A/N: The decision was left up to me as reviews containing opinions of how this should go were not received. The original outline has this over quickly… but I've opted to drag it out now. Show some character development, relationships, and all of that jazz.

I might have a problem… I consumed 15 or more cups (cup = 6 fluid ounces) while writing this chapter. It was written in one sitting so I'm pretty sure that I have overdosed on caffeine. Remind me to never do that again. O_O I apologize for any typos.


His Brother's Maker

Chapter 8

2786 Third Age, Spring – Dunland

Thorin shrugs out from under his brother's arm almost as soon as the weight settles over his shoulders. He turns quickly and grabs his sword belt. He buckles it on as he shoves his feet into his boots. His face twists into a dark expression.

"Thorin?"

Thorin ignores his brother's voice as he checks to make sure that he has all of his handful of belongings. He quickly checks over his belt and the bed so as to not leave anything behind. He wants nothing more than to never see this room again. He needs to do something.

"Thorin?" Frerin is blocking the door as he watches his elder brother with wary eyes. "What are you doing?"

Thorin ignores his brother. "Move," he demands, not meeting his brother's eyes. When Frerin does not move or respond Thorin shoves his way around his brother. He nearly knocks the younger dwarf down with his shoulder and he forces his way from the room.

Frerin seizes Thorin's right wrist as he shoves past.

Thorin hisses in pain, but stops.

"Where are you going?" Frerin demands.

"Let go of me," Thorin hisses through his teeth.

Frerin's grip tightens. "Where?" Frerin demands, his voice tight and controlled. His brown eyes flashing.

Thorin groans as his brother's fingers dig into the damaged tendons in his wrist. "Anywhere but here, dear brother," he growls. A flush is rising to his cheeks as his emotions rise. "Now let go."

"At least wait for me to come with you," Frerin says with a whine in his voice. He does loosen his grip on his brother's wounded wrist.

"Why?" Thorin does not try to free his hand. The light pressure of his brother's hand intensifies the ache and he does not want to increase that pressure.

"Well, for starters, you cannot fight very well with your wrist like this."

Blue eyes meet brown. "Fine," Thorin huffs exasperatedly.

Frerin, having slept with all of his clothing on including his boots, has nothing to grabs simultaneously releases his brother and shoves him out the door.

Dis stares after her brothers before running after them.

The hallway dead ends into the common room. Last night the rough tables and benches had been only half full at best. Dour faced men had filled the tables as they talked quietly over their cups. They had looked up when the three young dwarves walked in, but other than a few glances no more attention was paid to them. It was midday now and the only man in sight was the owner of the establishment. The benches and tables were crammed with dwarves and plates of food.

Thorin pauses. If he leaves alone without the rest of the company he will be in error. Rather than face his father's wrath for behaving recklessly he squeeze himself onto the bench opposite of Írlí, Fundin, and Lörwid. Frerin shoves against Thorin; forcing the elder to scoot over to allow his brother to sit down.

"How was it?" Thorin asked looking at Írlí.

"It was alright, lad, nothing too exciting."

"Did we lose anybody?"

Fundin interrupted before Írlí could speak. "Aye, we did. Your father will have more to say about that in a bit."

Thorin frowns at Thrór's captain of the guard. He briefly considers pressing the issue. But when he sees the hardened expression on Fundin's face he quickly reconsiders and closes his mouth.

Frerin pushes a glass into Thorin's hands as a small girl with brown hair hands him two cups that are brimming with what looks like wine. Thorin scowls into the cup of wine before downing it in a quick swig. He taps his foot while scowling around the room looking for his father and grandfather.

Thorin grunts when Frerin elbows him hard in the ribs. "Sit still," Frerin hisses. "You're shaking the entire bench."

"Then make adâd hurry up with his breakfast," he hisses back and shoulders his brother almost off the bench.

"Boys," Fundin says. There is a note of warning in his voice as he stares at the princes.

Thorin shoots one more glare at his brother before he sits still.

-O-

Less than an hour later they are loading up a wagon full of building supplies. Thorin is carrying a stack of rough lumber with Frerin. It is awkward with Thorin's injured wrist but they manage albeit clumsily. Dís is following her brothers; she is only one step behind. Thorin is walking backwards and looking over his shoulder to watch where he is going. He almost trips over Dís for the third time during this process. "Mahal! Dís, will you just go sit down until we're leaving?" Thorin growls once he regains he balance.

"But…" Dís follows her brother to the wagon.

"But what?" Thorin demands as he and Frerin struggle loading the wood into the wagon.

"I want to go back. Now."

Thorin turns to face his sister. "I know, little one, I know," he says rubbing her hair roughly. "I'm ready to go as well."

Dís pouts. "Can we go, please?"

"I wish we could, but we have to wait until grandfather says that it's time for us to go."

Dís turns from her brother with a serious expression on her face and runs off. Thorin frowns as his sister runs up to their father and grandfather and tugs on her father's sleeve. She speaks to her father who turns to look at his sons before facing his daughter again.

Dís return and smiles at her brothers. "We're leaving now," she tells him smugly.

Thorin rolls his eyes before lifting her into the wagon.

-O-

The trip back through the woods by the road seems to take much longer than the walk in the dark the night before. Thorin walks behind his father and grandfather. He absentmindedly listens to their conversation.

"Will you tell me about last night now?" Thorin asks turning to Fundin.

"I suppose . . ." the captain says looking at his commander. "They came out of nowhere. The guards did not see them until they were almost into the town and by then it was too late."

Frerin shoves his way in between Thorin and Írlí so that he can hear Fundin's tale as well. Thorin quickly glances behind to make sure that Dís is still in the wagon. Frerin is almost grown but Dís is still far too young to hear what this story will surely contain. It will only increase her worry for her mother's safety. If her nightmares were not already going to reappear hearing about the raid would guarantee their return.

Dís is curled up on the bench of the wagon next to Lörwid and another dwarf. She appears to be sleeping. When he is sure that she is not going to eavesdrop he turns back to Fundin.

" . . . They set fire to the first homes they came across. Luckily no one was injured in those fires but the buildings were destroyed. Several were injured in the fighting that came afterwards. Many of the injuries were minor, but some are critical," Fundin continues softly. "We have had to spend much of the money that we had saved up on these supplies that we need to rebuild and care for the injured. Money that we could not afford to spend. We left when it was still too dark to see the extent of the damage. We managed to turn them away, it was a small pack, maybe fifty or so orcs, but the damage was done."

"We fought some!" Frerin says excitedly.

"What?!" Thráin says as he whirls around to face his son's at Frerin's words.

Frerin blushes. "Four followed us into the woods. We took care of them though. None of us got hurt," Frerin says quickly. "Thorin got two of them, amâd killed one, and I took care of the last one," he finished proudly.

"Hmmm . . . that was well done," he says before turning and returning to the front.

-O-

It is early afternoon before the trees break and Thorin can see their small village. He exhales a breath that he had not realized that he had been holding when he sees that their home is still standing with no discernable damage. Most of the homes still stand strong, but there are those that are lost to fire and ash.

The fires have been put out but the scent of smoke lingers in the air. Ash floats on the breeze. Together they give the illusion of continued destruction. A destruction that is all too familiar to the dwarves of Erebor. Fire and ash carried on a breeze. Today, it makes no difference that the wind that carries ash today is gentle and full of the promise of summer. The breeze brought to the forefront of Thorin's mind is one much harsher that; a wind that put ash in the air that carried for days and for miles. Thorin shudders at his memories.

2770 Third Age, Spring – Erebor

Thorin opens his eyes to the sunlight. For a few moments he does not remember why he is sleeping the ground. He rubs his eyes and he sits up; his father's arm falls off his body as he sits up. He looks around the small camp. His mother is sitting by the fire with Fundin's two young sons. Thorin look at Balin who is leaning against Frís as she rubs his hair. She is speaking softly to him. Thorin watches his mother comfort his younger cousins.

Thorin feels his heart drop in his chest. He wants nothing more than to push Balin out of the way and rest his head in his mother lap. He closes his eyes before laying down again. He curls his legs up to his chest and pulls the blankets close around his shoulders. He remembers yesterday. He remember the wings like a hurricane. Thorin pulls the blanket over his face to hide the tears that fall from his eyes.

He had not noticed it at first but now he can smell it. There is smoke on the breeze. Dragon fire. His blood runs cold as he remembers the red leviathan. The smoke means that the dragon fire has burned through the night and that more destruction has taken place. Thorin rolls over to face Thráin and he curls against his father's warm chest. He is glad for the small comfort that this offers him. He feels safe here. Safe and warm. He is thankful for this constant.

Thorin closes his eyes and tries to sleep again. To retreat to the warm world where everything is still okay. The return to his dreams of soft bed in his stone chambers; where the entire world is shut out by the stone halls of Erebor. Those stone halls shield the dwarves from unfriendly eyes. He sighs. Those halls are no longer home, 'We have no home.'

2786 Third Age, Spring – Dunland

Thorin fights down the bile that threatens to rise in his throat at the smell of smoke. Normally he is fine but on such a large scale in brings back the memories of the days of the dragon. 'We still have a home here,' Thorin sternly reminds himself. 'We are not destroyed.'

He hops down from the wagon he was riding on next to his siblings. He feels Frerin's eyes on him, but he does not turn to reassure his brother. Desire burns in him to see his father's people. To assure himself that everyone is still okay. Mostly he hopes that he encounters his mother. She will surely be with those who are injured or with the children.

Thorin watches the grass under his feet and pretends that he does not see the pits where arrows fell the night before. He ignores the splashes of blood that are stark against the green grass and the exterior walls of their homes and buildings. The fires never touched this side of the community. Their home is nestled among these other untouched homes. Thorin pauses in front of the door to his home. The door is still ajar from the night before. He sees the hem of Dís' dress caught on a bush only feet from him.

Thorin pushes the door of his home open. He half-expected to see his mother seated on the couch – knitting – she would look up at him and smile. He found what he knew would be there. The great room was dark and chilled. The fire had never been relit and the coals were cold. Frís' knitting lay where it had fallen the night before. Thorin carefully picks it up and winds the yarn around the ball and places it in the basket with the rest of his mother's yarn. He can tell that no one had returned to the home since they had snuck out in darkness.

Thorin sighs heavily. He had hoped that it would be this easy. Rather, it is time to see the rest of their village. He want to see how everyone faired but he would prefer to see his mother before he is Prince Thorin to people again. He knows that today of all days he will be looked to for guidance.

The forge and Írlí's home are located on the eastern edge of the village. Frís is fond of Írlí's two young children, Dærí and Vrílí. Mæra looked after Fundin's son's Dwalin and Balin since they no longer had a mother of their own. If Thorin was going to start his search and inspection anywhere then it made sense to start there.

-O-

Thorin returns to their home several hours when it was well after nightfall. He had spent most of it helping Mæra repair the damage that had fallen upon the homes around hers. Írlí and Fundin spent much of the day patching holes in the sides of buildings and using a plane to clean memories of the night before off of their homes.

There are two guards now posted outside the door. There are guards standing everywhere. Last night had caught all of them unawares and Thrór was going to make sure that that never happened again. All males who were of their maturity were put into a rotation system of who was to stand guard at what times and where they were to be. No one had stood guard since the year right after the dragon. Thorin was due to stand at dusk on the northern edge of the town. The other plans were being implemented as well to fortify this community; to preserve all that was left of Erebor.

Thráin is seated at the table; his head rest on the table with his arms crossed in front of him. Thorin breaths deeply before stepping through the door. "Adâd?"

Thráin raises his head to look at his eldest. Thorin looks away – ashamed – when he sees the moisture and sadness that are in his father's eyes. "I . . ." Thorin begins to say only to be interrupted by his father.

"You haven't found her." Thráin's voice is hoarse and soft.

Thorin bows his head. "That is correct, adâd."

"There's nothing for it then," Thráin say while rising to his feet, "we'll organize a search party and leave in the morning."

"We should leave now," Thorin argues. "The sooner we start covering ground the better."

Thráin repeats himself, "We'll leave in the morning. It's already dark, we won't make much progress if we manage to make any at all."

Thorin scowls. Another night of doing nothing and feeling useless.


A/N: I don't really like this chapter, it was hard for me to write. It feels disjointed but it was needed to progress in the story. I promise that the next chapter will be better!

I have a question for all of you. I have two things that I could have happen next. I want your opinion of what you would like to see. I'll try to put this in a way that does not give too much, if anything, away. Something is going to happen in the next chapter(s) it can either be incredibly painful but short or a little less painful (marginally) and more drawn out. Let me know via reviews!

Pronunciation Guide for my OCs:

Lörwid – pron. LUH·wid
Frís – freese (rhymes with freeze)
Írlí – EER·lee (rhymes with eerie)
Mæra – mah·rah
Dærí – DAH·ree
Vrílí – VREE·lee (rhymes with freely)
Ulįr – YOU-leer (Frís' father)