Where she is right - The story of Dís, daughter of kings.

1

Each time Oin checked on Thorin's lung later he was astonished again that the king had actually survived the heavy blow. His will to live had been irrepressible. At least as long as the fact could be withheld from him that Fíli and Kíli had been killed in battle. After the king learned the truth about his nephews' death he seemed to have aged for years. He had been lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling altogether unresponsive. Balin had taken over the most urgent of the king's duties and had no difficulties acting for him. His reputation and loyalty were known and everybody had complied with his orders. He had also prepared the ceremony for laying to rest Fíli and Kíli in the royal crypt. But the set day approached and the king did not seem to be willing and able to fulfil his duty as their next of kin. Balin had talked in vain to Thorin insistingly. Finally, following a sudden inspiration, he had sent in Dwalin.

The thick stonewalls and heavy wooden doors somewhat muffled the turmoil in Thorin's quarters but it could not be missed that Dwalin bawled at the king sharply. In response the angry roar of the king was heard. Back and forth the yelling went. Balin was just about to regret having asked for Dwalin's assistance when all of a sudden everything went quiet inside. An hour later the doors opened and they both stepped out. Badly shaken as it seemed. Dishevelled hair and bruised lips. Dwalin's left eye was about to swell and turn black and Thorin's one ear was torn and bleeding badly. But the king had finally gotten up and was dressed and they made their way together down to the steam baths as if nothing had happened. They spend two hours in the hot bath, had a massage and a rubdown with rough sponges to finally relax with a mug of beer in the warm water.

Thorin took a big gulp, rested his head on the edge of the basin and closed his eyes.

"Mahal, I guess I needed that", he murmured.

"My pleasure any time", Dwalin groaned, cooling his swollen eye with the mug.

"I want you to go and pick up Dís", Thorin said unexpectedly.

"Only if Balin comes with me and does the talking. Or I'll be looking worse than now afterwards", Dwalin grumbled in reply.

"Very probable", the king sighed and submerged under water.

Subsequently Thorin had led the funeral ceremony for Fíli and Kíli exemplary. Balin had ordered the making of two beautiful stone coffins bearing the brothers' images in masterfully crafted reliefs. The stonemasons worked with drawings Ori had made of the brothers.

Both heavy coffins stood side by side in the royal crypt and the images on it were facing each other. So it seemed as if Fíli and Kíli looked at each other even in death. Balin had chosen the unusual portrayal to show the closeness of the two brothers, praying that Thorin would agree with this. On the eve of the ceremony they both went down slowly to the crypt together. Up until this day Thorin had avoided this. But now he entered the spacious hall and when he first caught sight of the coffins in the soft candlelight his knees almost gave way. He was panting and had to hold on to a pillar. Balin misinterpreted his reaction at first and hastened to assure:

"This can still all be changed. It should only..."

But Thorin silenced him with a gesture without looking at him and motioned him to leave. Balin sighed, left the chamber and as he was about to close the door behind him he saw the king kneeling between the coffins with his head drooping and his shoulders quivering.

Thorin had then taken over all of his duties again. And if he had been already strict in the past it was nothing to his nowadays rigour and intransigence. And strictest of all he was against himself. He allowed himself no break and hardly any rest. He was the first one rising in the morning and the last one to go to bed in the evening. And only then was he exhausted enough to fall into a dreamless uneasy sleep eventually.