Chapter Text
A dwarf made his way along the steppe toward the mountainside, the land changing from green to brown as the elevation rose. This far north of the grey havens, spring came late and dragged its way sullenly up the incline, peppering in tiny blooms of lupine and woad among the tough shrubs. He was travel worn, his pack covered with dust and his heavy boots caked in mud as his steps continued in the monotonous low clearing sweeps of a steady dwarfish march.
But there was an ease about him, not quite a smile on his face, for this dwarf rarely smiled, certainly not where any stranger might see. He was alone now, the dwarvish settlement of Ered Luin visible in the distance as blue mountains rose above the plains, and there was a lightness in his blue eyes as he shuffled in pace toward it. Were he another person, one less prone to melancholy, one who felt the weight of his responsibility less keenly, he might have even whistled a happy traveling tune.
This was a return journey.
~ ~ ~ ~
Dís sat at her worktable in the side room of the forge, inspecting a set of gauntlets, deepening the engraved lines around the forearm.
Her apprentices were in at the main forge working on a pair of doors for the council hall after an errant mine cart splintered the left and warped the the hinges on the right. Door hinges and iron lattice were a welcome change after spending the winter molding track lines for the new section of the mine, and it the type of solid dwarvish work Litr enjoyed. Nothing fancy, just perfect right angles, and well fitted joints… She was more than happy to let her First Apprentice work without oversight so she could focus on more engrossing commissions.
Commissions like this full set of armour, to be engraved and decorated in a manner that fit the Lord of the Iron Hills. And his very deep, very full money pouch. She had only done one other full set of armour before, her Mastery project just after her coming of age, and the pieces for this set she already cast were shaping up to far surpass that. A dwarf dreamed of a work like this.
She deepened the engraving on the wrist with the thin circlet. Too soon in the project to focus on engraving, but she so rarely had the chance for decoration beyond runes, skipping ahead for this piece would keep the motivation fresh. She hummed a tune high in the back of her throat, oh that i would be strong, oh that this joy stays lifelong
“I do not know that song,” said a gravely voice behind her.
“You wouldn’t,” she snorted, not looking up from her work. “Not unless you’ve turn into a dwarrowdam on the ride from here to Bree.”
Thorin didn’t dignify that with an answer, but pulled over a stool to perch and watch her work, gesturing at the circlet she had re-purposed as a carving knife,”I was wondering where mother’s diadem went.”
“Looks beautiful, kills orcs, and the edge engraves like no other..." Dís waved the priceless diadem at him, and traced a finger along the blunt inner edge fondly. "The only thing we can’t do is eat it. Although Kíli certainly tried enough times when he was a baby.”
She put one last mark on the finished gauntlet, before closing off the knot design that around the wrist and turning to him fully. "How was Bree? What said the Rangers? Are they happy with the sword order? If they want more weapons they’ll have to wait until Dain’s armour is finished.”
“I met a wizard in Bree.” T said, with a fond smile. He was well used to her barrage of questions when he returned and would get to each in his own time. He looked well. Travel worn, hair a tangled mess, still taller than her even when seated, but there was something in his manner, in his eyes, that was... different.
“If it anyone else, I’d say that was the start of a bawdy joke,” she smiled.
“The Men were pleased. The Rangers are a strange lot, but they know the quality of dwarven weapons,” Thorin answered, and she hmmed agreement, thinking of the times Men had refused to pay for the tools she had fixed or tried to get a lower price once they realized they addressed a dwarf. It was not easy for a dwarf to move among Men and thorin took that burden as a traveling smith, seeing to Longbeard interests abroad. "I met with a new man, not arathorn. He seemed well pleased, and took one of Kílí’s bows and two sets of long knives, paid in full."
“Which is good because Fíli’s the only one in the family with a head for haggling.” Dís responded, head half on the conversation. Thorin back safe and sound, the money for the swords was a good boon. She could spend the summer testing the apprentices rather than rushing through her own work orders. After the bloody doors were finished, Litr was past due for a Mastery project...
"Did you see the boys already? Once Dwalin said you were due today, Kíli was going to try and greet you. Fíli should still be in with Balin if he’s not convinced Ori to skip out with him and Gimli."
“I called a meeting, for the clan heads." Thorin said, not finished with his news. "We meet in a fortnight at Mount Gram.”
“‘We’?”
“I will need your silver tongue.”
“Oh dear brother, it must be dire indeed if you’re complimenting me!” she said, grinning. “I have a seat on your council, but you never seem to listen to me. What could be so important you’ve gathered all the dwarf lords? Is this why Dwalin was in such a huff earlier, kidnapping Fíli for extra practices, and why cousin Gloin left me a message to see him about finances?”
“I’m calling the Dwarf lords together to raise an army.”
“Waste of time,” she scoffed, “The trading with the town of Men is banal; they don’t understand the value of a good blade, at least not one made by any dwarf, but I don’t think we need to raise an army against them.”
He pulled out a map from his breast pocket, flattening it on her worktable. She peered down at it; A worn piece of parchment, Runes in the top corner, with an arrow pointing at the Lonely Mountain, below a coiled ink dragon. A cold fist closed around her heart.
“Where do you get this? From the wizard?"
Thorin’s gaze was unreadable, his blue eyes dark. “He would not say how he came by it.”
“And you took the word of a wizard, just like that?" Dís gaped at him and struggled to get her words in order. "Thorin, it seems a trap... you just happen to meet a- a wizard with this map staying at the same inn, where you were the only dwarf! “
“Tharkun asked for me by name."
“Your name is well known, you were probably staying at the inn using your own name! Who knows how many others he approached, whispering are you interested in an dwarven treasure map?” She ran a hand through her beard, forgetting it was in a loose working braid and got her hand caught. “Who would have this map anyway? and for what purpose? A forgery-”
“It was father’s map.” he interrupted.
She stared at him, speechless. And looked back at the map. They had so little left of Thrain, his eyes in Kíli, the set of hair beads that Fíli wore at the ends of his mustache, a much mended oliphant hide jacket that swallowed her shoulders whole, for Thorin would not wear his father's clothes and she could not yet bear to pass it on to Fílí. To have been given this map, something of Thrain’s.
She looked up at Thorin, the question in her eyes. He nodded, “It is his, exactly his. I remember him looking at it, after the battle, after Azanulbizar. He would take it out of his jacket and trace his fingers along the paths to Erabor. ”
Thorin moved his fingers across the map, gliding his fingers from the long lake, east of greenwood, down the running river, past dale, all the way to that lone solitary peak, their lost kingdom. He pressed his large thumb down, covering the head of Smaug.
“I’m going to take back Erebor.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Thorin went on in low and steady voice, as she stared at him. “I don’t expect you to come with me. I thought you would continue to lead Ered Luin in my absence.”
There was a quiet moment while she looked between him and the map and her words piled up.
“Your absence!” Dís exclaimed, almost surprising herself at the venom in her voice, hating her tremble when Thorin was so calm. “After your suicide, you mean! How long should I wait before sitting in your seat? You waited quite a few years after Father disappeared on his quest for Erebor. I don’t know if I have your patience. Maybe I’ll crown Fíli in your stead once you’re out the gate! Don’t bother looking back, who knows who I’ll put up on your abandoned dais-”
“Dis-”
“It’s not as grand as Erebor of course, there’s no Arkenstone or treasure hall, this seat is just a limestone chair and no one bows to it, so maybe I’ll tear it out and replace it with a bar stool." Her voice rose to a shout, "A pile of sticks perhaps, since you seem to value it as much!”
There was a ringing silence inside and outside the room.
She got up and whipped back the curtain. First Apprentice Litr held his hammer over the anvil, wide eyed, and Anar was frozen, bent over the splintered wooden door panels she was suppose to be measuring.
“If I don’t hear hammers you’ll be chopping wood until Durin’s day!”
Once standing, she could not sit back down. Dís walked to the wall, farthest she could get from Thorin while still the same room, pressed her fingers to the worn well tools hanging there.
“Why are you so insistent to repeat the mistakes of our forefathers?” He was still as stone, waiting her anger out and she did not pause for an answer, "You’re just leaving this mess to me! Guild disputes. mining contracts, rationing, why bother with all that when you can ride off on a brave quest! Grand and glory, a landless king up against a dragon. Best wear your armor with the sapphires, it’ll look the most dramatic!”
Her brother put his head in hands. “Ered Luin was never meant to be a permanent settlement. the mines are shallow, trading grows slowly. Don’t you want our kingdom returned?”
“Our kingdom is rebuilt here.” She gestured at the walls around them.
He huffed and his disdain encompassed the wooden forge, the well loved tools… the cramped homes, the pens of goats, the mine that produced mostly coal. "Do you not want more th-”
“I want to stop living in the shadow of a mountain half a world away! What I want- oh, use your eyes you stupid dwarf! I have what I want." She yanked out her locket, icons of her sons on each side inside. "I made them, one dark haired, one light. I’ve only ever wanted a family. Don’t hide your pride behind words of kingdoms and owing, thinking you do this for our people or for me or my sons.”
"My sons." Dís repeated, as Thorin did not lift his head from his hands and her fist tightened around her locket, metal still warm from the heat of her body.
“Fíli and Kíli will join up with me after the clan council, with the rest of what company I can gather.”
“No," she said, shaking her head. She will not go through this again. She cannot not stand as first family member for another funeral, reciting meaningless words over cold stone graves. She cannot face more heartbreak. She cannot. She will not. ""No, Thorin no. You cannot do this to me. Your greed shall rob me of my sons and my remaining brother.”
“Yet your greed would keep them here,” He countered, meeting her eyes, “wrapped in gauze, locked away in a safe box with the black opals instead of out in the world like the dwarves they are.”
“Like the young dwarves they are! Kílí is not even of age. You cannot fault me for wanting their safety. The dragon, Thorin!”
"I would have them look upon their birthright.” he said, “They are my heirs-”
“-and my sons!" she shouted, thumping her chest, her locket digging painfully into her palm. "It is my name they recite, not their poor father’s and not their uncle’s!”
He stood and drew up to his full height, shoulders wide. “I am your king.”
“Thorin don’t-”
“And they have already said yes. Contracts signed and dried.”
“Get out.” She shook with fury, pointing a trembling hand at the door. Out!"
~ ~ ~ ~
Dis stayed at her forge late, long after she sent Litr and Anar home, furiously sweeping ashes and sharpening knives almost past the point of sharpness. The sun was well set by the time she made her way home.
The forge was on the outskirts, the further most outdoor structure, completely free standing in a field before the edge northern woods. The hill sloped a bit toward it, leveled out, then sloped further down to the the woods. Along the steep path to Ered Luin proper, the packed dirt changing to stone steps at the edge of the settlement, where the homes were set in a spiral pattern up the side of mountain.
With one hand along the wall, Dis could find her way home blindfolded, . Whitewash paint on the stone walls, patterns that might have been done with chisel and hammer in better times. Some of the nicer homes had carved handrails, chiseled patterns. Broadbeam homes had the square lattice pattern, Longbeards a diamond or hexagonal knot. Most of the lights were already out, past time that even a drunk would be abed or at least trying to get there, and the few dwarves she passed in the lane squinted at her in the low light and nodded a wobbly greeting.
Gloin's home was the nicest rail on her route, she enjoyed running her fingers along the crisp edges, but at the corner he'd allowed his young son to take over the design work and it was a bit crooked. The last dental was missing a notch, taken out by an unskilled chisel. After that notch was the smooth walls of the mountain proper, the set of stairs up and up to painted sheen of the long council room, or another set of steps to continue on past more homes in the lower sections, counting the steps as the stone facades gave way to wooden fronts like her own.
The fire was banked, her sons snoring deeply in their bedroom, and Thorin had his bedroll laid out in front of the stove. She normally offered him her bed and took the armchair, but tonight there was something very satisfying looking down at his feet sticking out from under the table.
She kicked her boots off at the door and made her way to her bedroom, too exhausted to bother changing and collapsed on top of her blanket, asleep the moment her head touched pillow.
~ ~ ~ ~
What did Dís remember of the fall of Erabor?
Single snapshots of memory unconnected to her life before or after; terrible heat and fire
the press of a diadem digging into her head, the softness of the fur stole she buried her face in, eyes clenched shut,
the bruising grip of Thorin's arm around her middle, the coarse strands of his hair against her forehead,
Frerin's sharp elbow in her shoulder, the huh huh huh of her brother's panicked breaths,
A scream rising in the air around her, a little girl’s wail that stayed ringing in her ears..
~ ~ ~ ~
Dis shuffled into the outer room, still in grimy clothes she wore yesterday, the water basin in her room freshly muddy by the dirt from her face and hands. She had splashed water on her face, but felt no better nor no more awake. Thorin was already up standing at the stove, a pot of water set for boiling and two mugs out on the table.
“Coffee.” she croaked, her throat rasping painfully.
“Tincture for your throat,” her brother corrected, gesturing to the battered tin next to the mugs. It must have come from his pack. “Oin says it’s good for sore throats.”
“Save your tea, I'll take coffee.” she waved him off. Tea and poultices... nothing had ever done her voice any good. ”Did I wake the boys?”
“No, they sleep heavily. It's a trait that will do them well on the road.” He paused, looking over at her, taking in the circles under the eyes, putting it together with the shout that must have woken him up, “Have you--”
Dis ignored him and walked right out, shutting the door behind her. Mahal, she could still be petty, nothing riled Thorin like being ignored.
Her half stone, half wood house like so many in the settlement was little more than two alcoves built into the safety of rock, with outward wooden room where the stove and table sat. Dawn was just lighting the crisp air and the weak light picked up the blue tint to the wooden door and the blue knot worked around the walls.
She had traced those walls on her long dark walks to the forge, before the sun was up. She knew each stone, each chiseled inch of the mines in Ered Luin, every dwarf. Her role was not like Thorin's , to labor in villages of Men, drifting each winter and summer, speaking with strangers of other races. The last time she spoke directly with someone who not a dwarf was almost sixty years ago, when her boys were scrawny big eyed dwarflings able only to speak Westron and too shy to speak to anyone they did not know.
The woad was on the door was fading, someone would have to redo it. Every other spring they stained the door with plants the boys gathered in the stepp, whitewashed exterior walls and then painted in a design. Undwarvish as it was, she had grown fond of the wood style, that she could redo it and each time try something more intricate.
Thorin opened the door as she stood in front of it. He handed her her second best mug, filled with strong dark coffee just the way she liked it, and stood next to her, staring at the walls of her home.
“I'm renting out the house to my swordsmith apprentice. Her family could use the extra room now that they've taken in Vir's son,” Dis said, as she met his eyes for the first time since she kicked him out of her workspace. “I cannot stay here and wait for word, like some wilting lady of Men. I still have Dáins armor to finish. With the right tools and a hot campfire, I can engrave the parts I have so far on the road to the Iron Hills.”
“You hate Dáin.” Thorin said, then rethought his words, “I'll not dissuade you.”
“No, you'll only take my joy from me and expect my thanks.” she snapped, that she would lose so much and here he stood in her home, to take everything, and grant this concession like a boon and shoved the full mug back into his hands. ”It is done. I have packing to do and matters to arrange.”
Dis stalked off to the forge to work her anger out with a hammer.
~ ~ ~ ~
Dori entered her forge with a flourish, just after Dís threw the last handful of nail into the bucket of water to cool. She looked up at him from her stool by the anvil, shirt and breeches drenched in sweat despite the open door and banked hearth.
Her apprentices had scattered to collect more wood or whatever it was they did out of her sight. She was too frustrated to do attempt real work, couldn't even look at the half finished armour in state, and had pulled a wire of iron to shape into nails. Yet her nails, staple of any blacksmith trade and something she could have made in her sleep, were warped and brittle, completely worthless. This was her third bucket of nails.
Dori was braver than most, and he held up the dress he carried, laid on top of a thin cloth to protect it from dirt, with a proud "Here we are!"
“Incredible craftsmanship as always." Dís said, and stood up to look closer, keeping her sweaty self well away from the rich fabric. The dress that she wore for extra special occasions would have to do for Thorin's council of the Dwarven Kings. "It looks nearly new. “
“When did you last wear it?”
“Ah, Fílí's coming of age. Let's hope dwarvish fashion change as slow as dwarven hearts and minds. “
“Well, I added silk panels here, replaced the trim.” Dori said, laying the dress out over both his arms; it looked ridiculous small framed against his muscled torso. “Those Broadbeams should find the silk enviable, although I'm not sure of the fashions of the Ironfists or in the Iron Hills.”
He pointed out the new ribboned pattern along the bodice, intricate in a bold blue. the dress had a scooped neckline when she was younger, then changed into a V with the addition of navy lace, now a square neck outlined with a ribboned braid that related along the sides and waist. The skirt had new gold silk panels, where there used to be a navy cotton sections with sky blue stripes.
"Could you bring up to the house, there is no clean surface here. The boys should be knocking around turning everything inside out.”
"Of course," Dori nodded, handsome dark face serious. "I still have packing to do myself."
"Are you going-" she looked around and then continued at a lower volume. Despite her outburst yesterday and her still boiling anger, she was aware of the secrets Thorin needed kept. Her life was no stranger to secrets and her apprentices understood that. "Are you going with them then?"
"Balin talked Ori into it." Dori huffed, "I'll not let him off on his own, no matter if Balin is his Master. Who knows what kind of danger Thorin would lead him into!"
She bit down on the smile that formed at Dori's disdain of Thorin. Thorin was too used to insult or complete fealty, with little room for middle ground. Dori respected the head of the Longbeard line, showing his deference with manners some would have called outdated, but his respect did not keep him from voicing his opinion especially where his youngest brother Ori was concerned.
His protectiveness rivaled the best of them and dwarfkind had always excelled at that type of selfishness. This is mine, said the dwarven heart, mine to protect and mine to keep safe. The best of them used it well, my sons, my home, my family, my kin, how dare you threaten them!
"Safe journey, then." she said, trying for regal nod to offset her dirty sweaty appearance.
Dori bowed as he left, crisp and formal, with an elegance that she envied. "Safe journey to you as well, Princess Dis."
“Come in here, Anar!” she called, “I’ve something for you.”
Anar stood hesitantly in the doorway, arms full of splintered wood, and added the latest bounty to the pile near the hearth before joining her near the smaller anvil. The pile had grown greatly in these last few days and she had pretended not to notice how much time was spent out in the woods collecting wood or in the yard chopping wood, instead of any number of small tasks that could have been done inside with her.
"Congratulations on your new home! The door to the smaller room sticks. The deed is signed and dry, I've filed it with Gloin's wife this morning. Fílí's signature is the on the bottom. It's been in his name since his coming of age," she said, holding out the key. "I'll leave you the furniture, you can bring in your own or sell it off. Most of it is dented wooden junk, but the armchair is comfortable. The tint on the doors will need to be redone this spring, don't try to put it off."
Stunned, Anar closed her hands around the keys and then didn't seem to know what to do with herself. "Send Lori in from wherever he's hidden himself, I've got a parting gift for him too."
~ ~ ~ ~
With Litr elevated to Master, "I should have done it this winter, but I was dragging my feet hoping we'd get an order better than that mine cart for you to present as mastery, but it'll do", and holding strict instructions to wait until the end of autumn to file ownership of the forge, her duty to her apprentices was over.
Bofur came by the house to tell her that he, Bombur, and Bifur were joining up with Thorin. Dwalin of course, and Gloin, Oin and Balin. Ori and Dori made twelve total, although she had thought she spotted Nori’s distinctive hair lurking near the council hall so maybe that twelve was thirteen. Thirteen... plus whomever Thorin met with the wizard and whatever warriors they raised from the other Dwarf lords.
If they could get any at all.
Too soon, she stood in front of her forge on the edge of the village, technically now, Litr's forge, wrapping the last of her tools and fitting the completed pieces of armor together for travel. The parts left to be forged would have to wait until she arrived at the Iron Hills. The helmet would need Dáin’s approval anyway and could be done far better in person.
The hammer sign, worn and faded with age, shook a bit in the spring wind. It would be a bright clear summer here. It had been so long since she had packed away her life into two bags, but here she was, doing so again. Ered Luin wasn’t meant as a permanent settlement, Thorin had said. She had so desperately wanted it to be.
Fíli and Kíli approached down the hill, carrying heavy packs of their own, and stopped an arms length away. When did they get so tall? So broad and strong?
“We’ll bring you back a crown.” Fíli offered, trying for a lightness that didn't quite reach his eyes.
“Ten crowns!” Kíli added as she pulled them in close and knocked their heads together fondly.
“My boys,” she said, and then couldn't gather the breath to say anything else.
The song and dance over almost forgotten rain hoods and cloaks had already been done, contracts signed, knives all sharpened, arrows accounted for, each boy was packed up and no longer needed his mother to remind him of anything. All that was left now was to say goodbye.
She handed Fíli a set of thin knives, engraved with protection runes along the blades. It wasn't her best engraving work, rushed when she felt calm enough to not put anger in the work, but the blades were forged earlier for his Name Day and were well balanced and sharp. He thumbed over his crest carved on one side of the handles and then flipped them over to stare at the other side, slipping them in his side pocket without a comment.
“How come Fíli gets knives?" Kíli asked, pouting, “It's not like he doesn't have enough.”
“Runestones are traditional," she said, handing him his runestone carved with a prayer, "You could have more respect for tradition. Fílí could do with breaking it sometimes.”
Tweaking his nose, She kissed each of their cheeks, stretching up to reach Kílí, like she used to do when they were wee dwarflings, although she used to bend down instead of up. No longer smooth baby cheeks, they now had the scruff of proper dwarf beards. Kíli's thin stubble, Fíli's dangling moustache braids, oh her ridiculous sons.
“I’m so proud of you both.” Dís said, looking at them both; she cannot bring herself to say goodbye. “I love you so much.”
“Love you,” Kíli whispered, Fíli echoing him, as they knocked their heads to hers in turn.
She could never walk away from her sons, it was always they who left her. Off on childish adventures with Ori, off to lessons with Dwalin, off to apprenticeships, off to travel with Thorin... Now they were off again, and she wanted to badly to pretend everything was just as it had been in the past. That they walked down the trail in step together to a bright adventure, that she was about to pick up a stack of wood and get the fire started, focusing on new techniques until they returned, putting her mind to work while her heart was away.
Oh her heart!
Right before the path entered the woods, Fíli looked back up at her and nudged Kíli. They turned and waved to her, her precious sons, and she waved and waved until they were only specks in the forest and her arm was sore.