhere one might be going. As such, after descending a spiral stairway six hundred steps and at least twenty levels, he found himself emerging at a depth somewhere around the level of the mines, though while the dwarves' search for gold had led them in spider web patterns branching out in all directions from the mountain's core, the long tunnel he emerged into showed no signs of prospecting and led straight towards the heart of the Lonely Mountain.

Not long after, he came to a round room with similar hallways cutting off into the earth to reach other quadrants of the city. The room had several alcoves spaced between the entrances, in which were benches along with hooks and chests filled with all manner of packs, tools and equipment. One of the alcoves already had four packs prepared, which upon inspection revealed they were half-full of provisions and water. The center of the room opened to another spiral stairway - this one far more ornate than the last he had taken, that led even farther down to depths unknown.

As Bofur bounced the babe and the others assembled and donned whatever gear they thought they might need, Méra returned from the kitchens with more provisions along with another pair of flasks wrapped in thick wool.

"We've got plenty of water already." Bofur pointed out, nodding to the pile of waterskins and bottles being picked through by the travelers.

"It's goat's milk." Méra chided as she tucked one of the vessels against her skin under her tunic, and then deftly slipped another into one of the more secure pockets on Bofur's coat.

"Oh?" Bofur asked, unable to confirm the claim as his hands were occupied with the squirming newborn. "Is that what all highborn dwarrows drink while caving then?" he asked to provoke an explanation.

"It's for the bairn of course!" Méra scolded, though it was tamed compared to her usual scorn as she paused to coo at the infant, then straightened up and shook her head at Bofur who was looking skeptical. "It's no' as though I'm going to nurse the babe now is it? And unless any of you gents are sporting a heaving pair of knackers under your coats, this'll have to do in a pinch."

Dain guffawed at his daughter's bawdy sense of humor, but Bofur's good nature dwindled and his brows furrowed. "Surely she'll be back with her mother before she's afuss."

Méra shook her head, but Dain beat her to the explanation. "Your brother's naming was easy lad. Others are less so. The path to the mountain's heart is never the same."

Bofur suddenly realized why most couples waited until their babies were older, and now understood the necessity for the extra food and water they were bringing. Even more troubling was the climbing rope Dain was shouldering, and the bundle of climbing pitons Rôka was tucking into his pack.

"What's the longest someone's been out?" Bofur asked, now starting to worry in earnest. Dain and Méra exchanged a concerned look of their own, but did not answer. Rôka did so without hesitation.

"You really don't know your scriptures do you, boy? Some never come back from a naming. 'The Smith discards all but the purest ore before the work begins', as they say. Blacksmiths don't abide by impurities." His meaning was crystal clear as he eyed up the babe in their midst.

Dain rolled his eyes. "Oh very dramatic - what he means to say is there's only been one naming here in the past century and a half, and the regions' always been a mite unstable without all the shoring up our people have been doing round the city for almost a thousand years. We just don't know what to expect is all." The king then hefted a sealed clay jar with the runes for 'HIGHLY EXPLOSIVE' carved in several places on it, raised an eyebrow to Bofur as if to prove his point, and tucked it gingerly into an outer pocket on his pack.

Bofur frowned at that, but then met the eyes of his daughter - the bright, brown, impossible eyes of a dwarven bairn, and was filled with hope. Still, he looked to Méra pointedly while he addressed the child in gentle tones: "We'll just tell mommy it was a nice easy walk no matter what happens, now won't we love?"

With that, and with everyone wordlessly confirming they were ready, they hefted their lanterns.

"Right then." Dain said as he turned to face the ancient stone stairway before them "Let's get this over with." He marched downward, followed by Bofur, Méra, and Roka bringing up the rear.

Seventy seven stairs down, the worked stone ended and they emerged into a natural cave. From then on, for near on an hour they had been continuing on a steady downward slope, following a series of tunnels that braided their way deep into the earth. They had long since passed the turn taken with Bombur and his wife, and when Bofur had held back a moment to investigate he found the tunnel had been blocked by a pair of massive plates of stone that had settled together in a cave in. Many of the tunnels were blocked in such a way, while others were flooded, and still more opened to bottomless pits, or bubbling magma slowly pushing upward from unknown depths where even the dwarves had not delved.

Dain navigated them with uncharacteristic patience, doubling back again, and again, and again, sometimes even sharing suspicions with Rôka about the next junction. It seemed there had been some attempt to map the tunnels over the centuries - a recounting told by each family when they returned to Erebor which was then transposed onto the known geography, but time had changed much in the years that the dragon usurper held the throne. Whatsmore, Dain had not exaggerated the unpredictability of the earth here: unlike the city housed within the Lonely Mountain, which was almost entirely stable (thanks in large part to the work of their dwarven forefathers), this region was still in a constant state of settling - which some attributed to the legend of the giant earth eater that had formed the first kingdom of Erebor long ago.

Regardless of the cause, it was a bafflingly complex maze, and Bofur was beginning to begrudgingly acknowledge the truth of Roka's scriptures: it was a path that could take a deadly turn, and one that only fate seemed likely to guide them through alive.

They took a break at the edge of a long bridge that stretched into the darkness while Dain and Rôka went on ahead. A waterfall churned constantly from somewhere beyond view, and the king wanted to ensure the stability of the bridge before continuing. The babe was changed ans slowly fed a few small spoonfuls of the warm milk, then was finally lulled back to sleep by the sounds of the water and her father walking her in circles steadily for ten minutes straight before the return of their guide.

"Seems we've been spared a delightful climb down to the bottom." Dain explained as he returned.

"And an even more pleasant and soggy climb back up after crossing the river." Rôka added, though as an afterthought he looked back at the opening. "It would have been such a shame to make it all this way only to find we hadn't brought enough rope. The mountain speaks in mysterious ways though…"

"Let's just get on with it." Bofur urged quietly with a roll of his eyes, and with that they moved out onto the bridge. The crossing was uneventful, though at the closest point to the falls the rope did come in handy to secure all present, lest someone slip on the rocks slicked by the spray. None did, and so they entered the tunnel at the far side and continued onwards.

Fifteen minutes, four more dead ends and one more snide remark from Rôka into the Naming there came the first event Bofur was not prepared for.

From farther along the chasm, a sudden rush of hot, dry air buffeted them with such sudden ferocity that Bofur had to drop his lantern and pull his coat over his daughter's head to keep her from squalling. His lantern guttered out on impact, but when he opened his eyes he found they were met with nothing but black.

His was not the only lantern to go out.

"The bellows blow early this naming." Róka observed, his usually holier than thou attitude momentarily tempered with pure reverence. Dain grumbled in agreement.

"Hang on a tick and I'll get us more light." Méra offered as she began shuffling for her flint and steel, but her father called out to stop her from up ahead.

"It's no use, they'll just be put out again, and next time could be more perilous if it takes us unaware and we're not ready for it."

As if to confirm his words, another blast gusted from the depths, this one less severe but no less unexpected, and so they abandoned the now useless lanterns, and one by one moved blind yet sure footed into the thick, impenetrable dark.

They spoke only when necessary, and when at all it was in hushed reverence so as to better hear the earth around them - though truthfully nothing above a whisper was needed, as they were so removed from foreign sound that even that was as a shout in the world above. Bofur had learned during the descent with his brother's family that it was tradition to stick to their native tongue, for it was said the common words of elves and men were to be too light and airy to even pass from their lips under such depths.

"The stones here are silent tonight…" Dain mused after some time as they rounded yet another bend and began along a stretch next to a lengthy exposed fissure. It was true - Bofur recalled his niece's naming set against the almost constant rumbling of distant rock settling in the deep. The king's words, even in khuzdul, felt empty to Bofur, as if much of their substance had fallen out into the depths of the open maw beside them before ever reaching another soul.

The sound seemed to startle the bairn and caused a cry that Bofur struggled to soothe, which provoked Rôka into a spasmodic laugh. "They don't dare speak in the presence of an overlander." he scoffed, his sneer practically visible to all who heard, and yet as if provoked by the very words just spoken, a sudden violent tremor shook the very ledge they walked upon as it slipped away from the rock face and settled again onto some new support. The world beneath Bofur pitched for a moment, but his feet held firm, and mercifully the rocking movements seemed to be to his daughter's liking, as she settled back in on his shoulder once more with little more fuss.

"They're more than willing to cease the prattling of a traitor, though." Dain spat in retort as the rumbling finally died down enough to be heard.

"Can we carry on then, please?" Méra whispered nervously as if worried her own voice would cause another rock slide, "Lest these singing stones of yours see fit to finish him off once and for all and take us with him?"

The group agreed unanimously and they set off once more. Rôka went silent for a long while after that, much to everyone's relief.

"We're getting close." Dain finally stated after what felt like an age.

Bofur knew it wasn't nearly that long, of course. Like any good miner, he had a rough count of steps in his head, and based on his calculation factoring in slow going in the dark, they'd been travelling under two hours, but logic and perception were contradicting each other, and after all, why shouldn't they here? Time was based on the length of a day above ground. So far beneath the surface time meant nothing, and so did not exist for all intents and purposes, and save for the ticking clock that was a newborn baby without her mother, Bofur felt he could have existed down here an eternity in the span of a single heartbeat.

"Hang on…" Bofur held up a moment. The footing in this section of the cave felt familiar, and while the rest of the group stopped at his request he shuffled forward until his foot came up against a low ledge of stone. He moved forward another few steps, and then was quiet. "Aha! He finally exclaimed, and a moment later he let out a comfortable sigh.

"Ahem, care to share your findings with the rest of us?" Méra inquired impatiently after another lengthier silence.

"There's a wee nook off the main cave here where I waited for Bombur and Melvna." he explained, his slightly muffled voice confirming that he had passed into some smaller alcove.

"Right you are." Dain confirmed, following him in. "It's time I think we chance a wee bit of light." A moment later flint struck steel and the sparks burned into the darkness like a hundred tiny suns. Another strike and his charcloth caught and held, followed by the gentle flicker of a candle. Dain passed the candle off to Rôka then busied himself with unpacking another more complicated looking lantern from his kit.

"A torch?" Bofur asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Magnesium. It's the only fuel that'll withstand the bellows in earnest. They can whip up to a bit of a frenzy once you're at the heart…" Dain loaded the strip of the metal into the canister and passed it over to Bofur. "Besides, I reckon as a miner you'll want all the light you can get to appreciate the Maker's work in all its glory."

Bofur accepted the torch and rose from his makeshift chair, a recess worn smooth by the behinds of untold numbers of dwarves who had waited there before him, and looked around at the faces of his companions, finally settling on that of Rôka.

"If this goes well…" he began, but the elder dwarf held up a finger to stop him. Bofur narrowed his eyes, expecting yet another cutting remark, but instead the pious dwarf moved the hand to place the palm flat against the stone wall. He breathed deep, and then spoke slowly, reverentially, to the very earth itself, and while his voice was hushed, as all sound was so deep in the depths, there was a distant echo - the first heard in all their journey - lending impotence and majesty to his tone.

"I swear an oath to the stone, and to the mountain, and to Durin, and to Mahal himself, that if your naming is successful I will ring the ceremonial bell myself and proclaim to all the world that a new dwarven child - a dwarven and human child - has been welcomed home this day."

Bofur held his eyes a moment, and seeing only sincerity in them, he felt a strange calm settle over him.

Dain waited until the echo had quieted, then cleared his throat. "Look, we'd normally give you and the wee lass your privacy, but in this case…"

"It's fine." Bofur interjected with a nod, and then looked around once more. "Well, no use waiting for the stones to turn to dust. Shall we?"

With that he led the way out of the stone antechamber and headed further down the tunnel with the rest following at a respectable distance.

He knew he was getting close when the tunnel opened up once again. Despite the others having stopped a fair way back, his lone footsteps sounding out into the cavern before him led him to believe it must be immense, so much so that he let out an involuntary whistle that bounced playfully about the stone walls.

Bofur hefted his daughter higher onto his shoulder with one arm, ensuring her eyes were turned away before he lifted the metal torch ahead of him and pressed the striker. Hot sparks leapt into the darkness, and then with the sudden ferocity of the full midday sun the magnesium on the device alighted with a hiss and the massive cavern was revealed in its entirety.

He squinted to allow his eyes a moment to adjust, but only a moment - for magnesium burned bright, and hot, and woefully fast. Before him was a roughly spherical chamber large enough to rival the greatest halls in Erebor, and yet while it had shape to it he knew better than to assume it had been worked by any dwarven hand. This was magnificent - nay, perfect, and wholly natural, and in the center of it all was the crowning glory: for in the middle of the dark glassy waters that pooled in the lower level of the room was a towering crystal of a scale and scope he didn't believe possible. A narrow stone walkway led to a small island at the center where the crystal touched down from the ceiling so far above.

Bofur's jaw dropped, and he found he could hardly contain his wonder, so without any hesitation he set the burning torch on a broken stalagmite that allowed the light to illuminate the cave as fully as it would reach, and then stepped out onto the bridge.

He stopped on his first step. The stones were thrumming with vibration, he thought at first, but no, it wasn't the stones themselves, but his sense of the stones, the sense that had kept his footing sure and his heading true with no light to guide him. Usually it was a strong feeling, a solid feeling, an unrelenting steadiness pressing back gentle and reassuring against each step, but as he took another step the feeling became more… excited, if he had to describe it.

The magnesium gave a louder fizzle as a larger lump of the ingot caught and burned, reminding him of the looming threat of returning darkness. He took a deep breath and pressed on.

Twenty one steps to the center of the chamber - not that he was counting anymore - and even if he had been, reaching the crystal up close drove all other calculations from his mind. He reached up a hand to trace it down from as high as he could reach. Quartz of some type, with flawless crystalline structure all the way down.

"No, hang on darling, what's this…?" he asked the bairn as she shifted, making a noise of indignation at being halted from the lull of constant movement. He pointed at a section where the crystal reached its narrowest, squinting in the bright white light to make out better what he had seen. "Aha! Not one crystal after all, but two…" he mused.

He could feel the excitement in his whole body now, the thrum of energy seeming to magnify in the arm that cradled his daughter, down through his chest and outstretched arm right to the fingertips of his hand as it reached out towards the crystal, as if the two were drawn to each other like a lodestone to metal.

His hand inched closer to the smaller crystal it felt drawn to, and even closer, until with the barest touch a shock caused him to jump with a start. The crystal vibrated, and a single sweet, clear, note rang out in the cavern where it was prolonged, echoing off the walls and dying down over what seemed an eternity.

The note dragged on, and nothing happened.

The vibrations began to slow, and the sound began to wane, and still nothing happened.

And then, the torch burned out, and all fell into darkness again.

Bofur waited with baited breath.

Something has to happen. It HAS to. This is my child. She is mine.

He held her tightly, tears brimming in his eyes and a breath finally coming in a choked sob, and then another followed in a deep gasp.

The larger crystal was singing.

Even as the sweet notes of the smaller crystal faded to nothingness, the harmonic resonance in the cavern had been shifting the colossal counterpart, but such a monolith was not coaxed into life lightly. Such a thing took time.

But now with each passing second the vibrations built and the deep song rang out, bouncing off the walls and compounding the energies.

The higher note joined the low as the smaller crystal began to tremble again in earnest, and then at the point where the two gemstones met something miraculous happened - light!

The friction between the two crystals was creating a glow - soft at first, but brightening just as the sound rose to a crescendo. The waters illuminated by the light were pulsing in hypnotizing patterns, driven by the same tremors that shook the crystals, and as they danced they too began to glow in the sections being disturbed by the rhythmic waves that skipped and swirled in all manner of geometric patterns.

Bofur took a step back from the crystals in bewilderment and tried his best to look at everything all at once, and to painstakingly commit every single detail to solid unfaltering memory he could recount to his wife and to his daughter.

His daughter.

The bairn was silent as she watched the miracle unfold through wide eyes - wide, dark, dwarven eyes, that turned to meet his from where she lay against his chest.

He smiled down at her, his treasure, his ghivashel, with heart wrenching joy, and then looked back at the unfolding scene once more.

And there, in the presence of what he truly believed was the musical voice of his Maker, staring into the mesmerizing swirl of the Smith's divine work upon the dark waters, his wide eyes made out runes; ones he recognized, and many more he did not - and knew he never could, but for the feeling they conveyed in his heart. And in those runes it was spelled out his daughter's name - her true name, the very essence of her being, and so it was that then and forevermore she would belong to the worlds of both her mother and her father.

Both human and dwarf.

A/N: This was a complicated scene to imagine and write, but I do hope you all enjoy it and that it makes at least a little bit of sense...

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