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Chapter Text

Dís can still remember her first raven.

She remembers how tightly she gripped Frerin’s hand as they followed Thorin up, up, up the stairs to the Raven House. Dís could hear the squawking and cawing of the birds, but she didn’t yet know what they meant. She had to be a little bit older before she began that area of her studies. The smell of feathers, nesting, and the old meat the birds had brought to feed on was strong but not unbearable.

And soon enough they reached the top and Dís saw the countless birds. A sea of black hopping, flying, fluttering, and shuffling along the ground was everywhere she looked. She grew a face splitting grin and looked up at both of her brothers, who had their own birds come to greet them. Thorin’s landed gracefully on his shoulder, nuzzling his cheek affectionately. While Frerin’s fledgling landed on top of his head and began picking at his hair as if he were searching for something. Her brother laughed at this, letting go of her hand to move it up to offer the bird another place to perch.

Thorin picked Dís up and carried her to the center of the Raven House, where a group of keepers looked over a dwarven made nest that housed orphans, injured, and abandoned chicks. From this group, Dís would pick a bird to be hers.

Durin the Deathless had learned to speak to Raven and then taught his descendants, leading all the way to Dís and her brothers.The birds could carry messages, scout for danger, and the wisest and the oldest of birds could offer council. Ravens were sacred birds to all dwarves, but particularly in Erebor. It was said that a raven was what led Thorin I to the Lonely Mountain, and as long as the ravens thrived in the mountain, so too, would Durin's Folk. Thrór saw it fitting that each of his grandchild have one of the birds, so they too could grow and thrive like the prosperity of the Eastern Kingdom.

Thorin set Dís back down on the step in front of the nest. Even still she had to stand on her tiptoes to look over the edge. "Choose carefully. Which ever one you pick will be with you for a long time."

"Really?"

Thorin opened his mouth to answer, but then his own raven yanked on a strand of his hair begging for attention, and he smiled and and stroked the birds head affectionately, and replied, "Truly."

Dís looked back to the birds. She saw two and a half dozen chicks, all in various growing seasons. Some were a mix of fluffy down and adult black feathers, and others were tiny puffs of gray-white fuzz. All of them were very sweet and cute looking, but none of them caught Dís' attention. She looked around again.

Off on the very far side of the nest was a very tiny chick with ashy, patchy downy feathers and black eyes that seemed too big for its head. She did not look as soft and fluffy as the others and was quite ugly, if not off-putting to look at. The chick tried to take a step forward and then fell on her face before getting back up, blinking slowly.

Dís moved to the other side of the nest and reached in to scoop the chick up in her hands. The chick shook herself and turned to look at Dís and blinked slowly. She cocked her head to the side and blinked slowly. A moment later the chicken rubbed her head against the palm of her hand.

With a toothy grin Dís turned to look at her brothers and said, “I want this one!”

Frerin and Thorin looked at each other for a moment before turning back to Dís.

“Are you sure?” Thorin asked.

Dís nodded and looked down at the bird again, “I’m going to take care of you now, and when you’re big, we’ll do all sorts of fun stuff! Like finding treasure in the woods, or sending secret messages around the palaces, and I’ll even teach you how to sing if you wanna! How would you like that?”

The tiny creature blinked up at Dís before letting out a “SQUAWK!” that was almost too large of a sound for a chick that small. She giggled and took that as a yes.

Dís named her Onyx, and she continued to be ugly and odd-looking for a long while. Her mother and father had tried to convince her countless times to leave Onyx in the Raven House that there were keepers designed to watch after orphaned chicks to ensure that they made it to be strong and healthy, and she didn't need to have the chick in her room with her. In fact, Dís was far too young to be looking after a raven that young all the time without help, so it was best that Onxy stayed near Ravenhill. Dís protested this notion often and loudly, and there was more than one occasion where a guard or a nurse had found her trying to sneak off to the Raven House or finding Onyx tucked in a nest of blankets on the vanity in Dís room. After trying to hide the raven chick in her own hair after a visit, there should have been some sort of consequence or line her parents had drawn, but her grandfather had been charmed by Dís love for the little bird and had a very opulent birdhouse build for her so that Onyx could stay with, and assigned one of the raven keepers to be nearby as well.

Not long after this, Onyx had begun to learn how to fly, at first haphazardly hovering only a few inches off the ground before landing back down, but it wasn't long until she could hop off of the wardrobe in Dís room and then gently glide down and flap back up again. Soon after that, Dís began her lessons in understanding the raven language and she began using it to speak with Onyx, also teaching the bird a few tricks like how to fetch a hairpin for her or how to spy on other people.

Such as one day Thorin and Frerin were being rotten brothers refusing to take her with them to the library. Saying that what they were doing was too important, and she was too little for her to join them. Dís was enraged by this, but no matter how hard she kicked and screamed, her brothers left her at home and she decided that this would not do, and she called Onyx to her.

"Go in following them, would you please?"

"And do what?" the raven squawked back, hopping from side to side on the floor in font of her .

"See what they are doing. They might not bring me but I'm going to know what they're up to."

Onyx cawed again and bobbed her head, (closest she could getting to nodding her head,) and flapped her wing and took of down the halls.

An hour or so later Onyx returned and Dís gave her a cube of meat for her troubles and rest for a moment.

"What are they doing?" Dís whispered.

Onyx cawed before saying, "Woods. I followed them to the woods."

Dís' brows furrowed. The woods were very much not the library, and she wondered when in the morning they would have the time to asking if they could have a guard to accompany them to the woods. Then it dawned on her that they couldn't have, and with out one Mother would have never agreed to let them go alone. Meaning they had to have snuck out of the mountain. And then a very wicked grin spread across her face and she raced back to the royal chamber Onyx resting on her shoulder cawing in delight.

When Thorin and Frerin returned for their adventure, Frís was waiting for them, arms crossed and scowl on her face. And as they tripped over their words trying to explain what they were doing and wondering how she found out, Dís ran off to her room giggling. Onyx flapping behind her and her caw like a laugh of her own.

Chapter Text

Despite what men and elves thought, Dwarrowdams were allowed to learn to fight. Any dwarf who wished to master the craft of combat was allowed to. Gender had no impact on that. In fact, every child was given some knowledge on how to defend themselves with some type of weapon, even if it was only very small and limited. Depending on whether or not you had more noble blood, your chances of knowing far more combat skills from a younger age would increase. Since the time she was old enough to be interested in learning and could hold up a sword properly, Dís was trained just like her brothers. So no, the issue was not dams and girls knowing how to fight. The issues came to death.

Dwarfs capable of giving birth were incredibly rare. The birth of children were equally rare. It was believed the more a person who could carry children was closer to death, the less likely it became for them to foster and forge life. Because of this, there were countless superstitions about carriers going to war or engaging in deadly conflict. You could know how to fight and become a master of your skill, but you were not encouraged to seek out conflict. Dwarven Princesses were borderline forbade. Dwarven Princesses who were the last of their line able to birther children were completely forbade.

This infuriated Dís.

It was a walking contradiction. Being the daughter of a prince and the granddaughter of a king made her a symbol of protection, why shouldn't be in the field with an axe in one hand a shield in the other, just like Dwalin, just like her brothers? Because one day it made be hard for the Maker to grant her children?

"What is the fear for future children if we do not survive the wilds now?" she had argued countless times, "Would we not fair better with every fighting dwarf doing just that? Fighting."

These pleads always feel on deaf ears, and were met with sympathetic looks from her brothers and cousins, which she hated. She had wished that the Maker had given them wombs for a day and see how they like being forced to be helpless over it. Then perhaps she'd have there support instead of there pity, which was worthless.

What good was a sword in you hand if you couldn't use it? How was she to be shield to her people like Frerin and Thorin is she was to stay safe and hidden?

When the first whispered of attempting to retake Moria arose, she had first gone to her father. As Dís began to question Thráin all her said was, "You are not coming."

Dís' jaw was set hard, "Why because of some child that does not exist?"

"It's more then that," her father said, "You do not have the experience in combat that your brothers had to let you come."

"Whose choice was that?" she asked, bitterly.

He looked at her, any anger kept hidden from his face, before her said, "You are not coming. Do not fight me with this."

What good was training if you could not go to war with your people?

Dís had still tried to get her father to change his mind. Her brothers were no help, also thinking that Dís was too inexperienced and too young to be going, ignoring the fact that they themselves weren't even adults yet and getting ready to go off into a war that there was no guarantee that they could win. This wasn't even about fairness anymore or what made the most sense to protect their people. She needed to go to know that she could do everything in her power to keep them safe. It wasn't just her father and grandfather going. It would be Frerin, and Thorin, and Dwalin and every other member of her kin. Even the ones from the Iron Hills. Dain, who was younger than she was, would be going and she was expected to stay and do nothing.

It was all too much. The night before they were all to leave, Dís found she couldn't take it. Still in her night clothes she raced across the encampment and burst in to her Grandfather tent, ignoring that he was in a council with his advisors. She had begged at the feet of her grandfather to be taken with to battle at Moria, she had pleaded that is was her duty to do so and fight along side them.

"Don't deny me this," Dís had said, tears in her eyes, "Or at the very least not not send my brothers where I can not follow. Grandfather please."

Thrór had only looked at her with the same weary eyes that he had since the fall of Erebor, he hand gently tilled her face up to look her more and stroked a tear away with his thumb before he said, "Someone must stay with our people here."

And then they left. Her father, grandfather, and brothers all gone who Mahal only knows how long.

And only Thorin returned to her.

What good was it to be a warrior if you could not defend your own kin?

They began moving further west. The promise of Ered Luin being their last sliver of hope. Dís spent most day with her head down and her hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

"It's just us, you people grow weary, and fewer," Thorin had said one night, as they reach closer and closer to Ered Luin, "If you see trouble, you must promise me you will not throw yourself head first into it. We can afford anymore loss, namad."

"I can fight," she tried.

"Promise me."

Dís sighed and looked a head.

What was there for her to even face in this part of the West?

An Orc raid apparently.

She had been scouting a head and when she had stumbled upon them. The first to see her had fired an arrow towards her and Dís was able to throw an knife just hard enough and quick enough that it embedded in the orcs face as it fell to the ground while the other two charged.

Dís was able to duck her head just in time to avoid an axe coming. Said axe was then sit in a tree and while it's owner was build Dís ran her own blade threw the filth's throat.

Just as she looked up, something knocked her back, and she felt a sharp pain rip across the bridge of her nose and across her left cheek, and she felt something warm. Blood dripped on to her hands as she pushed herself back up, sword gripped in both hands and the orc ran towards her blade raised high.

Dís let out a rageful cry and swung.

The orcs head feel from it's shoulders.

The was quiet finally. Dís could feel the blood running down her face and getting into her hair and beard. Her should was cut too, thought she didn't know when that happened. Her stomach churned at the sight of the orcs bodies. They were foul and harsh to look at alive, let alone butchered like this. It then dawned on her that there could be more of them out in the wood and she had to get back and warn everyone.

She had trouble not tripping over her own feet and it felt like there was a ringing in her ears. Every last bit of her strength was used to push her forwards.

Then she saw the outskirts of the caravan and called out "Help!"

A group dwarves looked up in horror, "Princess?"

"Orcs!" she said, "Three of them dead, I don't know if their is more."

Two guards from the group gripped there axes and ran off in the direction Dís came from. Dís blinked rapidly as she watched them, and then things began to tilt and she rubbed her face only to find her hand covered with blood, and she remembered she was bleeding.

"Can I get a medic?" she asked, before her knees gave out and her vision got blurry.

Óin spends the next two hours scolding Dís, while trying to stop all the bleeding and then stitching her up. She tries very hard not to snap back or argue with him. At the same time the poppy milk she was given for the pain made her face numb, so talking was hard, let alone yelling.

"It'll scar," Óin said, washing his hand clean of blood, "We'll need to watch you to make sure it doesn't get infected. You're lucky not to have died."

"What was I supposed to do?" she finally asked looking up, "Run away?"

"So you could get help? Yes, that would have been smarter. What were you doing looking a head anyway? We had people for that."

Dís didn't answer and just crossed her arms. The healer gathered up the rest of his things, mutter under his breath has he left the tent and Thorin came in. Wonderful, just what Dís wanted to deal with.

The two stared at each other for long, quite minute, before Thorin tilted her face up to see her injury in a better lighting. She wanted to bat his hand away and tell him not to do that, but she didn't have it in her at the moment to fight. She looked at him, he was troubled and dirty and blood smudged his own hands, there must have been more orcs then.

She waited for the chastising, for the yelling, and throwing a fit that Thorin was bound to do but it never came.

Instead Thorin grabbed Dís by the back of the head and gently pressed their foreheads together.

"I should kill you, so scaring me," he said, "You stupid creature."

"If I had ran I could have died," she said quietly, "If I hadn't gone ahead..."

"You did good today. You were incredible stupid but you did good."

He let her go and once more more he lifted her face up towards him and and while he still looked troubled, he then laughed quietly.

"The mark of a warrior," he said.

Dís smiled. She supposed it was.