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Fic: Timshel (3/5)
Meta and Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Gimli, who has nearly recovered from the slight of being left behind, brings her dinner to the forge. It is the place where Thorin and Balin had smithed, and where Dwalin would have, had he ever come there. It is plain and the air circulation is poor, but it works enough to have secured their income for the half century since their arrival. It is the place where her sons learned to wield hammers and to tell the worth of metal. Here, in the rustic Blue Mountains, they were family.
And yet, she has never been still here. It is not the same restlessness that plagues her brother, that same longing for another Mountain, far away, but that is what she pretends, when anyone asks. She has never lied to Fíli. She truly does not know where his father is, what became of him. She lies to Kíli, though, and it pains her more than she ever guessed it would.
If only he would come! Thorin keeps him busy on the road, gathering news from the settlements of Men and travelling to all possible colonies of their own people. From time to time, Balin would to go meet him, and bring back trinkets for the boys, but always Dwalin is kept away by Thorin’s business, and she cannot complain because she has made the choices that have led them all here.
She still has no regrets. When her brother needed allies, numbers to make up the lucky fourteen, her sons had been counted among his Company. There is no other to gainsay her decision or theirs, and Thorin is grateful for it. She had hoped they would meet in her halls before they left, but instead they go south, to a place where the Wizard knew of another ally. She sees her sons march away, spends two weeks consoling Gimli, and then turns to the forge like she never has in all her life.
Spring, summer and fall pass, and there is no word. Conversations die when she enters a room, and only Glóin’s family will meet her gaze. She packs and unpacks a dozen times as Durin’s Day draws close, and for the first time, fear creeps into her heart, and only the fire and the hammer can clear her mind of it.
She eats with Gimli, and he tells her who he has seen on the road. There is something in the air she cannot name, but she feels it whispering in her hair and beard, and knows when Gimli shifts uncomfortably that he can feel it too. Something is coming, for good or ill. Something has changed.
There is a cry in the distance, and then the raven comes.
++
She has not hurried here, letting the ponies pick their own pace, but they can feel the bite of winter on their heels, so they do not linger in the Wild. Dís was surprised to find herself reluctant to leave the Blue Mountains at all, restless as she had been before the raven’s coming. Thorin’s Halls in Ered Luin are wooden and warm, for all they do not have the grandeur of her childhood, and they are a welcome change after years of suffering and wandering through villages of Men. Thorin was never content there, but Balin came to be, and to her sons, it was the only home they had ever known.
Then came the news of her sons’ and brother’s passing, and the journey east could not be put off any longer.
The sun is shining when Dís arrives at the foot of the Lonely Mountain, but a shadow lies over the peak. She wonders if it is only in her heart or caused by some stain of goblin blood, but the wind is high and when the cloud moves on, she sees that it is nothing to be concerned about. The ravens who brought her the tidings of the dragon’s death have made the journey between her and the Mountain often enough that she has missed no news, heartening or heartbreaking.
The Men of Dale are silent as their party passes through. They know who, and what, she is. What she has gained and lost. They are a small party, fourteen only to match her brother’s Company, but they are wives and sisters and mothers, and they will take the respect that they are due.
A horn sounds at the Front Gate, and five dwarves emerge. Four wear armour, but their weapons are sheathed. The fifth has a bright red hood and a snow-white beard, and Dís’s heart lightens to see him. Beside him, taller than all his comrades, is Dwalin. She does not know what she will say. Then Glóin, who stands at Balin’s right shoulder, can contain himself no longer. He runs down the causeway, barrelling towards them with all the speed and strength of a winter storm. Gimli is off his pony and past her, iron shod boots tramping on the stones of the causeway, and his mother is close behind him.
Dís cannot begrudge them their joy in one another as they crash together at the midpoint of the causeway, a tangle of arms and shields and bright red hair. Oin, moving more sedately, reaches them and is immediately drawn in. Behind him, Dori and Balin wear guarded smiles, and Dwalin, the last, cannot look at them at all.
“My lady,” Balin says, when Dís has drawn close enough to hear him without shouting. He speaks no further words of greeting to her, but his eyes tell her everything he hasn’t the heart to put voice to. I am glad you have come. And I wish, I do wish...
Dwalin has eyes only for her, waiting to see if she will bend or break. She does neither, because she does not return his gaze. There are too many witnesses, and this grief of theirs is too old, too secret, for her to lay it bare upon the Mountainside.
“We’ve arranged quarters for everyone,” Dori says, just before the silence grows intolerable. He looks older now, but remains as fussy and efficient as ever. “If you will leave the ponies here?”
So it is that Dís enters Erebor on her own two feet, surrounded by her cousins, the only family she has remaining.
++
Chapter Four
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Gimli, who has nearly recovered from the slight of being left behind, brings her dinner to the forge. It is the place where Thorin and Balin had smithed, and where Dwalin would have, had he ever come there. It is plain and the air circulation is poor, but it works enough to have secured their income for the half century since their arrival. It is the place where her sons learned to wield hammers and to tell the worth of metal. Here, in the rustic Blue Mountains, they were family.
And yet, she has never been still here. It is not the same restlessness that plagues her brother, that same longing for another Mountain, far away, but that is what she pretends, when anyone asks. She has never lied to Fíli. She truly does not know where his father is, what became of him. She lies to Kíli, though, and it pains her more than she ever guessed it would.
If only he would come! Thorin keeps him busy on the road, gathering news from the settlements of Men and travelling to all possible colonies of their own people. From time to time, Balin would to go meet him, and bring back trinkets for the boys, but always Dwalin is kept away by Thorin’s business, and she cannot complain because she has made the choices that have led them all here.
She still has no regrets. When her brother needed allies, numbers to make up the lucky fourteen, her sons had been counted among his Company. There is no other to gainsay her decision or theirs, and Thorin is grateful for it. She had hoped they would meet in her halls before they left, but instead they go south, to a place where the Wizard knew of another ally. She sees her sons march away, spends two weeks consoling Gimli, and then turns to the forge like she never has in all her life.
Spring, summer and fall pass, and there is no word. Conversations die when she enters a room, and only Glóin’s family will meet her gaze. She packs and unpacks a dozen times as Durin’s Day draws close, and for the first time, fear creeps into her heart, and only the fire and the hammer can clear her mind of it.
She eats with Gimli, and he tells her who he has seen on the road. There is something in the air she cannot name, but she feels it whispering in her hair and beard, and knows when Gimli shifts uncomfortably that he can feel it too. Something is coming, for good or ill. Something has changed.
There is a cry in the distance, and then the raven comes.
++
She has not hurried here, letting the ponies pick their own pace, but they can feel the bite of winter on their heels, so they do not linger in the Wild. Dís was surprised to find herself reluctant to leave the Blue Mountains at all, restless as she had been before the raven’s coming. Thorin’s Halls in Ered Luin are wooden and warm, for all they do not have the grandeur of her childhood, and they are a welcome change after years of suffering and wandering through villages of Men. Thorin was never content there, but Balin came to be, and to her sons, it was the only home they had ever known.
Then came the news of her sons’ and brother’s passing, and the journey east could not be put off any longer.
The sun is shining when Dís arrives at the foot of the Lonely Mountain, but a shadow lies over the peak. She wonders if it is only in her heart or caused by some stain of goblin blood, but the wind is high and when the cloud moves on, she sees that it is nothing to be concerned about. The ravens who brought her the tidings of the dragon’s death have made the journey between her and the Mountain often enough that she has missed no news, heartening or heartbreaking.
The Men of Dale are silent as their party passes through. They know who, and what, she is. What she has gained and lost. They are a small party, fourteen only to match her brother’s Company, but they are wives and sisters and mothers, and they will take the respect that they are due.
A horn sounds at the Front Gate, and five dwarves emerge. Four wear armour, but their weapons are sheathed. The fifth has a bright red hood and a snow-white beard, and Dís’s heart lightens to see him. Beside him, taller than all his comrades, is Dwalin. She does not know what she will say. Then Glóin, who stands at Balin’s right shoulder, can contain himself no longer. He runs down the causeway, barrelling towards them with all the speed and strength of a winter storm. Gimli is off his pony and past her, iron shod boots tramping on the stones of the causeway, and his mother is close behind him.
Dís cannot begrudge them their joy in one another as they crash together at the midpoint of the causeway, a tangle of arms and shields and bright red hair. Oin, moving more sedately, reaches them and is immediately drawn in. Behind him, Dori and Balin wear guarded smiles, and Dwalin, the last, cannot look at them at all.
“My lady,” Balin says, when Dís has drawn close enough to hear him without shouting. He speaks no further words of greeting to her, but his eyes tell her everything he hasn’t the heart to put voice to. I am glad you have come. And I wish, I do wish...
Dwalin has eyes only for her, waiting to see if she will bend or break. She does neither, because she does not return his gaze. There are too many witnesses, and this grief of theirs is too old, too secret, for her to lay it bare upon the Mountainside.
“We’ve arranged quarters for everyone,” Dori says, just before the silence grows intolerable. He looks older now, but remains as fussy and efficient as ever. “If you will leave the ponies here?”
So it is that Dís enters Erebor on her own two feet, surrounded by her cousins, the only family she has remaining.
++
Chapter Four
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You should buy chocolate or some other kind of therapeutic food before tomorrow morning. You know, as a suggestion.
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http://grey-wonderer.livejournal.com/265930.html?style=mine
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I was hoping it would turn AU. *cries all the tears*
(A copy of The Hobbit left the shop while I was at the register today. And we got new Tolkien including editions that I had never seen before and now I want them.)
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No, it's canon compliant, sorry. If it makes you feel better, I owe
(ooooh, take pictures so I can covet them with you!)
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(I'll try, or see if I can find them online and then I'll give you the links to tempt you too.)
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ugh, my SOUL hurts.
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So very like a woman who has lived her life with the eyes of others watching everything she does and expecting her to lead in her own way because of who she is. She can't let them see her pain even now. So very heart-breaking and so unfair that she hasn't been able to grieve with the one person remaining who can feel her lost and who shares it.
I will be looking forward to more.
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