A/N: This chapters is a bit late and a bit shorter than normal. If I didn't stop where I did then this chapters would be more than twice as long.

His Brother's Maker

Chapter 10

2786 Third Age, Spring – Dunland

Dawn has come. Thorin knows that his father cannot delay the search any longer. All of the supplies needed for the extensive repairs are present and anything that cannot wait was begun with instructions placed with those that would complete the jobs. Nothing more could be said to delay the search. Not even the fog that had risen up over the early hours of the morning. It was thick, but not think enough to make it impossible to see. Fog in the mornings here in the foothills of the Misty Mountains could often be so thick that one could not see from one house to the next.

Thorin kicks the dirt with his boots as they walk to the center of town. The toes of his boot dig into the ground and he stumbles. He casts a glance at Írlí who is walking a few paces ahead of him. The center of the small town is surrounded by the businesses that have sprung up among those who live there. A tailor, the forge, a tavern are represented among others. They ring around a large grassy square where children often play in the trees or chasing after one another. Today, however, there is no laughing and squealing of young dwarflings as they hide, duck, and run among the oak and maple trees. Today the fog obscured the buildings on the other side of the square. There trees loom up out of the fog. Their branches disappear upwards into the mist. Thorin feels like he is confined in by the four walls of a building even though he is the open space of the outdoors. He has spent far too much time not living in halls of stone to feel entirely comfortable with the crushing pressure of small spaces. At least the halls of Erebor were sweeping halls of stone. Their spaces were not confining; they were open and welcoming.

Today, the mood is much more serious. A group of men are gathered just outside of the tavern. Thorin immediately spots his father and Frerin. His father is speaking quietly with some of the others. Frerin is hanging back and watching the proceedings as he props himself up against the wall. He looks for all the world as if he was just dragged out of his nice warm bed. His bronze hair is unkempt and is sticking every which way. Thorin brushes past the others to stand next to his brother. Frerin does not acknowledge Thorin's presence. His heavy eyelids droop over his hazel eyes and his chin rests against his chest.

"Frerin?"

Frerin grunts in response but his eyes open wide enough for his irises to be seen.

"Sleep well?"

Frerin makes a discontented noise in the back of this throat and grumbles before closing his eyes again.

A small smile crosses Thorin's face. Something normal. Frerin might get up early in the morning but he was by no means pleasant company soon after waking. "Normal . . ." A frown tugs at the corners of his smile. Thorin banishes it firmly. He needs some time where he is not thinking up all the terrible things that have likely happened to his mother. He cannot hold onto hope with those horrible thoughts running through his mind.

"I'll fix your hair if you'd like," Thorin offers before adding a tease, "So you don't look like something a warg dragged in."

Frerin's eyes open again to look at his brother. "Because you look so good yourself, sunshine," he says bitingly, but a smile of his own tries to spread across his face. He unceremoniously flops down to straddle a nearby bench.

Thorin sits down behind his younger brother facing the broad expanse of Frerin's slouched back. "Lean back a bit, would you?"

Frerin made a grumbling sound in his throat but he complies. His head is leaning against his elder brother's chest. Thorin works his fingers through the copper hair. He gently works out the knots that formed when one often tosses and turns in their sleep. Thorin ignores those around them as he straightens his brother's hair. The contented sigh that comes from Frerin is all the approval he wants at the moment. All of Thorin's prior anger is forgotten in performing this simple task that pleases his brother. He almost worries that Frerin will fall asleep on him.

Frís often would liken her youngest son to a cat. He could sleep at anytime and anywhere, but he most preferred sleeping where there was warm sunshine and someone's fingers in his hair. Before the sacking of Erebor their mother had kept several cats. Her excuse was that they helped keep mice and other rodents away. However, her cats seemed much too content to sleep on Thorin's bed for them to be much help with pest control. Since the fall of Erebor it was never feasible for them to have another pet. Money that could be spent feeding the three hungry children could not be spent to feed something that's only value was warmth and comfort. Thorin's worries were confirmed when he heard soft snores coming from his brother.

-O-

They had left shortly after Frerin had fallen asleep on his brother. They have a small cart being pulled by pony. There were enough supplies for them to be gone for several days. Hopefully, this mission would not any longer than that or else they would have to turn back to get more supplies and equip themselves for a much more arduous quest. No one mentioned the reason that they had the cart rather than just carrying the supplies in packs.

They were hiking north – following the spine of the mountains. The orcs could have come from anywhere, but their entry into the town and their tracks after leaving suggested that the devil's spawn had come from Moria of all places. Frís' path had been hard to follow. They had not found any trace of her between the men's settlement and their own village. They could only assume that she had been taken by the orcs. None of them discussed what this might mean; they all knew what it might mean.

Thorin and Frerin walked at the back of the company. Their father led the company with Fundin at his side. They bring up the rear which gives the two brother' time alone together. Neither speaks. They simply walk side-by-side, shoulder to shoulder. Frerin yawn occasionally. Thorin feels anger twinge in his chest. 'How can he be so tired when he did not even have a watch shift? No one rudely disturbed his sleep until the sun was risen.'

Thorin foul mood from early that morning had returned as the fog deepened. The sun had disappeared behind grey clouds of light rain. The fog rising from the ground along with the mist of the rain made it difficult to see far beyond the edges of their small company. It muffled all sound. At every sound or every perceived sound Thorin's skin would prickle. He was on edge and jumpy.

Írlí, Kaïz, and others were walking parallel to the track that they were following to make sure they did not miss something just because it was a few feet away. Thorin was irritated because something could be only five feet away from them and they would never know it because it would remain hidden in the fog.

Thorin is tense. His undershirt is damp from the cool mist and his own nervous sweat. He shivers in his damp clothing. The long leather jerkin protects him from the chilled breeze, but it does not do much for him in the way of warmth. His entire body feels cool and clammy except for his right wrist. His wrist feels uncomfortably warm under the splint and bandages. It is warm and it aches. This only adds to the prince's irritation and annoyance.

Thorin and Frerin walk shoulder to shoulder. Frerin is not nearly as grumpy as his elder brother but he is still fidgeting nervously. He pops his knuckles periodically to Thorin's annoyance. With the heavy cloud cover it was impossible to see the sun to judge how long they had been walking – almost blindly – north. Thorin is sure that it has been several hours at least; it should be time for lunch at the least. No one else in the somber column are showing any indications of stopping for a midday meal.

"Should one of us ask adâd if we are stopping for lunch?" Thorin asks his brother.

"We could, but he doesn't look he wants to stop." Frerin gestured ahead to where their father was. He was several passes in front of anyone else and showed no slacking in his pace.

Thorin grunts in response.

Frerin pops the knuckles on one hand.

"Will you please not do that?" Thorin snaps angrily at his younger brother.

"Stop what?" Frerin asks. He looks at his elder brother with wide eyes. He pops another knuckle.

"That!" Thorin half shouts in exasperation.

"Oh . . ."

"Yeah, that. It's really annoying."

Frerin's eyes narrow as he looks at Thorin. He is just as annoyed by the weather and his lack of sleep. He spent most of his night tossing and turning in his bed. He slept in a fitful light doze if he slept at all. He had spent the first half of his time in bed listening to the deep breathing of his brother who was sleeping deeply. "Not even half as annoying as your voice."

Anger flashes on each of their faces. "I just asked you to stop."

"You're breathing too loudly. Can you stop doing that?" Frerin asks loudly as he turns to look at the elder.

Thorin shoves his shoulder into Frerin's causing the younger dwarf to stumble sideways.

.m.

Fundin follows closely behind his commander. He understands the punishing pace that Thráin is setting. If he could have he would have searched for his own wife following that attack of Smaug, but there was no hope that day. Today there was some hope, but not much, he knew that, but he does not know if Thráin knows the same. If he refuses to accept that then Fundin will not be the first to press the issue.

The column proceeds silently. No one is in the mood for songs or happy chatter. He can hear small conversations between dwarves who were talking quietly to those who were walking right next to one another. Then there are raised voices that carry forwards from the back of the column. Fundin turns to see Thráin's sons arguing. He turns forward to face his commander. Thráin half turns to face the dwarf who has been his closest companion. He frowns as he eyes land on his sons, sadness fills his eyes before looking down. He turns back to face the mist in front of him.

Fundin watches the dark head in front of him for a moment before turning to walk to the back of the column. The two are still arguing when he falls in behind them. He rolls his eyes. The two are arguing today of all days about something incredibly stupid. He reaches forward and grabs their shoulders and shoves them apart to step in between the quarreling brothers.

"Hey!" They protest together.

"Why are you fighting?" Fundin demands of the two.

Frerin's eyes darken as he looks at his brother. Neither of them answer Fundin's question. Fundin seizes their shoulders with his large hands. "Nothing then? Aye, boys?" He looks between the two of them. "Then stop!" He shakes them. "Your father does not need this today. Nobody needs this today. If you two are going to act like dwarflings who still cling to their mother's skirts and drink from her teats then you can be sent back to be under Mæra's watch with my two bairns."

He stares into their faces when he finishes speaking. Both have the presence of mind to look ashamed.

"Will you tell adâd that we're sorry?" Frerin asks hopefully.

A smile tugs at the corner of Fundin's mouth. "You can do that yourself. We'll be stopping for the night in a bit. I'll make your father stop. If it was up to him then he would keep going through the night. He needs rest even if he does not sleep again.

"But for now, you," he grabs Thorin's shoulder firmly, "are going to walk up front with us."

"What if I . . ."

Fundin interrupts Thorin, "Up front because you're the eldest and should be there for your father. But," he catches each of their eyes, "also to prevent any more of your inane quarreling."

.m.

Thorin followed Fundin to the front of the company. He stayed by Fundin's side right behind his father until they stopped for the night.

"Everyone spread out; start a fire, find wood, check our surroundings. You all know what needs to be done," Thráin shouts when they stop in a flat spot by the side of the road. The company falls out and some begin unloading the cart. They toss bedrolls and blankets into a pile on the ground. Thorin grabs two to set up a space for himself and his brother. Their last words had been an argument, but there was no way that the two of them would not be sleeping in close proximity to one another.

Others were quickly setting up their own spaces to sleep. Fundin took Kaïz to scout their surroundings to make sure that their campsite was secure. Frerin joined the others in gathering firewood while Írlí was getting the tinder lit. Everything was calm. Everyone was doing as they were supposed to and the campsite is filled with bustling activity. Thráin is seated on a fallen tree with his head in his hands. Nobody goes near their leader, they give him the space that he seems to desire.

Thorin stretches out on his bedroll and watches his father. He wants to say something, but he does not know what to say. 'What does a son say to his father when his mother is missing?' Thorin rolls to his side to avoid look at his devastated father. He frowns. 'We need to find her.' Thorin misses his mother greatly, but he thinks that maybe he needs her the least of everyone in the family. Dís, Frerin, and his father need her so much more than he does. He thinks that his father needs his mother most of all. He has been going through the motions of a leader, but even Frerin could see how much the prince was relying on his captain-at-arms.

'If we don't find her . . . we might as well have lost both parents.' Worry twists Thorin's insides. He worries for Dís. She is still so young. She is not ready to be responsible for anything. She is meant to have a carefree childhood. More carefree than the ones that Thorin and Frerin had. She was younger, she remembers less of the Dragon and the hard years that followed. Most of her memories are of Rohan and Dunland, the better years. The wandering years had slipped from her memory easily as she grew and replaced those memories with the better ones. Those years had not been kind to the dwarves of Erebor. Many left. The spent many nights sleeping on the ground. Many nights of rain soaked clothing and bedding. Miserable nights. Miserable years.

Fundin and Kaïz walk back into the camp, his face is tight and the skin around his eyes are pinched. There are a few inquiries as to what is wrong. The captain-at-arm's tread is heavy and carries a sense of finality. The tread of doom. Fundin ignores them until he stands directly in front of Thráin. "My lord?" He says looking directly at Thráin. When their eyes meet the captain continues, "We've found something.

A/N: I've got the next chapter almost finished. When I was having problems with this chapter I worked on the next one. This chapter sets up how things will be later with Fundin's behavior towards Thorin and Frerin. I also needed some happy moments between the brothers. I hope you enjoyed that at the beginning.

If I get some nice, crunchable birdses . . . uh . . . I mean reviews! Anyways, I'll post it quickly ;) if not I'll build up a reserve in case I get too busy with my grad classes to write for a few weeks.