Fic: On Her Shoulders
Closer to what I've been meaning to write, so progress? I'm calling it progress!
On Her Shoulders
The Hobbit (All Media Types, some AU). Dís, Thorin, Dwalin, Nori, Dain Ironfoot. PG-13ish. ~1500 words. Set of ten drabbles.
The good ol' music meme (pick a character, set your music player to shuffle, write for the length of the song and no more, repeat ten times) was prompted over on hobbit_kink, so how could I resist?
The Open Road Song - Eve 6 [pre-Smaug, Dís, Thorin, & Frerin]
Dís felt the rush of success. Her hood kept her face hidden as she nudged her pony passed the last guard tower to the east. There was nothing before but wide grassy plains. She let out a triumphant whoop as she spurred her pony into the fastest trot it could manage. It was faster than she'd ever been allowed to ride before, as her mother explained, "Proper dwarrowdams do not ride like drunken youths racing. Especially not a princess of Erebor."
There was a sudden shout behind her. Dís stood up in her stirrups and turned around to see her brothers approaching on their own ponies. She smiled and waved. Thorin would be disapproving, but Frerin would laugh and call her clever. Not a bad morning then.
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Time on Your Side - Emily Jane White [post-Azanulbizar, Dís & Sigrid]
It was a cradle song, comforting in its familiarity, that Sigrid had taken to humming under her breath. Dís supposed it was meant to be comforting. It was a parable of the patience of the dwarvish race; the story of Durin the Deathless, father of their race, searching without rest for his wife.
Dís wondered if her mother truly believed Thrain would return to them.
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I'm Yours - Jason Mraz [Ered Luin, Dís/Ulli]
Ulli was different than any dwarf Dís had ever met. Not since Frerin had she seen such a carefree smile or heard such a ready laugh. She attempted to ignore him at first, tamping down on the tight feeling in her chest and the instinct to smile every time someone so much as mentioned his name. But she couldn't stop her eyes from following his strong shoulders every time she caught sight of them across the market.
Struck by a sudden thought one night, Dís slunk from her bed and threw on a cloak, making for the long, low building where the unmarried miners lived. She knew which window to throw pebbles at from paying half a mind to Bofur's chatterings. Ulli's sworn-brother he may have been, but Dís still thought he talked too much and never put enough of his brain behind it. It took fourteen pebbles to bring Ulli to the window, and for the first time Dís let herself smile. The expression on his face turned from sleepy confusion to barely restrained joy and Dís giggled so suddenly she snorted only making herself laugh harder. Ulli was gone from the window but she could his heavy footfalls along the hallway.
He burst from out the door and grabbed her hand.
"Follow me," he said, his cheeks dimpling in with his smile.
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Mack the Knife - Ella Fitzgerald [Ered Luin AU, Nori, Dís]
Nori had a well-deserved reputation among the dwarves of Ered Luin as the set of nimblest fingers this side of the Misty Mountains, if not in all of Arda. But every thief, cad, sell-sword, or any other unsavory character worth their arrest record knew there were rules to be followed in the Blue Mountains.
Never steal from the destitute.
Never murder unless the bastard had it coming.
Never rape a woman-dwarf or otherwise.
And never, if you value your neck, insult the line of Durin.
Thror and his gold-madness were fair game. But speak ill of the Lost King or Thorin or Thorin's own sister-sons, even just a whisper, you'd turn up the next morning your beard cut ragged and the hilt of a stiletto still stuck in the base of your neck. There were never any other marks on the body and no maker's mark on the sharp, thin steel blades.
The stupid said Dwalin, son of Fundin, must be the Knife. The naive claimed it must be his brother Balin, older but still spry. Nori never speculated about who the Knife was. He'd seen, only once mind, a cold glint that had struck him with such real fear he'd never before felt. As a rule, Nori didn't bet on anything but a sure thing, and he'd wager his life he knew the Knife was.
And he wouldn't be doing anything to invite the ire of the lady Dís.
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Shopping for Blood - Franz Ferdinand [pre-canon, Dís & Thorin]
Thorin sat in a chair before the fire in his sister's house contemplating the progress of his preparations. The quest for Erebor had twelve dwarves, two swornshields of old, ten new, which included his sister-sons who he could not deny their inclusion in the company to reclaim their homeland.
Dís brought over two flagons of ale, handed him one, and took the seat opposite. Thorin waited for her to speak. She hadn't protested her sons joining the quest, but he recognized the hard line of her mouth. Dís was furious.
"I know cannot stop them from going," she said. "I can't stop you from going, however stupid-"
"Don't you want to return to Erebor, to our home?"
"My home died with my husband. Erebor is no longer my home. And I would not see my sons, or you, die for a pile of cold rock."
"I must do this, Díssa," Thorin said quietly, hoping to distract her with the seldom-used childhood nickname.
"Hasn't this family spent enough blood already?"
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Turn Me On - Nora Jones [post-BoFA happy AU, Dís/Dwalin]
It was fifty years or more since Dís even had a fleeting thought that any dwarf but her husband was handsome. But Dwalin's shoulder's, and his tunic stretched tightly across them, gave her more than a moment's pause as she watched him help unload a cart of a family returning to Erebor. It was a mess, establishing who owned what; when you're running from a dragon you don't think to take a deed of property with you.
Dwalin caught her watching and smiled, weaving his way towards her. He stopped short and bowed.
"My lady, welcome to Erebor."
Dís snorted and threw her arms around his neck. "I think we're well past formalities, Dwalin," she said, glad he couldn't see the sudden tears in her eyes.
He held her just as tightly as she held onto him, relishing the smell of her hair and the weight of her in his arms.
"Aye. I suppose we are."
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Let's Smurf - The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion [Azanulbizar, Dís]
The steady tattoo beaten by war drums woke Dís from her fitful sleep. Stealing away from her mother's side, she stood and went to lift the flap of their tent. She could see them in the distance. Neat rows of dwarves, standing tall and strong, their armor glistening in the morning light. They reminded her of Frerin's toy soldiers he had played with once upon a time. She felt the familiar rise of bile in her throat knowing most of them would fall under orcish blades today, and if they did return they would not be the same.
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Riot (Mustard Pimp Remix) - Designer Drugs [Ered Luin, Dís]
Ever after the battle of Azanulbizar Dís hated any sound that reminded her of war drums. Neighbors learned not to knock too loudly or too long on her door lest she greet them with an ax in hand.
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Requiem in D minor, K 626 : Requiem Æternam - Mozart [post-BoFA, Dís & Dain Ironfoot]
The kingdom of Erebor turned out in numbers to welcome Dís, daughter, sister, and mother of kings, back to the mountain of her birth. Dís hated the spectacle of it all, too ostentatious by far. There was the proper solemnity as Dain led her to the tombs of Thorin, Fili, and Kili.
"You will be remembered for every age to come, as the mother of these valiant warriors," Dain said. She knew it was meant to bring her honor.
"I would sooner have my sons alive than have songs sung in my honor," Dís said quietly. Dain smiled sympathetically and Dís nearly grabbed a guardsman's ax to wipe the look from his face. Instead she embraced him, a sharp dagger digging into his side and her lips at his ear.
"Do not presume to understand my grief, Dain Ironfoot. Your son lives. Your wife lives."
She kissed his cheek and left, back straight and head high. Dain wondered what might have been, had Thrain had three sons instead of two.
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Bottom of the River - Delta Rae [Ered Luin, Dís]
It was early evening when the raven landed on the windowsill.
"Dís, sister of Thorin Oakenshield," it croaked.
"Yes. There is news from Erebor?" she asked breathlessly.
"A great battle brews. The company holds Erebor against Elves of the Dark Wood and the Men of the Lake. Dain approaches with an army, but an Ironfoot does not move with speed."
Its message delivered, the raven took flight heading east, not waiting for a reply. Dís did not sleep that night and watched as the first rays of the dawn spilled over the horizon. From her window she saw ink blue become paler, streaked with pink. As the day lengthened, the sky turned more red than pink. Dís remembered an old saying: the red dawn rises on the hill, the night passed ill.
She fingered the beads in her hair, one for each of her sons, and prayed for the first time since the Mountain fell.
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