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Chapter Text

T.A. 2832

Nestled toward the foot of one of the great Blue Mountains and within the young settlement of Thorinuldûm was a small fissure that was nearly always aglow with the warm light one could associate with a cozy home. On most nights, the little cavern was overflowing with the smell of delicious food and nearly every night it was most certainly the loudest of the homes that sat just above the iron mine. Lively conversation and music made up most of the noise while the family waited for their final member to return from her shift in the iron mine.

Sitting upon a rickety wooden chair was the patriarch of the family, a rather round dwarrow called Tofur. His dark salt and peppered braids framed his cheery face and his long beard was braided over his chest as if it was a necklace. Tonight his role, as it usually was, was keeping together his makeshift band and leading them through each song lyric by lyric while they waited for dinner to be served.

His eldest son, Bombur, was a young dwarrow who was nearly the spitting image of him but with bright fiery locks instead of dark ones. He took up his usual position in front of the wood stove and over a boiling hot cauldron. He was carefully adding ingredients and spices to the large pot, strategically stirring when needed, and of course taste testing plenty between each addition. While he didn’t get any of the musical talent from his father he definitely took after him in regards to cooking, making a name for himself and his dishes at the age of only sixty-one.

Then Tofur’s youngest son was stood just to the right of him, brown hair in braided pigtails and the beginnings of a mustache planted above his lips. It was the perfect place for the older dwarrow to pull off his warm winter hat and place it upon his determined son’s head as Bofur tried to keep up on his clarinet.

Finally, another figure was up, marching about the room with a mandolin in her hands confidently following along with the lyrics and singing in harmony, albeit at a much faster pace than the rest of the “band.” Her unkempt bright orange hair was messily down save for a couple of braids around her face and flapped behind her as she continued her turn about the room. Although she was only a neighbor, Amâ had quickly became an honorary member of the family after she won over Tofur by picking up so quickly on her instrument.

The general merriment that swung throughout the room continued for a few more moments before a wrong note from the clarinet irked it all to a halt. A frustrated sigh sounded from its player, “Ugh. I don’t understand why I can never get that part of the song right!”

“Bofur, you’re getting hung up on one wrong note when you played the rest of the song near perfect. I almost began to forget the words, your playing had me in such awe.” The older dwarrow looked down at his son with a proud smile spread over his lips. He reached over and gave the boy’s shoulder a strong pat before turning to address the young dwarrowdam now sitting on the floor and stretching her likely tired legs, “And you, mim zunsh, seem to be doing a fine job other than trying to speed through each song as fast as you possibly can. I dare say Amâ, we’re going to have to strap your legs to a chair to keep you still long enough to keep the same pace as everyone else.”

She let out a little giggle and a crooked smile settled on her face, “Maybe it is you who needs to keep up with me, gamil khazdûn.”

The older dwarf just shook his head and took a few steps toward her enough so that he could ruffle the top of her already unkempt hair. An ornery thing she always was, now somewhat shriek-laughing at the old dwarf’s gesture. He then turned and made his way to the wood stove so that he could make his third judgment for the evening.

“Bombur? You haven’t asked for my help with that soup even once this evening. You get too good for help from your father?” Tofur leaned over his son to peer into the phenomenal-smelling pot, his stomach rumbling as he did, “Well, I’ll say it’s about time for me to try some.”

He grabbed the spoon from the nearby counter, filled it with the red broth, and let it cook only a moment before slurping it up. He let out a satisfied hum but before he could continue with his judgment the wooden front door swung open and a dirt-covered dwarrowdam by the name of Sofís strutted into the main room with a heavy mattock slung over her shoulder. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a single large braid, the front still covered in sweat from work while her beard was kept short and out of the way. She gave everyone in the room a motherly smile despite her obvious exhaustion.

With her hand on her hip and gently closed eyes she took in the hearty aroma that seemed to fill the room to the brim, “That smells wonderful, dashat. Please tell me it’s about ready.” Almost on command, her stomach grumbles. It was an awfully long shift in the mine after all and there weren’t many ways to take good food down there with her.

“Almost ‘amad, just a few more minutes. And ‘adad get your spoon out of here until it’s ready.”

His father let out a disappointed noise while his mother, with a begrudging sigh, let her mattock fall to the ground and her muscles relax. Her husband quickly made his way over to her and planted a kiss on her rather dirty temple before asking how her day was.

“It was fine, amrâl,” her eyes lingered lovingly on him for a moment before she turned to address the young dwarrowdam staring up at her from the floor, “Your father asked that you go home little one but we’ll send some dinner home with you, alright?”

The smile on Amâ’s face faltered for just a moment before nodding, “Right. Thanks Sofís…Oh, and I suppose you too,” she said addressing Tofur. The dark-haired dwarf shot her a look of mock hurt before proceeding to talk his wife’s ear off as they made their way through the house.

Amâ stood, slung the mandolin across her back, and looked over to Bofur who was still somewhat slumped over in his father’s chair. He held the clarinet in one hand and his head in the other, looking a little defeated despite the compliments given to him by his father just moments before. A small grin grew over the young dwarrowdam’s face as she made her way over to her friend.

“I know it’s hard knowing you’ll never be as good a musician as me but don’t worry too much 'cause that’s a near-impossible task, you know,” the smirk grew wider as she looked down at him.

He lifted his head at her, rolling his eyes in the process. A grin began to glide over his face now too, “Ah yes I forgot, and how could I? When a musical Vala is walking among dwarves in my presence. Though you’d think such a good musician would keep time with their band and maybe remain in the same key as their singer.”

A scoff escaped Amâ, “I may play fast but I was never out of key. Besides, even if I was it takes true skill to play the wrong notes with no complaints of it from our teacher.”

Bofur stuck his tongue out at her before raising one of his brows, “Ya know what we need to do soon? Know what's supposed to arrive by the wagon load in a few days?”

Amâ crossed her arms mirroring the mischievous expression of her friend, “Guri’s ale? Suppose you’ll want me to distract ‘im while you and Bifur make off with a barrel?”

Bofur looked at her with an expectant look across his face and nudged her with his elbow. She shook her and clicked her tongue but replied with an outstretched hand, “As long as I get my fair share. Just name the day my friend.”

Bofur laughed and shook her hand eagerly. Before they could make any more jabs at each other or come up with any more schemes, Bombur made his way over with a fairly large bowl of soup for Amâ. She thanked him gratefully, said her goodbyes to the two dwarrow left in the room, and began to make her way out of the home to her own.

She lived alone with her father who was yet another dwarrow miner that lived in this rough section of the Halls. As she walked on each house looked smaller and fuller, most lit with dim firelight and many with doors swinging open as the many miners made their way home.

She took her time going home, taking the long way through the back tunnel that would eventually spit her out just outside her front door. If she was being completely honest she sort of hated the evenings where her father made them eat dinner together. He never really said much but when he did it was often criticism of her musical hobby. Often he called it pointless as she would soon have to start working, mining instead of playing, “earn her keep” as he liked to say. Evenings like those would usually end in an argument but the two would settle back into their near-silent interactions by morning.

As soon as she stepped through the door and saw her father standing over the kitchen counter aggressively rubbing his temple she had a feeling it was going to be one of those nights once more.

He turned and looked down at the bowl she had brought with her, plenty of soup to share with him. His brows furrowed slightly and he spoke with a harsh tone, “I told you to stop taking food from them, we have things to eat here.”

“I didn’t ask for it ‘adad. They offered it to—“

He interrupted her with a wave of his hand, “Just set it down on the table.”

She did as she was told, mentally rolling her eyes as she took her seat. The two sat in silence for a bit, tensely spooning at their bowls. Eventually, her father was the one who decided to break the silence, “I bought you a pickaxe today.”

It was such a simple sentence yet something in it made Amâ halt mid-bite. A hearty red wave of anger flowed up to her face from her stomach. No matter how many times she had told her father she was no miner he never seemed to listen. Yes, she needed a decent job but as far as she was concerned she already had one. She made alright money playing outside of the pubs in the lower wings of Thorin’s Halls, enough for her anyway. There was no point in getting into a trade she cared not one but for and she had told her father that countless times. Expressed her wishes countless times only to be ignored time after time.

Feeling so angry as to lose her words she just spat, “Why?”

“You’ll need it for work in a few weeks.”

“‘Adad, I’ve already told you I’m not becoming a miner. It’s dull work, I’ll be no good at it anyhow. I’ve already found a job and I’m good at it.”

“You ungrateful…” The older dwarf mumbled as he white-knuckled his spoon, “Playing musician on the street corner isn’t a job. You’re nearly 50 now and you can start earning your keep while you stay here. Do you even realize how much that pick cost me? How much you cost me?”

Her heart was pounding now, her eyes boring into with disdain, “No I don’t know how much I cost you but I’m sure I make enough for it playing music. Hell, ‘adad, most of the time it’s me going to the market, cleaning the house, our clothes, or bringing you home dinner at no cost, all that. If anything you probably owe me!”

“I owe you nothing. Without me, you wouldn’t even be here. And I told you to quit doing that, we don’t need charity!”

“Says the dwarf who’s not minding eating it!” She felt her voice raise now and his seemed to mirror it perfectly.

He stood from his seat, aggressively pushing back his chair so it scraped across the stone floor. He turned away from the table, leaving the soup in its place, “Forget it then! If you’ve got everything so figured out then why should I even work? You gonna pay for all that like you claim to on artist’s wages? Be my guest.”

She mimicked the sound of his chair and slammed her hands on the table hard enough that red splashed out of both the bowls. Her voice came out a little shrill and still full of rage, “Fine then. I’ll be on my way and that’s a damn promise. If I ever do come back I’d hate to see how horrid this place will get once I’m gone.”

With that, she grabbed the still half bowl of soup and nearly turned before deciding that she might as well take him too. She snatched up his bowl and poured the remaining food into her own. If he was going to complain about dinner then he doesn’t need it or want it very badly. She left him still yelling from the other side of the table, stomping over to the door and slamming it loudly behind her.

This had been her nearly nightly routine for years now. She never felt more anger than when trying to talk to him. Most days she couldn’t help feeling like she was trapped in her own house stuck to either argue and fight or accept a future that could not be hers.

Some days she couldn’t even believe he was her father. What kind of dwarf, especially her kin, could dream of hating music in the way he does?

She shook the heat from her face and began to march her way down the tunnel. It was dark now, which was to be expected underground but even more so now as the lanterns that lit the tunnels had already been blown out for the night. Even so, dwarven vision and muscle memory practically led her down to the one spot where she knew she could be alone and out of her house. Due to the rapid pace of her footfalls, a grueling set of stairs, two left turns, and then a right soon revealed a small opening on the side of the mountain only a lithe young dwarf such as herself could slip through.

On the other side was a sturdy ledge that revealed a perfect view of the mountain range as it twisted north. Since it was dark out the star and moonlight lit up the snowy peaks, almost making them seem to glow a deep blue. Seeing it again quickly made the angered blush that stained her face nearly fade away as she basked in the blue of it all.

Her eyes were still in awe at the sky as she began making her way to a rock she liked to lean against while she strummed on her mandolin. As she did so, something unfamiliar caught her boot and sent her flying to the ground, soup raining and arms flailing until she landed with her upper half dangling completely over the ledge. A frightened squeak escaped her as she watched the bowl skitter down the rock and realized just how high up the ledge hung over the side of the mountain with the trees and boulders below appearing to be so small that they could fit in her palm.

Whatever it was that tripped her growled an irritated, “Ow!” before frantically realizing that she was close to sliding off the high ledge entirely. A pair of hands grabbed at her tunic and pulled her up into a sitting position away from the steep drop at the edge. It took Amâ a moment to realize she wasn’t going to fall, frantically grabbing at her face and body as if they might have disappeared off the side of the cliff. After confirming that she was not falling a daunting distance down the side of the mountain, she let out a very, very relieved breath she didn’t even realize she was holding.

After collecting herself she turned on her heels to address whoever it was that had not only nearly tripped and killed her but was also hogging her beloved spot. A dwarrowdam about her age was staring back at her, arm still slightly outstretched and a worried look painting her beautiful face. Her eyes were blue, so blue it was almost as if they glowed like the welcoming mountaintops do each night Amâ finds herself here. In that moment they also seemed to hold an essence of sadness, sorrowful redness just barely leaving a mark under them.

She was truly unlike anyone she had ever met, certainly unlike any of the dwarves who lived in the mining village, with her long raven waves partially done up in the most elaborate braids she had ever seen a dwarf wear before. She was covered in finely made silver jewelry that hung around her neck, off her ears, and that shone from her fingers. Everything about her seemed to glow and emit that same inviting blue light that blanketed the night this high up the mountain. Her silver jewelry twinkled like stars and her pale face glowed like the moon.

Now the dwarrowdam was staring back at Amâ, the same look of wonder that had grown onto her own face at the sight of her. It was as if Amâ had found herself in a daze, some new feeling tugging warmly in her chest. She was uncharacteristically unable to find the sarcastic words to throw at a person she had intended to be irritated with.

Shaking herself out of whatever trance had overcome her brought a familiar attitude to her lips, “Well now that you’ve ruined my dinner and almost killed me I think I need to ask why you took over my spot?”

“You’re spot?” This seemed to snap the dark-haired girl from that similar daze, a confused and quite irritated expression taking over, “I don’t see your name anywhere around here. And if I recall correctly I believe you were the one that tripped and bruised my leg just then. I was the one who so graciously pulled you away from your death despite that.”

She should be angry at the words coming out of her mouth, especially after the dinner she just had with her father. Instead, a smirk pulled itself onto Amâ’s face, her words now calmly goading the other girl on, “Well now, I don’t believe I would’ve tripped if not for those lanky legs all strewn about in my spot.”

A shocked scoff escaped the dwarrowdam throat and her face began to show the telltale redness of rage building up, “You’ve got to be joking. Do you even know who you are even speaking to right now? Or where you even are?”

“Well of course. I’m talking to a dwarf who clearly doesn’t understand privately established boundaries and I know that because you,” she stuck her index finger into the girl's shoulder, “are in my spot.”

“Stop calling it your spot!”

Amâ was now doing her best to hold in the laughter threatening to breach the smirk still tugging up her cheek. The angry dwarrowdam took in a sharp breath and continued, “I am Dís of the House of Durin, Princess Under the Mountain, at your service.” She spat with utter annoyance. “And you are standing just below my bed chamber.” She pointed up where a much more intentional-looking ledge, a balcony actually, hanging fairly far above their heads.

With little more than a pause the absurdity of the situation struck Amâ like a lead hammer, banging a near hysterical and entirely uncontrollable laugh out of her. Not only does this mean she just insulted The Princess of Thorinuldûm it also means she’s just been loudly playing music outside said princess's window for a while now. There were even nights where she’d bring Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur, along with some stolen ale and wine, and they’d cause quite the ruckus since they assumed no one could hear them. How had none of them ever noticed the balcony overhead? Either way, she had a prickly feeling nothing good would come of this.

“Ah, that’s odd. I don’t remember that being up there,” Amâ managed to get out, laughter still just barely echoing off the words.

“Well, it certainly has been you idiot,” Surprisingly, Dís’ anger began to subside a little as she caught sight of Amâ’s mandolin, “You’re the one who plays out here all the time?”

Amâ grinned and happily slung the instrument to her front, sending a confident nod the princess’ way, “Yup. Names Amâ, short for Amânanzunsh. Yeah I know it’s a mouthful. And you’re only looking at the best mandolin player this side of the Misty Mountains.” The dwarf paused for a moment before realizing her mistake and taking a bow, “Oh, at your service of course, my lady.”

Dís rolled her eyes but it was clear that her rage had subsided. Instead, her voice came out rather nonchalant, “I’ve heard you, you know. You play well enough I suppose.”

Still standing Dís scooted over to one side of the rock and sat down with her arms crossed over her chest, appearing to begrudgingly leave enough room for the other dwarf to sit next to her. Amâ did so with no hesitation, pulling the instrument up to her stomach, “So, what do ya wanna hear?”

The princess shrugged and pulled her knees to her chest, a flash of that sadness Amâ had noticed earlier returning to her eyes, “I guess whatever you usually play when you’re out here.”

Amâ laughed a little at that, “Yeah, alright. But it’ll cost ya.” A phrase that sent Dís’ eyes rolling.

Most nights she just played nonsense out there, silly songs Tofur had taught her that day or ones she made up on the spot. After a moment of consideration, she decided on one of the many drinking songs she learned from her teacher. It was a lovely enough tune, the notes seemingly bouncing off one another while the lyrics told the tale of a dwarf who drank so much brandy he ended up only being able to mine upward from then on. It was one of the first songs she learned so many years ago. It also always seems to cheer people up when it is played.

It seemed to do the trick once more, this time for the princess. Dís was loudly laughing now in a manner that did not necessarily suit the image of a member of the distinguished royal family. Amâ also found it to be a little contagious, sending giggles up into the night from her side of the rock.

The princess was smiling now, offering up more specific song suggestions and probing the musician with questions about how the instrument was played. Amâ answered each one enthusiastically between songs and returned the favor by asking questions about what it was like to be a princess.

Eventually, the conversation turned into a guessing game in which Amâ was trying to figure out what Dís’ trade or talent was. She quickly guessed that the jewelry the princess wore was of her own making as Dís seemed to immediately clutch the purple amulet around her neck when the question of trade came up. It was next that Amâ found out that the dwarrowdam who she was so quick to insult was quite good with throwing knives. She had them hidden quite skillfully in her robes so well no one would have even noticed they were there at all. It was with utmost ease that Dís gave her a demonstration, hurling two knives with one skilled motion on either side of Amâ’s head both just missing her hair. The princess didn’t even have to take any time to aim.

It was odd how quickly the two of them seemed to click with one another. Each turn of the conversation occurred naturally and eagerly, both awaiting windows of opportunity to learn more about the other. Amâ never even found conversations with Bofur, who she had known all her life, to go as smoothly as theirs had. If nothing else it was just, nice in a way that she had never really experienced before. Talking to Dís was like easily remembering an old song that hadn’t been played in years. Something that felt so familiar but fresh at the same time.

Soon the two noticed how close the sun was to coming up, a warm glow pushing itself up in the spaces left between the crossing mountains. Reluctantly the two went their separate ways, Dís marching back up to her balcony and Amâ slipping back through the small opening, praying that her father wasn’t yet awake. Before they had completely gone, Dís made a promise to see the girl again tomorrow if she could, something Amâ agreed to without even needing to think about it.

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The nightly meetings went on like that for weeks. Nearly every night for the two of them had been spent that way. Holding eager conversations with each other, Amâ teaching Dís all the new songs she learned or wrote, and Dís showing Amâ a thing or two about how to handle the weapons she’d been trained to use (often borrowing them from her brother and certainly doing so without his knowledge).

At a certain point, one that she couldn’t quite pin on a specific moment, Amâ began to realize her feelings for the princess were growing into something much more than friendship but not being able to put in words what her feelings were. Often she caught herself staring at the other girl, lost in her while Dís was trying to teach her something, which quickly led to her being labeled a terrible student. Then, when showing the princess the basics of playing the mandolin she also began to notice that she would linger longer than she really needed over her fingers when helping place them on the proper strings.

Amâ just began to notice things about Dís that she never bothered to notice about other people before. She noticed how she would repeatedly tuck her dark hair behind her ears when she was trying to concentrate on something. How her nose would scrunch up just a little each time before she laughed. Or how she would mindlessly tug on one of her earrings after being asked a difficult question. Soon Amâ even started to catch Dís staring at her or somehow always remembering even the little details she would tell her about herself.

Never had Amâ been given the chance to believe the stories of Ones she was told as a dwarfling. That Mahal had made each and every dwarf in pairs, two from the same stone, and that when they met in the waking world they were each other’s Kimê, or each other’s Ones. Quite literally made for each other by Mahal himself. She wanted to believe it, her romantic nature always seeming to outweigh logic. Then, of course, her father always claimed the tale to be just that, a tall optimistic tale sung about in songs or written in poetry.

So, she had just always assumed they were nothing more than romantic fantasies instead of truth. However, if they were real what she felt with Dís might just be what it was supposed to feel like. If nothing else, maybe this was just what plain old love truly felt like. It was a nerve-racking thought to have when the person feeling all these things was just a commoner while the other was literally royalty.

With the notion of Ones still fresh on her anxious mind, she decided to bring it up to the only person she felt ready to. One evening, before either Tofur or Sofís had come home from their errands and work, Amâ pulled Bofur aside dragging him into her home while her father was still in the mines.

Pulling him by the arm she rushed through the front door sending the poor dwarf skittering before he found his balance landing against one of the wooden dining chairs in the main room, “What in Mahal’s name what that for? You never heard of a polite invitation? Not like I couldn’t find your house on my own, or anything.”

Ignoring the dwarrow’s irritated sentiments, Amâ began to pace up and down the fairly small room trying to force the question she had in mind out of her mouth. Bofur sighed and sat down in the chair knowingly watching his friend. No jab or sarcastic remark from her, this talk might actually be serious.

After getting a good few paces in she stops and turns to face Bofur with a nervous hand rubbing her neck, “Do you think that Kimê are real? like being Ones and all that?”

The dwarrow stared back at her for a moment before opening his mouth to speak only to be cut off with more antsy questions, “How are you even supposed to know when you find yours? Like what is it supposed to feel like? And then how does plain old love feel?”

Bofur, now getting a grasp as to why the girl was acting so strange, began to let out a solid laugh. Amâ stopped and glared at her friend, running an exasperated hand over her face, and shouting, “I’m being serious!”

“I know, I know,” he got out while continuing a short string of snickers. Eventually, he was able to hold them back and put a sympathetic smile across his face, “So you think you met your One, then? Who in the hell did you meet? Never really saw you talking to many people down here...” His next words came out as a dry mumble, “Oh Mahal, it is Bifur.”

“What, no! That doesn’t matter,” she waved off the subject aggressively, seeming to successfully turn Bofur off of the subject. Dramatically and desperately, Amâ reached over to grip Bofur’s shoulders, “Just answer my questions. Are Ones really real? And how do you know?”

She was a little in the dwarf's face now casting a crazed look through her now wide brown eyes. He took a breath in before simply answering, “Well I don’t know, really. My parents say they’re each other’s ones, say that they knew the first time they ever met.”

“But what let them know?”

Bofur shrugged, “Hate to break this to you but I wasn’t exactly there. And I can’t say for sure if they’re real but I’d like to think they are, especially since my parents claim it.”

Amâ let out another dramatic groan. She wasn’t going to get a straight answer as she wanted and she sure as hell wasn’t going to go ask anyone else about this either. It was hard enough mustering up the courage to admit it to Bofur. Maybe she was just overthinking all of this. If she felt this strongly perhaps the best thing she could do would be to bring it up to Dís herself. If Ones were real and they were each others then she should feel the same. Speculating was just making things more complicated than they needed to be. Perhaps trying to broach that conversation could happen the next time she sees her.

There was also the option of saying nothing. The two lived in different worlds and they’d only known each other for a few weeks. Maybe it would be best to just continue their friendship as it was. I mean Amâ was still going to get to have fun with the girl whether or not she tried to admit her true feelings. She began to lean towards this process since in a lot of ways it would be so much easier.

“Yeah. Okay,” She gave Bofur a small smile that shifted into a lopsided grin, “Suppose I’m asking the wrong person anyhow. What would you know about romance, huh?”

Bofur got to his feet quickly, shoving his friend with playful contempt while arguing her statement. The two returned to their usual sarcastic selves quickly, talking for a while before heading to the Ur family’s home for dinner. He didn’t press anymore about who the girl’s One could be and Amâ was very thankful for it, not being even close to ready to tell anyone she had so closely befriended the sister of their King.

That night, after her father had fallen asleep she fell into her now quite familiar routine. Throwing her mandolin over her shoulder, sneaking through the halls, and slipping out onto the ledge where her dear friend was already waiting. Amâ’s nerves felt as if they might get the better of her until she saw the princess with her own eyes once again. The sight brought some warmth to her face but calmed her down almost instantly. Dís stood solemnly overlooking the skyline before her, her face brightening at the sight of Amâ sliding through the cavity in the mountain.

“Amâ! I have a gift for you,” Dís bounded over. Her friend stood by the mountainside a little dumbfounded at the surprise gift and utterly forgetting the thoughts that ailed her just moments ago. She pulled out a small wooden box from her coat and grabbed Amâ’s hand so that she could place the gift upon her palm. As she did, her expectant smile and excited blue eyes nearly knocked the breath from Amâ chest. A flustered blush rushed over the girl’s face as Dís eagerly nodded at her to open it. There goes any plan to ask her about her feelings now, Amâ was too flustered to even form a proper sentence.

Realizing that she was keeping the princess waiting for perhaps a beat too long Amâ jolted a bit before prying the little box open. Inside was a set of four golden hair beads, appearing to be handcrafted by the princess herself. Two of the beads were covered in an intricate swirled design that also held the image of a bird. The other two were decorated with a similar swirled design that encircled a squared cut gem of peridot. They were all so beautiful and detailed that it was clear how much work Dís must have put into them, the designs being on such a small canvas it was amazing how perfectly designed they were. Amâ was staring down at the expensive-looking gold pieces, mouth open in utter shock.

“Um, I know you don’t usually wear any beads in your hair so I figured it was because you might need some,” when the still shocked Amâ didn’t respond, Dís began to ramble a bit, “Well, I figured the gold would look nice against your red hair. Then I decided to make two with a songbird on them since that’s what your name is short for right, a thrush? Guess that’s a fitting name for such a musician. Well, then I just happened upon those pieces of peridot and thought they looked nice against the gold. I know you only wear a couple of braids but I figured I should just go ahead and make four so you’d have plenty and you could mix them and…”

Amâ, still in a bit of a daze, picked up one of the beads in her fingers, the heavy weight of even such a small item let her know the metal was quite solid. She let the dwarrowdam continue for a few more seconds before finally looking up to her with raised brows and wide eyes, “Dís, these are made of pure gold.”

“Oh, well like I said I figured that would suit you better than silver. Oh no, would you rather they be silver? I can probably make—”

“No. I mean, thank you these are beautiful,” Amâ shook her head but smiled, “They’re perfect. I love them. Honestly, though I’m afraid I don’t know how to use them.”

Dís let out a light laugh at that, relieved to hear her gifts were well received, “You’ve never worn hair beads before? I can help you if you want.”

To her horror, Amâ’s cheeks began to flush again. The thought of Dís’s hands in her hair and so near her face was almost too much to even consider. Not being able to form a sentence, she stuttered trying for a moment before ending up just nodding her head jerkily.

With that, Dís reached into the box, pulled out a bead, and then carefully grabbed one of the braids that framed Amâ’s face clasping the bead in place. She continued to do so with another red braid, seemingly getting closer to the girl with each clasp. Without saying anything Amâ swiftly braided two more just below the others, wanting to make a place for the rest of the beads. She then let the ever-smiling princess finish placing them. By the last one, Amâ watched as Dís held the final piece of hair for longer than she needed, examining the bead and then lightly twirling the braid in her fingers. Eventually, she made eye contact with her and looked up and down her face for a moment with endearing eyes before realizing what she was doing. With that, Dís jumped back a little.

Amâ, feeling as if she owed the princess a great deal for such an expensive gift decided she needed to repay her. She was not much of a craftsman but could easily write a song in her honor one day soon but still wanted to give her something now. A token while she made Dís wait for a proper, more “handmade” gift. Amâ did not own nor wear much jewelry but did have a ring of iron she wore on her right hand that was given to her by Sofís so many years ago. It would do for now.

“Dís, I cannot repay you for this just yet,” before the dark-haired dwarrowdam could interject Amâ pulled the ring from her finger and extended it out toward her, “I’ll make you something much better than this but it’s what I’ll give you for now.”

Dís held the ring for a moment, peering down at it as if she were holding a handful of rare gems, “Thank you. But there’s no need for repayment. Truly.”

“Ah, but I shall anyway. Just think of that ring as a promise for a much better gift.”

So, Dís slid the ring on one of her fingers and once again muttered quietly, “Thank you.”

The two then jumped back into their usual routine and eventually ended up leaning on one another against their rock. Amâ strumming the mandolin and Dís fidgeting with her amulet looking out with the same solemn expression Amâ had noticed when she first arrived a few minutes ago. Maybe even the same one she saw the night she first met her. Worry filled her mind as she continued to strum a few more chords.

Amâ stopped playing for a moment and turned to face her friend, “You alright?”

Dís paused before putting on an exaggeratedly happy expression, “I’m fine, just a bit lost in thought, I guess. Um, I haven’t told you this yet but I am… to be married soon. To one of the lords of Ered Luin.”

As the words came out of her mouth, Amâ’s stomach nearly dropped through the ledge and her mouth ran dry. It was as if the entire ledge itself had been taken out from under her for a moment, sending her slightly off balance despite sitting down. Her heart was beating out of her chest now, at a speed caused by sheer emotional panic. Maybe it was for the best that she decided not to confess her feelings earlier because it would have ruined everything.

They were friends, that was all and it seems Dís has found someone she loves so she should be happy. They could still be friends even if the princess married. Amâ drew in a very shaky breath but managed to put on as genuine a smile as she could.

“That’s wonderful, Dís!” Putting on ber more cocky façade, she playfully nudged the princess’ arm, “He’s handsome enough for you I hope.”

Dís’ smile faltered but only for a moment at that response, “Yes, um he is. He is a good dwarf, I’ve known him for some time I suppose, a friend of my family. He fought bravely alongside my brothers during the Battle of Azanulbizar. I’ve grown fairly fond of him… But there’s something else.”

Amâ looked at her, curious as to what other news could outshine all that she had just given. Dís stared down at the rings on her fingers, spinning one on her pinky anxiously, “I’ll be going to his father’s halls for the next month or so, leaving tomorrow. You know, for the ceremonies and everything. But when I get back my family will be holding a feast here in Thorinuldûm and I was wondering if you’d come.”

“Yeah…yeah as long as you promise to come back I’ll promise to be there.”

Amâ was now fighting back tears, feeling silly at the whole situation. On one hand, she felt so pleased to be invited to feast a person like her had no business being at. On the other, she felt nothing but knotting pain in her chest at the thought of Dís marrying this lord. I mean they were friends so she should be happy that Dís would soon be wed. Weddings are supposed to be good news after all. It was as if she was envious but with something much sadder than jealousy. It was a muddy bitterness for a relationship that had no chance in the first place.

To hide the emotion on her face and tears threading to slick down, Amâ jerkily pulled her friend into a hug. That sat like that for a few moments while Amâ collected herself, providing a few congratulatory words for Dís. Once she did she pulled away but still felt as if the world was spinning around her, the princess the only thing staying still. She flashed a fox-like grin to Dís, “It’s getting late, I better go but thanks again. For the beads. And the invitation. I’ll see you then, promise.”

Dís looked hurt at the dismissal despite the promise, an expression Amâ missed as she was trying to hide her watering eyes while slinking away. Dís got a few words of goodbye in looking after her friend’s back as she walked toward the mountainside. It all seemed like good news so why did it feel like the complete opposite?

The night seemed much darker now than it ever had. No moon in the sky to cast any sort of glow across the mountains where they stood and the stars seemed much more dull against the sky.

Chapter Text

T.A. 2831

Autumn storms often left the tattered halls of Thorinuldûm cold and damp, the cracked and eroded stone allowing water to seep in through the small fissures that lined the corridors. A chamber toward the very top of these halls had always especially succumbed to the incessant leaking. The drip of each stream of water seemed to ring through the room as they hit the hard stone floor.

A rather serpentine-like stream of water began to slither its way across the tall ceiling. It crept across the room before dripping onto the sleeping face of none other than the Princess Under the Mountain herself. As the stream reached its stopping point it bubbled, spitting large drops of water onto the dwarrowdam’s unsuspecting face and jolting her awake.

A sound of groggy surprise escaped her and she quickly began searching the room for what or who had just spit on her only for her to look up as another droplet splashed across her nose. She let out an annoyed sigh and muttered to herself, “Not this again.”

Begrudgingly, Dís hopped out of bed and grabbed a large vase which she expertly balanced on her hard bed where the rainwater continued to drip. Now unable to even try to go back to sleep seeing as her bed was blocked she began throwing on her day robes. They were heavier ones than normal as the storm had seemed to set a chill in the air within the mountain. Once dressed she sat down at her small wooden vanity and began to comb and braid the untamed dark waves that cascaded down her back. After getting enough of her hair out of her face she combed her rather wispy beard, making sure she looked presentable enough to walk through the royal halls.

She allowed herself one last glance in the mirror before leaving her chambers and heading towards the dining room where breakfast would already be being served. She passed by several of the empty and unused rooms left in the halls until she happened upon her mother’s old private sitting room that was hidden by an awkward bend in the hallway.

Any other morning Dís would have walked right by the door in an attempt to avoid the room entirely. It was a favorite room of her mother’s when she was still living. It was the perfect room to take a break from the responsibility that came with helping lead a hall full of refugees. Her mother had always taken her burdens with great poise but Dís knew getting away from it all every so often helped her in coping with all that happened with her father and brother.

It was also that very room where her mother taught Dís the basics of jewelry making using the iron found in abundance throughout Ered Luin. Her mother knew how to perfectly braid small wires into every shape imaginable. Perfectly sculpting the thin strips of metal over gems and through beads into jewelry fit for a queen despite the crude materials used. Before marrying the heir of Erebor, she was regarded as a rather talented artist of the craft. Although revered for her craftsmanship after gaining a higher title, the responsibilities of the royal family often stole her away from it.

Pausing at that door brought those warm memories back up to the surface of Dís’ mind. The bittersweet thoughts caused a pain in her chest she was becoming all too familiar with. A sense of painful longing passed over her, the feeling of wishing for nothing more than to sit by her mother’s side while she worked one last time.

That feeling and those memories were precisely why she tried to avoid the room entirely, making sure to look straight ahead each morning and evening when she was forced to walk by it. However, what caused her to stop now were the low voices coming from behind the door.

“It won’t work again this winter, Thorin,” the stern but bright voice of Balin hit her ears first, “After what’s happened I’m more surprised they haven’t driven us out of their mountains already. I’ve heard it was a bad crop this year too. Bits of iron and coal gifted from us aren’t going to be enough to buy us their help through the winter.”

He was speaking of the clans of Ered Luin. For years now they had helped those who fled Erebor and then some. The clans had several farms along with their mines, bountiful hunting parties, and plenty of dwarves to spare to retrieve firewood and other supplies from outside the mountains. Thorin and his people did not have those luxuries here in these halls. Their numbers were small and work was still scarce even though it had been decades since they first arrived. The help they received from the Ered Luin Clans was truly what got them through, especially in the winter when food and wood were in short supply even in the best of times.

The other night Dís had overheard Balin and Dwalin speaking about a blunder from her brother. Apparently, he’d angered one of the Chieftain’s daughters after rejecting her romantic advances. Work of the whole debacle had spread fervently among both their peoples. It had caused feelings of abhorrence among the clans and feelings of embarrassment among Thorin’s people.

Idle dwarves like to talk and unfortunately there were plenty to go around in Thorinuldûm. If Dís remembered the words of a cook correctly, many felt that it would be in their best interest to gain a more secure allyship with the clans through a royal marriage. Although no one had been brave enough to bring it up to their reluctant king’s face.

Dís then heard a frustrated noise come from her brother. His voice slipped under the door like a growl, “They know of struggles and would still choose not to help?” One of the walls seemed to shudder as Thorin presumably slammed a fist into it, “Damn them, then. We’ll get through it on our own.”

“We don’t have the food or the firewood to last us all the way through the cold months. Even if we had our people ration, we’d run out before the year turned over.”

The conversation stopped for a moment and although Dís couldn’t see through the door she could easily imagine the gritted teeth of her brother facing their cousin. Despite Balin’s valiant efforts, the dwarf was often bad at taking others’ advice especially when he was already set off. This time was no different.

Thorin continued to be silent so Balin took in a breath and continued, “This isn’t going to be what you want to hear, iraknadad. But as I’ve said now for years, we need to secure a proper alliance with them. A political marriage would easily do the trick.“

Thorin let out a defeated sigh, “Balin I can’t marry one of their ladies. You know I can’t.” He paused for a moment and now his sister could easily picture the poor dwarf burdened with guilt at his previous actions.

Her brother had been through much hardship since they were driven from Erebor when he was only twenty-four years old and she only ten. The loss of their grandfather the king to gold madness, the death of their brother Frerin, the disappearance of their father, and most recently Thorin had been given his royal title followed by the death of their mother. Somehow the guilt of losing everything had been inherited down the Durin line and it was now suck thrown over her brother’s shoulders. Dís may have experienced it all alongside him, struggling just the same with each loss in their family but, being a lady, she was not and never could be thrust into a position with such power and responsibility as her brother was.

Dís’ thoughts were interrupted as she heard Balin take a few steps toward Thorin now, “We’ll figure something out. Soon. Perhaps breakfast will help soothe that temper of yours while we think.”

Dís heard the two sets of footsteps making their way toward the door. She jumped before scrambling to hide behind the corner so they wouldn’t catch her eavesdropping; Just barely getting away before the heavy door swung open. The two dwarves made their way in the opposite direction down the hallway, not at all noticing the pair of ears that had heard their conversation.

Dís let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and began to consider all that she heard during that conversation. A spark of that Durin guilt lit itself in her chest. Thorin was stuck with another issue to worry about on top of the grief the both of them were going through and Dís couldn’t help but feel like she could at the very least take the burden of this marriage nonsense from him. She never felt like much of a romantic anyway.

She was still young and often not included in political happenings and decisions but perhaps this time could be different. If a lady of Ered Luin could not marry her brother perhaps she could find a lord to marry her. She only knew a few of the noble dwarves in the mountain clans but she did know if one neither Balin nor her brother could refuse when it came down to honor.

Víli was a name she had heard her cousins and brother mention several times following the War of the Dwarves and Orcs all those years ago. He fought alongside them and knew them fairly well but eventually found that he had more responsibility to his clan than ties to the Ereborian refugees. She had only met him once when they first arrived in the mountains before no one saw much of him anymore. He seemed decent enough, was kind enough, and looked well enough despite being a tad older than her. He’d do just fine.

Last she heard he lived simply as the youngest son of the chieftain, just like Dís living with a grand title without much weight on their shoulders. Víli was their chance at a proper alliance, a perfect candidate for it. Their chance to continue receiving aid from their neighbors. Sacrificing a chance at a marriage of love in order to protect her people and aid her brother seemed a decent enough reward.

Now all she had to do was convince Thorin and Balin that an arranged marriage was their idea so that they’d actually act on it. Despite the fondness they felt for her, all dwarrow seemed to tend to ignore advice that wasn’t their own, especially coming from such a young dwarrowdam.

She moved out from behind the corner of the wall and began to make her way toward breakfast, the inklings of a plan beginning to form in her mind.

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2944 TA

Dotting a dirt and stone path leading up and around the Kingdom of Dale, the final caravan transporting the dwarrow from the Blue Mountains did not arrive at the gates of Erebor until three years after its reclamation. Leading the trailing march of carts, ponies, and boots was the fair Lady Dís clad in furs and hair in one neat braid. For years she ruled over her people in her brother’s absence as he took the journey to restore their true home. It had been a long time spent waiting and planning for her journey home not wanting to leave until she first saw the rest of her people return safely.

As she looked up upon the stone gates of Erebor she felt her well-kept patience finally dissolve, smiling broadly while she bolted out of her carriage and into the Mountain, ignoring the guards fussing behind her. She halted to a stop when she saw who was waiting for her in the grand entry hall. Dís looked across the room and found two pairs of eyes, one brown and one blue, that lit up with excitement once they caught sight of her.

Her heart could not beat any faster with excitement and pride as she looked toward her boys. They already seemed so much older than they did before they left on their honorable adventure. Before all that had happened at the end of that great journey.

The first letter she received from Balin following the Battle of the Five Armies had nearly sent her into an inconsolable state of worry. They had reclaimed the mountain, their home, only for her only sons and last living brother to wind up mortally wounded before they could even celebrate their accomplishment. Images of her family on their deathbeds haunted her for months in the Blue Mountains only relenting after getting word that they were all making their treacherous recoveries under the careful hands of Óin. Even as she made her way across Middle Earth with the caravan, she often worried that she had dreamt up that last letter entirely. That when she reached the Lonely Mountain she would find them already gone leaving behind nothing but the remaining heat and ash from their funeral pyres. Now looking out to their living, beaming faces she almost couldn’t believe it was real.

Fíli spotted her first, Kíli not paying attention while anxiously fussing with his arm brace, “‘Amad!”

At that the two dwarves ran to her and threw their arms around her as if they were still only twenty years old, nearly pulling her to the ground with their weight on her. She laughed sweetly, tears threatening to spill over from happiness. Tightening her grip around her two sons she managed to make her voice come out only a little cracked, “Nudnêlê! I’ve missed you both so much.”

Dís planted kisses on the tops of their heads. With an overjoyed smile still plastered on her face she loosened her hug to get a better look at the two of them. She took in a deep breath to steady herself and let her face morph into the appearance of over-dramatic anger as she lightly smacked the boys on the back of their heads.

Fíli and especially Kíli both acted more hurt than they really were, quickly sending their hands to their heads to hold the spot where their mother struck. Fíli, a betrayed look in his eyes, asked, “What was that for?”

“For nearly getting yourselves killed,” she kept up her stern act, “You both just had to go on your quest no matter how many times I tried to tell your uncle you were still too young. Speaking of that damned brother of mine, I’d like to give him a nice whack too since all three of you decided to scare me so.”

Just as the words came out she spotted her brother making his way through the mighty doorway where she and her sons were standing. At first, she smiled only to let it falter as she took in his appearance. Much of it was how she remembered him with his stoney face, long nearly unbound hair, and dark, heavy clothes but there were bags under his eyes, his hair had certainly gone more grey, and he walked with a slight limp. He mostly just looked tired, solemn wrinkles framing his eyes.

Dís felt dumbfounded. This should not be the appearance of a man who just completed a heroic quest that should have been nearly impossible to complete. She knew that being a leader in times such as these is stressful but she couldn’t help but feel as if there was more going on than she now knew.

When Thorin finally reached the rest of his family he put on a small, sad smile that made Dís heart ache just a little but his voice came out the same as she had remembered it, coated with that Durin guilt that seemed to plague their family, “Dís, I—“

Before he could finish she hit him just as she did Fíli and Kíli, “You foolish dwarf! Nearly getting yourself and the boys killed on a dead man’s quest.” When he gave her a genuine apologetic, almost hurt look instead of biting back she changed her demeanor completely and wrapped her arms around him. She was careful to let nothing but happiness and pride cover her next words, “Thank you. For bringing us home, all of us home.”

She pulled away and gave all three members of her family a good look over once more, just to be sure she really wasn’t dreaming. Her nerves finally settled as Kíli piped up about dinner and grabbed her by the arm, “Now we should all go to the dining room. We had Bombur make your favorite ‘Amad! Plus me and Fíli want to tell you all about the journey and…”

The young dwarf seemed to talk about a mile a minute only being interrupted a few times by his brother struggling to get a word in as they began walking. Dís gratefully let her son lead her to the food. Eating on the road was never all that great and being the last caravan to leave the Blue Mountains did not help much concerning food options. She could almost hear her stomach grumble at the thought of eating Bombur’s cooking. The miner’s son had made quite an impression in the last decade that their people lived in Thorin’s Halls. He cooked for the royal family plenty before embarking on the quest for Erebor.

When the four dwarrow arrived at the dining room, there was a fairly small table with four places set and food practically covering every inch. Almost automatically she made her way to a chair, sitting down, grabbing a fork, and going for a piece of the tasty shepherd’s pie with no hesitation. She let out a very satisfied hum at the tasty dish. The other three dwarrow seemed just as satisfied, the younger boys seeming to scarf down their plates in a matter of one or two bites so that they could continue talking.

The four of them caught up easily enough. Filling each other in on all that had occurred during their time apart. Even after they had finished their meal Fíli and Kíli found themselves recounting the events and dangers of their adventures with all the excitement expected from two dwarves still so young. Dís found herself worrying over some of the more dangerous parts of the story, nearly fainting when she found out that Kíli nearly died not once but twice during their journey. She shot her brother an angered look as they told her they’d been left in Laketown because of his injury. Before his mother could question how he managed to heal quickly enough while in the town of men, Kíli swiftly changed the subject and continued on with their tale of dragons, orcs, and hidden doors.

Despite the occasional worry, Dís happily listened to the sons she had missed so dearly. Watching the two animated speakers bounce off one another just like when they recounted their days as dwarflings. So much had seemed to change but somehow their spirits managed to not falter through it all.

However, she feared that the older dwarf’s spirit may have not managed so well. She continuously glanced over at her overly quiet brother. Thorin sat at the head of the table quietly laughing and butting in a couple of times during certain parts of the story but mostly just sat there nearly silent, a distant look over his face and buried emptiness in his eyes. It was beginning to trouble the dwarrowdam the longer it continued.

After Kíli began to start on the part of the tale that led up to the Battle of the Five Armies, Thorin excused himself from the table claiming he had a long, tiresome day. He gave his sister a final nod and “welcome home” before disappearing down the corridor to his bed chambers.

Dís let him leave before shooting a questioning look over to her sons. Thorin’s always been grumpy, and moody even for as long as she could remember. However, he always had good reason to be. Losing Erebor, and losing their grandfather and father in the way they did was something that could bring dark clouds onto anyone. This, however, felt different. Like he was slowly losing all the fight he’d had in him, settling for misery instead. She would get to the bottom of it soon enough.

Once Thorin was completely out of earshot Fíli was the first to respond to her silent question, “A lot has happened since we left the Blue Mountains. You’ve told us about what happened to our great grandfather but I guess you weren’t told that the same fate nearly met Uncle.”

“He caught the gold sickness?” Dís’ eyes few wide and her voice was a harsh whisper.

“But he’s better now!” Kíli quickly claimed, “Well for the most part. He doesn’t have the sickness anymore anyway, Oín made sure of it.”

“I think,” Fíli began. He halted making a face of great consideration, debating whether or not he should even continue, “I just think he feels guilty. About all of it. You know, us and well everything. Once he fell ill he began to be paranoid, even about the company and us too. And then the burglar we told you about, he treated him very poorly by the end of it because of the sickness. I guess he hasn’t really been the same since, especially after he left...”

Fíli’s face fell a bit dark by the end of his explanation as if he hadn’t said the notion out loud before. Dís glanced back over at the dark doorway which Thorin had retreated out of and began to toy with the simple earring hanging from her ear. He couldn’t bear to hear the treacherous parts of the end of the story because he believed himself to be the villain. She thought back to the jab she made at him just a couple hours ago sending a heavy pain through her abdomen. That’s why he reacted in such a way. Surely he knew that the illness was not his fault.

“I’ll try to talk to him tomorrow, boys,” she put a smile back on her face to at least try to end the night in a lighter mood. “Well my most reckless sons, it seems the runestones I gave you must have done the trick at least. Brought you back to me in one piece and I’m glad of it.” Kíli went still and began avoiding his mother’s gaze, “You did keep them didn’t you?”

Fíli reached into his pocket instantly, quickly grabbing his stone and showing it to his mother with pride, “Of course ‘Amad. The stones kept their promise.”

“And I’m very grateful they did,” Dís smiled at her eldest son. Fíli had always managed to be the more responsible of the two no matter how often he and his brother dragged one another into trouble.

She then turned to look at her youngest who was still looking at anything in the room that was not Dís. She gave him a moment before tapping his hand and speaking in a light voice, “And yours, Kíli? I should warn you it’s very bad luck to lose a runestone. Especially one that was gifted to you.”

“No, no I didn’t lose it,” Kíli forced himself to look at her and began fiddling with a silver ring on his finger.

“Well, where is it then?” She asked amused.

“It’s… well it’s,” his eyes darted over to his brother before an idea struck him, “It’s in Fíli’s forge.”

His brother scrunched a face at him, “What?”

Kíli kicked him from under the table while lying through his teeth, “We’re using them to craft you a welcome home gift…” His next words came out even more inauthentic, “Oh no, it was supposed to be a surprise but I suppose I’ve ruined it.”

When he finished he looked to his brother once more, this time urging him to speak, “Uh, yes. We’re going to use the stones to make a set of broaches for you ‘Amad. Should probably take mine back down to the forge after this, don’t want to lose it before we can finish them.”

Dís looked between them unconvinced of their story. Kíli had been behaving rather odd at a certain point during his story and now this suspiciousness seemed all the more out of place. However, years of experience led her to play along and wait to get one of them alone to pry any further. The two were very good at never budging when they were a united front but once you separated them they tended to crack fairly easily under the gaze of their mother.

She grabbed and squeezed their hands, “Well, that’s very kind of you boys. I can’t wait to receive them.”

Kíli seemed relieved at that and used it as the perfect excuse to get out from under the skeptical gaze of Dís. He practically jumped from his seat before he hugged his mother who was still sitting down at the table. His voice came out almost too fast for Dís to understand,” We should go now, to the forge, to work on them!”

Before anyone else could react he skidded out of the dining room leaving Fíli to repeat Kíli’s course of action albeit with a little more patience. He stood only slightly slower, hugged his mother goodnight, and followed after him.

Dís was now left at the table alone. Almost on instinct, she began to stack the empty dishes on top of one another as she had done after family dinners in the Blue Mountains. She had got most of the table organized before being politely dismissed by a maid with round, kind eyes. She gave the princess a small smile and urged her to leave the chores to her.

She almost felt bad for letting the maid take over. Dís may have been a princess all these years but most days it felt more like a title alone. Her family was not void of help of course but something as simple as cleaning up after an evening meal was often left to her and her mother before her.  Now her family were royalty as it was truly intended. Looking over a kingdom, having all that responsibility, but now getting the pampering and serving she could only remember having during her early childhood. This would surely take some getting used to but excited the princess far more than concerned her.

As Dís began to make her way out of the dining room a stout castle guard offered to walk her to her rooms. She had almost forgotten that she hadn’t had a chance to go and see them in all the commotion caused by the family reunion. She gratefully nodded at the guard and allowed him to lead her through the sturdy halls of the Mountain, foggy memories of her old home returning to her as she took it all in.

Much of it was hard to recall as she was only ten when Smaug ran them out. Before all the destruction she mostly remembers getting into trouble with Frerin (How had she ever wondered where Kíli got it from?) and when she wasn’t with him she was glued to her mother’s side. Trying to copy her movements, the way she spoke, the way she dressed, all of it to try and be just like her. A smile graced her face as she pictured it. Her small, chubby frame trotted at the heels of the dwarven elegance that was her mother.

After walking for another few minutes, Dís’ mind far away, they arrived at a decorated steel door that she recognized instantly. They had prepared her old rooms for her, then.

As she entered the clean, familiar room her eyes suddenly grew heavy as if a nostalgic curse had been set into the walls to send her to bed. She barely got a chance to look around at the changed yet preserved room of her childhood before crawling into a real bed after months of bedrolls and falling deeply asleep.

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The next morning Dís woke up as if she was still in a dream, one where she was just a child again preparing for her day as princess of Erebor. Shaking the dream sheen from her mind she glanced around the lightly decorated room before she realized where, or where, exactly she was.

She threw the covers off her legs and began to get ready just as she always had. She dressed in her familiar robes and sat down at the vanity that was a little too small for her now. She combed her hair before pulling it up in her many braids and leaving the back waving down her back. She then carefully combed her beard before smoothing her robes once more and making her way out the door.

Her first order of business was finding Thorin. She desperately needed to get to the bottom of his gloomy behavior. So, she slipped down the hallway easily recalling where her grandfather’s old rooms were.

The King’s chambers were deep in the mountain, down a large hallway in the most protected part of Erebor. She could somehow easily recall the path her grandfather took each evening after meetings and dinner when she was but a child. Coming back to the mountain seemed to be bringing all these memories back to her rather quickly as if she had never even left.

After several turns down the corridor, she came upon a large steel door that was decorated with bulky ornaments of gold around the edges marking the importance of the dwarf who lived behind it.

She gawked at and traced the polished metalwork before remembering the task at hand. With a shake of her head, she tapped politely on the cold door and awaited a greeting from her brother.

When a couple of minutes went by with no answer she knocked once more this time a little louder. Again minutes passed and no movement or even snoring could be heard on the other side of the door. Dís let out a huff of frustration but before deciding to just go in, making sure to announce herself in case something unseemly might have been happening that she definitely did not want to see her brother doing.

She turned the golden knob slowly before cracking the door and announcing herself as loudly as possible, “Thorin? It’s Dís, I just wanted to talk since you left dinner a little early last night.”

Again there was not a peep from the King’s chambers so she finally decided to just go ahead and barge in. Once she entered, she gave the cold room a good look over. The room was dust-covered, no candles were lit, and cobwebs hung along the ceiling. All of the old furniture and some decorations were still there from many years ago when her grandfather still lived there. She also noticed that the bed was unmade and papers seemed to be covering the desk in the far corner of the room. Someone must have been staying here for a bit however, it was clear that no one slept here now.

This was strange. Her brother was truly the King Under the Mountain now, it was customary for the one who held that title to live in these great rooms yet Thorin was nowhere to be found. Not a soul seemed anywhere to be found among this mess of dust.

Dís took light steps around the dark chambers, collecting dust as she slid her fingers over the tables and dressers that lined one of the walls. It felt odd to look around at a dust-covered place that used to be home to part of her family, to a King for that matter. She brought her eyes over to what must have been her grandmother's armoire, recognizing it as a place that she once frequented to try on fancy robes and jewelry far too big for herself.

She continued lining her hand over as she went to make her way over to it before being distracted by an echoing clunk and she knocked something small into the floor. Dís looked down to find a long, thin pipe appearing to be made from light maple wood. It was adorned with carvings of flowers and leaves at its head and didn’t appear to be nearly as dust-covered as the rest of the room. Compared to the stout, heavy pipes she recalled her brother and cousins smoking with this one appeared quite out of place in comparison.

Utterly lost in thought she bent down and picked up the pipe before letting it slip out from her grasp once more. The door across the room loudly creaked open. Feeling as if she had been caught doing something wrong Dís jumped to her feet and scrambled to hide with little success.

Her back was turned to the door now but she heard the person who caught her as they cleared their throat, “Is everything alright, iraknana?”

“Balin!” Dís turned on her heels to see the older dwarf, concerned, wrinkled eyes staring back at her. After the initial wave of ‘fear’ settled she smiled at him, “I was wondering when I’d get to see you!”

“Well I’m here now, my lady,” Dís scrunched her nose at the formal title and Balin continued, amused, “Now, may I ask how you ended up in here?”

“Well, I was looking for Thorin. Does he not stay in the King’s chambers?”

A somber expression flashed over Balin’s face, only for a split second but just long enough for Dís to catch it, “No, he doesn’t. He’s been sleeping in his old room the last couple years. Not sure if he’s even up yet, actually.”

She glanced back down at the pipe on the ground. She was beginning to grow frustrated at everyone seeming to be keeping something from her. The gold sickness was one thing that certainly would have caused her brother’s conscience distress but he’d overcome it. And the gold sickness did not completely explain the business with the hobbit Fíli mentioned.

She picked up the small wooden object, twirling it in her fingers before holding it up for her cousin to see, raising her eyebrows inquisitively, “This doesn’t look as if it’s something belonging to my brother, nor any dwarf for that matter.”

Balin looked at the pipe then back at Dís with that same dismal expression taking over once more. He took a step inside, carefully shutting the door behind him and making his way over to a dusty chair along the wall closest to her.

“A lot has happened since we left the Blue Mountains for the last time.”

When he didn’t seem like he’d be continuing his statement Dís rolled her eyes and sat down on the edge of the large bed. Her voice came out utterly irritated, “Balin, I have no more patience for this being vague nonsense. Fíli told me about the gold sickness but it’s more than that is it not?”

Balin took in a deep breath before giving her a sincere nod. He took a moment to ponder exactly the best way to respond, “You’re brother made that. For a member of the Company.”

A flash of confusion washed over Dís. Who could this even be for? As far as she knew not many dwarves were all that fond of flowers nor did they use such delicate, inefficiently long pipes. She ran her thumb over the engravings as it finally hit her.

“He made this for the hobbit?”

“Aye. Bilbo,” and again Balin just nodded.

Dís set the pipe down next to her and sternly asked Balin to tell her the whole story. The one she was not truly given at dinner last night nor the one that she would get out of her brother.

He was hesitant at first, to tell a story that wasn’t his to tell. However, he knew that Thorin would never be the one to share his heartbreak or those feelings willingly, not even with his sister.

So, Balin recounted what he and only a few of the other members of the company began to notice by the end of their journey. Thorin had grown fond of Bilbo as they traveled despite his initial feelings of doubt about the hobbit.

Even the first stages of his gold madness had not affected the King’s image of the hobbit when it made him angry, paranoid, and untrustworthy of even his closest of kin. When Balin mentioned the gifting of the Mithril shirt, Dís couldn’t help but laugh a little at the fact that her brother had all but proposed to Bilbo during his stay at Erebor. If she didn’t know any better she’d think Thorin was nearly taken with the lad.

Balin continued with the more troubling part of the story. She told her that Bilbo had stolen the Arkenstone in an attempt to help the dwarves before the Battle of the Five Armies but that Thorin had not seen it that way. Instead, he nearly threw his dear friend off the gates of the Mountain and banished him from the Kingdom. It was at that point that the gold sickness seemed to really take hold of their king.

After the Battle was over Bilbo was the one to help retrieve the incapacitated king and take him to Oín to try and save him from the injuries he sustained. Bilbo had stayed with him throughout that time helping the healer in any way he could and constantly by his side. Thorin regained consciousness nearly a week later but it was not long after that Bilbo decided to go back to his home with the wizard Gandalf for reasons much of the company were quite confused over. They thought they had Bilbo to keep forever, Balin thought Thorin had Bilbo to keep forever but he left and hasn’t been heard from since.

“Thorin loved him,” Dís tried to ask but it came out as a disbelieving statement more than a question. She had never pictured her brother in love before, never knew him to mention such things. Yet it was even more of a shock that he seemed to have fallen for a hobbit and a lad at that. Something had to have happened or more likely had to have been discovered. Her voice was quiet, “The hobbit is his One?”

After Balin slowly nodded she let out an exhausted sigh, “I have almost no doubt about it.” She couldn’t help but feel her heart ache at the thought of letting someone you love, your One for Mahal’s sake, slip through your fingers. When the pain started to become a little too familiar, too deep she focused her mind on trying to mend the situation that was bringing her brother so much grief.

“Is there anything to be done? Did anyone try to make him stay? Or try to figure out what might have happened between them?”

“The entire company did. We’d all befriended Bilbo during our journey and hated the thought of him leaving just after we’d accomplished all we’d been fighting for. Even my grumpy brother tried to talk him into staying at least until spring fully set but nothing worked,” he crossed his arms, “Then of course there was no getting any information about what may have played out between the two to have caused such a departure. Thorin being much too angry and stubborn and Bilbo thinking it impertinent that we would even try to ask.”

“So, you’ve just been letting my brother mope around all this time? And he’s been letting himself drown in guilt. He was always awfully good at that.”

Balin raised his eyebrows and made a face of agreement, “I’ve tried helping him but between his duties to the kingdom and his inability to properly discuss his feelings I haven’t been able to convince him to try and mend the relationship.”

“Mend the relationship, huh?” Dís pondered the idea for a moment before the inklings of a plan began to meld in her mind, “Perhaps it’s my turn to help. Now that I’m here.”

She shoved the pipe into a pocket in her robes and stood up in a hurry. Balin looked at her curiously, “You’ve got a plan, then?”

“I’ve got the makings of one. I’m going to go speak to my brother, I’ll let you know when I’ve thought it all out.”

“Always the mastermind. I see you haven’t changed a bit, matharragûn barafu adi.” Balin gave her an unadulterated smile, “Anyone would be lucky to have you as a sister you know.”

Dís nearly froze at the unanticipated compliment. She let out a light laugh and walked over to him. She pulls him into a tight but quick hug before darting out the door toward her brother’s old rooms.

On the way Dís passed Frerin’s old room, only hesitating for a moment before continuing to tackle the conversation with her brother. She finally reached the door that looked so similar to hers, steel with adornments along the edges.

She knocked rather politely, knowing that disturbing him probably wasn’t the best idea but she also knew she’d not get much of a chance to speak to the King once his duties got a hold of him for the day. When there was no answer for a few moments she kicked again, hitting the metal much harder than before and releasing loud clangs out down the hallway sending servants curiously glancing her way. After that, she finally heard the stomping of heavy feet on the ground and the door was cracked open as if he was hiding whatever was behind him. Thorin stood there still in bedclothes with a fur-lined jacket flung overtop. His hair was unbraided and knotted and his eyes still looked heavy.

He shot a glare toward his sister at her disturbance, his voice rough, “I was asleep.”

“Sorry, but I wanted to speak with you, nadad,” she said while putting on an overly polite smile, “It’s also well into mid-morning. Don’t you have some leadership responsibilities to attend to?”

Thorin let out a breath as his hand ran down his face, “It couldn’t have waited until I was after I was awake?”

“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p’ ever so merrily, “I assumed you’d be busy the rest of the day so I needed to catch you now… May I come in?”

Thorin barely had a chance to react before his sister pushed past him into the large bedroom. Dís couldn’t help but look around the rather untidy room before her. There were clothes, weapons, and papers placed haphazardly throughout the room. Each dresser, table, and desk were practically covered in them. Thorin’s bed was quite a mess too. It being unmade was to be expected as he had just woken but none of the bedding matched and it seemed as if the sheets were just laying atop the mattress instead of fitting around it. Thorin was by no means as neat as a person could be but this was utter madness.

“I didn’t say you could come in.”

Dís ignored his harsh tone and turned to face him, “Thorin this room is an absolute mess. I mean you have maids to help do you not?”

“What is it you need, Dís?” He asked, trying everything in his power to end this conversation quickly.

Dís finally tore her motherly eyes away from the mess to answer him, “I just wanted to check up on you and after seeing this,” she gestured around to the general chaos of his room, “I’m glad I stopped by.”

Thorin just looked at her confused for a moment before shaking his head, “I’m fine, Dís. It’s just been hectic recently with all the negotiating and politics. You know I’ve never been fond of it.” He wouldn’t look her in the eye as he explained, keeping his face down toward his feet until the end of his sentence when he finally looked back up at her.

She pondered the best way to respond. Just as she had chosen with her sons, she decided it best not to pry the complete truth out of him yet. It was best to let him lie for a while. Besides she had a plan to put together. So, instead of prying Dís gave her brother a comforting smile and laid her hand on his stiff shoulder, “Perhaps I could help you. There’s bound to be something you could give me to do now that I’m here.”

Thorin’s eyebrows raised in consideration. He began to spout off several tasks he did not want to but was duty-bound to carry out, “Well, I’ve got several meetings with the King and parliament of Dale to discuss the mundane. Trade mostly. Then I must oversee the Guard. New recruits. Dwalin thinks I should look them over before we officially accept them in…” He droned on like that for some time. Each task he listed sounded more and more burdensome or boring as he went. However, he eventually got to something Dís could most certainly work with, “Then there’s been talk of hosting a true Durin’s Day festival—“

As the words slipped out of his mouth Dís’ eyes practically lit up as the perfect plan hit her. She toyed with the pipe in her pocket. Of course! The festival was a perfect excuse to get Bilbo back to the Mountian. The perfect playing field to mend their relationship.

It was also something she had always been excited about as a dwarfling. She had nothing but fond memories of the Durin’s Day celebrations of her youth. It was her grandmother and mother who always planned them. Meticulously choosing the schedule of events, the food, the guests, the performances, and everything else that needed to be chosen. When she was little the two dwarrowdams would let Dís decide on the color of all of the decorations each year. A fond smile flashed onto her lips and she recalled the year when all of the tablecloths, banners, and garland ended up being the most bright pink and purples she had ever seen before.

She also remembered that they would begin their planning months in advance. It was already early summer so she’d have to begin planning soon to have the preparations ready by fall. She’ll also have to make haste in retrieving her brother’s hobbit from across Middle Earth.

“Let me plan festivities. And I’ll attend some of the council meetings as well. But perhaps we could use the festival as a means to mend our relationship with the neighboring men?”

Thorin shot her a considering look before curtly nodding, “If you want to take on the burden of that festival be my guest. But don’t say I didn’t warn you of the utter bores that are the Dale men.”

{}|{}|{}

A few days in Erebor had gone by before the princess felt that her plan was ready enough to take back to her cousin. She decided that they needed to discuss the best way to try and coax Bilbo out of the Shire and back to Erebor.

She set the flowery pipe on the small table that sat in the middle of what had become her sitting room. It was a quaint little room with a warm fireplace and it wasn’t far from her bed chambers. It was the perfect place for her, Balin, and any other members of the company concerned over her brother’s love life enough to try and hatch a plan.

A light knock rang from the door just as she sat down in the large chair adjacent to the fireplace, “Come in!”

The door swung open to reveal Balin’s white tufts of hair, Dwalin’s daunting figure, her distant cousin Ori, and another dwarf wearing his hair in two braids with a smirk framed by dark whiskers. She recognized the last dwarf as being a member of the company but couldn’t recall his name.

Balin was the first to speak, “At your service, Lady Dís. I brought my brother, the eager Ori, and our friend and fellow member of the company, Bofur.”

At that, Bofur dips his head quite dramatically, “At your service, my Lady.” It clicked for her then, a member of the Ur family. He was a miner back in Ered Luin and most notably the brother of the talented cook, Bombur.

Balin then explained that while he and his brother were busy listening to their king fawn over the hobbit during their journey, Bofur and Ori were listening to just the opposite. Just as Balin and Dwalin cared for Thorin, Bofur, and Ori had become good friends with Bilbo. The four of them were more than happy to help in Dís’ plot.

“So, you told them of our little scheme?”

Balin ushered the group inside and lightly shut the door behind him, “Only what little you’ve told me. I assume you’ve got more to share on the subject.”

“Indeed, cousin,” she waited for the rest of her guests to seat themselves before going into the details of her plan. Holding up the pipe she began to lay out how exactly they were going to lure the hobbit out of the Shire. Her best idea was to try and send a raven with a letter and this gift as a formal invitation to the celebration. After that, they would need someone to escort him back. She told the dwarves that she was hoping that the wizard Gandalf could help them in that department seeing as he was the one to convince him the first time. After that, the five of them would do their best to bring the two together during the festivals. She planned on hosting events of all kinds but a couple of balls would work for their plan quite nicely.

The dwarves all let out sounds of agreement with the latter part of her plot. However, the first part of her plan seemed to trouble the dwarves more than she had anticipated.

“While that is a fine idea to be sure, it will not be a simple task to fetch Bilbo from his home,” Ori stated timidly.

“Aye,” began Dwalin, “The wizard comes and goes as he pleases, he won’t be much help to us for this.”

“Perhaps we can send a party to fetch Bilbo. There are many in the company who would be happy to go visit the lad,” Balin offered.

Dís shook her head dismissively, “They would never get here in time for Durin’s Day. It took my caravan nearly five months to arrive and we stopped little. He would need to leave very soon to arrive on time.”

Bofur’s determined face relaxed as an idea came to mind. He put on his usual smirk and looked around at the dwarves around the fire, “I think I know someone who might be willing to help us, for a price anyway.”

Dís eyed him curiously but had no problem paying someone to help fetch the hobbit. The others all seemed keen to listen as well.

Bofur twirled his mustache, his smile not faltering, “It’s about time she came home anyway. How fast can a raven get to Bree?”