It was raining, quite heavily, and Thorin brushed his hair back from his face in annoyance, water dripping off his nose as he travelled along the road, mindful of the puddles that lined the path. He had met the owner of the home he was travelling to before, and he had no desire to raise her ire by tracking water and mud needlessly though her home.
Normally Thorin enjoyed his position as the son of the king (although he had only just come into that title, upon the death of his grandfather, a few short months ago) His role as future king gave him a purpose...a reason to continue existing, even though his whole world had fallen apart ever since Smaug had claimed Erebor as his own, causing untold death and suffering to Thorin's people. Thorin's own mother had been killed on that fateful day, and Thorin would never forget the grief his father had shown upon learning that his wife was not among those that had fled the mountain.
Thinking of his parents brought Thorin's mind to the subject of Frerin, and his heart clenched painfully as he remembered his baby brother's last moments, cradled in Thorin's arms as Frerin's life blood drained away through the gaping hole in his chest, left by an orc sword as Frerin fought alongside his older brother.
Frerin had been far too young to be involved in war; the world had still been a new and exciting place for the youngest of Thrain's children. Frerin had been a small child when Erebor had been lost, one of the few dwarflings to survive. Thorin vividly remembered carrying his brother in his arms as they fled their former home, promising to him that everything would be alright...that they would get their mountain back.
In the years since then Frerin had grown into a strong, brave young dwarf, with a small beard, and a charming personality. Frerin had four friends that were close to his own age, and Thorin sought to protect them as if they too were his younger brothers. All five of them had gone into battle, trying to defeat the orcs that resided in Moria. Of them, none had survived, all of them dying in the battle that claimed so many of Thorin's people...family and friend alike.
Thorin let out a sigh and looked up at the house that was his destination, wishing, not for the first time, that he had accepted Balin's offer to accompany him as he visited the families of Frerin's friends and informed them of their son's death.
Of the four, this was the last...and Thorin had no doubts that this would be the hardest. Gíli had been Frerin's best friend...they were inseparable, having grown up together. Thorin had trained them to fight together, taking Gíli in as a member of his own family. Gíli had no living relatives, except for his younger sister. They had lost their father the day that Smaug arrived at the mountain, and their mother to grief shortly afterwards. Thorin had taken the young pair in wishing he could do something more for them.
Thorin walked up the stone steps that led to the front door of the small home Dís and Gíli had shared, knocking on the wooden door. It was quickly answered by Dís, her eyes wide, although at the sight of Thorin on her doorstep they brimmed with tears. Thorin's heart clenched painfully, knowing that, the moment she saw him, Dís knew what had happened.
"No...Oh please no...Not Gíli...not him."
'I'm sorry," Thorin apologised. He wasn't used to apologising...but Thorin knew that his apologised had never been more earnest than the one he gave to Dis.
"What...what happened?"
"We were victorious...but we paid a heavy price. The king is dead, as...as is Frerin and Gíli, and over half of our army. I...I tried to look out for them, but I was injured, and we were separated. There were far more Orcs than we anticipated, and the boys...they were just too young. We should never have taken them with us." Thorin's voice was thick with emotion, and he had to stop and clear his throat, as it seemed to have swelled, making it near impossible to talk.
"Was...was it quick?' Dís asked in a broken voice, stepping aside and letting Thorin into her home.
Thorin nodded, "It was over very quickly for Gíli, from what we could tell. I found him and Frerin, side by side after the battle, but Gíli was already gone by then. Frerin was still alive ...but he only lasted a few more minutes." Thorin broke off, his mind filled with the memory of his brother, coughing blood and mortally wounded, on the battlefield. Thorin remembered how he had cradled Frerin in his arms, trying to sooth his baby brother, just like he had when Frerin had been small. Thorin knew that he would never forget the moment that Frerin went limp in his arms, his eyes loosing focus as he died, cradled in Thorin's arms. Thorin didn't know how long he had knelt there, Gili's body beside him, holding Frerin in his arms, crying...screaming...begging his brother to come back.
"I'm sorry," it was Dís' turn to apologise, "It must have been awful to find them like that...and be forced to live with that memory engraved in your mind, like being carved into stone. I am sorry I made you relive it."
Thorin swallowed, knowing that Dís knew him too well to try and deceive her. She knew how much loosing Frerin and Gíli was hurting him. Unable to speak, knowing that if he did he would start crying, Thorin instead held out an arm to Dís, and she took the invitation, stepping close to him, allowing him to pull her into a embrace. Thorin buried his head into the protection of Dís' thick, hair, and kissed the top of her head. Tears rolling, unbidden, down his cheeks. Dís' shoulders shook, and Thorin knew she was crying. It made his chest tighten even more, and he blinked as more tears rolled down his face.
Neither dwarf knew how long they stood there, crying, clinging to each other as if they were all each other had. Thorin rubbed Dís' back, and Dís clutched onto his thick fur cloak as she sobbed into Thorin's chest.
Eventually Dís pulled away from Thorin, wiping her tearstained cheeks, and looking up at him with red, puffy eyes.
"Have you eaten tonight? It is late, but I have some bread that I brought today, and some cheese and a little dried meat...although I image after being away at war you have had quite enough of that."
"I couldn't do that," Thorin said, shaking his head. He was well aware how hard things were for Gíli and Dis. The two of them barely scraped a living. Gíli had worked in the forge with Thorin before the war, and Dís had earned some coins through her sewing and weaving, but they were still quite poor.
"Nonsense," Dís shook her head, "I insist. It is late, and it is still raining heavily. You could become ill if you went outside into that rain, and where would that leave your people? Besides...I feel that I will need some company. I would be a lowly dwarf indeed if I let our prince go hungry."
With that she walked to her small kitchen and prepared their evening meal. Thorin went outside and fetched some firewood from the side of the house, before re-entering and tending to the fire in the hearth, which had burned low while they had grieved. Dís approached him, handing him a plate of food. Remembering his manners, Thorin sat at the table, and they ate in silence. Thorin was surprised how hungry he was, although he had experienced no real craving for food.
After they had finished eating Thorin helped Dís clean up, and then they sat together in front of the fire, Dís' head resting on Thorin's shoulder as they watched the flickering flames.
"Before...before the battle, Gíli made me promise that I would look after you...should something happen to him, and I lived through the battle. He wanted to know that you would be looked after...protected," Thorin told Dís, who nodded.
"That sounds so much like him...always thinking of others...me, or Frerin. He idolised you...worshipped the ground you stood on. I remember the day he first met you...it was only a year or so after Erebor, and I remember him coming in and picking me up and spinning me around, telling me about how he met Prince Thorin, and how everything was going to be better...how our lives were going to be better...that we wouldn't have to live through any more suffering. He knew you would save us."
"And instead I led him to his death," Thorin said in a defeated tone. Dís straightened and pulled away, looking at Thorin. She put a hand on his chest.
"No," she corrected, "You made it clear to everyone that any who didn't want to go wasn't obliged to...I know you actively tried to talk Frerin and Gíli out of going...but they were stubborn...You shouldn't blame yourself for what happened to them. It is not your fault, and no-one should ever tell you that it is...not even you. Frerin and Gíli made their own choices...they were their own dwarves, and their deaths should not affect the way you live your life."
"How can they not," Thorin managed to croak out, "my younger brother is dead...as is my grandfather, and so many of the people I promised to protect when we fled Erebor. My father cannot cope with his grief, and the people look to me for guidance. I...I who could not even protect my brother and his best friend from an army of orcs."
Dís swatted Thorin's arm, "Did you not listen to a word I just said...it was not your fault, and you must stop believing it was, otherwise people will start believing you...regardless of the truth, and all will be lost. You must rise above your own guilt, and be a leader to our people...help them grieve, give them time, help them move on, just like you have for me tonight. Show them that you are sad about what has happened, but give them hope for the future."
Thorin looked at Dís, something akin to awe in his eyes. Here was Dís, sitting before him, no more than a few hours after learning of her brother's death, giving him advice. In the back of his mind Thorin remembered the young dwarf Dís had been when they first met.
"When did you get so wise?" Thorin asked her, a wry smile on his face, "You speak with wisdom beyond your years."
"I am not so young, Thorin, that I am considered a child...and Gíli being away has forced me to grow up and mature. The world is not so kind to those who refuse to see the darkness that plagues it."
"That is true," Thorin conceded, "although I wish it was not the case."
Dís smiled, and moved back to her position beside Thorin, who put his arm around her shoulders.
"Still...I am glad you are here with me. I do not like being alone so much, and this house has felt empty since Gíli left."
Thorin subconsciously tightened his grip on Dís' shoulders, "I am glad I am here as well," he told her, "Being here...it comforts me in many ways. Thank you, Dís, for inviting me so freely into your home."
'I am glad I can be of use, your highness. If you should ever be in need of council, you know where to find me." Thorin looked at Dís, and a small smile crossed his face as he looked down at her, brushing a strand of her blond hair back from her face, getting lost for a moment in her eyes. Thorin had always thought Dís was pretty, and that her eyes were stunning, but he had never actually said it. If Thorin was honest with himself he had always thought of her as a child, even though she was not that much younger than him, but now that she sat beside him, obviously a grown dwarf woman, both in mind and body, he couldn't deny that he was attracted to her. She was obviously strong, coping with the hurdles that life had thrown in her way with resilience and determination. She was kind and open hearted, but at the same time practical and resourceful, and she knew how to see the good in any situation. After so many things that had happened to himself personally, and to his people, Thorin couldn't help but admire Dís' positive outlook on life.
Dís, for her part, was looking up at Thorin, studying the careworn and battle weary lines on his face...taking in how much older he looked now, compared to the last time she had seen him. It pained her to see the suffering and grief in his eyes, but at the same time she admired his courage and determination. Dís knew of dwarves who, having lived through what Thorin had endured, had given up...Not Thorin though...he just kept getting back to his feet and fought on, determined to do right for his people and provide them with a home to call their own.
A log in the fire popped and shifted, and both dwarves jumped, surprised by the noise, both of them having been lost in their study of the other's face. Dís felt her cheeks redden and she dropped her gaze, turning back towards the fire, moving to rest her head back on Thorin's shoulder. Thorin, for his part, wished his heart would slow down a little, as it was pounding rapidly in his chest, and he was worried that Dís would hear it. Unable to continue without doing something, however, Thorin moved his left hand until it found Dís' right hand, and he took it carefully, tracing patterns on the back of Dís' hand with his thumb. Dís shifted at the contact, but did not draw her hand away. Thorin took this to mean that she did not mind, and continued to slowly move his thumb, at the same time memorising the feel of Dís' hand in his own. It was meant to relax and comfort Dís, but Thorin found it relaxing as well, and he leaned his head back against a char, and watched the fire flicker and burn.
Beside him, Thorin felt Dís' breathing even out and slow, and he realised with a pang that she had fallen asleep. In his head, Thorin knew that he should carry Dís to her bed, and then take his leave, but she looked comfortable where she was, and Thorin himself didn't want to face the prospect of his own cold, lonely bed, beck at his house. Glancing around, Thorin spotted a throw rug within reach, on the chair he was leaning against, and he grabbed it, flicking it out with his spare hand and draping it over Dís' body.
That done, Thorin shifted a little closer to Dís and rested his head on top of hers, all the while watching the fire as it begun to burn low in the hearth. His eyes began to get heavy, and Thorin did not fight it as he drifted into darkness.
.
