Someone had left the girl a courting gift.
Dis stopped in the hall outside Bilba's room and studied the items sitting forlornly on the floor. There was a small wicker basket with drooping flowers that appeared to have been purchased in the market, along with some kind of unidentifiable candy that appeared to have come from a similar locale.
She doubted Fili would have done something so lazy, if not downright insulting, but just in case her eldest son needed a refresher course in manners, Dis opened a link.
Did you leave a courting gift outside Bilba's room?
The reply was immediate. Of course not. If I gave her a courting gift it'd be in person.
He went silent and Dis began to count silently in her head. She'd nearly reached ten when Fili's voice sounded in her head again.
Wait, someone left Bilba a courting gift?
Dis bit back a laugh. Oh, yes. Flowers and candy no less.
Well that's just ridiculous, Fili groused, the only way she'd want flowers would be if there were a practical use for them and she'd only want the candy if she could use it to choke an orc.
They also both appear to have been purchased from one of the booths in the market, one of the cheaper ones by the look of it. Dis added.
WHAT? Fili sounded pissed and for good reason. And then they left it outside her room instead of giving it to her in person? Good for nothing bastard.
Dis couldn't blame him. Their culture had very strict social rules regarding courting and this gift managed to violate just about every one of them. Such an offering, which formally made the giver's intent clear, was supposed to reflect the recipient while simultaneously demonstrating effort and thoughtfulness on the part of the giver. The most appropriate gifts were handcrafted, but some dwarves went with buying something obscenely expensive instead.
Dis had seen a number of her friends quite content with the second option but she doubted she would have accepted such a gift. To her it seemed too often the giver, or even the recipient, made such a public spectacle out of the gift that it became more a comment on the display of wealth instead of the love that had presumably prompted the gift.
Initially, Vili had given her no gift at all from either category, convinced the Princess of Erebor would never accept the suit of a common soldier. In the meantime, Dis had been entirely lovestruck and dealing with the agonizing conviction that someone else would come along to snatch him up at any second. She'd ended up giving him a gift herself, leather vambraces she had painstakingly decorated with symbols of his house and station. Not her best work to be sure, her nerves had prevented her hands from remaining steady, but no one could say she hadn't poured her heart into them. When she'd presented them she'd been shaking so hard she'd nearly dropped them at his feet and run.
He'd accepted them and then stared at her, eyes and mouth wide open in shock. He'd stood there so long in fact that her nerves, already utterly frayed, had snapped altogether and she actually had turned and fled, all the way back to her room where she'd slammed the door and refused to come out. The very next day Vili had been outside her room, not only wearing the vambraces but clutching an intricately detailed courting bead in hand. He'd spent the entire night in the forge working it. A bead such as that was usually reserved for later, effectively symbolizing the couple's intent to marry, but Vili had stated he was worried she'd come to her senses at any moment. Naturally her family had been less than thrilled to find her betrothed to a solider they barely knew but Vili had survived the interviews by everyone from her Thror to Thorin, and their associated dragons, and she and Vili had married soon after.
The memory of her fear over Vili marrying someone else before she could make her own feelings known brought her back to her oldest son's burgeoning plight. That he was enamored with the girl was obvious to her and was rapidly becoming obvious to others. Kili had even picked up on it and he wasn't exactly known for being the most observant when it came to matters of the heart.
You know, she sent almost conversationally, this is only the first of many. She's a famous warrior in her own right, a dragon rider and now tied to the royal family. Her pedigree is impressive even if she isn't nobility.
The feeling she got back from her son was as close to pure rage as she'd ever felt from him.
She isn't a pawn! Fili snarled. They can't just use her to further their own ambition!
She's in the royal court whether you like it or not, Dis replied sharply. Fili could deny reality as much as he wanted but it wouldn't change it. She's going to get as many self-serving requests as you do. She paused briefly, before continuing. She'll also get legitimate ones, just like you do.
Fili fell silent.
Bilba would probably, in fact, get more requests than Fili or Kili ever had. Within the dwarven race males far outnumbered the females. Granted there were more now with the inclusion of dwobbits but many of them chose to stay in the Shire or, desiring to live among dwarves but still stay close to hobbit relations, in the Blue Mountains. Very few came to Erebor, leaving the ratio of male to female in the mountain rather out of balance. Even amongst the women there were those who chose to stay single, whether from personal preference, not having found their One or from being hopelessly in love with someone unobtainable. This meant the remaining eligible females were often overwhelmed with suitors.
She was rather surprised it had taken almost an entire month for Bilba to get her first request. She was a legend in her own right, a rider and had ties to the royal family. There would be those in love with the legend, those in love with the idea of adding potential riders to their bloodline and those in love with increasing their own status. Some might genuinely believe themselves in love with the girl but, of those, she wondered how many knew her real name or a single thing about her other than her desire to rid Middle Earth of orcs.
Clearly whoever had left this first gift knew nothing about her.
You could always get your act together and present a gift to her yourself, you know, she sent to her son.
Fili started stammering. I – I mean she's – she's barely arrived! And - and she needs time. I don't want to pressure her and she might not even be interested and it'd make things awkward and –
And sounds like a lot of excuses if you ask me. Dis said mildly. All I'm saying is if you wait too long she may accept a gift from someone else. Given that you two share a dragon it means you'll be seeing a lot of her, and her lover, which could make things decidedly awkward.
It's certainly not going to happen if it's something idiotic like flowers and they're leaving it outside her door like a coward. Fili groused. I haven't had any time to do anything anyway, not with the way they keep dragging me around to prepare for the Celebration. He paused, suddenly. Why are you outside her room?
That's a surprise dear, Dis sent back, amused at her son's clumsy attempts to redirect the conversation. She smoothed a hand over the cloth bag slung over her arm, feeling quite pleased with herself. And the celebration will be over tonight so you'll have plenty of time. Though, if you have time to speak to me right now then you probably have more than enough time to at least start designing something. It shouldn't take that much effort to outdo the gift she's already gotten.
Fili sent the mental equivalent of a strangled, inarticulate noise that had Dis laughing as she stepped around the poor excuse for a courting gift and up to the girl's door. From what she'd heard, Bilba had spent most of the day out flying with Syrath and had returned a short time ago. Syrath usually dropped her off at her balcony so it was likely she hadn't even seen the gift outside her door yet. Dis reached out mentally, lightly announced herself and immediately felt an answer inviting her in.
She entered to see the girl standing on the balcony looking outward. Dis joined her and saw the sun just beginning to touch the horizon. The sky around it was changing hue and the clouds nearby were tinged in shades of pink and orange.
Bilba turned her attention to Dis and frowned at the bag over her arm.
What's that?
Dis lifted it slightly. "Your dress. I had it made for you to wear tonight."
Bilba scowled. Do I have to?
"Don't be so quick to dismiss it," Dis said. "You might just find you like it."
She walked over to the bed, pulled the bag off the dress and spread it out over the covers. Bilba stepped up behind her and Dis heard her gasp in surprise.
She had to admit the dress had turned out better than she'd expected. It was sky blue, Syrath's color or as close as Dis could get it. The dress was one piece of satin, designed to fit close to the body, the fabric pulled in tight at the waist in a swirling pattern that made it look like a whirlwind winding about the body. It flared out for the skirt and a triangular panel had been cut in the center to reveal layers upon layers of pale blue lace underskirts beneath it. When worn those layers would dance and swirl adding to the aerial effect, as though the dress were dancing on a breeze. The bodice had small deep blue sapphires sewn in that would flash and sparkle in the light. A few handfuls had been added to the overskirt, scattered about to add a flash of light here and there as she moved. The final touch were the straps, meant to be worn off the shoulder, adding to the fluid, graceful look of the gown.
Bilba hesitantly reached out to touch it, running her hands over the gems on the bodice.
I haven't worn a dress in ages, she said, and never one like this. When I was invited to something in Gondor I usually wore a borrowed one or just wore my own clothes.
"Well," Dis said, "now you have one of your own, the first of many I hope."
Bilba frowned. Dis had been trying all along to build a wardrobe for her but the girl was incredibly stubborn about taking anything that she felt would make her more indebted than she already believed she was. Dis had finally gotten her to take a few outfits by recreating the same thing Bilba was already wearing, in different colors and cuts, and claiming they were uniforms, of a sort, for Vanguard.
Now, before Bilba could reject the dress outright, Dis reached in a pocket and said, "AND, for the finishing touch…" With a flourish she drew out a sheath and dagger and placed them on the bed next to the dress. The sheath was leather and silver, the dagger inside a twin to the one Bilba had loved so much. The knives had always been a set. Dis had just chosen to only wear one at a time.
Bilba was staring at the objects, her eyes wide. Dis took the opportunity to lift part of the dress. "See? There's a pocket in it like mine. We can strap the knife to your thigh and you'll be able to reach it through here."
Bilba turned her gaze to focus on Dis and she suppressed a sigh of amused exasperation. She should have known the girl would like the weapon better than the gown.
I can't accept this.
Dis bit back a smile. That might be what the girl was saying but the look on her normally unreadable face was saying the complete opposite. The fact Dis had managed to get her to show any emotion at all was a success as far as she was concerned.
"If you want," she said, carefully keeping her voice neutral, "you can look at it as a loan. I'm letting you borrow the dress, sheath and knife and you'll return them if I ask."
Not that she had any intention of ever asking for them back but the girl didn't need to know that.
Bilba chewed on her lip, clearly warring with herself. It would be nice to have a weapon again. I keep having to borrow a sword when I go out with Vanguard or take one off an orc. It's annoying. I shouldn't have lost the one I had.
Dis could hear the irritation in Bilba's voice and filed the information away for later. She had faith in Fili's ability to create a proper courting gift but it didn't mean that, as his mother, she couldn't give him a tiny prod in the right direction.
"Come on," she said, hoping to further distract Bilba before she came up with new reasons why she shouldn't take the items. "Let's get you cleaned up and ready for tonight shall we?"
Bilba continued to hesitate. She reached a hand out and touched the straps lightly and then the neckline.
My scars will show. She shot Dis an uncertain look. I have a lot of them.
Dis moved forward until she made sure she had Bilba's full attention. "To dwarves, scars are a sign that you're a survivor, a fighter. We respect them." She reached out and lightly took Bilba's hand, "And, besides that, anyone who is worth knowing in the least won't care."
Bilba had gone back to staring at the bed but now looked up at Dis, her eyes wide with something that Dis couldn't completely define.
Thank you.
Dis smiled. "You are quite welcome, my dear."
Vili called while Dis was waiting for Bilba to finish bathing, panicked that he couldn't find the new tunic she'd made him for the Celebration. Letting Bilba know she'd return soon, Dis left to fix the latest Durin family crisis. She found the tunic and headed back to Bilba's rooms, letting herself in quietly.
Bilba had come out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and was sitting on the plush rug before the fireplace, her legs curled under her. She had her hair pulled over her shoulder to allow it to dry and her hands were clasped in her lap. She was perfectly still, her eyes watching the flames.
She hadn't been exaggerating when she'd said she had a lot of scars. Dis had never seen Bilba without the layers of clothes she normally wore, the boots and gloves, heavy cloak and high collared jacket. She had seen, of course, the few scars the girl bore on her face. A slender one that crossed from her right temple, barely touched the edge of her eye and ended just over her cheekbone. Another ran along her left jawline, just below her ear and arching at one point down to her throat.
They were nothing compared to the ones covering the rest of her body.
There were thick bands of scar tissue wrapping around the base of her throat and both wrists. More scarring snaked along her arms, ran in crisscrossing lines across her back until they vanished under the towel. As she drew closer Dis saw a crudely carved circle over Bilba's right shoulder blade. Black speech lettering was cut into the center while, below it, was what might have been someone's idea of a warg or possibly even an orc dragon. The Arena brand she'd heard about, marking her as the personal property of a specific orc. Dis had envisioned it as some sort of actual brand like what might be done to cattle. This, however, had clearly been done with a knife, sliced in so deeply it had probably cut into the bone of her shoulder at points. It had to have been excruciating and she highly doubted the orcs had done anything to lessen the pain.
She swallowed, trying to push down a rush of nausea, and went to retrieve a brush before going to kneel behind Bilba. She lightly pulled the girl's hair back, surprised to see it fell below her waist. She always wore it in tight braids wrapped around her head. Dis had never seen it down before.
"I didn't realize your hair was so long." She lifted it, noting the thickness of the strands. "It's lovely. You should wear it down more often."
It gets in the way, Bilba replied. The orcs would grab it.
"True," Dis said. "You could always wear it down in the mountain though. There are no orc attacks here."
Fili was attacked in his bedroom, Bilba answered. It's not safer.
Dis tensed as the memory of that particular incident flooded her mind. She could still remember Lyth relying the information from Xalanth, the panicked race back to the mountain, the sight of her son pale, bloodied and so unnaturally still in the Healing Ward.
"I'm surprised he told you about that," she murmured, swallowing hard. "He doesn't generally like to talk about it."
She lifted a lower portion of Bilba's hair and frowned to see many of the ends split or jaggedly uneven almost as though…Dis sighed. Of course the girl cut her hair with a knife.
"Do you mind if I trim it?"
Bilba shifted, turning her head slightly to look back toward her. You won't cut it?
There was a tension in her voice that suggested her hair held more importance to her than simply covering her head.
"No," Dis assured her. She held up the part she wanted to trim. "Just this much. See?"
Bilba agreed and Dis retrieved a pair of scissors from the desk. She trimmed it quickly, in as straight a line as she could so it hung across the girl's waist. She replaced the scissors and went back to the fireplace. She repositioned Bilba so more of the heat from the fire was falling on her hair to dry it faster, knelt behind her again and picked up the brush again. She began working on a section of the damp mass, even more grateful she'd come early. She could remember being Bilba's age and struggling to get ready for a party. She'd had help and a lifetime of training and still found it stressful. She hadn't wanted Bilba to have to try and figure it out on her own.
Bilba was looking down again, studying her wrists.
It looks like I'm still wearing manacles. I didn't put them on and I can never take them off.
Dis wasn't entirely sure if the girl had meant to broadcast that but the pain she could hear pulled at her heart in much the same way it would had it come from one of her sons.
"Have you considered tattoos?"
That earned her another side look. What do you mean?
Dis set the brush down and reached forward to pick up one Bilba's wrists, studying the deep lines that marred the skin. "It wouldn't get rid of them but a skilled artist could work them into an image, make them part of something larger or simply different. When you look at your wrists you'd see the design you chose, not the scars the orcs left." She set Bilba's wrist back down carefully.
Could they do the same for my back? For the brand?
"I don't see why not," Dis replied.
Bilba was silent, considering. I can't pay for it, she said finally.
Dis had already thought of that. She started working on Bilba's hair again. "Nori has a younger brother, Ori, who's quite the fan of yours."
I've met him. Outside Rivendell. He wanted me to sign a paper for him.
She sounded confused and Dis chuckled. "I'm sure he did. Ori is a scribe in the library. He's also an amazing artist and Nori trained him on tattoo work years ago, much to the chagrin of their other brother. Nori claims Ori is the best he's ever seen. I have no doubt Ori would consider being able to say he did tattoos for Orcrist as payment in itself."
Bilba didn't look convinced but Dis didn't let up. "Trust me. Ask him when he returns. Or, if you want to add more, offer him a ride on Syrath."
It doesn't seem like enough. I haven't done anything.
"You've done plenty," Dis corrected. "You didn't just wake up one day to find people calling you Oricrist."
That earned her a look suggesting that was exactly what had happened. Dis laughed. "What I meant was you were called Orcrist for a reason. Ori is a huge fan of yours for a reason. You and Syrath have done a lot to make Middle Earth safer. You've inspired others to follow your lead. They may not be on dragonback but many villages and even cities have set up their own patrols; other groups aside from Rangers now protect caravans. The orc attacks are less frequent and in fewer numbers from fear they'll come face to face with an armed escort or, worse, you and Syrath." She gave a gentle tug on a lock of hair to get Bilba to look at her and leaned forward. "You've done more than you know, Bilba. Let some of us say thank you from time to time."
The girl looked startled for a brief instant, then her eyes cut away and she turned to face the fire but not before Dis caught the hint of color rising in her face.
Fili kept insisting there was a young woman underneath the mantle that was Orcrist. Dis had caught glimpses here and there but this was the first time she'd genuinely seen her, past the rage she put on like armor, past the empty expressions and insistence she felt no pain.
Everyone felt pain.
Dis settled back and continued brushing Bilba's hair. It was beginning to dry, revealing a natural wave and spring to it. If it were short Dis imagined it would have the tight curls that many hobbit women were known to sport. As it was the sheer weight of it pulled the curl out until it was merely wavy with a few rebellious curls sneaking in every now and then.
"Your hair is lovely," she repeated, absently letting a portion of it run over her hand. It was a golden brown color, almost amber or even topaz. "Did you inherit it from your mother's side or your father's?"
My mother's I think. Bilba replied. Though I never saw her true hair color so I don't know for sure.
Dis frowned. "What do you mean?"
Even as she spoke a feeling of dread settled into her gut. Fili had mentioned Bilba speaking of her mother in the past tense and many had heard her nightmares from before she'd started sleeping with her dragon. Some of them had been so loud guards had raced in expecting to see her fighting off assassins. A majority of them seemed to revolve around the loss of someone she cared for deeply, leading to the theory that she hadn't been alone when the orcs had attacked. Her age lent credence to this idea, as most dwobbits her age wouldn't have been out traveling by themselves.
She lost it in the mines, Bilba responded.
Dis sighed, her heart sinking. It was even worse than suspected. The girl hadn't lost her mother in the attack. The two of them had been taken prisoner together and enslaved in the mines.
"I'm sorry," she said, knowing full well how inadequate the words were for the situation. Her own memories of losing her mother surfaced and she felt a surge of sympathy for the younger woman. She could remember how lost she'd felt, virtually drowning in her own grief. She'd had her father though, and her grandfather, and her brothers. Not only that but her mother's two best friends, women she'd grown up with, had both stepped in. They'd taken over where her mother no longer could, helping Dis through her grief and, later, helping her grow from the girl she'd been into the woman she was now.
Remembering the pain, the confusion, the anger at how sudden it had been, the misplaced guilt of not somehow being able to prevent it, Dis wondered how she would have made it through with no support at all. And not just no support but simultaneously surrounded by the nightmare that was Moria.
"I lost my own mother," she said, "when I was only in my twenties."
I don't know how old I was. Bilba said. There was no way of keeping track of time in the mines. I think…I think I was in my forties. I don't know though. I don't know how long she's been gone. Some days it feels like forever, others like it just happened.
In her forties? Dis thought. Mahal, how long had she been in the mines? The lifespan of a slave was so short it had been assumed she couldn't have been there long.
But if she'd been there in her forties and was now in her fifties...
"It's not your fault that you don't know," she said.
It feels wrong, spending the anniversary of her death each year acting as though nothing is different.
"What about her birthday then?" Dis asked. "If you want a special day to remember her on, why not remember the day she was born instead of the day she died?"
Bilba turned completely around, her eyes wide. Clearly the thought had never occurred to her.
Dis smiled at her. "That way you're remembering her on a day uncorrupted by the orcs. They had nothing to do with her birth, it'd be all about her."
The mask split, for just an instant before it was gone, Bilba twisting away to face the fire again.
I know when her birthday is. I would like that. Thank you.
The words came across the link so quietly they were almost inaudible, random noise lost in the background feelings from her sons, husband and even her brother who liked to think he was locked up tighter than he actually was.
"You're welcome."
There was silence for several minutes until Dis got her courage up to ask the question now plaguing her.
"What about before the mines?" she asked. "Do you remember your mother's hair from when you were in the Shire?"
It was a roundabout way of asking, hoping Bilba might mention her own age and give her a timeline of when she'd been captured.
I wasn't in the Shire until after the mines, Bilba answered. For about a year until the orcs attacked looking for me and Syrath.
Oh. Dis remembered that attack. It hadn't been entirely a surprise. Yes, security had been greatly increased in the Shire since the dwarves had allied with the hobbits. Instead of protection being solely in the hands of Rangers it now also lay with the Garrison, as well as with the dwarves who had chosen to live in the Shire with their families.
None of that changed the fact that orcs preferred hobbits for their slaves. They caused the least amount of trouble, were easier to terrorize into obedience than dwarves, humans or even elves. Unfortunately they also broke faster than the other races meaning the orcs were constantly in need of new ones. So, while it had been unusual for the Shire to be attacked, while it hadn't happened since the Garrison had been put in place, no one had been stunned it happened eventually. In the minds of many, both in the Shire, the Blue Mountains and Erebor, it had only been a matter of time.
She knew her grandfather had tried for years to convince the Shire to allow him to station drakes on a rotating basis in the area. The hobbits always refused, insisting the drakes would scare off the wildlife, upset their own dragons and destroy the landscape through their sheer size. They had been convinced they were safe, that the presence of the Garrison guaranteed there would never be an attack. Thorin had hoped they would change their minds after the attack but, to his confusion, they had held steadfast insisting the attack had been a one-time thing unlikely to reoccur.
Now she understood why they believed that. The orcs had been looking for Bilba and Syrath, though they had most likely taken the opportunity to supplement their slave population as well. The two had appeared on the scene, based somewhere in the Wild, shortly after the attack on the Shire. They must have left, a young dwobbit and an infant dragon, immediately after the orcs attacked and taken up living in the Wild.
"You know that wasn't your fault either, right?" she asked. "You couldn't have known they were coming."
It doesn't matter. Bilba said. They came whether I knew it or not and it was because of me.
"They would have come anyway," Dis countered. "If you were in the Mines you know the orcs like hobbit slaves."
Maybe, Bilba allowed. But they attacked when they did because of me.
Because of her, Dis thought, not Syrath. In spite of the fact they were both children Bilba put the entire weight of blame on herself.
"How did you end up in the Shire?" she asked. "After you escaped?"
A hobbit found me. Her name was Primula. Bilba looked down at her hands which were clasped tightly in her lap. She probably regrets it now. She lost her husband and dragon in the attack.
Dis flinched. There was so much pain in those words, so much to be untangled and dealt with.
"Did you try to contact your family?" she asked. "Back in the Blue Mountains?" If the girl had never lived in the Shire it was made sense she'd lived in the Blue Mountains. Many hobbits left the Shire to live with their dwarven spouses in the Blue Mountains just as many dwarves left to live in the Shire with their hobbit spouse.
The girl was silent a long time, so long Dis thought she might not answer at all. Finally, though, eyes fixed on her hands once more, Bilba said I have no other family, and I never lived in the Blue Mountains.
"Oh," Dis said. "Where did you live then, before the mines?"
There was nowhere before the Mines, Bilba said. I was born in Moria.
The brush Dis had been moving through Bilba's hair froze. She blinked, running the girl's words through her head.
"You can't have been born in Moria," she said finally, lamely.
Why not? Bilba raised an eyebrow, her eyebrow quirking in an unusual way that, for a split second brought a jolt of familiarity, the sensation she was looking at someone else entirely, someone she knew well. The feeling was gone instantly, before she could place who it was she thought she saw.
"A pregnant woman wouldn't have survived in Moria," she explained patiently, "much less a newborn. It's just not possible."
It's unlikely, Bilba agreed, but not impossible. I was born early, or at least my mother thought I was. She knows the day I was supposed to be born so I use that as my birthday but I'm probably older, by a few weeks at least if not months. I think everyone was surprised I survived the birth. My mother did everything she could, many of the other slaves helped. The orcs found it amusing. They took bets on how long I would last, at first anyway. Eventually they noticed there were fewer problems from the slaves, the humans, elven and dwarven ones, in the areas I was in. The slaves were afraid any disobedience would result in my being punished, and they were right. After that the orcs started helping, in a fashion. The more obedient the slaves were the more food or rest my mother would be given. Bilba's face darkened slightly, though her tone of voice didn't change. The time between when I was born and when I became old enough to work was one of incredible obedience amongst the slaves. They even controlled themselves. Any time a slave acted out the others, the ones protecting me would deal with it themselves before the orcs could. It worked so well the orcs considered bringing in more children to continue the practice. Her eyes cut to the side, her lips twisting in disgust at the thought of it. I don't know why they never did.
Dis literally couldn't move. She couldn't even breathe. Bilba had relayed the entire thing in such a matter of fact manner, she might as well have been reciting the alphabet or speaking about the weather.
All Dis could feel was unimaginable horror. It radiated through her being, every fiber, every part of her. She tried to picture herself in that situation, cradling a newborn Kili in her arms, tried to imagine trying to keep the both of them alive, the constant fear she would wake up to find him gone or, worse, the orcs simply taking him from her and her helpless to stop it.
She couldn't imagine it. The horror was too great for her mind to even comprehend.
An infant…in Moria.
And past that the realization that Bilba had spent her entire life in the mines, that all she'd ever known had been pain and darkness and the cruelty of the orcs.
How had she survived with any semblance of sanity? By all rights she should be broken, body and spirit both and no one would have blamed her for it.
Still desperately not wanting to believe it, to have it somehow be something, anything else she said, "How are you-" She trailed off, helplessly gesturing at the girl's body. In her mind the image of a Moria slave was a crippled, broken mess, barely able to walk after the first five days much less after five decades.
Bilba seemed to understand what she was saying because she answered at once. There are no broken slaves in Moria, she explained, not for long anyway. The orcs have no use for them so they're disposed of. She didn't elaborate but the way her emotions wavered on the word "disposed" told Dis she probably didn't want to know. You can't escape starving or being beaten, sometimes for having done nothing wrong, but, if you're careful, you can avoid being broken. She hesitated and then continued. Once I was put in the Arena I was hurt worse but I made a name for myself quickly. I brought in a lot of gold for Azog so he made sure I was treated properly when hurt. He wanted me dying in a fight, not from an infection, and he didn't want me losing the ability to fight because a broken leg healed wrong. She reached up and lightly touched one of the scars on her face, the one running near her eye. I nearly lost my eye with this one. You don't see a lot of Arena fighters with facial injuries because most of them are fatal. She shrugged suddenly, looking tired. To be fair, you don't see a lot of Arena fighters period, not more than once or twice anyway. There were a few prize winning ones like me, but only a few.
Dis barely heard any of what she said after the word Azog.
Azog.
Azog the Defiler.
Mahal, the brand on the girl's shoulder was Azog's. She'd been his slave. For how long? What had she been through? Enslaved her entire life, tortured, forced to fight in their sick Arena. She'd no doubt witnessed the death of her own mother if her nightmares were anything to go by and then been forced to keep on going, never having a chance to process any of it. Then as soon as she escaped, as soon as she started a new life in the Shire, the Mahal damned orcs showed up and took it all away again.
Dis was horrified, she was stunned but, most of all, she found she was angry. Not at Bilba but at the orcs. At the monsters who'd taken the girl's childhood, her innocence, her mother, her safety, her life. The rage burned like a live thing through her veins, coiling along her muscles and, with a sudden clarity, she abruptly understood the true depth of the girls' anger. Because if this was how enraged she was on Bilba's behalf then how much worse must the girl's own anger be having lived through it?
Dimly she became aware of her family, and Lyth, in her head, demanding to know what was wrong. Her emotions had been so deep they had been vibrating along her soul link, traveling out to everyone she had a bond with.
I'm fine, she managed to send. Don't come. I'm fine.
Fili's voice cut through the mass, his tone hard. If you're fine then why is Bilba nearly in a panic and insisting I need to come at once? And why does she think you're angry at her?
Dis focused on the girl. Bilba was expressionless but, looking closer, Dis could see faint tremors running along her arms. Her hands, still clenched in her lap, were white knuckled and she was breathing in short, quick gasps.
Dis hugged her.
Without hesitating she opened her shields, letting the girl see in further, to feel her reaction and where her anger was truly directed. It wasn't a soul bond, it was only in one direction from Dis to Bilba and would end as soon as she put her shields back up, but it was close.
She felt Bilba flinch in surprise and then suddenly her arms were going around Dis in turn. Dis felt her eyes start to burn and she gently put her shields back up, not wanting her own sadness to upset the girl but also not wanting Bilba to think she was being rejected.
Outside the window a rushing sound signaled the arrival of Lyth and Syrath, darting past in agitation. Bilba pulled away and looked toward the balcony while Dis did the same for Lyth, both probably saying much the same thing.
I'm fine, Dis repeated down her link to her family. I was talking to Bilba and, her voice wavered a bit and she reached up to hastily wipe a few traitorous tears away from her eyes. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried. She's been through more than we knew, a lot more.
She repeated her order for them to stay away. The last thing Bilba needed was the entire royal family of Erebor, all of them male, bursting into her bedroom while she was barely dressed. Grudgingly they obeyed her after Dis promised to talk to them later, after the Celebration.
She looked in Bilba's eyes…and saw the same look she often saw looking back at her from the other side of a mirror.
The look of a child who'd lost her mother. It was a lost look, a seeking one, one used to having a place to turn now suddenly adrift, lost in a sea of blackness with no hope of rescue.
It hadn't been that way very long for Dis. She'd been surrounded by others, guided, led by the hand out of the dark, and out of her childhood, back into the light.
Bilba had never had the light at all.
She'd been born in darkness, thrust down further still when her mother had died…and had never left. She stood at the bottom of a well and, at some point, had given up trying to climb out, had stopped crying for help, and accepted it.
No one would be coming.
There was no one to come.
Not anymore.
Dis felt like someone had given her a key. She understood Bilba, not perfectly of course, she doubted anyone could do that unless they'd lived through what the girl had lived through. But she understood one aspect, a very important one.
She understood what it felt like to be a little girl lost.
Impulsively she hugged her again and, again, Bilba reacted at once, hugging her back in a way so immediate, so instinctive that it suggested once, long ago, it had been as natural as breathing.
It would be that way again if Dis had any say in it.
She thought of her mother's friends, how they'd stepped in and surrounded her, and her brothers, after the accident. She still remembered asking one of the women about it, about why they'd done it. The response had been that, more than anything, Dis' mother would have wanted to know her children were cared for and loved after her loss, that someone had come in where she couldn't, that someone was taking up the burden she'd never wanted to lay down.
They had done it, the woman had explained, so her mother, their friend, could rest in peace.
Dis wondered about Bilba's mother. Bilba had clearly been everything, everything to her. She'd given her all and died knowing she was leaving her daughter behind to face Moria alone.
Dis sent a prayer to Mahal, asking it be given to Bilba's mother if that were possible. Asking that the woman be told she could now rest in peace. The gap left by her passing would be filled. As others had filled it for her own mother now Dis, a mother in her own right, would do so for another woman.
After all that had been done for her.
After all Bilba's mother had done to save her daughter.
Dis could do no less.