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9. White Shores are Calling

"You and I will meet again." ~ Annie Lennox, Into the West


While they waited for Dwalin to return, Thorin sat with Dáin and spoke to him about Erebor.

He asked him about the state of things such as the repairs to the living and work spaces and how the people were getting on. He needed the other dwarrow to talk not only because he truly wanted to know these things—just because he was being forced to give up his kingdom didn't mean he didn't care about it—but also to keep him from asking the obvious question. The one he'd asked twice already.

Thorin had given the matter a lot of thought, having lain awake late into the night and nothing else to do all day except slowly, painstakingly rebuild his strength enough to walk. If he was not to be king in Erebor, and neither Fíli nor Kíli were taking his place…then there was no reason for them to stay. If Mahal's words about spies in the mountain were to be believed—though he was loath to accept his own people could be working for the Dark Lord—it was best he take his nephews away from here.

We set out to reclaim the mountain, and it has been reclaimed, he mused. But not for us.

He also made inquiries regarding Erebor's relationship with Dale, and was not altogether surprised to learn that Dáin and Bard had formed an alliance. "I'd even say the two o' us are friends, and so would he, if'n ye can believe that," his cousin had said, adding that "the poor bastard" was the intermediary when it came to relations with Mirkwood. Dáin had agreed with Bard's long ago made point that with dwarves living in the Lonely Mountain again, it was best they maintain a peaceful relationship with the elves. Thorin had scoffed at this, sobering only when Dáin had reminded him how quickly Thranduil's army had been at his doorstep once the dragon was dead.

He then recalled the discussion he had taken part in back in the Halls of Waiting, during which even he had agreed that peace with his people's long-time nemeses was achievable. Thorin had no idea, really, what had prompted him to say that. Even standing in the midst of so many elves who had given their lives in defense of dwarf lands, he'd felt resentment of the immortal know-it-alls simmering just below the surface. He resented Tauriel for whatever slight she'd done to Kíli to put him in such a foul mood.

Speaking of which…

"Dáin, what is going on with that she-elf who saved Kíli's life in Lake-town?" he asked, taking care to keep his voice low. "He's been acting out of sorts the whole night and day, and I can only assume it has to do with her."

Dáin blinked in surprise. "Ye mean the boys haven't said?" he asked.

Thorin shook his head. "I did not ask for risk of antagonizing Kíli further."

His cousin cast a glance over his shoulder to where Bard stood talking with the Elven healer. "She and Bard are married, Thorin," Dáin said. "Be three years now, come Durin's Day. According to them, 'twas their wee one what found you lot up on Ravenhill where Kíli died trying to save her life."

He frowned. "How old is the child?"

"Lucanío turned two years this spring. Smart as a whip, that one, I have to give him that."

So the elf was married to another, a man with whom she shared a child. No wonder Kíli's temper was worn so thin—the female he'd let himself become infatuated with had given herself to someone else. Yet more proof that his nephew's feelings were misplaced, because if the child had been born in the spring two years ago, then it was less than a year after their deaths that he'd been conceived.

She couldn't even bother herself to mourn him at minimum a full year, as was proper—and that was if she'd even cared for Kíli.

That is not fair Thorin. You know nothing of what Tauriel endured upon Kíli's death, he heard Mahal say in his mind—though he wasn't entirely sure whether he'd actually heard it or just imagined it. And what did it matter what she had endured? Clearly it was nothing too traumatic if she'd taken up with Bard and got herself a crown.

It matters because there are two sides to every story. Do not be so quick to condemn if you are not willing to listen to hers.

Thorin ignored the voice and turned his attention back to Dáin, who had used his silence as an opening to ask, "So what's yer plan?"

He blinked. "My plan for what?"

Dáin punched him lightly in the shoulder—light for him, at any rate. "For comin' back, o' course. We've got to work this just right, though yer bein' blessed by Mahal himself will go over huge—"

Thorin held his hand up. "Dáin, stop. Now is hardly the time for that discussion. My first and only priority at this point is seeing to the health of my sister."

His cousin looked ready to argue, but was put off by a knock at the door. Bard went to it and opened it a crack, then fully once he saw who was on the other side.

Dwalin had returned, and from a knapsack he pulled three rough-hewn robes that looked like they were made from the sacks that potatoes were often sold in—and for all he knew, that's exactly what they were made of. They made quick work of putting them on over their clothes, and seeing the disgusted looks on his nephews' faces, Thorin understood their irritation. In truth he disliked hiding as much as they, but the Maker's warning was still in his head.

It's for their own good, he told himself for perhaps the hundredth time.

In minutes they were heading out through the Healer's Hall, which Thorin noticed was really a very large house that had perhaps at one time been some Dalish lord's home. He briefly considered taking a tour of the city to see if it had been restored to anything like the Dale he remembered, though he had not been here since before Smaug had ruined the place.

Outside a covered wagon waited, beside which stood two ponies and a man in armor. He bowed his head at Bard's appearance before climbing up into the wagon's seat. Bard stood watch as Dáin and Dwalin helped first his nephews and then Thorin himself into the back of the wagon. He listened to his kinsmen mounting the ponies and then Bard acknowledging that they would take the lead, and then the wagon began to move.

The ride to Erebor was nearly twenty minutes, and at the moment Thorin sensed they were near to the bridge, Kíli broke the tense silence.

"I'm frightened, brother," he said to Fíli in Khuzdul. "So terribly frightened that we'll be too late. I made a promise and I didn't keep it, and she's suffered for it all this time."

"Do not blame yourself," Thorin told him. "If any of us should feel guilty, it is I."

He caught them both staring at him in the dim evening light. "Why should you feel guilty, Uncle?" Fíli asked as they crossed the bridge at last, and a voice from somewhere ahead cried out "Make way for the king!"

The wagon soon stopped in what he knew was a staging area. Thorin tried not to think too much on the fact that the last time he'd been here, the gate had been blocked with rubble he'd ordered his Company to pile up. Like a robber in his hold, Bard had said.

He shook his head to dispel the unsettling memory as the three of them prepared to climb out. He hadn't been himself then. Of course, he was hardly himself now, sneaking into the place of his birth in the garb of a quasi-religious order few self-respecting dwarrow even acknowledged.

Reminding Fíli and Kíli to keep their hoods up and over their faces, he accepted Dwalin's assistance in climbing down from the wagon. As his friend turned back to help Fíli, Thorin heard one of the nearby guards muttering, "Oh, not them again. Haven't our king and lord commander got anything better to do than play host to those Brotherhood fools?"

Dwalin overheard and turned to the dwarrow. "Mind your tongue, Kurn. 'Tis your king you speak of."

The dwarf he'd addressed muttered an apology and bowed his head. Dáin also sent a stern glare to him and his partner, before turning and leading the way into the mountain. The going was a slow and steady pace, for though he and his nephews could walk, they were not yet up to their old strength. Thorin silently cursed whatever reasoning had delivered them to their new lives in this condition, for it made not a single bit of sense that they were so dependent on others.

At this rate, Dís will be gone to Mahal's embrace before we even reach the royal suites, he mused darkly.

By the time they reached the wing where the royal family's quarters were located, he was leaning heavily on Dáin. Durin's beard, he'd known he was weak but he'd not expected to be this exhausted! When would he and the boys regain the strength they would need for travel?

Thorin shook himself mentally as they came face-to-face with two guards at the top of a short set of stairs. Upon seeing Dáin, the two armor-clad dwarves immediately bowed their heads and turned to the side so the group could pass. He was panting for breath when they at last stopped before a wide door.

"Take yer time t' catch yer breath, lads," Dáin said.

A quick glance at Kíli at Dwalin's side and Fíli at Bard's showed they were no better off. Thorin gave them nods of encouragement as he evened out his breathing, then looked to Dáin with another. Dáin returned the gesture before reaching forward to open the door.

A dwarrow lass just starting to gray was startled upon their entrance to a well-appointed sitting room, but recovered quickly and curtsied before them.

"Greetings, my King," she said.

"And to you, my dear," Dáin replied. "These folk have requested to pay their respects to Princess Dís. How does she fare this evenin'?"

The crestfallen expression on the nurse's face, coupled with the tears pooling in her eyes, made Thorin's heart stop in fear for half a beat. Mahal, please do not let us be too late, he prayed.

"I… I am afraid for her, my King. When Master Óin came, he… he said she would not be long with us now."

Kíli gasped audibly and her eyes flicked to him before returning to her king. "Thank you, Korra," Dáin told her. "Why don't you go and get some fresh air? It'll do you a world of good. Lord Commander Dwalin and I will remain with our guests."

"If… if you are certain, sire."

Dáin looked at him and Thorin tried his best to communicate with his eyes that he would be fine on his own. His cousin nodded a fraction before stepping forward and taking the nurse by the hands. "Lass," he began, "you and Lita have done a marvelous job looking after the princess. Go and take a rest now—you've earned it."

With a heavy sigh and a nod Korra relented, and walked with her head bowed past the group of visitors. Once she had gone, Thorin hurriedly discarded the Brotherhood robe and looked to find his nephews doing the same.

"Come with me, lads," Dáin said softly, then led the way over to the bedchamber door.

Thorin followed in silence. Where before when Korra had spoken his heart had paused, it now sped up to a maddening pace. He had not seen his sister in months—at least, from his perspective. For Dís it had been nearly five years since last she had laid eyes on him or her children, and the last four of those she'd thought them all dead. How would she look? Would she be coherent enough to recognize them? For that matter, would the shock of seeing three ghosts be the catalyst that finally sent her on her way?

Mahal, he hoped not. He prayed with all his might that she would get better…or go in peace.

He could not have possibly prepared himself for the sight of her. Dís looked unbelievably tiny in the bed on which she lay, propped up on mounds of pillows and covered by layers of blankets. Her once glossy black hair was dull, her skin a sickly pallor, her eyes and cheeks sunken—it was as though all that was left were her bones.

"Amad!" Kíli cried out as he pushed past him and ran as well as he could to her side, followed by his brother. Kíli sat on the edge of the mattress and picked up his mother's hand, holding it to his face.

"Amad, wake up. I beg you, wake up," he said.

"Amad, it's us. Your lads, Fíli and Kíli," Fíli added. "I know we're a mite late coming home, but we got a bit sidetracked. Real sorry about that, we are."

"Uncle is here too, Amad. He came back with us," Kíli went on. "I know it may seem very strange and unreal, but we are truly here with you. Won't you please wake up?"

At last Dís stirred, moaning weakly as she turned her head toward him. Her eyes opened slowly and then suddenly widened, as she seemed to recognize who was with her.

"My little lion and my little raven," she said in Khuzdul. "You are come back to me at last."

"Indeed, Mother," said Fíli, offering a smile. "We are here."

The one she gave him in return was thin. "Mahal told me you would come. In my dreams he told me you would come back to me. I just had to have patience."

Dís sighed, her eyes falling closed as she said, "I waited for so long. I did not want you to be dead—I didn't want my babies to be dead!" she wailed.

"Do not cry, Mother. Please do not cry," Kíli said.

Pain lanced through Thorin as he watched the scene before him. This was his fault—his fault that his sister and her sons were suffering. His fault that they were losing their mother, that she was dying of grief. He should have listened to her. He should never have taken them on the quest.

"Thorin Oakenshield."

As much command as she could muster was in those two words, and he obediently went to the opposite side of the bed from the boys.

"Yes, my sister?" he said softly as he looked down to her.

For a long moment, Dís only stared back. She seemed to be studying him. Judging him. He knew he deserved whatever judgment she passed.

"I hate you," she told him, and though he'd half expected to hear them, the words still stung worse than a physical blow. "I hate you for taking my children away from me. I begged you to leave them behind, and you did not listen. My children died because you did not listen."

He felt every word as though a stab to his heart, and accepted that he was deserving of her hatred. Thorin fell to his knees as a sob ripped through him. "I'm sorry, Dís. I'm so very sorry. I wish I could go back and do it over. Were it possible I would do as you asked and deny them a place in the Company. It was my stubbornness that led them to their fate and you to yours. I am so sorry."

His head fell forward as his shoulders heaved with the force of his guilt and sorrow, though he stilled when a thin, bony hand came to rest atop his hair.

"I hate you for taking my children away from me, brother," Dís said. "And I love you for bringing them back to me."

Slowly Thorin looked up, his eyes meeting a pair of dull blues that had once been as bright as his own. "I do not deserve your love. It is only by the request of Mahal and the will of the One that your sons are brought back to you."

"If not for Mahal's love for his children, you would none of you be here, that is true," Dís replied. "But I know you, Thorin. You were to my sons as a father, when their own was taken from us. You will be so again when I am gone—"

"No, Mother!" cried Kíli. "We are back now—you don't have to go anywhere."

"Little Raven, it is too late for me," she replied. "My body is too broken and weak to be healed. I wanted to die the moment I heard you were gone, to join you in the Great Forge where surely you stood by your father's side. But our Maker came to me in a dream. He told me you would come back, that I would meet you again in this world before he would take me into his embrace. I just had to have patience."

Dís sighed, then patted his cheek as she said, "My son, I see you are troubled."

"I made you a promise, Mother. A promise I did not keep. I'm so sorry—"

She hushed him by placing a finger over his lips. "You are here now. You have kept your promise. As have you, Little Lion. Oh, you who look so much like your father. You keep to that promise, do you hear? I mean it, Fíli—look after your brother in the days to come."

Tears were falling freely into Fíli's mustache and beard as he nodded solemnly. "Yes, Mother. As before, I give you my word."

"Kíli, you come back to me again—but not for many, many years. And Thorin," she said as she turned her head back to him. "Take care of my babies. No more quests—just take care of them. Love them as you will your own sons, and you will be forgiven."

Thorin took her hand in his and softly pressed his lips to the back of it. "You have my solemn vow, Sister, that I will not fail you again."

"There's a good lad," Dís told him with a smile, then closed her eyes on a sigh.

All was quiet for a time, save for the weeping of Dís' brother and her sons. Off to the side, Dáin and Dwalin also shed silent tears of heartache, for she was their kin.

The stillness was broken as Dís suddenly gasped. "Oh, look brother! 'Tis a far green country ahead… I see Mother and Father there, waiting for us. Oh! Mahal be praised—I see my Síli there! I am coming now, my love!"

A soft gurgle issued from her throat, and then Dís breathed no more.