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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.

Chapter Text

The last time Dis was on a journey longer than a few days, her sons were wee toddlering things; Fili just twenty two, Kili ten and eight. Thorin and Dwalin had come to lead them to the settlement she had bartered for but not yet seen.

They had lived in a wooden cottage not far from the town of man and near the Broadbeam seat of power for the Blue Mountains. The stream behind the cottage lead to the river that supplies the men with water, and pooled in a small marshland to the west, where the boys caught frogs and played at dwarves and  orcs. She labored as the town blacksmith during the day, and went to regular council sessions with the Broadbeam arbitrator, speaking hoarse all the reasons they should continue to allow the Longbeard refugees to remain in the north most settlement of the Blue Mountains, technically broadbeams land.

For sixteen years, she extended the lease, and then pushed for a down payment with all the money Thorin had sent her. It was a pittance for land and mining rights, but then Balin had described the mountain itself as ruinous... which was probably why the Longbeards had been given permission to settle there in the first place. There was no lost love with the heads of the broadbeam clan; they most bitterly remembered the failure to reclaim Moria, thier homeland.

In the eighteenth year with the old clan judge dead in a mining surveillance accident, a newer broadbeam arbitrator stat across from her at the table, and what Dis had at first cursed as ill changed circumstance turned into a boon. Regre, son of Retre, was too young and impatient for the long years of argument and was perhaps moved by pity when he saw Fílí and Kili waiting for her outside the palace room, late one evening.

Fíli could piece together an advantageous bargaining position even at that age, and Kili was all big eyes and thin limbs, odd looking for a dwarfchild. She left the side room after speaking with a scribe to find Regre kneeling in front her sons with their little legs swinging from the limestone bench, smiling at them while Kili smiled shyly back and Fílí showed off his latest carving attempt.

They settled within six months and Dís was free to journey home, well to what they were calling Ered Luin for now.

”Do you want to take anything any else?” Dwalin asked, as he secured the bag onto the pack pony. She held up the box, a few of the boys’ first wood carvings, the opals, and her mother's diadem. The clothes and the food already backed away a bag and in the single chest lay the signed agreement, ink still drying on the signatures. The mountain pony whickered as Dwalin leveled the loads, Fílí and Kili would ride her when they tired.

Kili, who barely remembered Thorin from the winter he stayed with them, held onto her breeches and looked up up at the new dwarf that was Dwalin. In truth, with his loose wild hair, great height and tattooed arms, Dwalin must have been the strangest dwarf Kili had ever seen.

Dwalin knelt down, far enough away that he was not looming over the dwarfing, and smiled. It was still a fearsome thing. “Hello lad. I'm dwalin.”

Dís nudged him toward Dwalin.

“It's alright love," She said. "He looks scary but he's really a softy. He'll let you ride his shoulders.”

Kilis favorite thing was being up high. He was getting too big for her to carry around, but Dwalin, almost as tall as a man and with shoulders just as broad, could have carried a dwarfing on each side of his head with ease. Kili peered up at him, hopeful.

“Truly lad, would you like to come up?”

Kili near sprung forward, and Fílí came out of the house holding Thorin's hand just in time to see his brother rise up up above his head to perch on Dwalin's shoulders.

Fílí looked up at Thorin, his eyes pleading and without word he swung his sister-son up into the air and onto his shoulders. With each dwarfing looking around the world in delight, they set off, Dis smiling in the rear as she held the pony’s lead.

~ ~ ~ ~

To the west, she could see the line of hills that lead to the misty mountains. It would take Thorin and her several days to reach the meeting hall, all of them passing with the barest exchange of words.

The halls of mount gram were between the ancient cities called Norgord and Belogost by the elves, their names unspoken in dwarfish, and the Mount Gundabard, where Durin the first father woke from his slumber. There was a similar hall far to the southeast between the OrcannI mountains where the other dwarf clans lived, where the fathers of those clans began life on Arda. Thorin had traveled there once, to represent the Longbeards before an Iron Fist council, but this would be her first council.

After crossing a small stream, they were an hour away from the secret entrance, She left the larger packs of  armour and tools balanced on the pony and took her backpack with her behind some bushes. Thorin stayed by the stream and tried to wash the worst of the dirt off his hem.

The delicate overdress was the first out of her pack, she shook it out and hung it over a branch. It was easy enough to cinch the sides herself, something she had needed when she first commissioned it. She wondered if the Broadbeam clan head would recognize it, changed in style and accent colors as it was. Her face, that he would not have forgotten. Perhaps it was time for the silence to be broken.

“Thorin,” She called over to him, a bit muffled with her shift over her head. “If Nýrád is there, it might be best if I do not speak.”

Same breast band she wore underneath her shirt and breeches, a fresh shift from the pack. Then she pulled on another skirt layer for volume, and the final ornate layer slipper on over her head with only a bit of wiggle.

Thorin shook his head, not looking at her “You would have to introduce me, and might as well continue on from there. I sent Dwalin ahead to scope out the wizard’s burglar in Hobbiton.”

“Hobbiton? An unlikely place to find anything other than soft halfings.” She tightened her laces, and hmmed.“That was well thought, at least. We would have had to deal with the Ironfists staring at him the entire time.”

“Everyone staring, really. I think Nýrád stares so hard to figure out how to take down such a tall dwarf. Last time I could almost follow his mind wheels turning. Perhaps a blow to the stomach, maybe attempt a chop to the knees...”

Dis stepped out of the brush, adjusting the knife in her arm sheath, and grinned at him, “More like a chop to the ankles!” and then her smile dropped abruptly, remembering what was to come. For all that she was going to support Thorin in front their distant kin, they were not in this together.

“How did you ask them Thorin? Did KIli meet you at the gate, and then you rushed to Fili at his lesson, had Balin draw up the contract and witness it right then and there.”

It was a great insult to imply an hasty drawn contract, worse still to imply that a dwarf was rushed signing it. Feuds had been started by subtler insults than  ‘Right then and there.’

Thorin scowled, "If you truly thought that, you would have challenged its validity when I first told you."

"Challenged it to whom? I’m sure the Broadbeam arbitrator would have loved to sit judgement on an ill contract by Thorin Oakenshield. Gloin certainly would have been an impartial judge, that you are his king would not have colored his ruling at all! "

There was a time in their youth that Thorin was prone to long winded speeches, explanations that took pages instead of sentences,. But years of dealing with Men had made his speech abrupt, and she became the longwinded durin, throwing knifed insult right after one another in quick succession. She easily found fault in others while Thorin first found fault with himself. Whenever he explain himself to her, she was always left wondering what reasons he left unsaid.

"I would have  left Kili behind, but I feared he would follow us." Thorin said, and remounted his pony.

~ ~ ~ ~

From her wooden cottage near the creek, she wrote Balin short hasty messages without salutation or farewell - what is the expected population? Will the refugees in the irons hills join us? Best case mines yield? Worse case mine yield? What is the land around ered luin?

He wrote back, not only answering what she asked, but also how to achieve the duty she had been tasked with, how to phrase, how to cajole, to hold back arguments until maximum moment.

Balin’s thoughtful listening smile sat ill on her face, but she arrived at something that worked for her. A stare that said, is that all? while she put her next sentences in order. She learned to present a blank face while her insides raged, and plaster attempt to hold her anger back. The broadbeam leaders learned, she would not back down.

Dís was the only one of Durins line with hope of any court graces and in any position to use them; Balin had his dealings with those within the longbeard refugees, and trying to catch Thorin up duties of a king. Thorin was quick to judge and did not suffer fools, upfront about his intentions and honest almost to a fault. Next closest, Gloin had inherited the Longbead temper to go with his hair and Oin was a well established healer, sworn to take no other office.

If there had been a younger royal brother, with a bright smile and genial manner…. but those days were past.

Dis was well aware that in a different world, she was not Balin’s second choice or third. Gone were the days of Longbeard court scriveners and arbitrators, lost to the dragon or the long march after. Thorin's people lacked contract makers at the time they most desperately needed them. She was what they had and she would make do, sharpening her words like she sharpened a blade.

~ ~ ~ ~

The well kept ruins of Mount Gram, hidden within the lost kingdom of Arnor, were just a few chambers: the entrances from various surrounding hills, a courtyard leading to small side rooms and the meeting hall with the seats of the seven kings. Orcs had overrun it at one point, but now  they were abandoned by all except for times like these.

A red scarfed dwarf lead them to the courtyard before the council hall, tying thier pones to a worn pole and setting out water. Thorin left his sword and knives on the long table where others already arrived had laid beautifully jeweled axes and bright swords.

The handle of Thorin's knives were worn and dirty, not the weapon one pictured to close an oath of arms. At least the blade was sharp, if they ended up dripping blood to stone, he could maybe try to cover the entire handle with his hand.... What would their kin consider worse: arriving to a council in tatters or attempting to hide it? She knew what Thorin would say, he brought the knives in the first place.

When the dwarf held out a hand for her knives, handles visible from her sleeves, she raised an eyebrow and he left his arm drop, ashamed. Dis was a dwarrowdam in a dwarven hall. In this matter at least, the customs of the all the clans agreed.

They stood before the oversized doors at the entrance of the meeting hall, and at Thorin’s nod the attendant cranked them open, the gears at the hinges whining with disuse. Following Thorin into the room, she schooled her face to blankness.

The frescoes were in the style of the courtyard, dwarves in various activies picked out in gemstones and gold lines, created before geometric designs became the norm. On the wall behind the table at the center, facelesss dwarf kings in opulent crowns and attire sat, a grandiose echo of their seated descendents.

"Thorin Oakenshield," she cried, jolting the dwarves seated at the center into attentiveness. "Son of Thrain, son of Thror!"

The long semicircle table loomed before them, this one larger than most dias, with seven seats instead of the one or two. In the corner, a scribe sat at a small desk writing on his parchment as a second scribe looked over his shoulder. The door shut with a clang and the patterned runes on the floor shimmered and twisted.

The Firebeard head sat to the far right, this hall was considered a firebeard seat, and then the Broadbeam Nýrád , a solemn faced stiffbeard unknown to her, then the Ironfist, Blacklock, and Stonefoot seats, representatives only with nothing upon their heads.

The Stonefoot dwarf had piercings through his nose and lip, a large green gem through his nostril and two golden spikes in the lip. She tried not to stare, shifting her gaze to the final seat beside him, where Dain sat in the Longbeard seat Thorin would have taken, that Thorin should have taken had they still lived Under the Mountain instead of in poverty in the Blue Mountains.

Thorin was well through his speech and at his mention of Erabor’s mining

“I have called you here for a high purpose. The Lonely Mountain lies unguarded. The dragon Smaug has not been seen here for sixty years and the portants we have divined are clear! Now is the time to make our move, now is the time for an assault upon the mountain! A weakened, or dead worm leaves the greatest known treasure of dwarfkind without protection and we must-”

The Firebeard head, not used to Thorin’s direct statements, seemed to take offence at “must”. Dís bowed her head, arms stiff in the thick heavy dress, and cut in before he could.”My lords, what my king means is that-"

“Thorin Oakenshield is prince in exile.”Nýrád, the diminutive oaf, cut in and she gritted her teeth at his smug face and mocking hand wave. “We have not recognized a King under the Mountain since Thror. Without the Arkenstone-”

“Semantics." She rebutted, cutting through his excuses with a voice sharp as a knife, "Durin the Deathless wore no crown, held no such stone. He looked into Kheled-zâram, and saw himself crowned only in stars. The First Father of Dwarves.  It is through that bloodline that Thorin son of Thrain,’s right to rule is determined, as is yours all. Would you toss aside the foundation of our culture for fear and sloth?”

Dis looked at each dwarf in turn. “We come before you not as supplicants, but as the last direct line to father of us all, asking whether you will uphold your own oaths and honor.”

“Our armies will not march. We followed Durins heirs to the gates of Khazad-dûm.”” the Firebeard head answered after a pause, locking eyes with Thorin, and sneered “Let us not repeat that victory.”

Thorin leaned forward, face thunderous, and she stepped hard on his foot. “Now is not the time for a brawl over Khazad-dûm”, she hissed

Thorin nodded slightly, not taking his gaze off the Firebeard Lord. “The Mountain lies in wait, and I will not let another of our great kingdoms remain lost to us. The petition ends.”

The scribe finished scribbling the sheets, and then folded his hands, waiting to tally the vote. Along the table there were only  shaking heads, hands folded down in front of them.  On the end, Dain shook his head as well, looking as defeated as Dis felt.

~ ~ ~

First out of the council room, she moved to a small side chamber the attendant showed her, in surprisingly good condition, with benches along one side and ornate frescoes above them. The frescos were old... Second age perhaps? Her history was poor, Thorin would know. Firebeards, all copper and auburn hair picked out with threads of gold and tiny droplet rubies.

She undid her laces and pulled the top layer over her head, examining the frescoes in front of her. Dwarves in crowns, dwarves in armour, running, tall non dwarven figures with the heads chipped off, the fall of Norgod perhaps?

Dis leaned in closer to the left section past the battle, and froze with her shift bunched up halfway up her torso. There was a dwarrowdam depicted, larger than the dwarves in the prior scene.  She stood before a lush valley, her arms open in welcome, great dwarven doors behind her, the inscriptions worn down with time.

She had thick hair in looped quand braids bound by topaz beads, and wore a vivid purple dress, the style not much different from her own. Mother noted the braids, and royalty by the purple clothes. Her beard was long in twisted ropes to waist, arms decked out in gold and jewels.

She traced the face, a short firebeard nose, round cheeks, eyes that dazzled sapphire although one was chipped.... Who was this Firebeard dwarrowdam? What had happened to her? What had she done to be put on the wall? Firebeards --

It was no use wondering now.

She turned her back on the mural to finish changing. Hopefully by the time she emerged, the other lords would be gone and she would not have to face any save Dain in her traveling gear, looking a poor traveling smith but for the diadem on her head.

Thorin was waiting outside the door, his sword and knives sheathed and hidden. Dain followed them out to the long courtyard, his awkward gait hurried as his advisor stayed behind. “Thorin! Dís!”

“That was-” he choked, looked down at his feet, then took the half step back inside the elaborate tiled circle on the floor. It went through half the courtyard and the council hall and the glowed faintly out of the corner of her eye. None but the petitioner could speak about council sessions outside the room.

He started again, able to speak freely. “That was a well said speech, princess Dis. I'm sorry the other lords were not swayed by your petition.”

"The vote was unanimously nay, lord of the iron hills. Or have you come to regret your vote in this short walk out the chamber doors?" she mocked him, “Care to bet the iron hills army against a fire drake?”

Dain shook his head, his bronze curls bouncing and gleaming in the torchlight and faced Thorin. Facing eachother they were distorted mirrors, the same bladed nose on Thorin’s pale thin face and Dain’s dark wide face. Where Dain’s tight curls were oiled shiny and his beard tightly braided, Thorin’s fine hair was loose and tangled, clasped back and no braids save the two at his temples.

While Thorin’s clothes were simple cloth and leather, the thick fur at his collar, Nain Mail only, Dain wore a right shouldered full armour and his leather tunic stopped at the knee, showing off his gleaming iron right leg.

A stranger looking at them would called Dain as the King and Thorin the Lord.

“No, I'm sorry cousin. Will you still continue?"

Thorin nodded. "This will be a task for stealth, not arms. I have a small company already sworn to the quest. Your silence is all that I require."

He looked at her, expectant and Dis turned to Dain and ground out, "If it would please you my lord Dain, I would join your party.  I have lead others to believe several of Thorin's companions are accompanying me in the journey to the Iron Hills."

“If it would please me! I would enjoy your company, there is no need to address me as Lord, Princess Dis. We are kin. "

She tried not to hold the ease in which he claimed kinship against him, that he met her mocking and stilted words with friendship.. or his wide smile, so oddly similar to Thorin's, if Thorin ever smiled with his entire face and being, instead of hiding it in the corner of his mouth like a secret.

"It's settled then," Thorin said, and turned to leave.

“Thorin, wait.” Dain grabbed his shoulder," I bled for your line once and will again. The Lonely mountain is out of reach but not entirely out of mind. If the dragon truly is dead, keep your quest quiet and hopefully scavengers won’t beat you to it. It was a fair choice, to have your sister travel at this time. With luck and silence, none will know you and others do not travel with us.”

He looked between them, “Our cavaran awaits you! I wish it were happier times than these that brought us together.”

She nodded at Dain, and then she and Thorin were left alone. With Dain gone, Thorin revealed that sad smile in his eyes, staring at her like he never wanted to look away. 

“Goodbye sister.”

“My king," she answered with a sedate nod, the same blank face she had shown to the Broadbeam lord.

He frowned, hurt, but turned to walk away all the same. Even at this, possibily thier last parting he would absorb her hits and keep going. Her anger boiled.

“Even now you can’t unbend!” Dis shouted after him, “Good luck scaling the Misty Mountains with such a stiff neck. Will you even deign to kneel when they crown you or shall I start building the ladder?”

“What would you have me say!” Thorin whirled back, furious.

“How can you not know?” She almost laughed, frustrated tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. “Th-that you’ll keep my sons safe as they follow you blindly, that you’ll come back whole, that this time I will not lose what’s left of my family to greed and dragonfire.”

He stepped in closer, eyes drawn to the tears on her face, and shook his head, "I cannot promise anything.”

Dís grabbed the back of his neck, bringing their heads together with a thunk and a choked laugh. “Mahal’s hammer, Thorin. I would kill you myself if it wouldn’t shatter my heart.”

He smiled, drawing back to kiss the tear tracks on each cheek. “Safe journey.”

“Safe journey brother.”

Dis stepped back to curtsey to her king, fully and deeply, hands pretending to hold out the skirts she had worn earlier. He bowed to her in turn, from the waist as low as any dwarf would go if he were not on his knees, and a king only went upon his knees before Mahal to be crowned.

“This is not goodbye,” She whispered to Thorin’s back, as he lead his pony out the opposite door of the courtyard, “Til next we meet again.”

Chapter Text

What does Dis remember of her first visit to the Iron Hills?

A time tinged with grief, the month long stay before the majority of the Longbeards left to wander the wilderness,

The great ovens in the palace kitchens, where the cooks slipped her puffed bread. The unexpected softness of a down stuffed bed after weeks of sleeping on the ground. Thorin,Thrain, and Thror, pacing around the thron room ever in talks with Lord Nain while she sat in the corner, too scared to let them out of her sight.

Nain's tall wife who brushed her hair and tried to teach her to sing, the childish coldness she responded with, resenting dwarrowdam who was not her mother

She remembers Frerin and Dain, close in age and temperament, running about the flocks of sheep, climbing the red jagged cliffs, wrestling with the young boars in the pens.

The swordsmith that let her watch him work, the shnnt glint of a hammer raised to strike molten metal.

The honest tears on her younger brother's face as they gathered their things to go and the tense set of Thorin’s jaw as he lead them out front gate.