Hey everyone! So after a lot of thinking, discussions with Maigleggal and Audrey Spirit, and listening to a lot of sad music lately I finally decided to write a sequel to "When all these nightmares become real". If you haven't read that one - it's about how Balin returns to Ered Luin after the Battle of Five Armies and tells Dís of the deaths of her sons and her brother. This story picks up where the previous one left off, and it'll most probably be a two-shot.
Innik dê
The return of the rune stone
Time is a curious thing. Sometimes it passes slowly, usually when you wish for it to hurry up. And at other times it goes by too fast when you desperately beg it to slow down and give you time to breathe.
Dís feels like it's been forever since Balin knocked on her door, forever since her life as she knew it was broken beyond repair. Then again she thinks that everything is happening too fast for her to handle, that she'd just like to stop time and stay in this still state until she can breathe easy again.
She wonders if she'll ever feel alive again and breathe without hurting.
"Dís?"
She hasn't even noticed that Balin has stopped speaking, and she wonders how long he's been watching her with his kind, grief-stricken eyes. She looks up and their eyes meet for a moment before he looks away. He seems insecure, and among everything else this is probably what scares Dís the most. Balin is never insecure. He always knows what to do, what to say, he always finds the right words for everyone, whether it is a little dwarfling asking about the wonders of the world or Thorin needing to discuss political decision.
Oh, Thorin.
She can feel another sob emerging in her chest, and she wonders why she hasn't run out of tears by now. Surely one cannot cry forever, yet she feels like she'll never stop completely. In a world where everything seems to fade it's the pain that remains until the end.
But her eyes remain dry this time, and she looks at the white-bearded dwarf who's avoiding her gaze. He looks much older than the last time she's seen him, his friendly face worn out and haggard, his formerly impressive beard singed. It's only then that she realised how long he must have been on the road, and guiltily she lays a hand onto his arm, which he acknowledges with a surprised raising of his eyebrows.
"Balin, my dear friend, when is the last time you've eaten?" she asks with a voice that sounds so unlike hers, raspy and quiet, that it might as well be a stranger speaking.
"I don't know, really," says Balin, "I haven't felt all that hungry lately, to be honest. And Glóin isn't exactly the best cook, either," he adds with a soft smile.
So Glóin has come home with him. It makes sense, after all. He had left his wife and son behind, and of course he'd seize the opportunity to meet Lea and Gimli again. Dís knows that both have been worried sick once the news about the battle reached Ered Luin, and she remembers spending an evening with the kind dwarf woman, patting her back and telling her that everything would be alright in the end. That her little Gimli would not suffer the same loss as Fíli and Kíli, and that soon they'd find a new home where they belong.
She bites her lip hard as it begins to tremble. Hastily she gets up from her chair, almost automatically moving towards the old cupboard, blindly grabbing a plate and a knife. She fetches a loaf of bread and starts cutting two thick slices, all the time feeling Balin's eyes on her, and her fingers stop trembling as routine takes over for a while. She puts ham on each slice and places the table in front of Balin, and for a few minutes she just watches him eat as her mind drifts away.
She's sitting at the table, a tiny black-haired baby on her arm, while a little golden-haired boy watches the door expectantly, crying out in delight as he hears the familiar creaking.
"Dad!" he yells and there's no stopping him as he flings himself into his father's arms, and Lîam lifts him up and whirls him around until Fíli's little feet collide with Thorin's head when her brother follows her husband into the house.
They sit down at the table, little Kíli is sleeping in her arms, and Fíli sits on his father's lap and listens with wide eyes as the older dwarves tell of the hunt they've just come from, and Dís wishes she could just stop time and stay in that moment forever.
She closes her eyes and shakes her head, urging the memories to leave her alone, for she fears that she might break down and never get up if she stays in the past just a moment too long. She's sick of crying, sick of hurting, and she needs to be strong and hold her chin up and not allow the feelings to crush her. She will not be weak, she's a Durin, a daughter of kings, and she won't break that easily.
"Thank you, Dís," says Balin, pulling her from her dream-like state as he pushes the empty plate away. "Dís, I…"
He hesitates for a moment and runs his hand through his hair. He looks uncomfortable, but Dís thinks that there's possibly nothing he could say to make her feel worse.
"What is it?" she inquires softly, and Balin sighs quietly.
"Dís, I hate to bring this up now, but… I need you to pack a few things and come with me."
"Come with you? Where?" she asks bewildered, confusion clouding her brain for a moment, but before Balin can answer it hits her.
Erebor.
"We need to have a proper funeral," she hears Balin speak, and the word echoes in her ears, getting bigger and louder until she just wants to cover her ears and not hear anything at all. Funeral. It's a word for old dwarves, and for the sick, and for warriors. Not for her boys, her babies. It seems like yesterday that they learned to walk, to ride a pony, to fight with wooden swords and went to seek adventures in the woods. But she mustn't think of that, she must focus on what needs to be done.
"When would you leave?" she asks, her voice as emotionless as it could ever be.
"Tomorrow. I know it's a rush, and I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't feel it's necessary. But it's been a while, and they need to be laid to rest."
There is a sadness in his voice as he speaks, and he almost looks as if he is about to pull her into an embrace, but before he can do anything Dís only nods automatically.
"Of course."
"Dís, if there's anything I can do to help –"
"I'm fine, Balin!"
The words have come out harsher than intended, and she can see how his face falls as he gets up from his chair. He is hurt because of her, and she wants to apologise but can't find the words.
Balin goes towards the door, still limping ever so slightly, and she understands how hard the journey home must have been for him. He's been at war, he's been wounded, he's lost friends, and here she is, hurting him even more.
Suddenly her old friend stops, for a moment just standing in front of the door as if he's only just remembered something. He turns around and comes back to her, and he puts his hand into the pocket of his old cloak. Mesmerised, Dís watches him as he pulls his hand back out and puts it into hers, and she gasps when she feels something cold pressing against her palm.
"I found this," she hears Balin say quietly, "in the lad's hand. I think you ought to have it."
Slowly she opens her hand, and there it is. The black stone stands out against her white hand, it's shiny and spotless, not what you'd expect from a token that's been carried through half of Middle-Earth and into battle, and she realises that Balin must have cleaned it before giving it to her. The runes are clearly visible, and she traces them with the fingers of her other hand.
Innik dê.
She stares at the engraved runes, and she remembers the day when she said goodbye to her sons, holding on to their promises like a warrior to his sword. She hears Kíli's voice as clearly as if he was standing right next to her, his promise given in his own carefree, nonchalant way, chuckling quietly at her worrying. She hears Fíli, serious and grown-up all of a sudden, as he reassures her that they'll be alright. She can feel her eldest pulling her close and whispering in her ear, reminding her of the promise he's made a long time ago.
I promise that as long as I live, I will always bring him home.
But now these promises are but dust in the wind, lost on the fields of battle at the side of the mountain home that her boys will never know. They are gone, her boys, gone like the promises and hopes that she's been holding on to.
"Innik dê," she whispers, and when the tears start to fall and her chest bursts with sobs she is faintly aware of Balin's arms around her as she buries her face in his neck and allows herself to cry once more.
Some say that time will heal all wounds. But in her heart Dís knows that these wounds, though they may fade over time, will never stop hurting. All she can do is learn to live with the pain.
Carry on, don't mind me
All I gave was everything
(Rise Against, "Survivor's guilt")
A/N 1: "Innik dê" is what the runes on Kíli's stone say, and they mean "Return to me".
A/N 2: Fíli's promise, which Dís remembers here, was said by him in one of my other stories, "A not so average brithday".
A/N 3: Don't worry, Dwalin will make his appearance in thenext part! ;)
Reviews, anyone?
