pronker: Dís was bound to guess, sooner or later. After all, Thorin's her brother, so she had to notice :)
WhispersOfStarlight: Thank you for reviewing! I'm very glad you like the story :)
DownliftedAndUnderwhelmed: Writing those tiny stories for this fanfic is great fun. And I was going to explain Dís' understanding in a reply to your comment, but then thought it over, decided it should be explained in the text and added it into this chapter. So there's one little scene here kind of inspired by your comment :)
(Also: new Thorin design on my deviantart account. Still not what I aimed for, but slowly getting there.)
- 37 -
It was still summer, and sometimes Run thought the warm evenings were too beautiful to waste them by willingly going underground. But each time she entered the dwarven halls and saw how Thorin smiled briefly when seeing her, she thought she could waste much more than one evening just to see that smile and the softer look in his eyes, and to hear his deep, low voice as he welcomed her.
And that day, as quite often during the evenings she visited the dwarven halls, Thorin took out his harp and played. And as he did so, the spell of his music fell upon Run yet again. But Dís seemed more immune to it, and smiled at her brother warmly, but Thorin did not notice.
The music was soft like water trickling across the stone, then lively like a young mountain stream. Then it became soft again, but differently, for these notes lingered in the air, and moved not only the strings of the harp, but also those of the heart. Thorin finished the song with a note that seemed to echo through the air as voice would in an underground hall, and he nodded to his sister and to Run.
"It was beautiful," said Run openly, and a ghost of a smile flickered across Thorin's lips.
"Aye, it was." Dís was smiling at her brother, not without some sisterly pride. "You know that song?"
"I think I've heard it once before," answered Run hesitantly, for some of the notes and chords seemed familiar.
"Just a few passages," confirmed Thorin. "But I'd count that as a yes. It's called 'Kibilinh', 'The Silver Lady'."
"It's the ballad of Durin's wife," Dís explained. "And a lovely ballad at that. Alas, my brother's not very keen on singing."
"Now you've picked my curiosity." Run glanced at Thorin. "Is there no way of convincing you to change your mind, Majesty?"
"I've never said I don't sing." That evening, at least, he looked a bit too tired for it. "Just don't do it often."
Before Thorin was able to say more, Fíli burst into the room, followed by Náris, who was holding Kíli at her hip. As soon as Fíli saw Dís, he sped up, beaming, and tumbled right into his mother's outstretched arms with a breathless laugh. Kíli noticed that, and was about to cry out at the sheer unfairness of the world that would let his brother be held by their mother first, but Dís reached out and sat him on her lap, and put one arm around his tiny shoulders, and her other hand was on Fíli's head, and after a moment of complete and utter chaos everything was in order again.
Náris let out a relieved breath and smiled. "Kíli wanted to run, but he couldn't catch up with Fíli and asked me to carry him. Didn't want to be late to greet mother."
Dís laughed and ruffled Fíli's hair, then kissed Kíli's head, and both boys seemed content to have an equal share of their mother's affections.
"Amad, amad!" Though it seemed hardly possible, Fíli's smile widened. "Uncle Dwalin showed me how to wield an axe!"
"That's wonder-..." Dís' first instinct was to praise her son for progress, but halfway through that his words actually got to her. "He did what?!"
Thorin paled, and was about to get up, probably to find Dwalin and have a serious talk with him, and Run smiled inwardly at seeing his concern, so touching it was. Especially when it was not likely that Dwalin would risk the boy's life in any way.
"A wooden axe." Fíli's smile faltered. "Oh, but it's better than nothing."
Dís sighed in exasperation, and Thorin blinked, then sat back onto the bench.
"Amad's hair will one day turn into mithril entirely if you don't learn not to scare her so," Dís scolded, and Fíli made a miserable face. "Just remember, never do it again, alright?" she asked sternly, and Fíli smiled innocently.
"Amad!" Kíli demanded some attention. "Story!"
Dís shook her head and got up, balancing Kíli on her hip and holding Fíli's hand. "Yes, time for bed, and a story." She turned to Run. "Come, you can help me and tell them something, I'm running out of tales. And you," she ordered Thorin, "will talk to Dwalin tomorrow. Just in case."
Thorin, too tired to protest, and knowing there was no way he could win an argument with his sister, agreed. "Aye, I will."
Then Dís turned and walked out of the room, and Run had no choice but to follow her. Had the boys and Náris not been present, Run would have asked Dís whether she simply wanted her to tell Fíli and Kíli a story, or had she asked her to come because she did not want to leave her alone with Thorin. Barely a few days ago, when Dís had learned of their feelings, she had said nothing. But now Run wondered what had that silence meant, and it dawned on her that even if the princess understood, it did not necessarily have to mean she approved.
. . .
Run finished her story quietly, as the boys were falling asleep already, and for some time after, she watched the little princes. Then Run looked at Dís, sitting between her sons' beds on a stool, and thought of asking her.
"I'll stay with the boys awhile, 'til they fall asleep," Dís spoke softly, not to disturb her sons. "Please go and make sure Thorin doesn't fall asleep there on the bench, would you? He did so last week, and was insufferable next day, and I'd hate to repeat that."
Dís' voice sounded kind and warm and matter-of-factly, as usually, but still made Run freeze and her breath stop for a moment. Was Dís truly asking this of her? But she knew, did she not? She had to know. Run glanced at her friend, but Dís was leaning over her younger son, still like a stone statue, and did not turn. And then it dawned on her that yes, Dís had to know, that she knew, but as she had not spoken of it yet she never would, as she would continue to look away and pretend not to notice, for she loved her brother dearly. And maybe also because she considered Run a friend.
"Goodnight," Run whispered, softly and quietly, and gratefully, and it was the thank-you she was never to offer Dís plainly, because how could one thank for something that was not quite there?
"Lomil ghelekh," answered Dís in Khuzdul, equally softly, and surprisingly there was some sadness in her voice, and it was laced with compassion.
And Run understood that those words, which translated as the common 'goodnight', were the blessing Dís could never give. And then she thought that for once rules be damned, because for her understanding and kindness Dís deserved more, even if that meant speaking of something which should not be mentioned aloud.
"Thank you," Run whispered, her words heartfelt. "Âkminrûk zu."
For a long moment Dís was silent. And then, when Run was about to leave, certain the princess will not answer, she spoke.
"Go to him," she said, her voice barely louder than a breath.
For an instant Run's throat felt too tight for speaking. "Dís," she managed in the end, because silence was one thing, and saying it so plainly was something different entirely. "Why?"
Dís turned to her, and there was doubt written clearly over her face, but her eyes were bright, and her voice was firm when she spoke. "I trust you," she said simply, and then smiled, a small, bittersweet smile. "He is my brother," she added quietly, and there was love in her gaze, and that explained everything.
. . .
Thorin was still seated on the bench, leaning backwards, his head bowed, his eyelids shut and his breathing even. He was asleep, overcame by exhaustion after a morning of playing with his nephews and an afternoon of kingship duties. For long moments Run just stood there, watching his face, so peaceful in sleep. She thought of maybe putting something warm over him and leaving him like this, but quickly abandoned the idea, which maybe could be a pretty little domestic scene in the evening, but would turn the morning into a thunderstorm when he would get up, because it was an impossibility to get a good night's sleep like this. Besides, Dís had asked her to wake him, for that very reason.
On her tiptoes, she walked closer, then lightly touched his temple. Thorin blinked sleepily, then slowly opened his eyes.
"I'm sorry to wake you," Run said apologetically.
"No, it's good that you woke me. I'd be insufferable in the morning otherwise, and Dís did nothing to deserve that."
"Still, I'm sorry." She smiled tenderly, her fingers feathering along a strand of his hair. "You looked so peaceful."
"A good dream came to me." He did not look up at her, but turned his head so that his cheek brushed her palm.
"You need to get some proper sleep," she said softly.
Thorin got up, muttering something in Khuzdul under his breath.
"I don't know that phrase."
"You shouldn't," he said with emphasis. "You shouldn't hear it from anyone, least of all from me."
Something, maybe the strange look in his eyes, which were like two burning coals in the evening gloom, told her not to ask further. She took a quick look around, but they were alone, so she brushed her fingertips across his cheek. "Goodnight, Majesty." As she was pulling away, she caught his gaze, and smiled at him softly.
"Goodnight, Lake-lady." There were flames in his eyes again as he smiled at her in return, but not those of fire of a forge, but the more gentle flames of a hearth.