Part 2: Chapter 16: The Melody of Harps They Wrung

Honey––Honey Scones––Thorin woke to the scent of honey scones baking, the area about him empty of all his Company, but for the Bees. Indeed, rest had come.

He rose from the hay, looking down at it, all settled in. He had slept.

Aye, that I had––and I could not escape the Thief. Suddenly he was entirely awake.

Blast, I've done it again––!

In Erebor, at my harp! She was there!

Now he recalled Arwen saying something––once, when he tried to outrun the Thief in waking hours. Seems not even in Dreams could he do this.

In Erebor––! So real within the Halls of my Father's––returned after what seems an age––why Erebor?

Most likely the Thief wanted to see it–– "I heard you playing––"

He smiled, recalling how she just––barged in––He'd found his family's private rooms where their instruments waited––drums, lute, and harp, and she found him there. "I came to see you."

Of course she did.

Folding his bedroll, feeling fully rested, Thorin thought about it. How good it felt to be home again, even if just in Dream, even if he had been full of anxious need to both find her there and keep himself away. He had avoided Nai'adâl for weeks now, with success it had seemed, and for what good other than to make him barely tolerable. She even said as much, Dreaming. "You've never minded before."

He laughed at his own thought, barely tolerable––you saw me bare, Asti. And I pleased you. And you called me grump-muffin. Muffins don't smell as good as honey scones baking.

And how, you told me "Skootch." What a command is that? Skootch.

And then you laid your hands on me again, one sweetly inked in a winding point from wrist to finger, sensual––in red ink Thorin knew was not meant to stay, but meant to bejewel her hand, and how––I would take that hand, trace the markings, ask you what they mean, kiss your palm.

Did you know we were both Dreaming together?

It seemed yes.

But you would have lessons––

Ē'ze––

And I would give them, sweetly holding you against me, my harp between our legs, my body surrounding you, my hands over yours, your fingers on the strings––

Thorin swallowed, bed roll folded. He sat back a moment, drawn to the scent of the scones, but unwilling to move away from the spot where they'd all slept, somehow sad this part of the journey was past. Like the harp he and Gold Song played. His harp was of the past, but somehow waited in their future, perhaps, if fortunes favored them. Blast it, she wanted to be there, with them. Aye––with him, even in a most private of spaces, in Nai'adâl.

She had been there willingly, even more so, demandingly. He had to admit he enjoyed it, how she took up the space between him and his harp so naturally. How she admired the instrument, just as she sank into him with her backside, her eyes on the carvings in the wood 'Amad'ê commissioned from the Elves before trade relations soured, the carvings by Dwarven hands, two pairs of them, the famous twins of Zulnur of the Iron Hills–– Dáin had introduced his mother to the artists. Thorin had smiled in his Dream, realizing Sona liked the woodcraft of Dwarves. The strings had been crafted in the Mountain, mithril wire, wrapped tightly by Astlin, one of the finest musical smiths of Erebor, back in earlier days, before the Dragon. Thorin had played it every day, before the Dragon.

He glanced down at his hands. He could still feel the strings, and Sona's hands, now that they Dreamed playing his old harp together.

Losses. Possibilities. Thorin thought of Gold Song's lost guitar and his grief blossomed twofold. But he could not let that grief settle in now, no. Not today. He took a deep breath, and savored the scents of his favorite breakfast.

Laughter echoed back from the kitchen.

"Did you sleep well, N'adad?" It was Fíli, studying him, partly smiling, partly frowning.

Thorin wondered how long he had been there. He continued folding away his belongings, giving no answer.

"Kíli, get up," Fíli called, and then Thorin realized the lad was still sound asleep under a patch of hay.

Kíli rose out of it, yawning.

"What's taking you so long?" Kíli asked, looking back toward the kitchen where the scent of scones wafted on.

But Fíli only smiled at Thorin, his smile one of knowing too much, obviously, where no words would be shared. "By the looks of it, you rested. Bout time, just before leaving. Bombur's made your favorite breakfast, Honey Scones."

"Honey!" Kíli glanced at Thorin and winked.

"Sona's at the hives." Fíli said, as if Thorin had asked.

"Honey honey. Beorn's off with Sona getting honey."

Now Fíli was in the room, lightly hauling his Brother out of the hay, "stop your nonsense."

Kíli only laughed, falling back in it.

Fíli sighed and threw up his hands. "Stay then, Hay-Head; the scones await us." With that he grabbed Thorin by the arm and tugged him toward the kitchen. "He won't be long," Fíli added with a grin.

Thorin made his way toward the table, taking a spot next to Glóin, while Fíli looked for Chases Butterflies in the main hall, who wrestled with Smells the Flowers over one of Fíli's several throw-sticks collected for the Dogs'––practice.

Bofur and Óin nodded as he passed, both engrossed in the Bear Man's game of chess.

Company glances fell hard upon Thorin. So odd it felt to be up last––or almost last––Thorin smiled to himself thinking of Kíli buried in hay. He ignored the Company's eyes, all except for Bombur, whom he greeted with a smile and a word, "Âkmînruk zu," as he filled his plate.

Bombur smiled back, beaming gratitude for the appreciation, adding more scones to his plate as he passed with a new tray full of them, pointing to the jars of honey scattering the table, "there's more honey," with a smile, almost a wink as he said that––Honey.

Thorin glanced over the room; the Thief and the Bear Man were not back yet. Still off to get her last batch of honey with their Host. It would be quiet here, soon, Thorin mused, pouring the Bee's works over his scones, honey from the honeycombs, the best they've ever had.

Looking out the door, he saw Tharkûn standing in the sun, just outside.

"Good for a day's trek, to be rested and well fed ahead of it," Glóin muttered low on the other side of Thorin, studying him with smiling eyes.

Thorin made no response aside from biting into a scone.

Glóin leaned into Thorin's shoulder with his own, bumping unspoken reassurance, just to show he was there, his company a lift to spirits.

On the other side of Glóin, Bifur sat whittling a shank of wood he kept beneath the table––a secret for someone, a bemused smile beneath his focused eyes. Ori sat to another side, also done with eating and now working on sketching, charcoal in hand, his face full of happy concentration, nose deep in his notebook.

"You're back!" Sona said to the Wizard, just out of view of the door.

Thorin's heart picked up a pace, as if he were suddenly sprinting––What does she think of shared Dreams? Would she ask him about it?

Not here. Not at breakfast.

"Indeed my Dear," Tharkûn bowed, giving her a once over. "You've been busy."

What in Mahal did the Wizard mean by that? What busy? They've simply been healing here, all while Tharkûn had been here and there on mysterious Wizard business.

Just then Sona was in the doorway.

Thorin bit into a scone, wondering, at the same time tamping on that wonder. It did no good to worry what she thought. Instead he focused on Bombur's scones. Delicious. Warm. A comfort for a good day's beginning, Thorin could hope, as he tried his best not to think of how good it felt, holding her at his harp.

Dori came by with a milk jug to fill his mug.

Bombur saw her coming, and had her tea ready and warm by the fire. "My Lady," he placed it in her grateful palms, somehow the Thief looked a bit rattled, or distracted.

Was it residual feeling, or feeling awkward from their Dream?

Thorin took another bite of scone, licking the honey as it escaped onto his plate.

"You've got honey in your beard," Dwalin whispered, attempting to goad him.

Thorin just smiled, took another bite, ignoring his Friend for the sake of his scones.

Dwalin sat across from him, between Nori, who appeared completely at ease this morning, as if indeed yesterday's event were now completely forgotten, and Balin, who had his maps out, and now smiled up at Thorin as he began to fold them away. Thorin wasn't sure if his Advisor's smile was for the honey in his beard, or Honey at the door, or the day of travel ahead. They were all ready for leaving.

And it seemed they would all tease him about Honey.

Thorin smiled more into his scone. He didn't care.

"I'm sorry, Gandalf," Sona said. "What were you saying?"

Indeed, distracted.

Tharkûn came in without gracing Sona an answer. Instead he attempted to catch Thorin's eye, and failing, the Wizard sat next to his Advisor, helping himself to a scone like a happy, carefree proprietor.

Sona followed him in, seeming a bit dazed, if Thorin were pressed to describe how she moved. And she sat beside Thorin, a place the Company had made sure to keep free, Thorin observed after the fact.

Thorin smiled at her from behind a scone, and offered her one from his plate, as she had forgotten to take a plate when she came in.

Are you distracted, Asti?

Try one of these… the scones are good for another kind of distraction.

Just then Kíli joined the table. Eyeing Thorin's plate full of scones, he made a grab for one as he passed, and Thorin smacked his hand away.

Kíli's eyes passed mischievously from Sona to Thorin as he went looking for his own.

They were very good, the scones, and the honey, and Thorin discovered he was hungry. He dug in, his eyes surveying Sona when she wasn't looking, watching her nibble the scone he had offered, how carefully she took to it, for crumbs and honey.

He let himself sigh through the eating of these scones, and watched her color darken as she looked around, settling in, sipping tea, ignoring her own blush.

Thorin leaned into the scones still remaining on his plate.

The Bear Man had come in a few minutes behind Sona, his manner less friendly than he had been the past week, in stark contrast to the bustling excitement among the Dwarves. Anticipation of the coming quiet, no doubt, coming soon after the parting of new-found Friends.

Dwalin was dropping crumbs by the Mouse at his plate when Nori leaned in at his side, whispering and smiling, eyes darting between Dwalin and Sona and Thorin.

Dwalin burst out laughing, clapping lightly on the table to get others attention, not so loud as to disturb the Mouse. "Aye, let's sing, shall we?"

Indeed, Nori and Company had forgiven yesterday's failing.

Bombur laughed, setting down the last tray of scones, waiting for it.

Bofur's head popped up from the game with Óin. "Aye, a journey song, as we'll soon be on our way!" He pulled out his flute, and both he and Óin left their game to join the singing. Dori's face broke into laughter and he set down the milk flask once Bofur's flute began to sound.

"Not just any journey song," Nori cut in low, shaking his head at Bofur and the rest of them, following Dwalin's lead. They had already chosen one, his Warrior and his Spy.

And they didn't wait for agreement as Dwalin took up the chorus with a wink toward Thorin, opening into 'A Whole New World––' That song the Thief sang when she braided my hair––how fast they've learned the words.

Dwalin and Nori were quickly joined by the rest of them.

Thorin took another bite of scone, smiling behind it, humming approval under his breath, no, he did not mind it, remembering her hands in his hair as he listened to the song once again, this time with other voices joining, and Sona––laughing––!

Biriz Akmâth––!

She settled into song and a smile, growing more comfortable in the space here at breakfast, enjoying her honey scone as well as the song, and perhaps the recollection of her hands in his hair.

Did you like it, Asti? The feel of my hair?

Thorin swallowed, smiling, remembering.

The Company gathered with Beorn's Ponies and Horses in the woods just beyond the fence's edge while Tharkûn and Beorn conversed just out of earshot, serious demands etching the face of the Bear Man.

Thorin shook his head, reluctant to mount before the Wizard returned, quite sure the Wizard's answers––whatever they were––would not satisfy their Host. Dwalin was at Thorin's side, waiting as well, while the rest of them took their mounts––all except for Sona, who stood nuzzling the whining Bean––Peanut, her face colored with grief as she watched the Wizard and the Bear Man, tense with waiting, impending goodbyes––the Bean will be difficult. "I wish I could take you with me," he heard her say, arms wrapped around him. "But a journey like this is no place for a little fellow like you."

And you, Asti?

Doubt pricked him as he watched her set Peanut down, and aye, the Bean expressed his grief in piercing wailings clear to all. And he was back in Sona's arms again, for another moment at least. Sona's eyes were casting about the mounted Company, full of anxious nerves as she glanced over the Ponies.

It had been a while since they lost their own Ponies, after the first Warg attack, where Tharkûn had also lost his Horse. The Thief hadn't been fond of riding. Thorin remembered; she had held to the Wizard in stiff-bodied fear through all her riding. And yet she had asked the Bear Man for the use of his Ponies just two weeks past.

"Honey, I have a friend for you," suddenly the Bear Man was next to Sona, with a brown Horse at his side. Beorn and Tharkûn had finished their goodbye without Thorin's notice, because he'd been all focused on the Thief and her unease––

I need to pay better attention, for the sake of everything.

And Sona appeared twofold panicked when she saw the Horse Beorn offered. She clutched the Bean closer and shook her head.

"This is Violet––"

Pretty name for the brown Horse. Thorin's eyes went from her to the Bear Man––You intend for her to––

"She's agreed to bear you."

You say so? And to what has Sona agreed? Thorin stepped away from his Pony. Clearly the Bear Man had never seen Sona ride.

"Oh, well." Sona looked perplexed from the Horse back to Beorn. "That's kind of her. But, uh, you know what?"

Thorin waited for the Thief to tell Beorn she would ride with Tharkûn.

"I'm walking."

You're what?

No.

Sona looked about her, here and there, like she would run away. But there was no place to run. "So please thank her for me, but no. I'm walking."

This is no way to get moving, with my Thief steeped in such fear.

Thorin took two more steps toward her, worried Beorn wouldn't listen.

Indeed the Bear Man only laughed at her reply, swooped her up, Bean and all, and set her on the back of Violet. She screamed out in surprise when he sat her there and then he swept the little Bean away, squealing, his cries pierced the air––

Gut-curling, like the feeling Thorin had when Sona cried out.

Sona's hands raced for the saddle horn, and there she held, too stiff to be stable in the seat.

Violet felt the Thief's fear and responded by tossing her head and blowing air, causing the Thief to cry out once more.

Thorin was at Sona's side a second later, wishing to help, his hand over Violet's forehead, whispering to the Mare, "Shhh, gentle one. Honey is not accustomed to being carried," hoping Violet would calm. "I would join her and steady your load."

Violet whinnied and nicked, and Thorin took hold of the saddle, set a boot in the stirrup, and pulled up behind his Thief.

Sona had calmed a bit when he approached, but this?

Suddenly they were pressed together, touching, from chest to shin, as close as back when he pushed her from the Warg; that had been a brief embrace––but this? Oh Mahal–– Thorin had not thought this through––Today they would ride together––She smelled so good, lavender in her hair––Nungu Azsâlul'abbad Zabal.

Thorin pressed into her back as he reached around to grab the reins. How solid she was, how good all against him, his arms around her, to retrieve the reins, to keep her safe.

Again, she remained completely tensed all over.

Had he overstepped? He could not leave her on Violet unattended; she could not ride on her own. He took over the reins.

He had loved their Dream––Imhed'ul Nai'adâl––how he held her, their hands together over the harp strings, how real it felt, and the memory as real as any other––

But this? They didn't need to sleep to get here. This felt good––touching you, fully holding you steady on Violet.

She remained rigid, petrified of riding, or––?

The moving Horse kept Sona's edge up, even though they weren't walking yet. Sona's back held stiff and straight––for fear. He wondered how he could make her feel safe riding Violet, hoping it would not take long for her worries to ease.

The Bean wailed in the Bear Man's arms, squirming and clawing to escape back to Sona. Beorn began petting the wee Dog's head in a vain effort to comfort him, but Peanut had none of it, and his cries were fraught with despair.

Sona, seeing the Dog so distressed, for a moment forgot her own, and stared sadly back at the grief struck Bean.

The Bear Man saw her grief. "Peanut and I hope you will come back for a visit some time once you complete your journey. You will always be welcome here."

Sona half smiled back, uneasy on the Horse––and grieved by goodbyes––"Thank you, Beorn. We all thank you for your generous hospitality." She relaxed a fraction more––how well you fit here, Thief––spotting Chases Butterflies with Smells the Flowers at play. "And if you ever need anything from any of us, don't hesitate to ask."

Beorn glanced at Thorin, blinked once with the barest hint of a nod, his once-manacled wrist hidden under Peanut's squirming body.

Then Sona leaned out! Thorin held her, giving her balance, his hands around her waist, core strong on her own, sure in his hold; it was almost like dancing on Violet. And he smiled, pleased to see––and feel––her so relaxed now that he sat with her in Violet's saddle––much closer than on the harp––far more solid and real–– no sleep required.

Asti. That you would lean out to reach something, or someone, with such a confidence!

She kissed the Bear Man lightly on the cheek.

Thorin held tighter, breathing deeply, knowing this kiss was a token of a Friend's affection, no more. Add to that, it was not nearly as intimate as the touch of her hand to his cheek just yesterday, where Dwalin had landed a hit. Thorin exhaled, glad he had no need to be jealous now.

And Sona told Beorn, "One day your Son will be a great Chieftain among your People."

The Bear Man studied her with a look of hope.

Thorin wished he could explain that Honey knew more than most, but time for talk had passed.

Beorn's eyes fell to the hands holding Sona's waist––my hands––and his expression of hope faded to a sullen frown.

Then Sona kissed the head of the little Bean and took hold of his little fur ears for a final rubbing, before she leaned back in the seat, keeping her back straight, tight once again, as if she suddenly remembered she was riding a Horse.

Thorin was not sure if it was for fear of riding, or the awareness of touching, an idea he found amusing in light of her attitude in their shared Dream at his harp––

Do you remember it, Ē'ze? Surely you do, Nai'adâl––Your ease in the Halls of my Fathers? In Erebor, with me at my harp, commanding the grace of a Queen?

You want this?

"Of course. I wouldn't have asked you otherwise."

As you wish, Thief.

Beorn's face turned to worry when he looked back up at Thorin. "Go now. While you have the light. Your hunters are not far."

/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\

A/N: On the road again. Thanks you readers, reviewers, and thank you Jenny-Wren28!