The Stone
A short piece featuring Dis. Can be found on my Ao3 here.
When he was seven, he broke his leg.
The boys had been playing near a small stream behind their home, as she had often told them not to do. Even at that age, though, they were both stubborn, and Kίli especially rebellious - it was unfortunate he had inherited such things from her, rather than his father’s complacent cheerfulness. Kίli, whose head had just barely brushed her thigh at that age, was jumping from rock to rock across the water, heedless of his brother’s warnings. He slipped, fell, hit the stones at an awkward angle. He screamed, and Fíli screamed, and she dropped the dish she had been holding and came running.
The bone had not broken through the skin, which was a blessing, for she knew that she would not have been able to stomach seeing her baby that way. But it was also a curse - Dίs had some knowledge of broken bones, but not enough to tell how badly he was truly hurt. She picked him up out of the water and rushed through the village to the healer’s house, Fίli at her heels. Gróin was away, but his elder son Óin had trained in his father’s craft and was known to be just as skilled, if not as practiced.
A broken limb is a broken limb, it will heal or it will not, he had said as he encased the lower half of Kíli's leg in a splint, wrapping it tightly with bandages. The toddler was sniffling, trying not to cry in front of a relative stranger. Fίli was holding tight to the boy’s hand, and the glare on his face as he told Óin not to hurt his favorite brother was so severe Dίs would have laughed in another circumstance.
When Thorin returned to the settlement a few days later, he found one nephew bedridden, surrounded by scraps of parchment and coal for writing practice, and one nephew sneaking into the shared bedroom to give the younger toys, even though Dίs kept catching him and smacking his hands.
“He doesn’t need toys,” she said. “He disobeyed me, that’s why he’s hurt.”
“Your mum is right.” Her brother had nodded sagely and knelt down to Fili’s height. “This is his punishment, Fίli, and games won’t help your brother to heal faster. Be a good lad, and help your mum clean up.” But when Thorin came out of the boy’s bedroom after visiting, she could see a paper of salt candy half-stuffed under the boy’s pillow, and a new sling-shot on the bedstand. She spared the young king a small glare, but that time, she let it slide.
At thirty-two, Fίli went with his uncle to a small village of men, a few leagues north of The Shire. He had taken a liking to blacksmith work, and so Thorin decided to let the lad tag along while he finished a job. This particular village was declining swiftly, and Thorin was merely delivering new weapons and tools for the men, and enough shoes for the horses to get the population moving. He wanted Fili to witness the end of the transaction, to get a sense of the business side of smithing, before he chose a craft.
Fίli was so excited in the days before they left, he did not even notice Kίli’s envy. When they were walking from the home, though, Fίli had turned to clasp his brother's arm. He promised to bring him back a gift, and leaned in to whisper. Dίs heard the sounds of their native tongue, but could not make out the words. Her younger son had seemed mollified, and only extracted one more promise from his brother before seeing him and Thorin off with a bright smile.
When her son and brother returned, Fίli was very quiet. He answered all of Kίli’s questions and produced the promised gift (a beautifully stitched leather arm cuff), but the excitement was lost from his gaze. Late that night, after Thorin and Kίli had gone to bed, he sat in his mother's embrace and cried. He had been unprepared for the cruelty of men toward their race, and could not fathom how such a strong, respected dwarf as his uncle tolerated it. He was more angry than sad.
"We are of Durin's blood!" he said for the fifth time as Dίs smoothed her fingers through his hair. "Uncle is a king! How can he just..."
Dίs shushed him gently. "Your uncle is proud of his blood and rank, my darling, as you should be. But that means little to men, especially this far from home, with Erebor lost to us." She cupped his chin and tilted his head up. "We must never be too proud to do what must be done," she said firmly. "But we must also never forget where we come from. You are Fίli, son of Dίs, Crown Prince of Erebor. And one day that title will hold meaning beyond ourselves once again."
Fίli had nodded and wiped the wetness from his cheeks, and gone to bed. Dίs had stayed up until the light shone through the windows, watching the fire burn low.
At seventy-three and sixty-eight, both boys had grown into strapping young men before her eyes. They had shadowed Thorin and learned to lead by watching as Thorin learned, growing into a king, though his kingdom was scattered. Her brother had built a sizable settlement in the Blue Mountains, prosperous and thriving. Several groups had arrived from the Iron Hills since the loss of Erebor, and many had decided to stay. It was not what Belegost and Nogrod had been in ages past, nor was it as grand as Erebor, but it was something.
Thorin had been taking both boys on his trips for the last few decades, and Fίli had become a skilled charmer when needed. Kίli lacked his brother's charisma, but made up for it with the blunt honesty so many leaders refused to use in royal courts. Together they were formidable, but Thorin thought they still needed more.
"Marriage?" The boys often spoke in unison, which amused Dίs and annoyed Thorin to no end. They always knew what the other was thinking, and Dίs supposed it was due to their close age.
“Yes, marriage. Fίli is already of age, and Kίli will be in another two years. I see no reason to not begin searching for suitable matches.” Thorin’s tone brook no argument; having no sons of his own, he needed Dίs’ boys to carry on the line. While neither one was adverse to flirtation, they had never seriously eyed any of the girls in the Blue Mountains, and their anxiety levels had obviously skyrocketed at the mention of commitment.
“Uncle, let’s be reasonable,” Fίli began, smiling that little smile he had inherited from his father. “Mum was not married until she was eighty. I think we could stand to wait a few more years, don’t you?"
"You can wait to marry, certainly. That does not mean we cannot be thinking of potential matches for you both."
"But, uncle, I do not wish to marry," Kίli insisted, his lips turned down in a pout that Thorin refused to acknowledge matched his own.
“Brother. Perhaps it is a little early, yet, to speak of such things. I do not want to think of my sons being taken away by some young maid,” Dίs chided, smiling. “Give them a few more years, Thorin.”
The king would not be swayed, though, and a few weeks later, there was a grand feast in the Blue Mountains. Tables were laid out end-by-end, covered in food and drink. Sconces lit along every few feet illuminated the merry-making dwarves as they moved through the ancient halls, repurposed for their new lives. Every young maid over sixty was given a special invitation, along with a chaperone, to attend and spend time with the young princes. Her boys were perfect gentlemen, as far as Dίs could tell. They politely chatted with each lady who approached them. Some laughed, and some blushed, and both Fίli and Kίli seemed to get on well with several. The evening had been going perfectly, and Thorin was pleased. It was just after midnight when he decided to leave the feast, leaving Dίs to watch over the boys.
Dίs remembered what happened next as clearly as she remembered her husband’s laughter. She could not hear the talk from her seat, but she could see quite well. Her sons had both been speaking with a group of three young lasses. The conversation had seemed to be going well. Suddenly, Kíli's face went red as a hot poker. Fili’s expression darkened like a thundercloud, the girls all stopped giggling, and Dίs could sense the tone of the conversation had soured. Before she could make her way over to head off whatever trouble had started, Fίli had started shouting in colorful language she had not taught him. Kίli stepped between his brother and the girls, and was rewarded with a faceful of red drink for his troubles.
Dίs never found out what had sparked the fight. Her sons had returned home, had a short talk with Thorin, and no more mention of marriage was heard in their house.
Dίs had trouble admitting that her boys were old enough to leave her. She watched in silence as they prepared for their journey, packing bags and sharpening daggers. Thorin had left days ago, hoping for support from the dwarf lords. Dίs knew that no help would come, but her brother had no concern for their small group or futile odds.
“The mountain is there, just waiting to be taken back! If we do not act on this, Dίs, someone else will!”
As a Durin princess, Dίs knew what had to be done, and knew when she could not argue. That did not mean she was happy about it. Her boys had, unsurprisingly, jumped at the chance to follow the only father they’d ever known on his grand adventure. They tried to allay her fears in the days leading up to their departure.
“We’ve been training since we could hold a sword, mother. We grew up waiting for this,” her eldest said, kissing her cheek as he passed with an armful of weaponry (how he planned on carrying all that, she was unsure). She knew that neither son had any idea of the true danger they faced. Fίli, though, generally showcased a maturity that she had not expected from either of her rowdy boys. She worried about his safety, of course, but as she watched her younger son move through the house, she could not shake the memory of Kíli's face, pale and shiny, as he writhed in pain and clutched at his leg.
That morning, as they laced up their boots and triple-checked their bags, Dίs pulled her youngest aside. As he looked down at her, she realized for the first time just how tall he had become. Taller even than his father had been, looking at her with those same eyes.
She did not say anything at first. She took his hand and pressed a small stone against his palm, folding his fingers over the smooth surface. He looked down at the rock, brushed his thumb over the letters, and gave her a bright smile.
“I promise I’ll come home, mother. You don’t need to worry,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I’ll come home after we kill the dragon, and I’ll bring you to Erebor myself.”
Dίs looked up at her son, and over his shoulder to Fίli, who waited by the door with a smile.
“I look forward to it, my little one. May Mahal keep you safe.” She pulled him down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and then moved to give her elder the same treatment. “I will be waiting here for you.”
They said their goodbyes, shouldered their packs, and she watched from the door as they walked from her sight, laughing and shoving one another.
“Return to me, my sons.”