Dis, daughter of Fris, fund that she had to lift up the skirt of her sapphire blue dress which had been made from only the finest of velvet, as she hurried up the stairs to the southern battlement. She knew exactly how she appeared to those which she raced past in her rush: out of breath, face flushed, and braids a mess around her face and shoulders, she looked more like a dirty urchin than a Princess of the line of Durin who was approaching her hundred and sixty-first birthday.
Not that she rightly cared about any of that this morning, for word had finally come from Gondor.
Her brother was standing upon the battlement, looking regal and strong as he stared down at whatever was down at the gates. To his left stood Balin and Dwalin, sons of Fundin, both dressed in thick furs as there was still a bite to the air up here. However it was Fili whom she felt her gaze drawn to. Her beloved first born son was pale and unnaturally thin, as though his very life force was being drained from his body, was stood on his Uncle and Kings right side.
Dis could still remember quite clearly the day that her beautiful boy, her golden haired son, had confessed his greatest secret to her. Barely out of childhood himself, Fili had clung to her sobbing as they sat beside the fire in their tiny house in Ered Luin, admitting that he loved his brother. She had thought it had been nothing more than adolescent fancy, after all Kili had already been turning heads despite his relatively young age.
However as the years went on it became clear that Fili's attraction hadn't waivered once towards the Dwarrowdams nor the craftsmen and warriors that were vying for the young Prince's attention. Sure there had been rumours of his dalliances, as was typical of a boy his age, but never anything serious had resulted from them. It was also around this time that it became clear, to Dis at least, that Fili's love wasn't quite as unrequited as he believed.
It was these memories of a better time that made Dis walk to her son and wrap her arm around his shoulders, propriety be damned.
"Amad," he whispered, voice sounding broken and weak.
"I know my son," She pressed a quick kiss to his temple. "I know."
He nodded his head in reply, and she saw his throat work as he attempted to swallow down his pain and sorrow. Beneath them, upon the road which led from the newly rebuilt Dale to the great gates of Erebor, was a small company of men on horseback. So this was what Gondor had sent to negotiate their aid in finding her youngest. Thorin seemed to have been carved from the very stone itself, so still that he could have easily have passed for a statue if it wasn't for his hair blowing in the wind. Never had she been more grateful for her stoic older brother, for the fact that even though he was easily a head shorter than most of these men, he was still an intimidating presence.
"King Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror." The man at the lead of the company yelled up to the battlements. He appeared fairly young, a few short years into his adulthood, though it was always difficult to tell with men. "I am Boromir, son of Denethor, the Steward of Gondor."
"Denethor sent his own son." She heard Balin mutter to the King. "They are taking this very seriously."
Thorin snorted at that. "It means he is taking our wealth very seriously."
"Whatever it takes to secure the safety of my son." Dis interjected, standing tall as their gazes moved to her.
"Aye." Thorin nodded, then he turned to yell down the battlements. "Open the gates!"
Within the hour Boromir and the guards, which had been sent with him on his long journey from Minas Tirith, were standing in the great throne room of Erebor.
Dis, and the rest of the council members, followed them across the causeway to where Thorin sat upon the giant throne made of stone, Fili sat to his right. Dis found herself having to blink back tears at the sight of the empty chair on the Kings other side, the chair in which Kili would usually have sat in making rude faces in order to make his brother laugh.
"Lord Boromir." Thorin stood from his throne, one heavy hand resting on his nephew's shoulder in support before he stepped down to meet their guests. "You are most welcome in Erebor."
Boromir, for his part, stepped forwards with his fist pressed to his heart as he gave a small bow in greeting.
"Your majesty," he said. "Erebor called to Gondor for aid."
"And Gondor answered," said Thorin.
Dis could completely understand her brother, and his advisors, surprise that these men were actually here and standing in the great hall. Men very rarely got involved in the affairs of the other races within Middle Earth, far to concerned with their own squabbles and wars. Ever since Sauron had burned the white tree of Minas Ithil, and waged war upon Gondor, the man of Minas Tirith had kept to themselves more than most.
"Your rider called for our help as one of your heirs has been abducted by the Dark Lord of Mordor," said Boromir.
Thorin nodded and moved to sit back on his throne, the many rings adorning his fingers clinking against the stone.
"This is true," he said, glancing first at Dis and then at Fili. "My nephew Kili was taken by Orcs three months past."
Boromir frowned. "And how do you know that he has not been killed?"
"We have been asked for a ransom," answered Balin, and Dis saw him catch the Kings eye. "Also we have not yet found his head outside of our gates."
Dis felt herself flinch at that, and very nearly lost her breakfast over the side of the causeway.
"Gondor stands beside Erebor and its young Prince," said Boromir. "No matter what his fate."
"And what is Lord Denethor's price?" demanded Thorin. "For such generosity."
At that Boromir swept his arm back so as to bring forwards another man. He was maybe a handful of years younger than Boromir, fair of face and with the kind of grace which one just did not find amongst Dwarves.
"This is my brother Faramir," he said, clapping the younger man on the shoulder. "And our father sends him as a potential Consort for the King of Erebor."