After dinner was finished—Frodo having been roused so that he could enjoy his meal while it was still warm—they sat around the table as they had after most meals and traded stories and smoked. This time, however, talk was not about their old adventures, but the more recent developments that would have been the first order of business had Thorin's resurrection not eclipsed them. It had been years since the three of them had visited Bilbo and there was much catching up to do—which was extended even more by Thorin's desire to catch up on everything that he had missed in the last sixty years.
He was especially interested in the fact that Balin—of all people—had grown bored with the quiet life of Erebor and had planned an expedition to reclaim the kingdom of Khazad-dûm from the orcs—an expedition that Dáin had forbidden.
"Why did Dáin forbid it?" Thorin asked, surprise coloring his tone. If Balin had come to him with the request for dwarves for such a task he would have granted it. Balin was a loyal friend and a good leader. If anyone stood a chance of retaking their ancient kingdom it would be him.
"He felt that it was an exercise in folly to waste lives in an attempt to regain a kingdom that had been lost for generations," Balin explained with a shrug. "He said that it had already claimed enough dwarven lives and that even if we were to succeed—against greater odds even than we had faced against Smaug for Erebor—the City would be in such disrepair that it would be nearly impossible to make hospitable once more. Repairs are still underway in Erebor and he would not have been able to spare the architects to work in Khazad-dûm."
"Were you angry?" Bilbo asked. He knew that as far as dwarves went Balin was fairly level tempered, but to have his request denied and called folly by someone sitting on a throne of a kingdom that he had originally refused to attempt to recover . . . it had to have rankled.
"Angry?" Dwalin barked out a laugh. "He was furious! Came to me and Glóin and begged us to throw our own weight and influence behind his quest. Claimed that Dáin couldn't stand against us all if we put our minds to it."
"Did you?" Thorin asked, thinking that he already knew the answer as that they were correct. Even though they were distant cousins, they were still kin and if they had all banded together it would have been difficult for Dáin to refuse them, though he still could have,
"No," Balin replied with a grin at his brother. "Their wives intervened. If they had thrown their weight behind my quest they would have had to come along and neither of the women was willing to allow that. Not that I blame Nola. I wouldn't want to take care of his ten whelps alone."
"Ten!?" Thorin and Bilbo said in disbelieving unison. Neither of them could believe it. Ten children was almost unheard of for dwarves. Bilbo was feeling nearly faint at the idea that he had completely miscounted. Dwalin and his family alone made for twelve dwarves, which brought the total count up to eighteen. No, he mentally corrected, Bombur has a wife and at least a couple children. He looked helplessly at Thorin as he realized that they were talking about moving at least twenty dwarves into the Shire.
But Thorin would be no help. He was as shocked as Bilbo if not more so. He had known that Dwalin had a child—a daughter—but ten children. That seemed almost excessive.
"Ten?" Thorin repeated, wondering if he had misheard. He had to have misheard or Balin had to be exaggerating for effect.
"Yep," Dwalin replied a smile on his face. "Seven boys and three girls. All strong and with wonderful beards."
"Even the girls?" Frodo asked, feeling so curious that he couldn't help by ask even if the question was a rude one.
"Aye lad," Dwalin replied a proud smile on his face as he bragged about his children. "My girls have fine beards."
"Is that . . . I mean . . . do dwarf women normally—is it not strange for women to have beards?" Frodo stuttered. Bilbo felt sympathy towards the lad. He remembered when he had first found out that dwarf women had beards and his shock—and the company's amusement at his new knowledge. Even so, he still halfway felt that they were having one over on him. He had yet to meet a dwarf woman and see for himself if she had a beard.
"Of course it's normal!" Bofur replied almost indignantly. "No self-respecting dwarf, be they male or female, would be seen without a beard."
"But it's not a full beard," Frodo pressed. "Not like Balin's, is it?"
"Sometimes," Balin replied stroking his beard proudly. "Other times they shape them or braid them just as the men-folk do. As I recall, Thorin's sister had a thicker beard than he did for quite some time when they were younger."
"She did," Thorin said with a fond smile. "Dís grew a beard at a very young age. Dark and thick. Our father was so proud of her."
"And then he looked at you," Dwalin teased with a smirk. "How did he feel about his heir having only a bit of fuzz on his face long after his baby sister had a beard?"
"It was more than a bit of fuzz," Thorin replied indignantly looking at Dwalin with a dark expression. "I had a beard, it just wasn't particularly thick."
"It was fuzz," Balin agreed with his brother. "It didn't even cover the skin beneath it."
"It doesn't matter," Bilbo said placing a hand on Thorin's arm. He had heard this argument before and had no desire to get into it again. It only ever ended with hurt feelings and the last time it had taken days for him to pull Thorin back out of his melancholy and then it had only been accomplished with the aid of his nephews. The dwarves made noises of protest at his assertion that beards did not matter.
"Beards are important!" Bofur said just as Dwalin muttered, "Trust a hobbit to say that only having fuzz until he was well into his seventies is normal." Balin laughed at his brother's words while Thorin scowled at the both of them.
"Now, now!" Bilbo said holding his hands up as though to demonstrate that he was unarmed, "I was not trying to discount the importance of beards. I was merely saying that it doesn't matter now because he has a fine beard. That was all."
"And how did you become a judge of what constitutes a fine beard, Master Baggins?" Bofur asked with a saucy wink. "Compared to your bare face, anything is considered a fine beard."
"Perhaps that's true," Bilbo replied with a smirk, "but even without a beard of my own I can recognize a fine one when I see it." He was about to tease Bofur about his own, strangely shaped beard when Thorin changed the topic entirely.
"How is Dís?" Thorin asked suddenly. "After . . . how is she?" At his question all the joy left the room. Dís, Thorin's sister who had lost everything. Her name alone was a sobering thought.
"We don't know," Balin replied honestly, a slight catch in his voice. "She never moved to Erebor. She and a small settlement of dwarves still live in Ered Luin."
"She never . . . Why?" Thorin demanded. Confusion and fury warred to be his dominant emotion. Why would his sister—daughter of Thrain son of Thror—not return to her home kingdom? "Why did she not move home? Dáin would have welcomed her, would he not? He didn't forbid her presence?" His tone had grown steadily darker as he continued speaking. The idea that his cousin would turn away his sister made his blood boil.
"Nothing like that happened, Thorin," Dwalin promised, trying to calm the irate dwarf before something—or someone—ended up broken. "He requested that she come many times. I myself carried more than one message."
"Then why?" Thorin asked, his anger evaporating and leaving him feeling tired and almost nauseous as he realized that he already knew the answer. It was his fault.
"She couldn't bear it," Balin replied. "I asked her to come as well. She looked at me and even though she said nothing about why she was refusing, I could see it. She couldn't bear to be so near you and the boys and not be able to talk with you." Thorin closed his eyes and clinched his hands on his knees in an attempt to control himself. There would be time to mourn for the consequences of his actions later. This was not the time or the place.
"If it helps," Balin said gently, "she didn't truly see Erebor as 'home'. She told me that much."
"She didn't see it as home?" Thorin asked quietly. How could his sister not see their kingdom as home?
"Thorin, she was only ten when Smaug descended," Balin reminded him. "Most of her life was lived elsewhere. She made a home in Ered Luin. In the end she chose to remain there."
"So she still lives where . . . we lived?" Thorin asked, the question strangled by the emotion threatening to creep up his throat. The thought of his little sister continuing to live in the same home that she had shared with him and her sons . . . alone. It wasn't right. Dís should not be alone. She should be surrounded by people who love her. People I took from her, Thorin though bitterly. Thorin couldn't even smile as Bilbo's hand crept into his own, the hobbit seeking to provide him with comfort. In fact it only made things worse. Comfort was something that he felt he did not deserve.
"Aye," Balin agreed, seeming to sense the thoughts that his old friend had left unspoken. There was nothing more that he could say. It had been decades since he had seen Dís, and the last time he had she hadn't been coping well. But Thorin did not need to know that, not with him already taking the blame of it all on himself.
"Perhaps she could be persuaded to move here," Frodo offered. He flinched slightly when there were suddenly five pairs of eyes staring at him. "I mean . . . Bilbo would have to agree, of course, but we do have an extra room and well . . . you'll be staying here . . . and she's your sister. . . I-I"
"That's a fine idea, Frodo my lad!" Bilbo replied with a wide smile and a grateful nod to his nephew. He may not be pleased about the number of dwarves that were threatening to descend on the Shire, but with what was already coming he couldn't see where one more could hurt. Especially not Thorin's sister. Dís would be welcome in Bag End if she desired to come.
"We'll have to extend her an invitation," Bilbo said looking up at Thorin who shifted uncomfortably. The only way that Dís would accept such an invitation would be if Thorin issued it in person and while he wasn't avoiding his sister, he didn't really see where it was his right to force her to speak with him if she didn't want to and there was no way to request an audience with her without telling her that he was alive and doing so in a message . . . that would be less appropriate than dropping in on her.
"Perhaps," Thorin replied. "Let's wait to do it until we at least get the settlement started. We don't want to make it seem like her only options are to stay in Ered Luin or move into a hobbit hole with two people she has never met and a brother she has every right to despise."
"We'll need to talk to Dís at any rate," Balin said. "We'll need trade if we are going to set up any kind of a decent forge here. The Blue Mountains can provide that for us and we'll need Dís's approval to manage it."
"Why would that need my sister's approval?" Thorin asked his eyebrows coming together as he spoke. It confused him. Dís was of the line of Durin, and the eldest member still living—it was strange to think that his little sister was now older than him—but women were never in positions of power. Dís could not help them.
"Dís took up residence in your halls and, by merit of your and the boys sacrifice, rules Ered Luin now," Dwalin explained.
Thorin sighed in response. This would only provide one more potential road block to the settlement that they were proposing. He would not blame Dís in the least if she refused to help them once she learned that he was involved. Even though no one had said it, he had no doubt that she hated him. He had taken everything from her.
"Once we get the rest of the details smoothed over I will go and speak with Dís about arranging trade and her potential move to the Shire," Thorin said with a sigh, his tone almost sounding defeated. "If that's all for the night, I'm tired and would like to go to bed. I will see you all in the morning." When no one said anything, Thorin stood slowly, his swirling emotions making him feel more exhausted than he had ever felt in his life.
"Thorin Oakenshield, that is very well not all," Bilbo snapped hopping up from the table and grabbing the dwarf by the arm. Thorin looked at the hobbit wearily, his sadness burring in his eyes and causing Bilbo's own to fill with tears at the sight of it.
"What more do you want from me?" Thorin asked defeat clear in his tone and no heat behind the words. Bilbo's heart broke for the dwarf that he loved. He had never seen Thorin like this, there was such sadness there. He had seen rage, determination, regret, longing, but never abject sadness.
"If you think that you're getting into my bed as filthy as you are, you have to rethink that idea," Bilbo said, trying to sound like a disapproving lover by failing due to the emotion choking the words. "You need a bath."
"Bilbo, if you think that I am walking down to the creek in the middle of the night for a cold wash down—" Thorin said, his tone dark. He would not be told to bathe like a dwarfling. Not when all he wanted to do was curl into a ball and weep like one.
"Don't be absurd!" Bilbo scoffed, gently pulling on Thorin's arm and leading him down the hall to the bathroom. "It'll be a warm bath. Hobbit's aren't barbarians!" Thorin sighed but allowed the hobbit to lead him away. Even if he didn't deserve comfort, the idea of a warm bath was appealing.
Even once they left the room, the conversation did not return to normal, nor did the atmosphere lighten. Those that remained sat in silence for a time, staring into the dying embers of the fire questioning for the first time if the settlement was worth the pain that it would cause both Thorin and Dís.
"Are you sure this is a good idea," Bofur asked glancing at the other two, his usual humor gone from his eyes and his face.
"No," Balin replied. "I hadn't thought about what this will do to Dís. Perhaps we should rethink it."
"Why?" Dwalin asked sharply. "She will find out that Thorin is alive eventually. And as this sharp lad pointed out," he ruffled Frodo's curly hair affectionately, earning him a glare from the hobbit that caused the others to laugh quietly, "Thorin is going to live here regardless of what we do. Do we truly intend to abandon him to endure alone the prudish hobbit customs?"
"Besides," Dwalin continued, "Thorin can't avoid Dís forever. He'll eventually have to face her and this gives him an excuse. Even if you two are too intimidated to live among hobbits and back out, me and mine will be coming to live in the Shire."
"Are you implying that we're too cowardly to live here?" Bofur asked, his humor returning to his eyes at the slight. He had faced orc, trolls and even joined a quest knowing that there would be a dragon at the end. He was no coward and Dwalin knew it.
"Aye," Dwalin replied with a smirk. "What of it? Will you prove me wrong?"
"Oh yes," Bofur replied rising to the challenge with a laugh. "I'll move here and even manage to integrate myself with the hobbits in ways you can't even imagine!"
"Is that so?" Dwalin asked. "Are you implying that I couldn't make hobbit friends if I wanted them?"
"Perhaps," Bofur replied with a smirk of his own. "Care to take a wager on it?"
"On what?" Dwalin demanded.
"I bet that before the first year is out, I will have more hobbits willing to call me a friend that you," Bofur replied his tone challenging.
"I'll take that bet," Dwalin replied a predatory smile on his face. "On one condition: children do not count."
"Now wait just one moment!" Bofur protested. He had been counting on his toys to win over the hobbit children to his side. Eliminating them from the reckoning was unfair.
"You may as well help me with the dishes, laddie," Balin said turning to face Frodo with a wry smile on his face. "Now that those two have gotten started they will be at it all night and we would be best to get any fragile projectiles out of range. I doubt your uncle would appreciate Bofur breaking his plates on my brother's hard head."
"If their fighting shouldn't we—"
"Mahal no!" Balin said with a laugh. "I would rather face down a dragon in naught but my smallclothes and brandishing one of your uncle's flowers than get in the middle of that. Don't worry," he added seeing Frodo's apprehensive expression—one that didn't entirely have to do with the arguing dwarves in the dining room. "They won't actually hurt one another."
Even with Balin's reassurances that no blood would be shed, Frodo couldn't help but feel a bit of discomfort at the raised voices that were coming from the two dwarves as they tried to iron out the terms of their contest. He gave a small snort of laughter at the thought of the poor hobbits that would be unwitting participants in their games and thanked the Valar that he was not in their position.
ooOO88OOoo
There we are all, a new chapter :) I hope that it was worth the wait!
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Stickdonkeys.