I know. It has been so, so long. I won't make excuses. I will only say my last year of college turned out to be more involved than I expected. Thankfully, I have now graduated. My graduation ceremony was supposed to be today, but since that didn't get to happen you guys get this instead. Just know that I will not abandon this story and I fully expect to update much more frequently. Please Enjoy :)
Heirs of What
| Part 3 |
-Places Beyond Hope-
Chapter (28) 'The Madness of Vengeance and Hope'
Dis had her reasons for accompanying Dhiran to Dale. Ones which went beyond merely a dignitary's cause or freedom from the Mountain. She was eager to meet Bard the Bowman, the same man who slayed the dragon that had hoarded her home for well over a century and had opened his door to the Company when no one else was willing. She was curious to meet the man now leading the people of Dale and shouldering the responsibility of rebuilding after so much pain and wreckage. It took a great man, she was sure, who could take on so much in so short a time. A good ally to possess. Her dealings with the man indeed had some personal motives behind them.
So it was not long after reaching Dale that Dis sought out the Bowman. She and her companion were meant to meet with Bard and his small council the following day, so Dhiran chose to remain at their lodging and allow Dis to tour the city on her own. Her memory of Dale was far more limited than that of Erebor, so the dwarf had no particular desire to wander the city in search of nostalgia. She had one goal for the evening and with a few inquiries she was able to locate her intent.
He was at the base of the watch tower, his shift having just finished. His back leaned against the stone, his face looking away from her. He seemed deep in thought, but relaxed. Almost peaceful. Dis guessed he had a right to be. The people of Laketown were finally becoming settled and even though they had lost much, they had come a long way in recovering since the night Smaug laid siege on Esgaroth. Dis had heard too that all of Bard's family had survived the fire and orcs and she knew for that alone he could be content. He looked so at ease she almost regretted disturbing him.
"Bard, dragon slayer and master of Dale," she greeted, causing the man to turn quickly. He studied her for a moment before answering.
"Dis of Erebor, if I'm not mistaken."
"You are not," she shook her head gently. "Your identity is easily found in this city. How, though, did you come to know mine?"
The bowman smirked. "There are few dwarves I would expect to find anywhere near that mountain," he said nodding towards the East. "The king's sister whose family I've hear tales of since my childhood is one of them. And I confess, I heard that your were among the ambassadors from Erebor. Besides," he added, "you share your brother's face."
"I suppose I can't escape my family's name even if I were to wish it," the dwarf smiled. "But I assure you there is much I don't share with my brother."
"Perhaps, though it appears there is much you do. His boldness, it seems, is one trait you both have in abundance. You wouldn't be here at the foot of Erebor if you did not."
Dis laughed. "What you mean is foolishness, is it not? You wonder what kind of family would cross all of Middle Earth to confront a dragon they have no business waking."
"No," the bowman disagreed graciously, "it is not foolish to long for a lost home and if nothing more, I can admire the courage to claim it."
"Even from a dragon?" Dis repeated pointedly.
Bard looked away briefly before meeting her eyes again. "It's dead now," he answered simply, the topic still one too heavy to allow further discussion with any amount of ease.
"For which I have you to thank I'm told," the dwarf said, watching her companion's face closely. "There is little else I can say on the matter but I'm sorry. I'm sorry that the cost of my people's home was that of yours. I'm sorry for the lives that were lost because of my family's pursuits. And I'm sorry I have nothing else to give. I've lived through enough tragedy to know regrets and apologies never do much to amend the wrongs. Still, they are offered."
"Thank you," Bard accepted with a nod. "I cannot let you claim all blame though," he said slowly, admitting something to Dis that he hadn't to her brother. "We were not entirely ignorant of the dragon slumbering next to us all those years. We always heard tales, even if we turned a blind eye. We knew if the stories were true that someday the dragon would wake and it wouldn't stay in that mountain forever. We made the decision to stay."
"I suppose mistakes are often and easily shared by many," Dis acknowledged.
The bowman nodded. "Indeed."
Dis waited for him to say more but it seemed blame was a topic he had heard enough of. It made her wonder on the particulars of Bard and Thorin's meeting. "I sought you out this evening because one thing I don't share with my brother is his lack of manners. I wanted to thank you for the hospitality you showed Thorin's Company," Dis paused. "Especially to my son. I am told you alone opened your door to him in his sickness."
Bard shook his head. "If you know that much then I'm sure you know your thanks is not necessary. Surely you were told that I was not with my children when the orcs attacked the group on the water. Your sons were and protected them without hesitation. I don't wish to dwell on what may have happen had they not. It should be I thanking you."
"I cannot claim credit for my sons' actions."
"Are not you responsible for them though? Wasn't it you who raised them to be so bold and selfless? I have raised children of my own. I know how difficult it is. You should be proud of them," the Bowman told her.
"I am. Very." Dis answered quietly, the quiver in her voice not lost on Bard.
He watched his visitor for a moment, wondering how much he should share. Should he tell her how fiercely her son fought? How tough he remained despite the poison in his blood? His refusal to stay down when they were attacked even with his wound? The true look of terror on his face when he realized a dragon was upon them, and yet how he swallowed his fear and turned to face their enemy like a warrior? Or would those things make her hurt more? Would they only remind her what an incredible child she'd lost?
Quite suddenly the bowman realized they were not so different. They had both lost the one they loved, the both of them forced to raise children on their own. Both shouldering so much responsibility. And Bard knew if it were he, if he had lost one of his children he would want to know. He would want to hear everything about them, everything they did. So he told her. He told her how stubborn Kili had been from the moment he picked them up on the riverside in Mirkwood. How much he had been loved by Tilda immediately. How eager he'd been to reach Erebor. How heartbroken he was when left behind. How strong he'd been while struggling for his life. How reckless when he fought the orcs while injured. How brave when faced with dragon fire. Bard told Dis every detail he could remember until much time had passed and the dwarf's eyes had long been glowing with tears.
"Thank you," Dis choked once he had finally finished, feeling for the first time like she'd been given a glimpse into her youngest's adventure in its most authentic form. The thought of that Kili, not the version beyond reproach the others had told about, but the one who was both brave and terrified, both kind and hot tempered, both stubborn and eager, both loving and fierce, instantly felt so real. For the first time she could truly envision her son who was perfect because he wasn't as he face the Journey's challenges and enjoyed its triumphs. She could picture him so clearly. For the first time she could fully associate the son she'd known and sent off at the Quest's beginning with the child she'd said goodbye to.
It felt more real than it had before. Far, far too real. And there, with tears streaming down her face in tortured torrents, there before a stranger, there before Bard, Dis broken.
It was quite a while before her sobs ceased. Quite a while before she thanked Bard for his kindness and for staying with her. Quite a while before she bade her farewell and left him, confident there would never again be a rift between his people and hers for as long as she was alive.
O O O
Fili and Ori reached the counsel room just moments before Tauriel was escorted in by Oin. Fili could not help but notice his uncle had not arranged the meeting in the throne room where the king traditionally received visitors. He wasn't sure if it was an oversight in their haste or if Thorin had perhaps developed some type of aversion to the throne room. He noticed also, that Thorin had not met Tauriel at the gates like he had Legolas, refusing to let her truly enter. Maybe the King under the Mountain had finally decided the elves could be thought of as allies.
The dwarf prince found a place in the crowded space near the entrance and waited for the elf to speak.
He wasn't sure why he was so eager to hear her news. Perhaps any distraction, any focus that was not his brother was a welcomed diversion from the sorrow that had taken residence inside his chest for weeks. He was glad to involve himself in whatever circumstances had brought Tauriel to Erebor. Glad to throw himself into whatever thing would take him from his grief and give him a focus and purpose beyond his pain and that of his family.
Or perhaps he was eager for the very opposite reason. Maybe he hoped, without realizing it, that an elf to the Mountain would again bring some mention of his brother. What word she could bear of a dead prince, Fili wasn't sure. He only knew that when last an elf of Mirkwood had shown up at Erebor's doorstep, it had been with news of Kili. It had stirred Fili from his despair for a while. Perhaps somewhere beyond his consciousness the living prince hoped for something that could do that again. A part of him longed to talk about his brother and hear about him even though it was painful. Though there was no logic to it and no reason to believe Tauriel had anything at all to say about Kili, a part of Fili still hoped to hear it. Because what else really matter? What other subject really deserved his attention? Distractions were nice but in the end Fili, just as he always had, wanted to focus on the brother who meant everything to him.
It was orcs that Tauriel had brought word of instead, but still it proved enough to keep Fili's attentions engaged.
"King Thorin, I ask that you pardon my unannounced presence. I came at the bidding of my prince, and with the desire to warn you," Tauriel began. The Mountain King's knuckles tightened against the arms of his seat, apprehension and anger stirring up in him at the need for a warning. Hadn't they faced enough during the past few months? Hadn't they earned a respite from the tribulations that assailed them so readily?
"Legolas just returned from Moria where he believes Bolg took the Gundabad horde when they left the fortress," the she elf continued. "They were no longer there, though it was clear they had not long been gone. He and Gandalf believe they have moved on to Dol Guldur."
"Gandalf?" Thorin asked, "Did he go to Moria?"
"Yes. I don't believe they intended to travel together, but met while the wizard was journeying to the old kingdom. Legolas joined him."
Thorin sat for a moment, his mind attempting to organize the elf's message into reason. "Where is Gandalf now?"
"I do not know. They separated when Legolas returned to Mirkwood to warn Thranduil. They believe Bolg and his father have gathered the armies of Gundabad and Moria with that of Dol Guldur where they now wait."
"Armies?" Dwalin asked loudly. "What for?" The answer, though an obvious one, was reluctant to be spoken aloud.
"War," Thorin said after a moment, his eyes fixed before him as if he could already see into a future filling with the blood and death it would bring. "They are coming for Erebor."
Fili felt his heart rate quicken at his uncle's words, though only slightly. He knew he should be alarmed at the prospect of a war for his new home. The possibility of battles fought on the kingdom's doorsteps. Of lives lost he cared for deeply. Perhaps he should even be panicked at the idea. He felt he had been handed so much heartbreak within the past months, and he knew he could not take any more. He knew if Erebor was stolen from his family and his kin slain in war he would be ruined completely. With everything taken from him he would be entirely lost too in every way that mattered, even if he was left alive. The first mention of an orc army attacking the Mountain should completely wreck him. He should be terrified and enraged.
And he was.
But not as much as he should be. Fili felt all of the right emotions, just not in the amount the circumstances seemed to demand. He felt somehow detached from the newest peril the Company was being faced with, distanced from the maddening rush of emotions that drew alarm and anger to every other face around him. Somehow nothing seemed to matter as it once had, nor as it was meant to. And though Fili knew why, he still felt guilty for it.
Bilbo, from his place against the opposite wall, found with a bit of wonder that he wasn't all that surprised by the horrible news just delivered. Somewhere, pricking in a seldom visited corner of his mind, a contrary voice had been claiming it was all too easy, though it had all been terribly difficult. Despite Smaug, and the orcs, and losing Kili, their conquest of the Mountain had seemed too simple. After so much time and effort, walking in and claiming Erebor from a dragon didn't seem like quite enough of a pinnacle to their adventure, even if they would all have been fully satisfied had it been. As terribly unfair as it was, Bilbo was not shocked by the demand for more from the group of dwarves he had come so far with. Their trials never seemed to be finished.
"Yes," Tauriel's agreement brought him back to the conversation, "we believe they are coming for the Mountain. Their forces are assembled and all they have left is to march. We think they are all gathered at Dol Guldur but Bolg himself has taken a small company to meet his father in the North. A few of my scouts saw them pass Mirkwood not a day ago. Azog has a number of strongholds along the ranges of Ered Mithrim. He and many of his commanders hide there because those fortifications can scarcely be attacked. Once Bolg meets Azog in the Grey Mountains and informs him that his army is ready they'll have nothing left but to attack."
If Tauriel expected an immediate answer she was mistaken. No one spoke at first, not even Thorin who seemed to be judging her every word, trying to decided what he must do.
"Are you certain of all this?" Balin finally asked, always one to reason before taking action.
"No," Tauriel said, "we can't be absolutely certain until it is too late. But I am as confident in this prediction as one can be in the face of evidence. Either way, they are gathering an army and I suggest you prepare for an attack. I don't know how long you have but I believe there is still some time. It will take Azog a while still to meet with and organize his forces. Their distance between Dol Guldur and Ered Mithrim is to our advantage."
There was not argument against her reasoning. It seemed clear that something nasty was coming and they should be ready, as much as they could be.
"How?" Nori wondered aloud. "We are so few and we cannot barricade ourselves in this mountain for long. What are we supposed to do?" This last question he directed towards Thorin, the Mountain King quickly become the object of everyone's focus.
"I'll send a raven to the Iron Hill. Dain will fight with us." It was a simple answer and Thorin delivered it so directly. His features, however, quickly betrayed his true concern. He was confident in his cousin's loyalty. Whether it would be enough though, he wasn't so certain.
"Indeed, you will not stand alone this time. I can assure you that," Tauriel surprised him.
He smirked at her, not intending to be unkind but struck by the irony in her words. "Are you saying we can depend on Mirkwood for help this time? Are you saying I can trust the integrity of Thranduil to stand with us now?"
"I'm saying," she said calmly, receiving his words with grace befitting of her race, "that even if he does not, there are some of us who will. I will not stand by again while evil greater than even a dragon descends upon this mountain. I will not turn my back and abandon your people to their fate. You can trust in that."
This was the second time an elf had come to Erebor with vital news and no expectations in return. This was the second Mirkwood elf who had acted selflessly, with the wellbeing of Durin folk as their only motive. The second elf Thorin had come to trust, and perhaps even like.
"You have earned our gratitude. Both for your pledge of aid and your deliverance of this warning. I hope someday we get the chance to repay you."
Tauriel smiled, a sight that looked out of place in a room so disheartened though not unwelcomed. "Let us hope we all live long enough to reach that day."
The gathering was over and Thorin left immediately to send a message to Dain. The she elf followed Bofur's escort back to Erebor's entrance but paused as she passed the blond prince whose swords she had depended on when they fought together in Laketown.
"Fili," she addressed him gently, "Legolas shared with me the fate of your bother. I hope you know how truly sorry I am."
He nodded.
"I also hope someday we get to meet on better terms," she added.
Fili meet her eyes, the slightest bit of sad mischief in his. "If we live to reach that day," he repeated her words back at her.
O O O
It was a few hours later when Fili, alone and back on the kingdom's battlements, found himself with a choice. He had been thinking about what Tauriel had said, about Bolg passing Mirkwood earlier that day. He'd been thinking about the orcs' plans, of their intentions to meet Azog and design an attack on Erebor. He thought about the orcs' company being stopped, and how it would delay Azog's efforts, perhaps enough to allow Dain's army to arrive. He thought about Bolg and the old man who had spoken of him the night before they reached Gundabad. Hadrion had told a vivid and gruesome tale and Fili couldn't get it out of his mind. He had been thinking about how Bolg killed his brother.
It was the one thing that kept coming back, the one thing he hadn't been able to forget since the moment Tauriel had mentioned his name. The orc had killed Kili and taken from Fili something he was still fairly certain he couldn't live without. It had been weeks now and Fili was still alive. But he felt dead. He had never realized before how avidly he had used to live. Prior to losing Kili, Fili had not known how truly happy he'd been. Not until is was so completely gone. He knew now that there was no point in being alive if there was no joy to live in. With Kili's murder had come pain unspeakable and the death of Fili's joy. If he could not get it back he could not live. And it felt, day after day, like he never would be able to.
Bolg had taken that from him. Fili hadn't been able to help it, but for the last few hours he'd been thinking about how much he wanted Bolg dead… He thought about how the orc company would stop to sleep… How arrogant they were; they probably wouldn't even set up a watch… How few Tauriel said was with Bolg…
Fili knew it was a bad idea the moment it rushed into his grief wrecked mind. Dangerous. Reckless. But sometimes it was the bad ideas that felt the most right. It could get him killed. Did he care? It was a bad idea. But suddenly it was certain and irrevocable. All at once Fili had made up his mind. He wasn't doing it for any one reason. He had no reason not to. With silent care he gathered his weapons and slipped out of Erebor into the darkness of night, intent on a single purpose.
This was a mad thing to do and he didn't care. He didn't think of his mother or Thorin. He didn't think of anything. Nothing but his dead brother and the war Bolg was helping Azog plan. Fili could lie to himself and pretend his actions were justified. But he knew the true. This wasn't reason. This was insanity and grief. This was nothing more to lose.
O O O
Dis had never met Gandalf the Grey. She could not therefore fairly claim to hate him, though, she was certain she did not like him. It was his bidding that began Thorin on a progression for the Mountain that could not be stopped once it had been started. It was the wizard who convinced her brother that an existential moment of destiny had arrived and had to be seized if Erebor was ever going to be theirs again. Gandalf had put the idea in Thorin's head that if they did not act at once, there would never be a future opportunity to claim their home. He had indirectly but quite effectively rallied Fili and Kili to join in Thorin's effort and had marched, nay rather lead, her one son to his grave and the other to a state of grief in which he could scarcely be recognized any longer as the steady-hearted, amused prince from Ered Luin.
She had heard a great many things about the Grey Wizard, most of which would impress a less bitter audience. But knowing all that she knew now, Dis had no particular desire to ever meet the wizard.
That didn't matter when late the very night of her arrival, said wizard was suddenly standing before her. Neither had ever seen the other, and yet they both knew almost instantly who they met. Gandalf struck a unique figure that could not sensibly match anyone in Middle Earth but the Grey Wizard of old. And Dis, with her resemblance to her brother and sons, her presence in Dale, and her look of startled but unforgiving judgement left Gandalf certain he had finally met the princess of Erebor whose people knew her to carry a soul always inflamed in passion and purpose.
Gandalf had known he would meet Thorin's sister sooner or later, most likely the former given his resent involvement in the affairs of Durin folk. Furthermore, he had thought himself prepared for the encounter. Unlike more than would admit it, he was not afraid to face Dis's wrath. He knew she would be angry. He would not deny her the right to her fury any more than deny his responsibility in ushering her child to his death.
Gandalf had known, perhaps better than any other, just how perilous the quest for Erebor would be. He had known, though he had not stated so directly, that the likelihood of all those he left the Shire with still accompanying him once the Quest was finish was far slimmer than they all believed. He had known some could die, and still he had encouraged Thorin to take action, to rally his supporters, to reclaim a home long lost. Gandalf knew if he had not done so Kili would still be alive. However directly or indirectly it might be, Kili's death could be placed upon his head. Dis possessed every right to be furious with him, to hate him even. But despite her reputation of harsh and swift judgement, Gandalf knew he had faced worse than the rage of a grieving mother. He was not afraid.
He had also decided he could not feel guilty for his role in young Kili's demise, even when facing his mother. Gandalf could not regret his actions, despite the hurt and loss they caused, for they still seemed to him necessary. Had he not convinced Thorin to take back the Lonely Mountain when he did, evil's foothold would have grown stronger and a dragon's keep yet longer. They could not allow darkness to settle any longer in the East. The dreadful death of Erebor's prince was a sacrifice Gandalf hadn't anticipated, but that could not be avoided either. If he was again forced to choose between the future fate of Middle Earth and the life of one, even one so young and deserving of happiness, he would again have to choose the former.
Still, it pained him greatly. The wizard had grieved for the lose of his friend too. He had grown quite fond of both Kili and his brother, the pair a constant source of entertainment and enthusiasm their journey had been in much need of. Gandalf missed Kili and he had wished every day since the dwarf's discovered death that there had been another way, another route to reclaim Erebor that did not end the way it had. But the pieces fell as they did and Gandalf had decided weeks ago that he would not feel guilty for things he could not have changed, even when meeting Dis of Erebor, though he wouldn't be without apology.
Their encounter had been quite unplanned, the wizard only coming to find her once he had heard mention of her presence in the city hours after he had himself arrived. The dwarf met him with both an expression and words heavy with surprise.
"What are you doing here?"
Gandalf could not but smile at her curt greeting that matched well her brother's manner. "Am I not welcome?" He said it as if it were a joke, but the strain of sincerity in his voice was not lost on Dis. He wondered if she would accept his presence or want nothing to do with him. He wondered if she would reject his company and refuse any relationship with the one responsible for Kili's downfall. He would not be surprised if she did.
"Thorin said you left." That was not really an answer to his question, but he chose to take the simple fact that she was willing to speak to him as a positive sign.
"Indeed," he agreed, "though, it was always my intention to return."
"For what purpose? To lure my family into another of your quests?" Her eyes were glowing brilliantly in the firelight so sharp and distant at the same time, and though they looked hurt, they did not look particularly hateful. More pained than anything, her tone did not sound nearly as bitter and accusatory as Gandalf would have expected.
"I never wanted this journey to cause you or your family any harm, certainly not young Kili. I wish it had not." His words were so simple, that had it not been for the naked sincerity in his tone, Dis would have thought him disingenuous. But there was something comforting in his simple declaration, like he wasn't maintaining the false notion that words could somehow make her grief less. Like he alone actually understood that elaborate expressions of sympathy and sorrow were nothing but wasted attempts as easing pain that would not be eases.
"Well it did," Dis said bluntly. "You are the first one not to apologize for what happened," she observed. "Am I to understand that you alone did not play a hand in my son's death?" Gandalf hadn't expected to be confronted so directly about his blame in the series of tragic affairs.
"I am sorry," he corrected gently, "for what happened."
"But not your role in it?" She watched carefully for his answer and Gandalf knew upon hearing it she would pass her judgement, though he didn't know what the correct answer might be. The truth, he decided in the end, usually proved best.
"No," he said honestly, "I claim fault for the part I played in your son's death, but not guilt."
"What's the difference?" she wondered. The wizard had a distinct feeling Dis was certain in her idea of the difference but wanted to see what he thought. He felt as if he were being tested, as if to see whether he had earned a bit of favor in her sight or nothing but contempt.
"The difference is knowing you had the power to prevent something, but also knowing you should not have stopped it. It is knowing that a painful mistake is still sometimes the only right choice." Gandalf watched Dis draw in a slow and deep breath. "But I think," he added hesitantly, "maybe you already knew that?"
Dis felt angry, annoyed by this old wizard's eyes that seemed to see things inside her. "I know they wouldn't have left Ered Luin without my blessing," she confessed. "I had no right or power to stop them but still, I know Fili and Kili would not have abandoned me for Thorin's quest if I had tried to stop them. If I did Kili would still be alive. But they would have hated it. They would have wished every day they were with him. Kili especially would have been miserable, knowing he was missing out. I can't regret giving them happiness, even if it means losing my own. If not for Fili's grief now, perhaps I could agree with you that my fault and guilt are separate things. But he hurts so terribly. How can I not feel guilty for that when I could have prevented it?"
"Just because we regret something doesn't mean it was the wrong choice," Gandalf gave as answer, though it did nothing to appease her guilt.
Dis huffed and then after a moment asked, "Where were you when Kili was taken? Bilbo told me you returned just in time to accompany them to Gundabad."
The wizard could hear the nuance of resentment in Dis's voice, and though he could not tell whether it was intended or a natural rendering of her emotion, he knew he had not right to feel slighted by the tone.
"On an errand I was never able to complete. I returned immediately when I heard there was trouble at Erebor. I'm afraid I was much too late."
"And where are you returning from now? You left without word I'm told. You hardly seem as committed to completing the same quest you were adamant my brother had to take up at once. I thought Erebor was the priority above all others?" She was repeating Gandalf's words back to him. The same ones he had spoken to Thorin in Bree and the dwarf had shared with his sister. She wondered why such an important quest had not held the wizard's focus. Why he had diverted at times so perilous when he was so much needed.
"Above all others?" Gandalf shook his head. "I was wrong. This Quest set many things in motion. I had to see for myself what we had begun. I've just returned from Moria."
If the wizard did not have all of Dis's attention before, those words certainly earned it. Mention of the ancient dwarven kingdom was enough to relax her out of her ridged posture that tensed slightly away from Gandalf and lean just a bit closer. She hadn't heard anyone speak of Moria for years. It was not a welcomed topic among Erebor's castaways who sheltered in the Blue Mountains. She had only a few but very vivid memories of the place. Dis remembered very well the moments just before her family left her to fight at Moria's gates.
Her grandfather had already lost all sense. He had taken her hand, patting it gently as he chuckled a manic sound. He told her there was nothing to worry about. He said they would not lose, that they couldn't. He claimed that fate could not condemn them anymore than it already had.
"Don't fear, granddaughter," he'd said. "Moria is ours and don't you doubt that I will take it back. Don't you doubt it."
He had cared nothing for the tears in her eyes. Her doubts did nothing to increase his. He had decided on a course of action and there was nothing to deter him. He was as certain of his plan as he had been in the absolute importance of his gems in Erebor. There was no hesitation when he squeezed Dis's hand and walked away with a foolish arrogance. She never saw him again.
Her father had already been crippled with grief. Thrain had lost the kingdom, his home, and his wife. Dis's mother had been lost to dragon fire with so many others, a tide of flames delivering a premature end. The treacherous journey from the Lonely Mountain to Moria had been nothing but a long extended memorial. Everyone was grieving someone. It had made her father fragile, unstable, and broken. He at least had hesitations about marching on Moria, but in the end he had not challenged Thror's decision. He, perhaps more than any of them, seemed to have lost hope.
"I'm sorry my child," he'd told her, his voice even and strong just as she'd always know it to be, but now without energy, without confidence. "I know that you are scared but try to be brave. I know that you are. So much like your mother." He kissed her cheek even as she clung to him and begged him not to leave her. She was brave and strong, but not in the face of losing all those she loved. "All will be well," he promised. He was wrong and she almost knew it as she watched him leave.
Frerin, besides his grandfather, had the most hope. He alone seemed to think that maybe they would walk out of battle with some kind of decisive victory. He was not a fool, but ever the optimist. He believed even the darkest of times couldn't be hurt by a smile and laugh. After all his young eyes had seen in so short a time, he wasn't afraid of his future. There so no point in that. He didn't want this fight, but he'd sooner be dead than abandon his kin in battle. This he believed, if anything, he'd been trained for.
"Maybe this is the chance we've been waiting for. A chance to put things right again," he'd said hopefully. "Just because this is a bad beginning doesn't mean it will be a bad end. We're going to give you a home again Dis." He had lifted her head in his hands, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. "Come on," he'd grinned, his ever present joy breaking across his face, "you can't send me off to battle with a frown." She'd managed a laugh at the ludicrously of her brother's request through her tears. "That's better," Frerin told her as he kissed he forehead. "Just wait for us up there," he pointed to a near hilltop. She had wait. With bated breath and a sick ache in her gut she had waited for him to come back. He never did.
Thorin, more than any of them, seemed to know what was coming. He hadn't promised her splendid triumph. He hadn't made her weak pledges they both knew meant nothing. He didn't say goodbye but he told her he loved her, which at the time sounded like the same thing.
"It's time to go," he'd told her reluctantly, though he didn't release her from his arms where her tearful face was buried in his chest. "I love you, sister," he said again.
She told him to be careful. She told him to make sure they all were.
"I will," he'd promised as he finally pulled away and with a sad smile left her alone. He tried. With everything in him he tried to keep his promise. But in the end he was the only one who came back.
Moria took the rest.
"What were you doing there?" Dis asked Gandalf, unable to imagine a good reason to abandon the Company to visit the fortress that was overrun with evil.
Gandalf looked at her for a moment, a vague answer on his lips. One that provided just enough explanation to appease the listener without betraying his full propose. He wasn't in the habit of sharing the motives of his affairs just because he was asked to. Most of his matters were beyond the understanding of those who had lived only one lifetime. But there was a desperation in Dis's face. And anger. And a need for explanation. There was no justification for Kili's death, she knew that. But still she needed to understand the events that caused it. She was searching for reason in the maddens. Her pain demanded it. The anger trapped inside her believed she deserved at least that much, at least an explanation. Gandalf had decided not to be weary of Dis. He had chosen not be feel guilty. But now, he decided, he would at least be honest with her.
"I was seeing if my fears where true, if Azog the Defiler is rallying his forces against us."
Dis stared at him for a moment, unsure what exactly he spoke of and what it meant. "And?" she demanded, impatient even for news she was sure she wouldn't like. "Is he?"
"Yes, that why I returned as quickly as possible." Even affirmed, Dis wasn't sure just what Gandalf's news suggested. But she was no fool and she could tell by its nature and the gravity of the wizard's demeanor when he delivered it that it was grave indeed.
"We must tell Thorin right away. He must know."
"Lady Dis," Gandalf stopped her, "there is one more reason I chose to go to Moria." After all the pain he had caused her, she deserved his absolute candor. "I had reason to believe the orcs yet keep prisoners with them. From my observations there, I am even more certain now."
It was clear at first that Dis didn't understand what he was telling her, and certainly not the implications that were woven even into the tone of each word as he spoke them. It did not take long, though, before her features shifted from confusion to unease, the traces of an inevitable conclusion already appearing.
"I thought they killed all of their prisoners at Gundabad?"
"So did I, at first. But it seems some were spared."
Some still alive?
"Do you know how many?" Dis asked almost breathlessly, struggling to keep new emotions from arising too quickly. "Who?" The last question was barely audible, a reckless, small but violent hope forming in her chest and pulling it from her mouth.
There was no way. It could not be.
"I'm not sure," Gandalf told her the truth. She shook her head weakly, barely hearing his answer at all. Her thoughts were running wild immediately, eluding her every attempt to rein them back to the safety of reality where she could not be hurt again. There was little hope of success.
It was impossible, wasn't it?
"It is beyond hope." It wasn't a question but she spoke it as one, looking to her companion and waiting for him to agree, certain that he would.
"And yet," he surprised her as he met her eyes and they both knew they were speaking of the same thing, "nothing is."
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