"There is nothing for us here. No gold, no silver, no halls of stone. Nothing." I paced. It was five steps from wall to wall, and poor walls they were.

"Thorin." Dis reached for my shoulder. Her lips were pressed thin, near as thin as she had grown in the past few months.

"No! Don't dare to 'Thorin' me." I turned on her. "Our people are starving. They look to me to lead them, and I cannot even find enough food." I pushed her hand away and leveled my gaze at her.

My sister glared back with the same look that, no doubt, I held in my own eyes. "That is of no fault of your own. Have you not worked through the night more oft than not? Have you not pleaded with the leaders in the village for aid."

My jaw tightened until it ached. "How far has the line of Durin to fall? Must I lay at the boots of men and beg for scraps from their tables. No, Dis. I would rather starve than beg."

She looked away, then, her eyes falling to the swell of her stomach. "If I only had to think of myself, I would agree. But we cannot just think of ourselves." She was pleading now, reaching out to me again. "Think of the children. We cannot lose any more of the little ones. Not after last year. Even…even Fíli struggled last winter." She pressed her lips together again, but could not keep the grief from her eyes.

"Dis." I took her raised hand. "I spoke out of turn." I pulled her onto the wooden bench, which also served as a bed for Fíli. "Will you forgive me?" The last winter had been hard, harder even than this one. Three dwarven children had caught the forge cough, and without enough to eat they hadn't had the strength to outlast the sickness. It had almost taken little Fíli, as well.

Dis was silent for a long moment. I almost thought that my question would go unanswered, but then she spoke.

"Perhaps it is time to look elsewhere for good will." She brushed a hand at her eyes, even though no tears had fallen. It was a habit from more innocent days. "The old mines in the north."

"No. There is naught but more pain in that path." I felt the need to recoil at the suggestion, but forced my hand to remain in my sister's grip. "There is nothing of worth in those mines."

"I know they are smaller than you could hope for, but there are stories of the wealth of Ered Luin." She covered my hand with both of hers, as near to begging as she even was. "Perhaps there is some hope there?"

I frowned, "Those mines were abandoned long ago. The is no telling what could be living in them now." I ran my thumb over the back of her hand, a poor attempt to give her some comfort. "And the shafts would need repairing, the work of men does not last for long."

"So you will go then?" She leaned closer, for once looking like the young dwarrowdam that she was. "You will go to Ered Luin?"

I gently untangled my fingers from hers, hearing the sound of boots on hard snow. "I will speak to Balin. I cannot make any promises."

"Stay for supper, then. Fróri will not mind." She stood and straightened the ragged hem of her skirts.

I collected my cloak from the peg near the fire, "No, I have overstayed my welcome already. Give Fíli my greeting, once he wakes."

Fróri was scraping the snow off his boots just on the other side of the door.

"Thorin." He nodded respectfully, and seemed in good cheer. "Had my dear wife been filling your head with tales of Ered Luin as well?"

I paused on the doorstep for a moment, "She has. It seems that she would have us face our deaths for the sake of a warm bed and a full table."

Fróri laughed, tossing back his head. "The mighty Thorin Oakenshield, afraid of a march through the snow."

I could not help but smile, and clapped the dwarf on the shoulder, "I do not care for wet socks, my friend. Better to be hungry than have cold toes."

He chuckled, but when our eyes met again I could see understanding in them. He would follow me across oceans if it meant safety for his family. "To Ered Luin, then? It may be spring by the time we reach the old mines. Certainly if we bring Balin, he walks like a lame duck."

We shared another laugh before parting ways. The trudge through the snow, down the half-cleared path, was more somber after talking with the light-hearted young dwarf. The chill all the more biting. The track ended at the edge of the settlement. The palisade was made of the straightest trees that Bifur and his team had been able to find. It was well built. Well enough that most of the shacks used it as a wall. The forge was no different. It was little more than a glorified tent, backing up against the wall of the town on two sides. The door hung crooked, the log walls had warped in the cold.

Heat spilled into the darkness, as well as light, through the cracks in the walls. The sound of hammers on anvils and bellows pumping was soothing. I forced the door open, and bent my head to the warmth. It was no easy task to reach my fire. The most recent order, one of farm equipment, and stored wherever there was space. Twice, I nearly burn myself against hot metal as one of my people spun in the dace that was forging. But none touched me.

"About time, laddie. We thought you'd left us to get a pint with that lay about brother'a yours." Dwalin tossed me a hammer, pausing only to wipe the sweat off his brow before returning to the anvil.

I took the offered space and hammer, and began to shape yet another plow blade. "Fróri has a family to worry over, Dwalin. If it were his choice he would be here."

The warrior twisted the blade, presenting the other side for working. "Ay, but it stings a bit when we haven't had a spot of rest for weeks."

I allowed his words to hang in the air while we worked. I had promised to hold my decision until I spoke with Balin, but it appeared that our need was more dire than I had assumed. There was usually some talk in the forge, idle complaints and gossip about the price of iron. There was none of that today, only bowed heads and panting breath. Hammer blows were beginning to grow clumsy.

The plow blade was nearly finished when one of the smiths cried out. I was unable to move, gripping the glowing metal blade with a pair of tongs. Dwalin struck once more before he turned, hammer falling slack in his hand. The dwarf had stopped screaming, and by the time I had quenched the iron and turned he had lapsed into short, pained breaths.

The forge was unnaturally quiet. All work had ceased, like the second after the lightning strike and before the thunder. I felt eyes begin to find me, searching for answers that I did not posses.

I leapt over a stack of horse shoes, and dodged around a young dwarrowdam who stood with her hammer still raised, and forgotten. The smith was clutching at his arm, hunched over the fire without heed for the intense heat of the flames. I took his shoulder and pulled him away, toward the door.

"What happened?" I swallowed the panic that I felt, and did my best to keep my voice calm.

The smith sank onto a stack of iron blocks. His beard obscured his injury, and I found myself imagining the worst. Perhaps he had lost fingers, or worse yet, his entire hand. If the metal he had been working was hot enough, there would be no blood.

"My…" He took a shaking breath, looking up. His eyes were unnaturally bright in his sooty pace, "I missed my stroke." He extended his hand carefully. "I think I may have crushed my hand."

I took his wrist gently, and tore a strip of the already ragged hem of my tunic. I was not Oin, and there was little that I could do. I had seen other dwarves crush their hands, though, and had watched the binding process more than once.

"It does not look especially serious." The appendage was already swollen and discolored, but it did not appear to be badly broken. "Once I've finished, go find Oin. He can do more for you than I can." I tugged the strap tighter, and the smith hissed in pain.

"Thank you, my lord." He gripped my forearm with his good hand, and allowed me to help him to his feet.

I shook my head, "My father is the king, not me." I gestured to another of the workers, one who was still idle with shock, "Help this man find Oin. Do not leave his side."

The pair made their way out of the forge and into the night. I turned back, loathe to leave the relative cool near the door, and found that many of the smiths' eyes were still on me. I paused, searching immediately for Dwalin. He gave an encouraging nod, and a smile.

"It is time that we rest." I forced away the desire the shift my feet and fidget my hands, it was not becoming of the line of Durin. "Return here before noon tomorrow."

There were no cheers at my announcement. If I had been my father, I may have been able to improve their moods, but I was not. All I could do was keep them alive. For today, for tomorrow, until next summer, for as long as it took to reclaim our homeland. That was my task.

If the few moments that I spent lost in my musing, the forge emptied. Each smith had taken care to bank their fires and store their tools, but nothing else. Only Dwalin stayed, and even he looked weary.

"They needed that, laddie." He finished banking our fire, and together we checked the rest to make sure nothing would flare back to life while the forge was unattended. The year before we had lost nearly a month's work because of a fire in the night, and several sleeping families had nearly been injured.

"They need more than a half a day of rest." I stacked a pair of fallen horseshoes back on a pile, running my fingers over the smooth surface. "Dis thinks we should go to Ered Luin."

Dwalin was silent for a moment. "Are there mines there?"

I sighed, sinking onto a crate of scraps. "Once there were. They were made by men, long ago. It is unlikely that they have survived for this long."

Dwalin moved to stand before me, "And if they have, they will not be empty." He sank to his haunches, looking into my eyes. "It will be a hard trek either way. In the middle of winter, too."

I ran my fingers through my hair, "I know, but we are not left with much of a choice."

"Thorin, we can last until spring. There isn't…"

"Our stores are run nearly dry. Only the strong will outlast the winter."

"Better some than lose them all. A journey like that is no better than a death march. Their spirits are already broken, laddie, they cannot move again without hope for a better life."

I rested my head on my hands. There was no choice that was better than any other. My people would die either way. Not for the first time, I wished that my father had not disappeared. He would have an answer. He would take me aside, and explain in his rough voice what each decision would cost. Then I would give the answer that I thought best, as I had a hundred times before, and he would tell me if I was wrong. But my father was not here.

"What's going on here?" Balin's voice cut through my thoughts. "I thought all the smiths were sent home." There was a faint amusement in his voice.

Dwalin had sunk to the floor, and crossed his arms over his knees. "We're thinking."

"You're thinking, brother? I think not." The short dwarf patted my arm, "But you, Thorin, you think to much." He waved his hands at me, urging me to move to the side. I shifted to give him space, and he sat gingerly on the scraps. "Where are your thoughts, on this fine night, Thorin Oakenshield."

I pulled my fingers from my hair, and attempted to rub some of the soot from my face. "Our people cannot stay here. We are starving."

Balin and Dwalin shared a glance, "Our people have been hungry since Erebor. Another few months will not likely kill them."

"You do not understand." I straightened abruptly, finding my feet. "Our stores of grain have all but run out. The autumn harvest was not large enough to provide enough, even for a mild winter, and out hunters have been coming home empty handed more oft than not." I attempted not to shout, but could not keep the frustration from my voice. "We will not last the winter if we stay here!"

This time, the glance that Balin and Dwalin shared was of a different sort. They had not known the depth of our trouble.

"What do you plan to do, then?" Balin asked, making settling motions with his hands.

I paced, down the aisle and back toward the door. "If most of our people can wait, until the farmers come with coin, they should be able to buy enough supplies for the journey. The hunters may have had luck by then, as well. I can take a group of scouts, of warriors, to Ered Luin to clear the mines."

"Ered Luin?" Balin looked to his brother, "It will be a long journey in this weather."

Dwalin surprised my with his next comment. "If not now, then when, brother? Our people will be unwilling if we wait much longer. There is naught for them here, not even graves."

Balin thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Very well. I assume that I will be staying behind."

I forced a smile, "Someone must lead, while the king is away."

A/N Thanks for reading! This is pretty hot-off-the-press, so let me know if there are any glaring mistakes. I am planning for this to be a multiple chapter story, but I may not update frequently. Reviews are always helpful!