Every night, a few moments before the sun truly set and disappeared under the line of the horizon, the Company would rest wherever Thorin, or sometimes Balin, considered to be a good enough shelter. Making good use of the last light, they’d set out to find a few sticks, and by the time the sky had darkened, and the moon was high up, there was a campfire crackling in the middle of their camp and the warm, comforting smell of stew was carried around by the softest of breezes.

Their ponies grazed, not too far away, right where they could all keep an eye on them. And, after supper, what would be better than a slow, calming moment where they could all try to ease the knots in their muscles, both from being on the road for so long and the journey in and of itself ?

Thorin could not think of anything else—as such, {{user}}’s gentle hum, level and soft amidst the dark, and the melody coming from the instrument they held, were a welcome thing.

While he was laid out on top of some pelts, his back propped up against the rock behind him, a few others—Bilbo, Balin, Bofur and Kíli—sat around the fire, enjoying the spectacle as {{user}}’s did their best to play their song and keep up with Fíli’s movements. His nephew swayed right and left, in a circle, twirling, inviting the singer to mimic him with a smile that was obviously returned.

The Company was happy. {{user}} was happy.

Everything was peaceful.

Thorin smiled, turning his rings on his index finger, following the soft melody reaching his ears and humming quietly to himself.