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windemereDisclaimer: I’m pretty sure this one is entirely Tolkien’s.
AN: I seem to be fated to write a lot of Dis-fic. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but honestly, this is a bit much! However, this missing story bugged me.
According to records, when the survivors of Erebor fled to safety it was Thror and Thrain who first led them to the hills in Dunland. At the time there were not many people living in this area and those that were were hardy folk, no doubt because there were so close to the orc-infested regions of the Misty Mountains. It was only after the Battle of Azanulbizar, when Thrain and Thorin returned to Dunland, they led their people to the Ered Luin, seeking to find a home further away from Moria and the death they had witnessed there (specifically Thror’s). They settled in the old abandoned dwarven mines that littered those mountains and finally began to prosper for the first time since they had left Erebor. It was then, supposedly that dwarves started to be born again (Fili, Kili, Gimli, Ori, etc.).
Thrain’s daughter is not in the mountain when the fire drake comes. She is in a conclave with the women of Dale who meet each season to discuss the issues that pertain to the womenfolk of Dale and Erebor. Dis enjoys these meetings. She has few responsibilities outside the mountain. Thorin is heir to the throne, not she, and so her time is better spent at things other than playing at ruling. She is too young yet for there to be a need for her to wed, so she spends her days in what pursuits she can, for the betterment of the women of Erebor and of Dale.
They hear the thunder outside first and the winds that race across the roof of the council house are stronger than anything nature can produce. They can have storms that rage for days in these northern lands, but nothing such as this. Dis and the other women – both dwarven and human – race to the window to see. From there, they see the fire that comes across the forest between Erebor and Dale. They see the dragon approach.
Most of the women panic. But Dis is a daughter of Durin’s House and she does not panic. Not even when faced with a dragon. She does not consider what is to come. She considers only safety and the women around her.
They do not have much time, as it happens, to find that safety. Half the city seems to be on fire already and the dragon has focused his ire on them, for now at least. Dis can hear the shudders of buildings collapsing as she herds the womenfolk down from the high room to the cellar levels below. There are already many others there seeking shelter. Above them, a storm is raging and Dis wishes for nothing more than a sword and a chance, but that is not her duty. Not against a fire drake from the north.
Instead, they pass the next hours huddled in a room that may collapse at any moment, until finally the noise eases outside. In the minutes that follow, the silence is almost as deafening. Slowly the survivors emerge into air that is chocked with dust and ash to find Dale in utter ruins. Dis cannot see a single building still standing.
The mayor of the city has come to what is left of the council building, seeking his wife who was huddled below with Dis.
‘We must leave. The dragon may return. We must leave this place.’
‘Where?’ his wife asks, shaking.
‘South,’ he says, his eyes betraying his fear. ‘We will go south.’
Dis cannot go south.
‘What of Erebor?’ she asks aloud, her voice stronger than she thought possible.
The man looks at her and she can see the tear tracks that spill down his face through the soot and dust that layers his skin. ‘The dragon went to the mountain when he finished with us. He has gone inside.’
Dis’ heart stops. Suddenly there is no air or sound or anything she needs to live. Her world is gone.
‘My people?’ she manages to ask.
The mayor approaches her slowly. ‘There are already dwarves at our north gate. Perhaps some of your people escaped.’
Dis does not spare another moment to consider this. She clutches her skirts about her and races through the ruins of the city, hurtling over fallen rubble and people, towards the gate. In the distance she can see the gates of Erebor. Except there are no gates any longer.
The mayor was correct. There are dwarves clustered around the still hanging north entrance to Dale. Dozens, perhaps; maybe a hundred. They look as shocked and frightened as Dis is in her heart. She searches frantically through the crowd until – finally – she hears her name called above the noise and confusion.
‘Dis!’ Thorin’s voice rings clear behind her and she turns to find him standing a dozen paces away. Beside him, their father leans his weight on his son. Behind them, sitting propped against a fallen wall is what remains of Thror with Frerin crouched beside him. Dis cannot even conceive of how to deal with her grandfather right now, so she walks calmly to her oldest brother and father and wraps her arms around them.
She lifts her eyes to Thorin’s and asks the silent question she cannot find the words for. She has never seen him so grieved. So frail looking. ‘Erebor is gone. The dragon has claimed it.’
She knew the answer already. Instead, she clutches her kin to her because they are all she has left. ‘Where will we go?’
Thrain looks as stricken as his children, but he is already mustering himself. Already taking control. ‘We will find a new home, daughter. A home safe from creatures of the dark days. We will start anew.’
It will not be that easy, Dis knows. She can see the same knowledge in Thorin’s eyes. Together they look to the huddled form of Thror. He is a king no longer. Now he is just a frail old dwarf, half-mad with lust for gold that is no longer theirs to treasure. Wherever they will go, Thror will never be the same. And he will never be able to lead them again.
Thrain already knows this. Dis draws herself away from her brother and father and takes a deep breath. They need to count the survivors. To gather what food and supplies they can before they leave. The people of Dale will be leaving too. It is best not to remain so close to a mountain inhabited by a dragon. He might stir again at any time. Food, water, supplies. Dis focuses on the necessities.
‘Are there any others? Did anyone else escape?’ she asks.
Thrain shakes his head. ‘This is all there is.’
Dis looks around her at the huddled masses. She miscounted before. There are, perhaps, nearly two hundred dwarves clustered around the gate. Two hundred out of the thousands that dwelt in Erebor. Two hundred to start again in a new home.
They will manage.
‘I will see what supplies can be gathered. We cannot start today, it is already too late. But on the morn, we must leave. You must decide a place, father.’
Thrain nods. ‘West. We must go west.’
‘But surely the Iron Hills would be better –’ Frerin begins to argue as he approaches from behind. Thorin nods in agreement.
‘No.’ Thrain looks about them again. ‘No, we must make a new home. The dwarves of the Iron Hills may be our kin but they are not of us. We must find a new place. There are mountains enough to the west, to the south perhaps where it is warmer. Far from the northern lands of goblins and trolls and dragons. We will find somewhere to start again. Somewhere to be safe.’
Dis does not think that will be possible, but she does not argue. She agrees that they cannot go east to the Iron Hills. The dwarves there will not receive them, of that she is certain. Not with summer passing and winter coming on. They will be hard hit themselves by the loss of Erebor and the trade routes, especially with Dale. The city of men supplied both dwarven lands with much of their food resources. The Iron Hills can hold no more dwarves this year.
‘I will send a messenger to Hein, to tell him what has happened. But the rest of us must leave in the morning. We will make around the Greenwood, to the south to avoid the elves,’ Thorin announces.
‘Why?’ Dis blurts out.
The look on Thorin’s face is indescribable. He looks ready to kill as he mutters, ‘the elves refused to come to our aid. They have fled and left us to die. We will find no help from them.’
Dis does not argue. She cannot possibly think what to say to the look on his face. And Thrain makes no word of protest at this decision. They will have to take the southern roads around the Greenwood then, to avoid the elven kingdoms and cross south of the Misty Mountains. Perhaps that is what Thrain already intends. It is not Dis’ duty to decide these matters. She knows what she must do in the coming months of hard travel. She will see to the food and supplies and organise the survivors as best she can. And when they reach their new home, wherever that may be, she will have similar duties. This is the role she was raised to, and it does not change with the location.
Dis will be strong and stubborn and she will see the survivors through the years that are to come. She will stand beside her father and brothers and be a daughter of Durin’s House. As she was born to be.
***
To be finished in Part II
AN: I seem to be fated to write a lot of Dis-fic. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but honestly, this is a bit much! However, this missing story bugged me.
According to records, when the survivors of Erebor fled to safety it was Thror and Thrain who first led them to the hills in Dunland. At the time there were not many people living in this area and those that were were hardy folk, no doubt because there were so close to the orc-infested regions of the Misty Mountains. It was only after the Battle of Azanulbizar, when Thrain and Thorin returned to Dunland, they led their people to the Ered Luin, seeking to find a home further away from Moria and the death they had witnessed there (specifically Thror’s). They settled in the old abandoned dwarven mines that littered those mountains and finally began to prosper for the first time since they had left Erebor. It was then, supposedly that dwarves started to be born again (Fili, Kili, Gimli, Ori, etc.).
Thrain’s daughter is not in the mountain when the fire drake comes. She is in a conclave with the women of Dale who meet each season to discuss the issues that pertain to the womenfolk of Dale and Erebor. Dis enjoys these meetings. She has few responsibilities outside the mountain. Thorin is heir to the throne, not she, and so her time is better spent at things other than playing at ruling. She is too young yet for there to be a need for her to wed, so she spends her days in what pursuits she can, for the betterment of the women of Erebor and of Dale.
They hear the thunder outside first and the winds that race across the roof of the council house are stronger than anything nature can produce. They can have storms that rage for days in these northern lands, but nothing such as this. Dis and the other women – both dwarven and human – race to the window to see. From there, they see the fire that comes across the forest between Erebor and Dale. They see the dragon approach.
Most of the women panic. But Dis is a daughter of Durin’s House and she does not panic. Not even when faced with a dragon. She does not consider what is to come. She considers only safety and the women around her.
They do not have much time, as it happens, to find that safety. Half the city seems to be on fire already and the dragon has focused his ire on them, for now at least. Dis can hear the shudders of buildings collapsing as she herds the womenfolk down from the high room to the cellar levels below. There are already many others there seeking shelter. Above them, a storm is raging and Dis wishes for nothing more than a sword and a chance, but that is not her duty. Not against a fire drake from the north.
Instead, they pass the next hours huddled in a room that may collapse at any moment, until finally the noise eases outside. In the minutes that follow, the silence is almost as deafening. Slowly the survivors emerge into air that is chocked with dust and ash to find Dale in utter ruins. Dis cannot see a single building still standing.
The mayor of the city has come to what is left of the council building, seeking his wife who was huddled below with Dis.
‘We must leave. The dragon may return. We must leave this place.’
‘Where?’ his wife asks, shaking.
‘South,’ he says, his eyes betraying his fear. ‘We will go south.’
Dis cannot go south.
‘What of Erebor?’ she asks aloud, her voice stronger than she thought possible.
The man looks at her and she can see the tear tracks that spill down his face through the soot and dust that layers his skin. ‘The dragon went to the mountain when he finished with us. He has gone inside.’
Dis’ heart stops. Suddenly there is no air or sound or anything she needs to live. Her world is gone.
‘My people?’ she manages to ask.
The mayor approaches her slowly. ‘There are already dwarves at our north gate. Perhaps some of your people escaped.’
Dis does not spare another moment to consider this. She clutches her skirts about her and races through the ruins of the city, hurtling over fallen rubble and people, towards the gate. In the distance she can see the gates of Erebor. Except there are no gates any longer.
The mayor was correct. There are dwarves clustered around the still hanging north entrance to Dale. Dozens, perhaps; maybe a hundred. They look as shocked and frightened as Dis is in her heart. She searches frantically through the crowd until – finally – she hears her name called above the noise and confusion.
‘Dis!’ Thorin’s voice rings clear behind her and she turns to find him standing a dozen paces away. Beside him, their father leans his weight on his son. Behind them, sitting propped against a fallen wall is what remains of Thror with Frerin crouched beside him. Dis cannot even conceive of how to deal with her grandfather right now, so she walks calmly to her oldest brother and father and wraps her arms around them.
She lifts her eyes to Thorin’s and asks the silent question she cannot find the words for. She has never seen him so grieved. So frail looking. ‘Erebor is gone. The dragon has claimed it.’
She knew the answer already. Instead, she clutches her kin to her because they are all she has left. ‘Where will we go?’
Thrain looks as stricken as his children, but he is already mustering himself. Already taking control. ‘We will find a new home, daughter. A home safe from creatures of the dark days. We will start anew.’
It will not be that easy, Dis knows. She can see the same knowledge in Thorin’s eyes. Together they look to the huddled form of Thror. He is a king no longer. Now he is just a frail old dwarf, half-mad with lust for gold that is no longer theirs to treasure. Wherever they will go, Thror will never be the same. And he will never be able to lead them again.
Thrain already knows this. Dis draws herself away from her brother and father and takes a deep breath. They need to count the survivors. To gather what food and supplies they can before they leave. The people of Dale will be leaving too. It is best not to remain so close to a mountain inhabited by a dragon. He might stir again at any time. Food, water, supplies. Dis focuses on the necessities.
‘Are there any others? Did anyone else escape?’ she asks.
Thrain shakes his head. ‘This is all there is.’
Dis looks around her at the huddled masses. She miscounted before. There are, perhaps, nearly two hundred dwarves clustered around the gate. Two hundred out of the thousands that dwelt in Erebor. Two hundred to start again in a new home.
They will manage.
‘I will see what supplies can be gathered. We cannot start today, it is already too late. But on the morn, we must leave. You must decide a place, father.’
Thrain nods. ‘West. We must go west.’
‘But surely the Iron Hills would be better –’ Frerin begins to argue as he approaches from behind. Thorin nods in agreement.
‘No.’ Thrain looks about them again. ‘No, we must make a new home. The dwarves of the Iron Hills may be our kin but they are not of us. We must find a new place. There are mountains enough to the west, to the south perhaps where it is warmer. Far from the northern lands of goblins and trolls and dragons. We will find somewhere to start again. Somewhere to be safe.’
Dis does not think that will be possible, but she does not argue. She agrees that they cannot go east to the Iron Hills. The dwarves there will not receive them, of that she is certain. Not with summer passing and winter coming on. They will be hard hit themselves by the loss of Erebor and the trade routes, especially with Dale. The city of men supplied both dwarven lands with much of their food resources. The Iron Hills can hold no more dwarves this year.
‘I will send a messenger to Hein, to tell him what has happened. But the rest of us must leave in the morning. We will make around the Greenwood, to the south to avoid the elves,’ Thorin announces.
‘Why?’ Dis blurts out.
The look on Thorin’s face is indescribable. He looks ready to kill as he mutters, ‘the elves refused to come to our aid. They have fled and left us to die. We will find no help from them.’
Dis does not argue. She cannot possibly think what to say to the look on his face. And Thrain makes no word of protest at this decision. They will have to take the southern roads around the Greenwood then, to avoid the elven kingdoms and cross south of the Misty Mountains. Perhaps that is what Thrain already intends. It is not Dis’ duty to decide these matters. She knows what she must do in the coming months of hard travel. She will see to the food and supplies and organise the survivors as best she can. And when they reach their new home, wherever that may be, she will have similar duties. This is the role she was raised to, and it does not change with the location.
Dis will be strong and stubborn and she will see the survivors through the years that are to come. She will stand beside her father and brothers and be a daughter of Durin’s House. As she was born to be.
***
To be finished in Part II
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