Loving Gin

One year after the Battle of the Five Armies

The processional slowly made its way up the long gangway. The guards at the entrance relaxed a bit when they realized it was a group of travel-weary dwarves, fellow brethren, kinsmen, most likely, rising from the ashes of Dale. It occurred to them to wonder and ask about the wagon they pulled behind them. As they drew closer and the wind blew the hood from the shortest one leading in the front, the captain of the guard recognized the dwarf, shock, dismay in his eyes. He turned to the dwarf next to him, a young dwarf, barely bearded.

"Go," he whispered urgently. "Go quickly to King Dain. 'Tis Dís, Thorin Oakenshield's sister."



Dain Ironfoot refused to sit the throne in his kinswoman's presence. He was well aware that the only reason why he sat the throne was through the death of her brother and only two sons and he felt it rude to make much of it and to rub it in her face. So there were no stately robes or armor or jeweled crown to show his authority; simply two dwarves, kin, at the bottom of the stairs.

"I dinna know if I kin allow yew t'do this."

"I do not ask your permission."

Dain winced. Dís had her brother's bearing, his coloring. Aye, her features were softer; she was considered to have been a great beauty among the Dwarves in her younger years, but time and death and war had taken its toll on her, and the truth was, Dain was willing to allow her desire. She was hard as granite and considering the Dwarf who stood next to her, still as hard and tough as Dain remembered him; no doubt the small entourage would be difficult to stop if anyone tried to stop them. It would cause an uproar and a sharp division and most likely revolt between the Erebor Dwarves and their Blue Mountain brethren.

"How long 'ave ye been travelin', Dís?"

She sighed and, in her silence, her bodyguard spoke. "Almost a year. We 'ave avoided the shadow, 'ave taken th' Old Forest Road of Mirkwood. We were snowed in at the High Pass of the Misty Mountains for some weeks." Dwalin's voice was still a deep rumble, respected even by those who only knew him by reputation.

The King Under the Mountain's face softened in understanding. "Yew are tired. Please, take food an, rest wit' us. We kin discuss-"

"There is nothing to discuss." Dís's voice was strong, despite her obvious exhaustion. "Long ago, I made my brother a promise. I have come to honor that promise and keep it." Now her head dropped. "I do not intend to spend more than one night in this place." Slowly, her eyes rose, taking in the rebuilt splendor of her childhood home. "This place has cost me dear, the lives of my ancestors, my brothers..." she drifted off, breathing deep before she continued, "... my sons." She turned and addressed Dwalin. "The walls haunt me, taunt me with its ugly reality. Truthfully, I do not wish to stay even this night. We will sleep in Dale."

"Dís," Dain leaned forward, his voice low, "please. Dale is unsafe an' unprotected."

"Over the past year, I have spent the night in less savory conditions," she spat.

"Dís," Dwalin's voice was now lower, cajoling even. "Please. I beg you reconsider. Accept his hospitality."

Dís closed her eyes and thought for some moments, those in the cavern silent, waiting with held breath, before she reluctantly nodded.

"Three nights."

Now she looked at him in anger. "I do not wish to be here."

"I know. You are only here to honor the wishes of your brother. I know what a hardship this has been for you." With a tenderness no one would or could suspect, the warrior reached out and touched her chin, gently ruffling the fine down of her beard. "You are tired. This has been a long journey." Although he continued to face her, his eyes darted to Dain. "Staying with Balin in Moria was difficult. You are grieving. Let us grieve with you. The King will grant your request. He will not deny you."

Dain attempted to continue to plead with her. Her request, while not unusual, had political insinuations and could cause a small scandal, something he knew Thorin, while living, could care less about. "Come, lass, eat. We will 'ave a banquet, a gwiil, food an' drink. We will rejoice in yer return, albeit temporary, to yer 'ome. We will sing, bring our instruments-"

"We will do this first. I will not be dissuaded nor put off." For a few moments, Dain and Dís stared at each other, as if to see who would submit. "Please. While I still have the strength."

Dain submitted.

He dropped his head and sighed. "No one is t' speak o' this. It'll no' be noted inna annals, histories, or sung in our songs. If anyone comes-"

"If anyone comes, they will find the vault of Thorin Oakenshield, the greatest Dwarf warrior of our Age and King under the Mountain. They will find the tombs of his nephews, Fili and Kili, who died bravely and honorably at his side, defending him, their home. They may still lay their wreaths of honor on their tombs and never know that nothing is inside."

Dain closed his eyes in defeat. "Which fired forge would you use?"

When he opened his eyes and saw Dís's face, he stepped back in fear. "None of them. Take me into the depths of the mountain, to Mahal's Forge; down where the heart of fire flows."



Thorin and his nephews had been laid to rest, deep within the mountain. It took some time for the group to reach it; Thorin's sister moved slowly and several dwarves carried the boxes that the wagon they had with them. It was an arduous journey down the carved steps and into the burial chamber. The first thing Thorin's sister did upon reaching the floor, was to walk with such grace to the tombs of her sons, it took Dain's and Dwalin's breath away. She stood between them, one hand laid on each, her head bowed.

Whispering.

Dain cleared his throat. "Perhaps, yew would like this day t' mourn yer loved ones an' dew this thin' tomorrow. Or perhaps, yew would simply prefer t'simply put Gin inna tomb wit' Thorin-"

"He asked me to send him and Gin into the fires of the mountain together." Dis's voice was low, terse. It had the authority of her brother's. "No. He told me... ordered me to send them to the fires of the mountain together. They have been apart too long and I will send them together to the Halls that Mahal has prepared for our brethren." Her fingers spread, clutched at the lids of her son's tombs. "And that is what I will do. Fili and Kili also." She turned, the gray streaks in her dark hair shining in the torch light. "They would hate to be left here alone. They traveled with him, to see this Erebor; he raised them on the stories, the songs of this place. Let them soar to the stars, together."


She dropped her head. "They always did everything together. Let them take this final journey as such." She pulled away from the sepulchers and turned to the males behind her. "Where are the burial shrouds?"

"Dís," Again, Dain attempted to stall her, stop her, anything. "We dinna have the proper tools down here t' remove th' lids."

"We brought them," Dwalin hissed. "We made sure." With that, he pulled the lid from the first box, the skeletal body inside wrapped in an aging burial shroud of Thorin's royal blue standard. He reached into the side and began to pull out crowbars, other tools. "We came prepared for your stalling."

"There should be a proper ceremony-"

"Strange," Dís interrupted. "You said earlier that this was to be done in secret, so no one would know."

Dain knew this was a losing battle. Aye, he could refuse her, refuse The Company; Balin was there, movement as swift and sure as ever as were Oin and Gloin. What looked like Gloin's young son - Gimli? - was also with The Company. All of them who fought Smaug, who survived...

"Balin." Of all of the dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield's Company, this one was the wisest. "'Tis been such a long journey for her."

"For all of us, King Dain." He shook his head. "She is as stubborn as any of that family. Best allow her her grief and her oath." He leaned over to whisper. "I will talk to Dwalin. If any can get her to stay and rest, he can."

There were tools, heavy Dwarven blankets in the second chest. A bag filled with only Dís knew what. Several were at Fili's vault, the lid coming off with a grating screech. Dain flinched at the sound. He knew what Dís was doing; accepted it. Truly, he understood it. Many of his kin preferred this to burial; he himself had given similar instructions to his wife and children. But never had it been done so late after death.

The lid off, Dwalin looked into it. He saw movement from the side of his eyes and he moved to cut her off. "Dís, you do not need to look."

"Aye, I do. He has something I want. All of them do." She stepped up to the opened granite casket, into the face of her first born.

The Elves thought the Dwarves turned to stone upon their death, and while this was not quite true, they did look as if they had for a few years after their death. Fili's body had been cleaned, dressed so his wounds were not so evident. For a moment, Dís caressed the jaw of her son, lost in a time so long ago, before pulling a small knife from her belt. With a precise, swift move, she cut through one of his braids, severing it from the place above his ear. Tucking it into her belt, she smoothed his hair, to cover what she had taken. After looking at him again, her hands moved to the back of his head and removed the beaten hair clasp. She then stepped back and nodded to the males surrounding her.

She watched as they carefully moved the body of her son to the large blanket spread out on the ground. She shook her head negatively when Dwalin removed his swords from the vault, instead, taking one of his smaller knives and motioned for Dwalin to return the others to the burial vault. "Have to leave something, my friend." Once the transfer was complete, she and Balin carefully wrapped the body, but not before she placed something into the roll, tucking it into his coat.

"Dís?"

"Something that belonged to him as a child. He thought it was lucky growing up and decided not to take it on the quest as he was afraid it would be deemed childish." She swallowed a sob. "Perhaps, he should have taken it."

She repeated the ritual with Kili, also taking a lock of hair, his hair clasp, and an arrow. As with Fili, she tucked something in with him as well.

Once the bodies were secure, Gimli took a long coil of rope from the second box. They then secured Fili and Kili above their head and below their feet. When that was completed, Dís rose and approached her brother's tomb.

Dain caught her by the elbow. "Dís. Yew dinna have t'dew this." He drew up, attempting to look menacing. "Yew kin jus' put 'er in wi' 'im!"

"I made him a promise. Yes, I do." She motioned for the third crypt to be opened. Gently, the dwarves removed Orcrist, laid it and the lid on its side, next to the vault. With much purpose in her stride, she stood next to the granite sepulcher and looked in.

"Well, Thorin, you look better than I expected," she snorted humorously. "I love you and I miss you, but damn you, you miserable hrodi-flík, you promised you'd bring them back alive. I shouldn't be here and I'm so mad, I wouldn't do this, but Gin would haunt me to my dying days." The Dwarf sighed heavily. "I fear her more than I fear you." She reached in and like, her sons, she clipped the long braid lying so neatly behind his ear. Unlike her sons, she left the ear cuffs, the hair clasp. When she reached down to his hand, to take his ring, she stopped, eyes opened in shock, the surprise finding Dwalin.

"Wha is it, lass?"

She jerked once, twice... three times, before smiling angrily. As whatever her brother held tight came loose, she then lifted it to the light, inspecting the jewel.

"The world. You destroyed the world for this. This was not worth more than my world." The Arkenstone shone brightly in her hand.

Dain moved forward, held back by Dwalin and Balin. "Lass, ye kinna mean-"

"Oh no," she looked hard at her kinsman. "I mean to leave it here in this empty tomb, where it belongs." She nodded to the sword. "I mean to leave that as well. As you said, no one needs to know. Save us." She then reached back into the coffin and removed her brother's ring, putting it with the jewelry she had removed from her sons in a leather pouch hanging from the belt of her waist.

As they had done with her sons, they removed Thorin from his tomb, laying him on an elaborate blanket, an ornate shroud, Dís had labored over their entire journey. She had made her sons' as well, things of beauty, to be sure, but this one was a mantle fit for a king. When the chore was completed, the dwarves with Dís labored to reseal the tombs, making sure the left behind personal items were put back within, Dain personally making sure The Arkenstone lay in the heart of Thorin's vault. Once they were resealed, Dwalin gently laid Orcrist back on Thorin's lid. It was if the sepulchers had never been disturbed.

With great care, they then opened the wooden casket in which Gin was wrapped. They lifted her, rotting furs and all, the distant memory of her fear of cold reawakened when they unfastened her tomb how many moons ago. During the trip, they debated leaving her in the furs, but the consensus was to unwrap her and Thorin's last little Bug to rest in his embrace one last time.

So they unwrapped the furs, coming down to her linen burial shroud, yet another piece of artwork threaded by Dís. Laying the bag next to Thorin, they sliced it, rent it apart; despite the decomposition of the body, the skeleton still had the long, blonde braids with sapphire beads that she had worn since their marriage and that Thorin personally placed when he prepared her body for burial.

"Ah, she were a wee lass." No one knew or asked Dain if he spoke of Gin or little Bug.

Once all three bodies were placed next to each other, Dwalin and Gloin tied them at head and foot and stepped back as Dís sewed the bag shut. She then sewed her sons as well, a quick whipstitch not meant to last, simply hold together until the shrouds hit the flames. With a nod, all three bags were lifted reverently and taken down further, further, into the mountain, to an open cavern where the heat was so intense, a mere man could not have borne it.

Truth be told, it was difficult for dwarves to bear it, but they could for a time, for this was Mahal's Forge, where the fire and molten lava ran freely, gold and other precious gems, that which made the Durins wealthy beyond belief, was crafted by the Vala for what the dwarves believed was this very purpose.

Dís remembered being here, once, so many decades ago, watching warriors go into the flames after their death. She had been so very young. For a moment, she was lost in the memory...

"Dís? Which one first?"

She appeared lost in thought for a moment. "Both. Fili and Kili. Together." She watched as the Dwarves, Dain included, lifted the two and stepping out onto the ledge heaved the bodies into the molten river.

Neither made it far before a flare leaped from the chasm below, licking the ornate shrouds and setting both aflame. For a moment, the bodies of the two young dwarves were lost, lost in smoke and haze before...

"Kin ye see 'em, lass? Kin ye?" Dain pointed up, a single fire sprite hovering at the top of the cavern, as if waiting...

...where the second sprite joined him. They hovered, played for a moment, before seeming to stare down at the small crowd beneath them.

"I see you, my sons. Go on with you," Dís whispered. "Go wait with your father, your grandfathers. Wait for the time to rebuild Middle Earth as Mahal sees fit." The moment the words left her lips, the two seemingly nodded before rising, finding the vent and escaping into the starlit night.

It took a moment for her to compose herself.

She nodded to the third and final sack. Both Dain and Dwalin did the honors; kin and friend, as it should be. As with her sons, the single sack was thrown into the river, this one dropping below the ledge beyond sight.

There was a hiss when the cloth and bodies met the fire.

The first sprite was tiny, rather small compared to the ones who went before, but quick in its dance. She hovered above those watching, darting playing in the stalactites in the roof of the cavern.

She was waiting, just as she had always waited for him.

Finally a second... slower, heavier flame rose from the depths. Twice, it halted, hung in the air waiting for the spark that followed him to catch up, the patience he so rarely showed, evident now. As this larger sprite rose in the cavern, all watched as this giant spirit reached the one of his wife, watched as he circled her, ensuring it was truly her, and then at the spinning dance the two began, encircling each other until they rolled so fast, there was no way to tell one from the other. The spark joined them at some point, the spinning now dizzying to watch, as it rose, finally lifting through the natural chimney of the mountain and rising out of sight.

There was not a dry eye in the cavern. Not even Dwalin's.

"Dwalin," Dís was beside him, under his protective arm. "They are happy, again, aren't they?"

"Aye, lass. They are together and they are happy."

She sniffed once. "Lay with me tonight. Stay with me. We will comfort each other."

Dwalin stiffened. For many decades, he had loved her, loved her when he left the mountain to work, loved her when she married another, loved her when she bore another's children, loved her when her husband died in a warg raid, loved her as she grieved, loved her as he watched her sons go on the adventure of a lifetime and loved her as he watched them die. For so long, he had waited...

"I will not lay with you one night, Dís," he whispered. "I will lay with you for as long as you and I live or I'll not lay with you at all." He looked down at her. "I will have all of you or none of you."

Dís seemed to weigh his words. "Shall we do this officially? The only ring I have is Thorin's."

"That will do fer now. I slid Gin's from her hand when we removed her body. When we return, we will have our own rings made and put these away."

"And thank them for the loan," Dís finished with a smile.

"I dinna think they would mind." Taking her by the hand and kissing her forehead, Dwalin looked up, finding Dain. Getting his attention, Dwalin spoke up loudly, enough to be heard through the roar of the fire. "So Dain, do yer hospitality and gwiil include a sword and a broom?"

Dain began to laugh, starting with a low chuckle and building up to a dwarven roar. As he walked by the now empty granite coffins, he snatched Orcrist from the lid. "C'mon laddie. We'll bring it back eventually."

fini

Begun 10/08/13
Fini 02/11/14

hrodi-flík - snot rag

Translators used:

http://elanthipedia.org/w/index.php/Dwarven_Dictionary,_Common_to_Haakish_%28book%29

http://www.vikingsofbjornstad.com/Old_Norse_Dictionary_E2N.shtm#c