A/N: Hello everyone - here I am again after ten days where I got home at last! Aaah that fic just shows me how lucky I am not to be like Thorin :). But enough of my life - I hope you will enjoy that one as well... The more I write the more I'm anxious when I post a new chapter - but it is so thrilling on the other hand, now that that fic is getting longer there is also so much more things I can write about. So well, I hope you'll like it and leave you reading :).
Just another thing : I have started to write another fic from Dwalin's point of view, that draws materials from that fic but also has some spoilers in it for those who are not familiar with Thorin's history and have only watched the movies. So - if you feel like it of course you are welcome to read it, but if you'd rather keep away from spoilers/previews, don't. Till next chapter then :)!
The King of Carven Stone
Chapter 20.
The snow was melting. The Red River's waters swelled with thawed ice and were roaring fiercely among the Hills, and though the earth was still barren, without blossom or flower yet, the winter was withdrawing, defeated at last.
There would be no more shining pillars in that wonderful cave Dwalin had been generous enough to show me – it was probably damp and dark again, waiting for the next winter to adorn the cool walls that had reminded me of home.
The wind was still cold, and it would be weeks before we would be able to take off fur coats and warm tunics – but the snow had vanished, and the Iron Hills stood red and proud, victorious once more, ready to welcome spring.
How I wished to be able to rejoice in it – I should have been glad to see the sun throw its rays at the snow, reducing it to pools of water, unable to harm anymore... That winter I had hated so much, feared so much, now I was clinging to its last days, wishing it to endure forever, because its downfall also meant the end of peace and shelter for us.
The wound on my arm had healed, leaving a thin scar on my skin that was easily covered by my clothes – no one but Dís and Frerin ever noticed, and I had told them it had been a training accident, staying close to the truth but keeping my despair from them. The different Dwarven tribes I had described to them as promised, answering Frerin's many questions – but my brother was still too young to realize fully what the issues had been, and asked about appearances and characters, not about words and decisions...
So in the end I had not really managed to tell them we would have to go. I just could not – my grandfather had not alluded to it again, and neither had Náin. My uncle had not spoken to my father about Thrór's decision and had never mentioned it to me – so I chose to wait, and to let Frerin and Dís enjoy their last carefree days. There was no use in clouding their skies already: my brother was so happy with Dáin, he was always outside now that the snow had melted, roaming the woods with him, practicing his new-found bow-skills – yet not hunting. There was no killer instinct in my little brother. Not then and not afterwards.
And Dís was enjoying her days here too. She would often accompany me at Dwalin's house, and sometimes I would play the harp there for her – but most of the time she was seeking out Dwalin's mother, who had indeed found the way to her heart.
There she would go, dressed as a little Dwarfling, her tiara fastened in her long raven hair with stern warrior-patterns, but she would still be content with helping Dwalin's mother in her many errands, as long as they could talk about our mother. She was happy in Fundin's house, my Dís – and she made Fundin's family happy too. Fundin would call her his little star, pulling her on his knee and letting her play with the braids of his beard – and he was listening earnestly to her when she told him she wanted to learn how to fight.
"Sounds reasonable enough...", he said, his brown eyes smiling kindly at her. "With those rascals you have as brothers...
- Oh no!", Dís would voice earnestly. "I would never fight them – well, perhaps Frerin sometimes when he calls me things I don't like, but not Thorin. I would never fight Thorin..."
She would look at me then, her blue gaze so loving and faithful – oh mamarlûna... Have we ever fought each other? Was there no day those childish, loving words came untrue? I know I have made you unhappy so many times, that I have wounded you, called forth your tears and quenched your laughter... I remember that day where you hit me in the chest, the only way to make me aware of the fact that you were still there, breathing, living and loving me. And that other day where you screamed, and struck me wherever your hands could reach me – thinking I could not understand your grief, that I had not been through that ache, and yet you were wrong...
And if you could see me now, knew the terrible things I did and what became of me – and what I have done to you, taking your ultimate treasure from you and leading your sons to peril and death... No doubt you would rejoice in seeing me clawing for air, no doubt you would wish for the pain in my chest to be greater even, and for that agony to be infinite and even more painful...
Or perhaps – perhaps you would not... It would be so unlike you, to rejoice in other's pains, revenge is a feeling you never could revel in... I am not even sure you were resentful, mamarlûna... I am not sure anymore of what you are, and what I only believed you to be – maybe I mixed it up, maybe I never understood...
I just know that I want you at my side. I do not care if you would crush me or hold me – I would give anything, every breath, every heartbeat, every drop of blood my body still harbours, to be able to see you one last time, and ask for your forgiveness.
And to thank you, because you kept your promise and never fought me, staying at my side despite my faults, my harsh temper, my broken soul that could harbour so little joy, despite of everything we built together.
Every ray of sunshine I got ever since my darkest days, I owe to you. Everything I achieved I did for you. And I wish... I wish I could offer you more than a desolate Mountain scattered with bodies, and tombs, and memories that will fade away with you...
I give you my last tears, Dís. That's the only thing I have left – I can feel them slide along my cheek, so warm against the cold wind... I wish I could turn them into diamonds, and make a necklace out of them, that could embrace your slender throat – do you remember the one I gave to you the day you wed him? Your One... your worthy One... You were so beautiful...
She was always so beautiful...
But the day I was recalling was long before, a day where we were both children yet, I leaving childhood, and her, my Dís, still fully living it...
She got Dwalin and me to train her in the end – actually only Dwalin, I was too scared to hurt her and did not like the thought of her fighting, I just wanted her shielded and at peace...
But Dwalin was not afraid. He was so tall, so strong and yet his moves were smooth and perfectly mastered – he never dealt a blow that could harm her. He smiled at her and found her a wooden stick that was light enough for her to wield, and then he made her move, teaching her the elemental parrying moves, and then some attacks as well, as the days would pass.
"She's gifted, Thorin...", he would smile, letting Dís touch his chest with her stick so as to encourage her, not caring for my wince.
"You are gifted, sarnûna..."
Dancing-lady... That's what he called her, and he was right – Dís was so gracious with that stick, and after a while she asked for another, and fought Dwalin with two sticks, one in each hand... Not fighting actually, rather dancing, wielding them like torches, and he was unused to it and revelled in that training.
"Thorin, that's the perfect way to train against ambidextrous opponents... What hand do you write with, Dís?"
She blushed then, looking at me.
"I don't write really well yet...", she whispered, and Dwalin smiled again.
"What hand do you draw with, then, sweetheart?"
She bit her lip, facing the ground, touching it softly with her sticks.
"The right hand...", she said shyly, and I cleared my throat audibly, still backed up against the wall, almost smiling – it was so sweet to see her struggle with harmless lies...
She looked at me then, and I winked at her – it was alright, it was only Dwalin and me, and we would not tell...
"Actually...", she whispered to my friend, coming close to him. "I only draw and write with my right hand when Balin is around... I can do it with both hands, and I prefer the left. But Balin says it is not proper. And 'adad used to say it as well... and grandfather..."
Dwalin huffed then, shaking his head.
"Not proper indeed... I will tell you something, Dís. I write with my left hand, and there's nothing wrong with it – the only thing that ever was crooked were my runes when someone tried to make me hold the quill with the other. I write with the left hand, eat with the right... and make sure to strike down every one who's not happy about it with both.
- Dwalin!"
He had the grace to look slightly guilty – after all Dís was still young and it would not do to have her fight like an untamed Dwarfling... But my sister was laughing, revelling in his words and in the skill they shared, and it warmed my heart to see her smile.
Yet my happiness and serenity were gone, ever since that meeting. The nightmares that used to plague me had returned, stronger than ever: an endless, barren road I was treading, every single night, carrying someone – Dís, Frerin, Svali, but often just an indistinct body I was desperately holding against me, aware of its weakness, of its hunger, listening to its moans and knowing I would not be able to save it...
But the moans were mine and they woke me up. Me, and also Frerin, who would usually shake me awake so as to make that dream end. He would look at me, trying to understand, watching me getting up, leaving the room so as to bathe my drenched face, and then come back, lying down again, my eyes wide open in the dark room.
"Sleep. It was just a nightmare. I am sorry."
He did not ask anything from me – he just held me against him, gently stroking my chest, waiting for me to fall asleep again, yet always giving in to sleep first, still so young...
Now that the snow was melting it was even worse. For a week now I had been waiting for my grandfather to react, to call us all to him, to tell us to pack our small belongings and join him on the road. Many Dwarven families had begun their packing, ready to leave for the White Mountains or other Dwarven settlements, or to seek for their own good fortune. But Thrór did not voice his own plans, and that anxious waiting was killing me.
For three nights now, the same nightmare had caused me to wake up drenched in sweat once more, barely able to reach the bathroom to throw up. I closed the door and retched, just like the day I had come here – and I was getting gifted at doing it swiftly and almost silently. Frerin always followed minutes after and only found me bathing my face, seemingly composed, yet inwardly trying to shake off the fear I fought at day and that returned in full victory at night.
"What's wrong with you?", he had asked the previous night, gently rubbing my back, watching me dry my face.
"Nothing...", I muttered, and Frerin shook his head.
But he still did not ask anything. Perhaps he guessed what the cause of my nightmares could be and did not want to face it – or rather, he was waiting for me to be brave enough to confide it him... But I ever was a coward when it came to facing my worst fears and had none of his courage – so I stayed mute.
The night that followed, however, I dreamt of the Dwarflings again. I saw Itô carrying them out of the tent, and this time I could see their faces clearly, both pale, the shiny gems of a tiara adorning the raven locks of the first, and the thin, golden braids circling the face of the second... So small, so lifeless...
Frerin shook me awake and this time I was not moaning – I would have screamed but no sound came out, instead I felt my stomach heave and got up once more, staggering in his arms. He helped me reaching the bathroom – I was still struggling to fight back the terrible images of that nightmare, and Frerin held me as I knelt down on the floor, throwing up once more, unable to fight the dread that had invaded me.
After that he handed me some water, and then he sat himself next to me, circling my waist again, gently brushing my back, waiting for my breath to become even again.
"Right, Thorin...", he whispered once we both were sure I would not be forced to bend upon the bathtub again.
"Either Náin's cook has sworn to poison you – and she will indeed, if she keeps serving us potatoes every single meal..."
He rolled his eyes, still rubbing my back – he was trying to cheer me up and managed indeed to summon the ghost of a smile on my lips.
"Or there is something else turning your stomach upside down, and you'd better tell me, because I'm fed up with shaking you awake every night and watching those rings under your eyes getting deeper and deeper..."
I leaned against him then, resting my head against his – he was right, it had lasted long enough, what was there left to hide anyway, Frerin was no idiot and would guess it soon enough...
"Those potatoes...
- Hah!", my brother said, gently rubbing his forehead against my temple. "I knew it...
- No, you don't... You will soon wish you would still be able to eat them, because in a few weeks... In a few weeks, Mahal only knows what we will be able to put in our plates..."
It was so strange – usually night hours hold so much more anguish than daylight... Nightmares creep in, and every fear is distorted, but not that night. That night I was glad to have it out – to have told Frerin whose kindness and sense I always treasured. He deserved to know – and I needed him to tell my father what awaited him, I could not bring it to him alone...
"So it is true, then...", Frerin said, and there was no surprise in his voice, only weariness.
I pulled away from him, gazing at him.
"What do you mean?"
Frerin shrugged his shoulders.
"Dáin told me about grandfather's projects. He does not want to stay here, does he? He never wanted to come here anyway – he does not like to be his brother's guest, it hurts his pride... There are few things that don't, when I think about it, still... That one was predictable indeed...
- You... you knew?"
I was barely able to mouth the words, I could only stare at him.
"Well, yes. I was waiting for you to tell me if his plans were confirmed – he would tell you first, would he not? You or Nár, or Balin... and they would have spoken to you...
- He... he did not... Frerin – how can you be so calm about it? How can you bear it – how can you bear to think he is dooming us all to exile and starvation once more?"
There was so much despair in my voice and my brother resumed brushing my back, gently pulling my head against his shoulder.
"He won't..."
Frerin had answered calmly, stretching his legs so as to touch my bare feet with his. I could feel his toes against my skin and they were warm – he was always so warm, like baked bread coming out of the oven, he could walk for hours on bare stone floor and still warm me up with his feet...
"He won't be dooming us, because we will be ready..."
I moved my leg, entwining it with his – my feet were slightly taller but not so much, actually, and they had the same shape, the second toe slightly longer than the first, just like my father's...
"What do you mean...?"
I was still resting my head on his shoulder – I was so tired, feeling so empty, and I just let his words guide me, for once, let him decide what was to be done, I did not know anymore...
"How can we possibly be ready...? We cannot empty the Iron Hills of their food supplies...
- Of course not, Thorin... Let them keep their potatoes..."
He was laughing softly, gently grazing my skin with his small foot, and I could feel weariness settle in as my body relaxed at his touch – it did not matter that my back was resting against the hard, cold surface of a bathtub in which I had just thrown up, helpless as a child. It did not matter – my brother knew, and he had a plan.
"We both know what's making you sick, don't we...? It's always 'what if', and will always be... You cannot bear to sit idly and wait for fate to reach you – so let's just consider every single eventuality. It's not like that Dragon, coming out of nowhere, finding us unprepared, making us leave in haste, wounded and without means. If we go, we go knowing what we'll find and how we'll face it – we will leave being ready."
He sounded so confident, so positive... My shiny brother who was always brave when I was not – who was expert in waiting out and planning, and finding words to pull me back on my feet...
"What eventualities...?"
He pondered my words for a while.
"Well – we have to think about the road he'll make us take. And also where he plans to settle down – grandfather would not want us to be wandering forever, he must have an idea of where he wants to build his new halls...
- I'm not sure he wants to build new halls... He keeps talking of Moria – his mind is set upon Khazad-Dûm...
- But there is a slight problem there. Actually a big one, crashing down walls and wielding fire, and no – not a Dragon this time..."
He was grinning, actually. Moria and its dangers did not frighten him that day – oh Frerin...
"I don't think he'll take us straight to Moria. He's much too shrewd and twisted for that. No... tomorrow we look at the map, and we just search for a place where there are Mountains, but no Dwarves – that is not too far from Moria but still far enough not to arise any suspicion, where there are Men but no King and... where we'll find people who'll welcome our fighting and forging skills...
- I don't need to look at the map...", I muttered, closing my eyes and burying my face in my brother's neck. "The way you make it sound, it can only mean Dunland...
- Right. But we'll still look at it because one never knows with grandfather. We'd better not leave a single eventuality out – we'll think about the route we might take so as to ration supplies, we find out about the people who live there and we ask every one that could help us to do so. Balin first, then Fundin and Náin. And also 'adad – we don't need him to know about grandfather's plans yet, but 'adad travelled. I'm sure he knows every road and every tribe of Men we could find. What we can picture, we don't fear."
He was stroking my back, holding me against him and suddenly I just gave in, whispering those words close to him.
"I don't want to leave, Frerin... I want Náin to take care of us, and of 'adad... I don't want to live through all this again – I just can't, look at what happened while I had to lead... I don't want to mess up again...
- You never did", my brother said softly. "I never regretted following you. The only thing that hurt me was witnessing that you thought yourself stronger on your own... I wish you would ask for help, sometimes... Why don't you just ask, Thorin? Why does it always have to end like this...?
- Always? Hold on – you are the one getting sick usually...
- Yes – because I have drunk too much, or because I have taken wine for raisin juice... Not because I'm half sick with anguish and not breathing a word about it!
- You were glad enough I did not breathe a word to anyone that day with the raisin juice... I thought I'd never get you back to Erebor..."
I was actually smiling, and Frerin laughed softly.
"Yes... I think you could just trace back our steps from Dale. Five steps, puke, ten steps, puke again – and you... you were just shaking your head and holding me. It was so funny...
- Not while it happened – you kept repeating you were dying...
- I was... You'll see, one day it will happen to you and I'll be the one laughing at you.
- I was not – I was not laughing at you...
- Alright, you were not. Still – it's not about me, Thorin. You are the one unable to sleep. And sick every single night – don't think I haven't noticed, I have just been respecting your feelings."
I huffed, still holding him tightly, and he rubbed his forehead against my temple once more.
"Do you feel better?", he asked softly. "Think you can sleep a bit now? Tomorrow we will look at those maps, it will be fun..."
I nodded and he pulled me up, keeping his arm around me, gently leading me to the bed again. He pushed me in the chest, making me lie down, and this time I was the first falling asleep, my head resting on his chest while he was stroking my hair. Keeping nightmares away.
Pulling me back on my feet.
"Did you tell Dwalin...?", Frerin asked the next morning.
I had just woken up, feeling somewhat hazy – it had been my first unbroken rest for weeks and I could hardly believe I had slept so soundly, almost like a child.
"Does he know we have to go?"
My cheek was still resting against his tunic, and I could feel his warmth through the fabric, and hear his soft heartbeats.
"Yes..."
My voice was so low that Frerin only heard it because he was close.
"He said he wants to leave with us. He... he promised."
Frerin's hand ran through my hair once more, his fingertips stroking my braids. I had closed my eyes – every time I thought about Dwalin's words, I felt weak inside... I did not deserve such a gift, I still could not understand it, and though I did not doubt him, though I wanted him at my side, I also could not bear to tear him apart from his family, his home, the Hills where he had grown...
"Dwalin is worth more than gold..."
My brother's voice was low, yet full of warmth.
"That is good, Thorin... That is very good indeed...
- I should never have accepted... How am I to face his parents...? We already took Balin from them, and it made a lot more sense for him to go, back then...
- We did not take Balin from them. He chose to come, of his own free will – he loved and cared for 'adad, shared his visions and wanted to serve and help him. It is the same for Dwalin, is it not?
- I don't know..."
Frerin bent his face towards me and I could hear the smile in his voice.
"Doesn't matter. I know, that's enough. His parents will understand. They know it already, deep inside. They know there is no way Dwalin won't follow, wherever you go."
He had so much wisdom, so much insight – my little brother I had thought too young to understand... Only weeks before I had been the one holding him close to me, trying to shake off his worst fears – foul creatures that had come out of nowhere to sow death and destruction...
It was long past, the time where such monsters could frighten me – my fears were more insidious, and often I could not even name them. I was just afraid of losing those I held dear – of seeing them die... Of being helpless while their life was taken away, blown out like a candle while I could only watch...
But Frerin, the wordsmith, the little soul-reader – he knew exactly what he was doing in making me look at the maps... He summoned us all, Dwalin, Dáin and even Dís – he made Dáin bring us all the maps he could find and unfold them on the floor in his room, and then we bent upon them. Red, black, brown and golden hair – bent together to guess where our steps would lead us...
The incredible happened then, and I still want to smile and thank my brother for what he did – he knew me so well, he knew exactly what my dreams had been, long ago, while my days had still been carefree, and he gave me the key back to them, somehow...
As I bent down to look at those maps again – I could feel something stir in my soul, my eyes begin to shine while a smile was stretching my lips.
I knew these words. I knew these drawings. I had looked at them endless times – thinking of the day I would finally be able to see what they looked like for real.
I had read so many books, raced through every diary I could find... I had always wanted to explore, to reach for the horizon – I just never had pictured that there would be no home for me to come back to, no shelter to think of while I was discovering the wild...
But suddenly I was a boy again – talking to my cousins about what I had read, and listening about what they knew from the tales of guards that had had to travel far on expeditions as well...
We were lying flat on our bellies, north, south, east and west of that map – Dís switching like the wind, not understanding all of our talks, but still determined to hug us one after the other, gathering a gentle shove from Frerin, a loud kiss from Dáin that made her laugh, a strong embrace from Dwalin, while I would search for her hair with my free hand, burying my fingers in her silken locks.
I still remember her nestled against me, letting me play with the braids I had woven in her hair without really noticing it – I was too busy pointing out names that had always intrigued me...
"Rhûn...", Frerin whispered. "Look at the size of that lake...
- There are four rivers reaching for those waters... It is so big that actually, some of the first Dwarves that reached it though they had found the sea... The world must have looked a lot smaller on those maps..."
I was smiling, and then my finger went south, closer to the place I was stretched, following the Ash Mountains, jumping above Udûn – I would not touch that accursed place – and then resting upon softer hills called Emyn Muil.
"The Blue Mountains... That's the place Jónar comes from...
- Oh, that's far away...", Dís said, her small hand trying to bridge the distance between those Mountains and our Hills.
"We will be going even further, sarnûna...", Dwalin said, meeting my eye, and his broad hand took Dís' in a fond gesture, enclosing her wrist as he made her finger brush the places he named.
"We'll walk on, on and on, say hello to Fangorn's forest without entering it – what do we care for wood when we can have rocks, eh?– and then we'll reach the gap of Rohan, and cross it, and there we will reach Enedwaith – and Dunland...
- Do you know why there is a big tower here, Dís?", Dáin asked, his brown eyes sheepish as often.
My sister shook her head – dearest Dís, how on earth would she know about it, the name Orthanc was no clue to her...
"It is because Men are too stupid to guard their own lands – they have to ask their neighbours..."
My little sister frowned, and looked up at me. I recovered slightly, seating myself on the ground, my arm wrapped around her waist.
"Do you see those lands, Dís, below the White Mountains, close to the Sea? Gondor... Once it was a kingdom, actually it still is, but there is no more King – their line has ended, it is said... So now there are only Stewards, keeping the key of the main City, waiting for their King to return... That tower you can see, here, it is guarding the Gap of Rohan, another kingdom, home of the Horse Lords, north from Gondor...
- Guarding it from what?", Dís asked, and Dáin answered:
"From Men who have become hostile to Gondor – they had war with Rohan, and now they don't like kingly lands anymore...
- Why?
- Because they are jealous, Dís!", Frerin said, huffing in annoyance. "It's obvious, isn't it?"
She did not answer, I could only feel her body press itself against mine as her small fingers clutched my tunic.
"They don't like kings?", she asked in a tiny voice – and I could read her fear, after all, she had not seen much outside Erebor, and had never met anyone who doubted kings and questioned their power.
"They don't know kings", I simply answered, smiling at her. "They have never seen one in their entire life. Don't be afraid, Dís – they won't see your crown...
- We should make a song", Dís said, still holding me tightly, yet less anxious. "A land without king, a king without land..."
She was smiling, and Frerin grinned.
"Great – we'll sing it on the road all the time...
- No you won't, silly...", Dwalin said, amused yet with an earnest tone. "You don't want everyone to know we are coming.
- Well, perhaps not", my brother mused. "But I'll still think about words for it, though... A land without king, a king without land - just look, and remember the ring on your hand..."
He did not go further that day – he simply bent upon the map and resumed his musings. But eventually he would finish that song, just as he promised... and we always loved to hear him sing that one, even on the road – it reminded us of that day, stretched around the map, joking about the places we would discover...
Strangely enough I struggle to remember how it became official we would go – and it would indeed be Dunland, my brother had guessed right. I do not recall my grandfather telling me, nor do I remember discussing it with Náin but we must have – surely we must have...
Try as I might, I can only recall that day we laughed around the map – and the tragic day where my father suddenly understood we had to go, that there was no way we could stay in the Hills he loved so much...
Dwalin was not there, that day, and neither was Dáin. I don't remember seeing Dís in the room either – she must have been at Dwalin's house, she must have, because after that he came, and brought her with him... But I forgot...
I just remember being with Frerin, in Náin's sitting room, with my father – and my grandfather coming in. Náin had not told my father yet – he was bringing it to him softly, telling him most of the Dwarves had begun to leave the Hills, had been forced to exile, and it weighed heavy on Thráin's mind. He would stand on the Hills, Náin at his side, and watch them go, his tall frame still under the cold spring's sun – watching his people go without a word, his face closed and sad.
And strangely enough – despite his madness, despite the fact he could not even properly speak to them... most of them still turned, and bowed – bowed to the Prince who had faced the Dragon, and drawn blood-Orc for his people...
Thráin the lord of raging fire...
That day my grandfather came in and simply asked him:
"Get ready to leave in a week. We have lingered long enough here, it is time to go and to seek for our own fortune."
He used exactly the same tone as he could have saying: "Get out of the bed, you have lingered long enough, it is time to earn the bread I have been bringing to your mouth for so long."
Harsh, and commanding – ever since my father had been a small child, a little boy growing up motherless, never earning a kiss or a fond embrace, always torn from everything that was soft to strive, and reach for more than he could give...
And Thráin had always obeyed. He loved his father – at least he had loved him, until sorrow, grief and pain simply erased what he had always been able to see. Respect, and also care for this aging father – he had lost it, because Thrór had forgotten to show him he cared, and respected him as well...
But that day – that day he did not obey. He simply stood there, rigid, his face aghast, clutching the back of a chair to steady himself, and I heard him voice the first meaningful sentence to his father ever since he came here.
"What do you mean, 'adad?"
It was so strange to hear him call his father like we used to call him... It spoke of days where he had been young – a boy, looking up to him like we had done with him before the Dragon came.
"I mean we are leaving. In a week. Grór won't keep us here our lives long, it is time to relieve him from the care he shows us, and to leave.
- You... and me, 'adad?"
Thráin's voice was low, a little shaky, but he was still clinging to the chair, determined to steady himself – he had to manage, he would try to face it, that barren road with his commanding father, he had done it before...
"What wrong did you do to Mahal to be cursed with such a brain? You and me? What would we do on the road, all alone? We are all leaving – you, me, the lads, and those who are still loyal enough to follow me!
- Not... not the children."
My father had spoken in a soft voice, but it still was firm. He looked at Frerin and me, and then he looked at Náin, as if searching for support.
"Not the children."
It was almost like a prayer, and somehow he found the strength to look at my grandfather, adding softly:
"They stay safe. They stay warm. They stay... away..."
And there his voice broke – 'adad... He found the strength to voice the words that were tearing his heart apart – and suddenly I simply could not bear it, I'd rather be on the road at his side, cold and starving, than to know he was alone, thinking of us and weeping...
"No, 'adad, we follow.
- If you go, we go...", Frerin added, biting his lip that had begun to quiver at my father's words.
"Of course they go. They are my kin, my grandchildren, and they have sworn to follow me. We leave in a week."
And there he turned, and would have gone but for the desperate cry my father let out, pushing the chair he had been holding, not caring for it to crash down on the ground.
"No!"
Thrór turned, very slowly, the contempt in his face visible.
"Stop behaving like a child – save me that humiliation, would you?
- You... don't even know... what a child is!"
Thráin had stammered the words out in a broken voice, his eye bright with unshed tears and his face ashen.
"You did not raise them. You did not hold them in your arms. You say... you say they are yours, but they are not. And I... I won't... I won't let you send them to death – I... won't, 'adad."
He was shaking, shaking all over, facing my grandfather who was looking at him, his gaze cold and collected as ever, and suddenly Thrór laughed, a short, barking laugh.
"I'd like to see that done..."
Thráin clenched his fists and Náin stepped up to him, putting his hand on his forearm, but my father shook him off, desperate anger building in his chest and raging in his mind.
"Just look at them! Just face them! What kind of a grandfather are you – what kind of a King are you to ask them to follow you?!
- 'Adad, don't...", I whispered, seeing him walk towards my grandfather, his face white and his gaze bright – I knew that look, I knew what it could imply...
"Just look at you...", my grandfather said coldly. "Where would your children be, had they been left to your care... You don't even remember their names!"
He was still laughing softly and my father's face got even whiter as Thrór went on:
"How dare you speak to me in that tone? I am still your King, and your father, and you – you have failed me in every possible way and still dare to speak up to me...?
- Grandfather, please..."
My voice was shaky, there were tears in my eyes – I just wanted them to stop, both of them... Frerin had stepped up to my father, was holding his arm, dragging it against his chest, while I extended my hand towards Thrór, trying to make him stop.
And suddenly Thráin lost all restraint. He shook my brother off, so hard that Frerin tripped and would have fallen on the ground, had not Náin caught him in his arms – and then he ran towards my grandfather.
"Dís – Frerin – Thorin!", he screamed, and there was so much despair in his voice, so much anger.
"I know their names! They are my children, not yours, never yours!"
He hurled himself at his father then, ready to strike him down, and he would have – he was so much stronger, and my grandfather was old already... But he met my chest instead – I could not bear to see him lift a hand against his King... He might have every reason in the world, nothing could justify such an action, only madness and despair – and they did not atone for betraying every oath...
So I stepped between my father and Thrór, trying to hold Thráin back – but he still hit me, did not have enough time and too much anger to stop himself. He hit me full in the chest and in the face, making my head jerk back against my grandfather's chest who caught me when I fell against him.
My ears were ringing and my jaw was hurting, I could not move, not talk, and I could not breathe – air had left my lungs, and I was unable to take it in again, I could only hang limply between my grandfather's arms, looking at my father who had stopped dead, horror invading his gaze and draining his face of all colour.
"See...?", Thrór said softly, and his voice was shaking this time, just like his hand – I could see it as he was stroking my chest, not noticing I could not breathe, that I was gasping for air...
"See what you have done...?"
My father's moan seemed to tear his own chest apart, and suddenly air found its way back to my lungs – it had to, I had to get to him and tell him it was nothing, that I was fine, that it was much better that his blows had found me, and not Thrór, that it was not his fault...
"'Adad...", I whispered, gently breaking free from my grandfather's embrace – Mahal how it hurt, every single breath was painful, his blow had found my ribs, his fist crashing against them...
I tried to walk towards my father but somehow I did not really manage – it was Thráin who met me, holding me fiercely against him, kneeling on the ground. Burying his face in my locks and sobbing.
"It is alright, 'adad...", I whispered. "It doesn't matter... I know you did not mean it, do not worry... We will be fine, we will all be fine, as long as we stay with you, as long as we don't fight each other... Don't cry, 'adad... Please don't cry... We will follow grandfather, you know we will, we always did, but you must not despair, 'adad, you must not cry, we will all be fine, I promise you..."
Talking hurt – everything hurt actually, even my father's embrace, crushing me against him, desperately trying to atone for his blows, terrified by his own violence, and weeping despite my words...
The only touch that helped was Frerin's. He held me against him once Náin was able to take my father away, and I waited for my grandfather to leave as well – I had nothing to say to him anymore, I just wanted him gone, I just wanted them all gone...
But Thrór still stood there, facing us, I seated on the ground and Frerin kneeling next to me, his arm around me, feeling for my jaw, brushing my cheek, his grey eyes bright and fierce.
"Thorin, I...", my grandfather begun, but Frerin cut his speech – that day he was not afraid to do so, what had happened had been too serious.
"Leave. Just leave him alone. He said we would follow you, you got what you need, just leave us!"
His voice was low but there was a savage undertone in it that I had never witnessed – and my grandfather obeyed. I heard the door fall shut, with a soft click – we were alone in that room, alone at last.
For a while we both stayed silent – we could still hear my father's screams, his desperate words and his sobs, hovering in the room around us.
"Are you hurt?", Frerin asked, and his voice was shaking, thick with unshed tears.
I shook my head slowly, and then I felt my face fall. I leant my forehead against Frerin's shoulder and closed my eyes, trying to hold back my own grief. There was such a rift in our family, such a rift between my father and my grandfather – and I had not been strong enough to mend it... I had failed to prevent them from fighting, one with fists and the other with words...
The door opened again and I brushed my eyes, still leaning against Frerin. A warm, strong hand stroked my shoulder and as I turned I saw it was Náin, who had got down on one knee to reach us.
He did not say a word – what could he say indeed? We all knew how narrowly Thrór had escaped from being hit by my father, and Thráin from being charged with treason against his King... It was better to remove him indeed from Dwarven society, where such actions could never be hushed away – but the true solution was to keep him away from my grandfather, and we all knew it was impossible.
"I wish I could keep you all with me..."
He was still stroking my shoulder and I gazed at him, silently, holding Frerin's hand, thinking that he was kind, and strong, and worthy to be loved – a true lord indeed we would all cruelly miss.
"It would not be right", I said finally, and Náin nodded.
"I will accompany you until you reach the Brown Lands. I will take several of my men, and we will make sure you meet no harm until you reach safer territories. Balin and me, we will get Thráin used to that idea, I promise you. He loves you, lads, he never meant to harm you. And I will get my father to speak to Thrór, try to hammer some sense into his brain. Give him the lecture he deserves."
He got up, then, his broad joints cracking as he did so, and he reached out for us. Frerin and I, we both took one of his hands and he pulled us on our feet, before dragging us against his chest.
For a while we just stood like this, and then Náin led us away, entering our room. He made me take off my tunic and brought me ice for my ribs and my jaw. He had me lie down, leaning against Frerin's breast, the pain in my chest receding slightly as weariness came over.
I did not talk, I just let Frerin stroke my hair every now and then. And when Dís came in with Dwalin, she instantly saw I could bear no question. She nestled against Frerin this time, letting Dwalin sit himself at my side.
He looked at the ice that had begun to melt and went out, fetching fresh ice, applying it gently against my ribs that were starting to get crossed with blue, while I was still pressing a cool fabric against my jaw.
"Keeping us entertained, eh...?", he whispered, and I met his kind, brown gaze – so full of unspoken sorrow, and sympathy.
"Don't make me laugh", I answered, trying to smile at him and only managing a wince. "It hurts."
Dwalin smiled, and his hand went on pressing ice against my chest, until it began to melt while my skin was getting numb. Frerin's fingers were still buried in my hair, and Dís held my hand, her head resting on my brother's chest.
We would be gone in a week. That room, those Hills, there would soon be only memory. And yet – despite the pain I could feel, in my chest and every time I thought of my father, I realized the despair I had felt was numbed, just like my skin, soothed by the ice's touch.
Everything I had in that room, every embrace, every gentle stroke – they would still be there on the road. My siblings and Dwalin would be at my side – and there would be other bruises, other blows... but I would bear them, because there was also solace, and kindness.
I did not know where our steps would lead us – but I knew at whose side I would be walking. And somehow, despite the pain and the anguish, despite sorrow and sadness... it was enough.
As long as I was not walking alone, as long as they were there at my side – it was enough.
It was enough.