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

20

Three days later Balin met Ori in the dining hall of the main kitchen where the companions who did not eat at home had a regulars' table and met there around noon. Balin hat already eaten but he wanted to talk to Ori briefly before he returned to the library in the afternoon. Balin got himself a cup of tea and sat down beside him.

"How is he?", Ori asked and it was apparent that he meant Thorin.

"Unchanged. He won't get out of bed, does not eat and throws out everybody trying to talk to him", Balin sighed.

Ori shook his head thoughtfully.

"Odd. At the ceremony in Dale I had the impression he kind of accepted how things went", he said softly.

"Well. He must have taken it harder than we all thought. But things can not go on like this. He needs to get back on his feet now. The preparations for his bond ceremony must start. I can not decide everything myself. The invitations have been sent for weeks! It is almost like after the battle when he found out about the boys' death. But even Dwalin could not achieve anything this time", Balin replied.

"Should maybe Dís...?", Ori began.

"By no means!", Balin interrupted.

Oin, Bofur and Nori arrived and later Bombur sat down with them too. They all deliberated once more while they ate and once more came to no solution. Balin stroked his beard and sighed.

"I am honestly at a loss", he admitted.

That evening Dwin came home, washed herself and changed clothes. Finn had done the grocery shopping, housework and laundry and called it a day then. Dwin cooked a large pot of chicken soup. At dinner they spoke yet again of the king's gloom.

"I could go up to him with the rest of the soup. Maybe he'll eat a little at least if I ask him to", Dwin suggested.

"But you won't go alone!", Dwalin objected sternly.

"Yes, you should accompany her. But this is perhaps not a bad idea", Balin said thoughtfully.

So Dwin warmed up the rest of the soup, packed the pot together with bowl, spoon, ladle and a couple of slices of bread in her basket and the two went upstairs. The guards at the entrance let them pass without difficulty of course but Thorin's valet had strict instructions not to let anyone in.

Dwalin pushed him out of the way, knocked once and stepped in without waiting for an answer. He led Dwin through the empty reception room. The bedroom door was half open. The king lay stretched out in his battered bed and slept. It was stuffy and the air was bad. For days the ventilation pipes had obviously not been opened. Dwin stepped closer. The king's face was slightly reddened and sweaty. Following a first impulse, she felt the urge to feel his forehead for fever, but she pulled back her hand. It would hardly be appropriate to touch the king like that. In the meantime Dwalin had opened the ventilation over a winch system and a cool, fresh stream of air swept through the room, accompanied by a soft swishing sound.

The king stirred and looked at them glassy-eyed. Knitting his brows he groaned but was not awake enough to send them out right away.

Next to his bed stood an empty mug and an almost empty jug of stale beer. Dwin took both, went to the bathroom and poured out the rests. She rinsed mug and jug, filled in fresh, cool water and put them back on the king's night stand. Thorin was halfway awake now.

"What do you think you're doing? Get out of here!", he murmured reproachfully.

"Forget it! First you will eat something. Dwin has brought you something", Dwalin growled.