Chapter Text
Dis came to stay 1 year and 7 months after Erebor was retaken. Nearly 5 months after Bilbo and Thorin wed in front of their people. Fili and Kili were healed by the time of her arrival, and she was saved from the memory of their still bodies on healing cots. But not from the toil it had on their bodies.
Thorin welcomed her. What else do you do, when the only other kin in the world that knows your soul wants to come and stay. Dis knew above all others the work he went through, the trials he paced, to get their people where they needed to be. She may not know him like a sister would, but she knew him nonetheless.
Bilbo knew him well. He often proved as much, tuning his questions to a crinkle of Thorin’s brow or the set of his mouth. He told him as much, when he whispered sweet things in his ear late at night. But he was not there at Moria, and he was not there the day the dragon fell upon them.
Dis did not know him as Bilbo did. It is the way of the world, to have one who knows you best while everyone else possesses a shadow of you. But Dis knew his history the way Bilbo knew his thoughts.
Bilbo asked him about it one night, early in their courtship, when everything was tender and new. He asked him about Moria. Thorin’s gut twisted as Bilbo spoke of Balin’s story. It was a tale of glory, of proof of his rule and power. But it was false. He had been a child shoved into a war.
Thorin hesitated. It was not a good story, it was not kind. And he was warm, and calm, curled against Bilbo in the dying light of their hearth. But he sighed, and began to dig up old hurts.
“I was barely old enough to fight. But my father needed all the soldiers he could have, so I came to his aid, along with my brother and sister.”
Bilbo shifted, turning to face him. His hands came searching, and Thorin gently took them into his own. Wide eyes stared as Thorin continued to speak.
“It was a slaughter.” He rumbled, his breath ruffling the top of Bilbo’s head. “We lost too many. I was terrified, and most of it was a blur while I swung wildly at anything that didn't have a beard. I-”
Thorin paused to breath. Even now, safe behind stone walls with his love, he found a catch in his throat and tears in his eyes. He could, with careful practice, tell this story as stone faced as a statue.
But Bilbo wanted to understand. Protecting him as he would a young dwarf would not help either of them, because then he would not understand.
So he took a breath and continued.
“And after I took up my shield and cut Azog’s arm, which I barely can remember beyond the overwhelming sense of fear... I went searching for my remaining family.”
Bilbo’s gripe was cold and hard, but it kept him in place. That he was here, that he was not drenched in sweat and blood and screaming. But words of another time ghosted his lips. It froze his throat and coiled up into his stomach.
“Oh dear..” Bilbo murmured, reaching one hand up to trace Thorin’s face. Thorin leaned in to the warm touch. Bilbo gently leaned forward, for there was not much distance between them, and placed a soft kiss to Thorin’s brow. He moved back, resting his head on his other hand.
Thorin’s throat cleared, and he began to continue, because once he was done, this story could finally be laid to rest.
“I found my sister crying over the body of my brother.” Thorin spoked softly, “She cried into my shoulder, but all I could feel was tired. We couldn’t bury him. We didn’t have time.”
Thorin’s voice cracked and he shakily pressed his forehead to Bilbo’s.
“That night we watched our kin go up in flames. It stunk, and we were dirty, and cold despite the fire. Dis latched onto me and we stayed together until the next morning.”
Thorin broke, and tears ran down his cheeks and into his beard. Bilbo quickly moved so that Thorin was resting on his arm, and Bilbo’s gentle hand stroked through his hair. Thorin pressed his face into Bilbo’s chest.
They fell asleep pressed together, and though they did not speak much the next day, Bilbo clearly understood. From that day forth, their home was a calmer one. Bilbo defended Thorin with a new light in his eyes, a new tenseness to his stance.
It was not necessary, but Thorin loved him for it all the same.
What Bilbo did not know was that soon he would be defending Thorin from Dis.
She came in swiftly and silently, which was odd. Dis was never one to hold back sharp words. But she had a calculating look that spoke of trouble, and Thorin left her silence alone. It wouldn't last long.
She was cordial enough meeting Bilbo, if not somewhat terse. But Bilbo was married to Thorin. He could handle a little dwarf terseness. And by the end of the day he had more or less charmed her, and they got on well enough.
Thorin did not have such luck. The minute she had a moment alone with him, she let out the words she had been saving for years. How unlucky of him that it happened to be in his chambers.
“How-how dare you. I trusted you with them. You promised me that not a hair would be harmed on their heads and I would have them back safe in my arms.” Dis spoke evenly, each word getting louder than the next. She looked as graceful as ever, only the tight curl of her fists as any indication of her mood.
Thorin just listened with tired eyes.
“And now I come back to find my boys- my dear, lovely, *hale* boys, damaged. Kili cannot see out of one eye. Fili has a limp that will never go away.” She circled Thorin like a hawk. Always the predator, never the prey. She would never let herself be preyed on again, and those defences did not go down easily, Thorin knew well enough.
“YOU WERE SUPPOSE TO PROTECT THEM.” She roared at him, and he felt relief. Because once she started yelling, she would soon stop and leave him alone. He was guilty enough over his nephews, no lecture of hers would have effect. Not now, not after so much has changed. There was a time where a sharp word from her could bring him crashing down. Back when they were almost siblings, when they could've been a true family.
“Dis-” He tried to speak, but her sharp gaze shut him up. He felt a sharp pang. She should be coming to him for comfort or or, *anything* other than scolding him like a child. Had he not cared for her, clothed her, raised her, when no one else could? Where did she come from demanding he move the world when he had already moved mountains for her.
But for once in his life he bit his tongue and was silent.
Her voice was quiet now, jagged at the edges and raw.
“I have nothing in this world but my sons. I’ve lost too much, seen too much. I will not lose them too.”
Thorin winced. He should be in her list. But in her line up of all that mattered in the world, he had a begrudging spot at the end of the line. Her dead husband came before him. Friends even came before him.
Thorin loved her. He did. It was cold, and it was distant, but it was love. They had never been close, not even as children, before the world fell to their feet. She and Frerin had been close, while Thorin took up the heavy mantle of the Heir apparent. Where she had a childhood, Thorin had work. Frerin had been their common bond.
But Smaug destroyed any hope of what they could have had. They were children, but that did not matter. Only Dis was able to avoid work, as she could barely walk let alone take orders. Thorin was left to raise his siblings. And Thorin did his best to protect them. He covered for Frerin when the younger boy snuck out to play with friends, and Dis was given the best of the food and clothing. He was there for them when his father couldn't be.
As soon as they could, they all took positions far above their skill levels and age. As soon as Dis was old enough to follow orders, she took to the healing tents, staying late into the night only to watch most of her patients die. Far from the watch of her family, her smile diminished.
Frerin became the people’s prince, often found helping with everyday tasks, singing cheerfully with a different group every night, or telling stories to the children. He appeared eternally youthful, and nothing seemed to damper his spirits. Everyone loved him.
Thorin led where his father and grandfather could not, so blinded they were by their gold sicknesses. He did not hate them for it, but he knew Dis did.
He also knew that when Dis found Frerin’s body amongst the dead, she had wished it had been Thorin instead.
So instead of fighting, he gave in. He was tired, and what he wanted most in the world was to curl up with his husband and hide from the world.
“I’m sorry.” He said softly. It felt odd on his tongue, the words garbled in his throat.
Dis froze in her tirade, and spun to face him, finally circling in on her prey.
“What did you say?” She asked, dangerously quiet. Her cold blue eyes burned into his own, and once again the unfamiliar words graced his lips.
“I’m sorry. I know I promised to protect them, and I couldn’t. You’re right. You can take whatever action you wish, as is allowed by our code.” He said. Bowing his head, he watched her through his curtain of hair. He flushed with fear. Her eyes widened and she backed up as if stung. Dis was never kind when applying the dwarven codes, and often overzealous. This they both knew.
But she did not take his offer. Instead, she turned on her heels and marched out of his quarters, slamming the heavy stone door behind her.
Thorin stared at the door in shock. She never stopped her tirades, especially when they're justified. But then again, Thorin had never tried apologizing. They used to fight endlessly, and never once did he simply take it. He always yelled back.
But he was not the same dwarf. No, he had nearly died, and everything became much more precious. And perhaps….perhaps Bilbo had changed him. Love cannot change a person. Fitting two lives together doesn't magically fix them. But sometimes they can meld into each other.
No, Bilbo did not change him by the power of love or some other youthful nonsense. What he did was knock sense into an old fool's head. He showed him that being wrong was not the worst thing that could happen. Many other things were worse.
But he and Dis didn't apologize. They waited eachother out, simmered in silence until they both yelled and moved on. There was no place for weakness in those early days after the dragon, and they both were hardened from it.
“Well, I’d say that went terribly.” Bilbo’s voice carried from their little kitchen, along with the clank of dishes.
Thorin chuckled mirthlessly. Trust his burglar to be listening in. He didn't really blame him. Bilbo was protective of him, he knew that much, and could not stand for unfair words thrown Thorin’s way.
“Would you be shocked to know that was the best conversation I’ve had with her in years?” Thorin called back, following the sounds of dinner into his kitchen. It was small and hodgepodge, as his rooms hadn’t originally had a kitchen, but it was theirs. A combination of Bilbo’s cooking supplies from the Shire and dwarven cookware made an odd look. But it was fitting, Thorin supposed.
Bilbo was chopping some vegetables by the sink, and he paused and turned to greet his husband. Thorin leaned in for a soft kiss before sitting at the little table nearby. He snagged a scone from the basket in the middle.
“I don’t know how to connect with her.” Thorin sighed, picking apart his scone.
“You’re going to ruin your supper.” Bilbo replied, snagging a piece from Thorin’s pile of crumbs. He popped it into his mouth and raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for Thorin to continue.
“Bilbo, you knew Dis and I... all we had was each other. No one else saw the real me then, other than her..” Thorin trailed off and shrugged. Bilbo made a sympathetic noise as he put together their supper.
“But we were never siblings. Especially after Fr- after my brother died. And we never had time to try.” He sighed. Thorin finished off his scone and rose to stand beside his husband. He helped carry the dishes back to the table, and set it up. It was simple. But in that little kitchen with a tiny table, it might as well have been fit for a king.
“You have time now.” Bilbo said, handing a serving spoon to his husband.
Thorin nodded slightly in acknowledgement, but did not speak. They mostly ate in silence. Bilbo knew that if Thorin needed to speak, he would, but no amount of trying would force him to share more than he wanted to. Thorin cleaned the dishes and Bilbo slipped off to get ready for bed.
Thorin never thought he would enjoy simple tasks, like doing the dishes. But besides the occasional wet food that got stuck to his hand, he surprisingly enjoyed it. And his reward was Bilbo’s smile.
He finished and followed after Bilbo, preparing his own way to bed. He often slept with only a light pair of shorts, so it wasn’t much work. What was work was his hair. He sat at their little vanity, which he had salvaged from his mother’s rooms. It was worn, and had scratches and marks in odd places.
He began to unbraid his hair. First he removed his beads, then carefully unwrapped the braids they accompanied. Thorin had four braids in total. The two that hung on each side of his face, which were his braids of adulthood along with beads representing his family. The other two were more specific to him. One with 5 different beads that told of his tales proving him as king, necessary for any court meeting. And the last one was his most treasured of all. This one only Bilbo could unravel.
“Are you ready for my help?” Bilbo asked softly, coming up behind Thorin. Bilbo’s gentle hands rested on his shoulders, and Thorin leaned back into the touch. He closed his eyes and began to hum as fingers began to take apart his wedding braid with practiced care.
One thing that he kept on for the night was his wedding band. In accordance with hobbit tradition, they had tied a ribbon and placed rings upon each other's fingers, promising long vows of companionship. Thorin had been rather flustered about the whole thing. Dwarves marry quietly and privately, as many consider it a moment to bare their soul to the one they love.
Hobbits, Thorin quickly learned, were very open people. They invited everyone they knew to the wedding, and provided food and entertainment. Thorin had to dance, to his horror, in front of everyone.
But it was worth it to see Bilbo so happy, and to meet all his relatives. Some of them were less pleased to meet Thorin, but nothing could’ve dampened his spirits that day.
“All done.” Bilbo said, breaking into Thorin’s thoughts. He kissed the top of Thorin’s head before leaving him to go sit by the fire. Something Bilbo had said early shifted in his mind.
“Do you think...it's possible to fix anything. After so many years of. Everything.” Thorin asked, his eyes trained on his beads, neatly placed on the dresser beside him.
“If I can face a dragon, you can face your sister.”
“We had to kill the dragon.” Thorin responded, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Bard killed the dragon. We just had to wake it up.” Bilbo replied tartly.
Thorin watched Bilbo through the mirror. He knew that his husband had tenuous relationships with his family, and no siblings to speak off. But he was smart. Perhaps with Bilbo on his side, he could try. And hopefully it would go better than the last time they woke a dragon.