BatB Chapter Two

[youngarrow]

Three weeks after the funerals, Dis was perched on the settle in her sitting room, helping Fili with the math work the tutor had given him to review that day. Isbeil worked through a neglected basket of mending, keeping an eye on Kili playing with his wooden soldiers on the rug in front of the fireplace. Cold air whistled around the house, a taste of snow on the wind that softly invaded the room even through the thick curtains, but for the first time in almost a month Dis was relatively at peace. The grief of losing half her family still lay heavily on her, but she'd passed the entire day without a sudden bout of tears, spending time baking bread for the next few days and a small cake for her two boys as thanks for all they'd tried to do for her in the past weeks. Even if one of Kili's "helping hands" had left oil and flour smeared all over the kitchen walls, she knew it would always be a memory she treasured, though the cause of it being necessary was still a sharp pain in her heart.

"Mam?" her younger son's voice came from the rug.

"Yes, dear?"

"What's a catata- casto- cata-tas-tro-fee?"

Even in her grief there was no stopping a small smile spreading over Dis' face at her young son's attempts to sound out the long word. "Ca-tas-tro-phe," she gently emphasized, carefully pronouncing each syllable and looking up to see Kili silently mouthing them after her to set them in his mind. "That's when something big and bad happens, like an earthquake or a forest fire."

"Oh." He looked down at the toys in his hands again, made one halfheartedly jump on another in a mock battle, but quickly put them down. Dis had been turning back to Fili and his work, but the sight of her younger son's face as he looked up again arrested her motion. "Was the accident at the mine a catatastrophe?"

Everyone froze, Fili and Isbeil looking at the young boy with expressions of shock that matched Dis'. She'd only made a few references to the disaster and the deaths it led to since it happened, and the others had followed her example, Fili especially jumping on people and shushing them when they got anywhere near the topic. In many ways she was grateful, as she knew the people she cared for were trying to care for her in return and make sure she didn't fall to pieces; in others, though, it felt like a betrayal to never speak of their lost loved ones. It was too soon for her to be able to talk about it rationally, she knew that, but it felt as though not speaking of it at all was almost an admittance that she'd rather have never known them. Nothing could be further from the truth, of course: her brother and father had been there for her her entire life, and her husband had held her heart in his strong, gentle hands. But if in trying to comfort her, no one mentioned them at all, how was that supposed to show that love? How was it supposed to keep the memory of their family alive in her boys' minds? How could she truly honor them if she pushed them away, even though remembering brought pain?

"Kili, you can't just say that!" Fili hissed next to her, failing to keep the words under his breath.

Her youngest's wide, worried eyes at his brother's words made her shake her head and rest a hand on Fili's head, trying to calm him even as she was trying to pull herself together. Isbeil put aside her mending and held out a hand to Kili with a beckoning motion; he glanced between his mother and their nurse, as if afraid of what to do, before following the command and going to Isbeil to be lifted into her lap. She wrapped her arms around Kili in what had become a very common gesture for the two of them, one of comfort and affection, while Dis pulled Fili closer to her side and let her arm fall around him. He turned his head up to her, eyes wide and a little worried, as she shook her head again. "It's all right, sweetling. We... we can't just ignore this."

"But Mam..." he protested weakly, clearly not knowing how to go on.

She placed two fingers against his lips and he fell silent. "We can't. We must never forget your father, and uncle, and grandfather. They would not be happy if you didn't ever speak of them, don't you think?" Fili nodded, the worried look still on his face, but willing to wait for the moment, to see what would come next, and she turned to face Kili, cradled in Isbeil's lap. "The accident at the mine-" Dis nearly cursed herself in language as vicious as any of the men in her family as her voice wavered and broke, her eyes filling with tears. She'd been a mess before her children for long enough, she could not let them, nor their departed loved ones, down now. Grief would continue, a part of her life for all time, but lifelessness would not. "The acc- accident was too small for a catastrophe. It was terrible, and we won't ever forget it, but it wasn't on that scale." Though for their family, it really almost was. But her dark-haired imp wasn't old enough to understand that yet.

Kili nodded, uncertainty clearly still in his face but obviously thinking over her words as Isbeil smoothed bits of his unruly hair out of his eyes. "Where'd you hear that word, Master Kili?"

"From Niall," he said, shaking his head a little to ineffectively rid himself of Isbeil's fussing. "When we went to the miller to get the flour you wanted, Mam."

"But you didn't talk to Niall while we was there," Isbeil stated, confused.

He shook his head and scrubbed the back of his hand over his nose, sniffing loudly. "Heard him and Oisean talking as we were leaving - he shut up quick when he saw me looking."

Dis exchanged a look with Isbeil, then glanced down to Fili only to find him looking up at her with his own consternation and worry, an expression far too old for his face and years. Kili, with his face tucked halfway into Isbeil's neck, was the only one who didn't seem upset by the words he'd voiced. "What else did you hear, love? How much can you remember?"

A slight embarrassed expression spread across his face, and he kept his eyes averted from his mother. "Not much - they was whispering real quiet."

"They were whispering real quietly, love. It's fine, I'd like to hear whatever you can remember."

"Well..." Kili's face screwed up a little as he cast his memory back in the day, trying to remember everything. "We went into the mill, and Niall was sewing the flour bags shut, and Oisean was there getting some for his mam, and they were talking when we went in. And... umm... they stopped talking when we came in. And Isbeil talked to Mister Branan and he asked how much flour she wanted, and she said a small bag, and he asked what kind, and she said rye, and-"

"Just what they said, love, not everything that happened."

"Oh. Um... ummmm... They... They were talking about how hard Miss Sorcha was having to work since the accident. And how tired she was. And how Oisean missed his da. And they started talking about the accident, that was when they said it was a catasrophee, but they saw me and their eyes got real wide and they stopped saying anything. "

Dis shared another glance with Isbeil, troubled where before she'd only been vaguely apprehensive. Oisean's father had been one of the miners trapped in the collapse along with Vali, Frerin, and Thrain, and although Thorin had given each of the stricken families a hefty sum of gold, nothing could compensate for the loss of a father. Especially not to a family with five children, Oisean being the oldest boy. It was completely expected for children to mourn a beloved parent, but wouldn't he have wanted to talk to Kili about it, or at least not minded his hearing it? Their family had lost more than anyone; surely everyone could still see the grief on all their features.

Her vague worries only expanded when she saw Isbeil's expression, not as bewildered as her own, though just as troubled. Her housekeeper's eyes showed a knowledge that Dis herself did not have, and she narrowed her eyes a little at the other woman as she read the insinuation in her face. Something was going on, something she didn't know about.

It was time for her to come out of her shell and find out what was going on.

"Thank you for telling me, Kili," she said, managing to keep her voice more or less calm. "Fili, why don't you take your brother upstairs and help him get ready for bed - and don't leave your toys down here for someone to trip over, Kili."

"Yes, Mam," they chorused, though the look Fili shot her as he edged out from beneath her arm told her that her eldest knew exactly what was going on: a ploy to get the children out of the way so the adults could talk. Fili had never liked that sort of thing, always wanting to know what was going on, and Kili looked to be taking after him heavily (and, admittedly, the rest of the family) - but Kili was too young still to recognize diversionary tactics most of the time, and Fili was wise enough to know that especially now there were some things his mother just didn't want him to hear. No doubt he'd be questioning her later, but for now, he was following her requests. Between the two of them, the toy soldiers were collected in a few seconds, laid in the small basket they lived in while not in use, and Fili was ushering his little brother upstairs with the promise of bedtime stories full of sword fights and magic. Dis waited until she heard their bedroom door open and shut upstairs before looking at Isbeil once more, fire in her eyes for the first time in weeks. "Something's going on, isn't it."

The other woman dropped her gaze momentarily but raised it again, with a small, confused shrug. "I don't know specifics. I've just heard... words, that's all. Nothin' direct."

"But you've heard something," she prodded, wanting Isbeil to continue.

"Mmmh." The housekeeper reached for her basket of mending again, picking up the sock she'd been darning, being careful of the needle and keeping her eyes focused on it. Dis didn't protest; she'd known Isbeil since before her marriage, and knew the she thought better with something to keep her hands and part of her thoughts occupied. "Nothin' much, ma'am - nothing that can't be explained by normal things. Grief. Losin' a father or son. People haven't been happy 'bout the accident."

Dis sighed heavily. "We knew they wouldn't be. It would be... unnatural if they were."

"Right, but this... this might go beyond just simple grievin'." Her thin, skilled fingers turned the darning mushroom, the needle weaving back and forth like a miniature spear of light in the glow from the fireplace as Isbeil tried to find the words to explain. "Grief, we know. Anger, yes, that'd be normal, too. But some people've been lookin' away as I walk through market, with or without the boys. And some've been lookin' too long. Childer've called nasty things at me - they're always shushed quick, ma'am, by whatever elder's about, but some do. Those that lost someone. And sometimes when someone don't know I'm there, there's mutterin's."

"What are they?"

"Nothin' I care to repeat, ma'am - that's why I haven't said afore now. Words about Mister Thrain especial, some about Mister Thorin. None 'bout Misters Vali or Frerin." Isbeil paused, Dis silently urging her to go on for several moments before she picked up the thread again. "Sayin' they're greedy, diggin' too deep and puttin' lives at risk needlessly. Sayin' Mister Thrain just wanted more and more money. I even heard one that said he was goin' to be renegotiatin' the contract with the shipwright's guild, chargin' more for materials an' services. I gave that pinhead a piece of my mind, I did; he was makin' things up left and right, inventin' stories, but some were listenin' to him. I told him I'd never heard of such a thing and as I live here, I sure as well knew more'n he did. He tried sayin' that of course they wouldn't tell me if that was happenin', but he had no proof himself, he's a butcher and has no dealin's with either end of that deal aside from sellin' us meat."

Dis let out a deep sigh, almost a sob, raising her hands to rub her face tiredly; tears pricked at the corner of her eyes and she viciously squeezed her lids shut to keep them back, refusing to lose control now. "Whispers in the market are something we can't do anything about. And if we try, we'll be seen as tyrants, and people will be sure we have something to hide."

"As far as I can see, all you can do is keep tellin' the truth. There's nowhere else convenient t' get ore from, and the shipwrights need every bit you can pull out of the earth. Even if some believe it, there's no easy way to break your connections now without expense, and, well... they didn't lose people." Isbeil was a very practical person in day-to-day dealings, always a plus when dealing with small children, but at its strongest that trait could lead her to be almost ruthless, and it also allowed her to give insights in other areas as well. Maybe she didn't know the inner workings of the mine and the family's business contracts, but she could see, and interpret, the general patterns very well when given all the pieces. "It's those people who lost someone along with yours that are agitatin' things around, takin' a bit of thought here and a whisper there and puttin' them together into somethin' new, and as you said you can't stop them speakin'."

"Much as I'd wish to." Even Dis was surprised at how bitter the words sounded as they came from her mouth. Her family had lost three of their most beloved members, and here she was, having to put aside her grief to find a way to placate people who should have helped her through it instead, who had a terrible but very real connection with her through their loss. They should be comforting each other, helping with their families, homes, business, sharing stories and tears of those gone and being a caring circle of support. And, most likely, some or even many of them would be like that. But there were enough malcontents around to spread trouble.

Especially when a good, even scandalous piece of gossipy speculation was so much more tempting to spread than simple fact.

"I'll have to take this to my... my brother," she said, voice tripping over the word that automatically tried to emerge. Three weeks was far too little time, but apparently it was all she could take. "He'll have to decide what to do about it."

Isbeil nodded, understanding in her eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

"We'll try to keep the boys away from it as much as we can."

"Then we best start bein' quiet, now," Isbeil said, as a pair of small, booted feet began clamoring their way down the stairs.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The talk with Thorin had been uncomfortable, but necessary. Her brother wasn't much more recovered than she was – in fact, if she'd had to lay bets, Dis would be willing to wager that behind his facade of calm Thorin was even more fractured than her. She'd known Thorin all her life, after all, knew every one of his moods and expressions, and the slight squint at the corner of his eyes as she relayed Isbeil's news revealed much more to her than his mouth set in a thin, straight line. He looked pinched and haggard, and there was a certain air of fatigue around him that he of course denied when she confronted him about it, but being so much taller and larger than she was meant that Dis couldn't manhandle him into his bed, especially when the business really did need him to help steer it through the aftermath of the accident. Instead, before she'd left the manor house, she'd recruited deputies: Dougal and Alpin, Isbeil's husband and his brother, who worked in supervisory capacities for the mine and lived in the manor alongside most of the family. They appeared somewhat haggard themselves, as did everyone associated with the family or Erebor Mining, but the two of them were as devoted to Thorin and the company as Isbeil was to Fili and Kili. They'd been able to confirm her guess that her brother was sleeping as little as possible at nights, and she gave them broad permission to do whatever it took to ensure their employer took better care of himself. With her on their side, they wouldn't hesitate: everyone knew that Dis might not be the physical powerhouse in the family, but she was more capable of moving mountains than any of her male relatives when she decided to exert herself.

Thorin taken care of, more or less, Dis began slowly reinstating herself into the life of the city, bit by careful bit. She and Isbeil had always split the shopping roughly down the middle, depending on if Dis was needed somewhere that day by her relatives, but since the accident Isbeil had been going mostly alone, with the boys accompanying her occasionally. Dis was wise enough to know that she needed to build herself back up to extended social interaction after only seeing a very select group of people for several weeks, and so her first trips back into Dale were short, selective things for very specific items. Whereas in the past she could happily spend hours strolling the market, watching her children play with their friends and chatting with her own, she now had the double burden to bear of learning to control and subdue her grief and be something of a spy for her family at the same time. It was a tall order, perhaps impossible, but she was more than stubborn enough to see it through, now that the haze of grief had been torn open.

It was, however, a slow-going project. A week passed before Dis felt able to do more than simply flit her eyes up to meet those of the people she was talking to and then immediately back down, not able to match the gazes of people, of friends, she'd known her entire life. Her voice was simultaneously muted, her responses quiet, almost mumbled, her volume near a whisper. She could feel the stares of folks around her focused on her with pinpoint accuracy and it made her skin crawl just to think about it. They were staring at her as if she was a trained performing monkey – or, more likely, as if they expected her to break down into hysterics in the middle of the road or in front of an apple vendor's stall at the drop of a hat. Conversation would shut off as she approached, and would only begin again after she had removed herself so far away she could no longer hear specific words. She was certain without having to ask for any confirmation that the entire city knew she'd resorted to sedatives, more than once, in the wake of the accident; her neighbors and friends were clearly waiting to see if she was still as devastated and fragile as the woman who'd had to black out the world. Not one single scrap of her being was willing to display that she was still on the brink of that precipice, closer and closer to fraying the more people stared at her, and so she kept her gaze fixed to her feet and her body moving forward, much as she wished she could curl up in a ball in her big, too-lonely bed.

Gradually, though, the journey became easier, the stubbornness of her family coming to the forefront as she forced herself to continue with her self-appointed mission. Her eyes raised more, her step became more sure. Words were exchanged, then phrases, then entire sentences as she slowly and carefully built herself up again from the inside out, constructing armor of the fabled mithril to protect her from the stares and whispering that followed her around. Dis was a woman of deep, almost desperate emotion, but she was no one's fool, and she would not allow her family to be persecuted in their time of need.

And always her ears were open.

It took some time for her to actually hear anything, certainly much longer than Isbeil, but when she thought about it that wasn't very surprising. Her role in the business was small due to her having stepped back when Fili was born in order to raise her children, and no matter what her family had or hadn't done she could reasonably be assumed to have suffered the most when the mine collapsed, having lost three of the four family members closest to her. People would stay their words out of respect for that grief, for a little while at least – and possibly until the rumors had been given more time to spread and grow. Isbeil collected a few tidbits in her own walks, nothing specific but still nothing pleasant, but it was nearly two weeks before Dis herself was present to catch a whisper.

She was standing outside the tailor the family patronized, shawl over her head to keep her warm from the chilly early winter wind that was whistling through the buildings and unintentionally disguising herself, searching through the basket on her arm to decide if there was anywhere else she needed to duck into before heading for home and a hot cup of tea. All thoughts of moving fled, however, when a low female voice came to her on the breeze fleeing around her face, her father's name snagging her attention as she froze in place with her head down.

“-Thrain wouldn't stop,” the woman said, unaware she'd been overheard as two pairs of boots rounded the corner. Dis didn't look up, not wanting to give herself away – or see which of her longtime neighbors was speaking about her father. “My Gillis was tellin' me about it before it happened, that Thrain kept pushin' and pushin' to move more rock, find more ore, bring more out-”

“Mirren said the same! Always 'go lads, go!' and ne'er a thought given fer bein' safe, greedy as you please.”

“And look where it got 'im! Where it got all of us! Whole city's in mournin', and half that family wiped out, and Mister Frerin an' Vali as nice as y' please. Eight good men gone with 'em!”

“Thorin's lookin' t' be the same way. Those boys won't turn out any better now their da's gone, you mark my...”

The voices trailed off at last as the speakers continued out of hearing range, the wind obscuring any further words they spoke. Dis found herself clutching the handle of her basket so hard it was cutting into her skin, her eyes squeezed shut hard enough to ache at the accusations against her father and brother. Maybe neither of them had been the most obviously demonstrative of men, not like her Vali and Frerin. Maybe Thrain had been almost too canny a businessman. But that did not mean either of them would risk their own lives, let alone anybody else's, in the vain pursuit of profits!

Through the wavy glass in the shop window, she could see the tailor's little assistant starting to move to the door, a look of concern on her face, and Dis quickly turned tail and fled back to the estate, wiping away tears as she moved.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Three weeks later, the kitchen door slammed open as Dis was rolling out the crust for a pie, banging against the wall. She barely had time to look up before a multicolored ball was speeding past her, shedding scarf and hat and mittens and coat as it went, only revealed as Kili by the blue-and-black yarn of the discarded items.

“Master Kili, you get back here and clean up after yourself!” Isbeil yelled, pausing at the door only to set her basket on the kitchen counter and unwind her own scarf before charging after him with determination in her eyes. A door upstairs slammed as hard as the kitchen door had and Isbeil could be heard pounding and yelling, the sounds indistinct through the sturdy wood of the house.

Fili was the one who stayed, removing his own mittens only to shove them angrily into his hat, his eyes muted blazes and his mouth set in a thin line. Dis' heart sank at the expression, certainty growing in her breast about what could have brought on this reaction from everyone in her household.

“Sweetling,” she said, voice deliberately calm and steady; Fili looked up, the fire in his blue eyes banking a little as he focused on his mother. “Tell me what happened.”

“...Fenella was calling Kili names.”

Fire flared in her own heart and Dis was sure her eyes mirrored her son's, but she took herself in an iron grip and forced herself to remain calm. “What sort of names?”

Fili turned away, still angry and unwilling to subject his mother to his glare, but he answered her question with no hesitation. “Greedy. Orphan. And it wasn't just names, she was saying other things, too, about how Grandfather brought it on himself and Kili was just as bad and how we deserved this and-”

“Enough, sweetling, enough.” Even though her rage was threatening to boil over, Dis quickly stepped to her elder and wrapped him in her arms, stroking his hair as he leaned against her and let his own anger seep away. “None of that is true. You know it as well as I do, no one deserved to have this happen to them. It just... did.”

“But why are they saying it?” With his mother, safe in his family's home, Fili couldn't keep up the energy to be angry any longer. It bled away, leaving his voice sad and tired and breaking, and her own heart broke in response to her son being under such stress and holding up so well, so much better than he should have to. “Kili just wanted a sweet, maybe he was sort of a brat when Isbeil said no but it was just a sweet...”

Her own eyes squeezed shut as she pressed him to her, stroking his golden hair with her flour-streaked hands. She wanted to protect him from everything the world was throwing at him – and she knew she couldn't. “I don't know, sweetling. I don't know.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“They're looking for someone to blame, Thorin. They don't like that they can't point to anything and go 'this is why this happened, this right here.' I don't know what to do about it.”

Thorin had rarely gone to the mine since the accident, being too busy with the minutiae of putting everything back together after the collapse, keeping his workers paid, their trading partners up-to-date with news, and all the other little things that came with being the head of Erebor Mining now that Thrain was gone. Dwalin had taken over direct supervision of the mines, having been one of the leads even before the accident, and Balin had taken over handling whatever meetings needed to happen as well as assisting Thorin when he wasn't needed elsewhere. Dis knew her brother had his fingers in too many pies at the moment, but at least it made him easy to find when she needed to talk to him. All she had to do was walk to his office.

The Erebor offices were in the family manor, for convenience more than anything, but Thorin hadn't moved into the main office yet. Instead, he was still using the smaller one he'd occupied as his father's second-in-command, and Dis wasn't certain why. It wasn't small, precisely, but it was certainly smaller than the main office and didn't have much room for extraneous things. Chairs had been crammed into the room around the desk for meetings and not removed, which made walking around the room nearly impossible. She made a mental note to mention to Dougal and Alpin that it was long past time for this room to be cleaned out and her brother properly relocated.

Thorin himself wasn't looking at her as she spoke, but rather slumped slightly in his chair, staring at the fireplace and the blaze that crackled away in it. It had been several days since she'd seen him, he being tied up in business dealings and she trying to contain a pair of rambunctious boys who were growing bored with being indoors, and Dis had had to hold herself back from gasping in surprise when she'd first walked in. While it was normal for his skin to lose some of its ruddy glow in the winter, and she knew he hadn't been leaving the manor much and therefore wouldn't have seen what sun could peek through the winter clouds, he was downright pale below his dark hair in a manner she hadn't seen since he'd last been sick several years before. His skin appeared dry, almost papery, and his hair was lank even though it was properly combed and styled. His eyes were also faded, and she was forced to admit that while she could have his employees put him to bed, they couldn't make him sleep without resorting to more drugs. She was still having trouble with sleep herself, waking up at least once a night and frequently crying herself to sleep, releasing the emotions she had to keep tucked away during the day, but at least it was a release. The brother before her was both tired and wound tight as a spring, and she'd kept careful watch on him as she gave her informal report on the state of the city. He'd barely moved at her words – as though none of this was new to him, or unexpected.

“Thorin,” she began again, her voice quieter this time. He didn't turn to her for several moments, but she was determined to wait until she had his full attention. “Maybe we should move back into the manor. The boys and Isbeil and I.” To keep an eye on you, so we don't lose you, too. She didn't think she could live through another loss.

Her brother blinked, a little more alertness coming into his gaze as he processed her words, until he finally shook his head. “No... you should stay where the boys are comfortable. They need... familiarity right now.”

“We need to be together right now,” she replied, heartbreak evident in her voice. “And you're a thousand leagues away from us.”

“No, I'm not.”

“You know you are.” Dis sighed, reaching up to rub at her eyes to banish the tears that were trying to form. “You're on another world, without us, and you won't let us close. We need you, Thorin.

“I need you.”

Thorin finally moved at the plaintive note in his sister's voice, sighing heavily as he stood to walk around his desk, pulling Dis to her feet and wrapping his arms tightly around her. Her own arms went around him in response just as securely, and she buried her face in his chest as he rested his cheek against the top of her head. “Forgive me, Dis. Everything has been so...” He trailed off, unable to find the words to explain himself.

She sniffed, the traitorous tears having come back, and shook her head against him. “I know. I know. But we're your family, Thorin. Don't lock us out.”

“I don't... I haven't meant to. There's just so many things...”

“Balin can help, and Dwalin.”

“They're already helping. All three of us get very little sleep at night.”

Dis frowned. “I told Dougal and Alpin to lock you in your room after ten and not let you out until seven.”

Thorin looked down at his little sister, eyebrows raised a little at her. “And I picked the lock.”

Her head immediately swung up, eyes blazing fiercely at him.

“Now Dis...”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You can't just restrict me to bed, you know.”

“Oh yes I can! If it works on my boys, it will work on you, Thorin!”

He gave her a glower which she shrugged off without noticing. “I am not a child, Dis.”

“Then stop acting like one! You can't not take care of yourself, and you know it! I need you, the boys need you, the rest of the family needs you! Are you even eating properly?”

“You know I am, since you gave Kenna orders to stand over me until I finished my meals.”

“And if I have to get Hamish out here to prescribe more drugs for you I will. And you know damn well Dougal and Alpin will make you take them. Thorin.” She allowed the fierce look to drop, her worry coming clearly through once more as she clutched to his shirt. “Please. Please, you have to take care of yourself. If something happened to you, I... I'd go to pieces, I know it.”

He shook his head. “You wouldn't – you're strong, Dis. You're stronger than any of us, and Fili and Kili need you.”

“I couldn't, I'd fall apart. I do every day now, and something else happening...”

Thorin sighed and shook his head, stepping back to look her in the eyes and taking her shoulders in her hands. “Then why are you going looking for trouble?”

“What?”

“This... mission you've given yourself.” His eyes searched hers, and she could see something lurking in the back of his, something she couldn't identify. But whatever it was specifically, she could feel a small shiver run up her spine as she noticed it. “You're seeking out things that will only bring you pain. Bringing them to me and repeating them only makes it worse for you.”

Her hands loosened on his clothing, relaxing to lie flat against his body. “Someone has to, Thorin. They're accusing you, us, of horrible things, even in the wake of tragedy. And it's not going away, it's only getting bigger. They don't have anywhere to vent their anger, so they're turning it on us, the most convenient target. We need to know how and why so we know how to stop it.”

“I know. I've known this would happen since... the day.” Her brother sighed again as her eyes widened at his pronouncement, and he dropped his hands from her shoulders to sink into one of the chairs left scattered around. She slowly sank into the one next to him, reaching to take his hand in hers, his fingers gripping hers as he began to speak. “It's happened before – not to this extent, but it has happened. We're the largest single business in Dale, so we're the biggest target. Father... We used to speak of what could happen. What has happened,” he corrected himself, reaching up with his free hand to rub his face. “When we had to lay off some of the men a few years ago, or that smaller accident that happened just after Kili was born. No one died then, but some were hurt, and the same sort of things circulated then. Mining is dangerous and everyone in Dale knows that, but it's easier to put a face to something so you can have a focus for all your pain and anger than the earth itself which wouldn't notice no matter what you did to it. It's part of why Father decided to create that fund for wounded or lost men, so we'd have something to show we valued their loss even if we didn't grieve as the families did, and that we'd still care for them. But I'd hoped – foolishly, I see now – that our own losses would mitigate some of it. Instead it only seems to be growing.”

“What can we do, Thorin?” Dis asked, still holding his hand in her own. That something was still there in her brother's eyes, swirling with the other emotions he was displaying openly, the sadness and confusion and exhaustion fighting themselves within him. But she'd finally gotten through to him, he was finally opening up to her once more. If she could just keep him from locking himself away again, they might have a chance to get through with no more problems. Maybe...

“Balin's working on it.” She gave a silent sigh of relief; if anyone could find a solution, it was their intelligent cousin. “Rumors are hard- no, impossible to stop, but he's trying to trace where they're originating from. Once he knows that, we can begin developing a plan of action to try and prove them false. But if that doesn't work... All we can do is wait for them to go away.”

“I don't like that.”

“Neither do I. But it's all we can do. It's the only option we have left.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Ma'am? Can we talk?”

Dis' eyes flicked up to meet Isbeil's, noting the hint of wariness and anxiety lurking in the back of her gaze, and her body immediately stilled. Isbeil was an extremely level-headed, practical woman, able to face any of the boys' rambunctious escapades with a calm or appropriately stern demeanor. To see her troubled, her shoulders hunched a little more than the cold that was swirling through the open door behind her could account for...

Something was more wrong than she wanted to hear. But she had to know.

“Fili! Kili!” she called when she recovered her voice, watching Isbeil closely and thankful her back was to the door to the kitchen. Her housekeeper relaxed a little, knowing without asking that she was trying to find a way to keep the boys out of their hair for a few minutes.

“Yes Mam?” came the chorus behind her as the door opened. Dis didn't turn around as she responded. “Pick up your toys and put them away, properly, and then get scrubbed up for supper. It's almost ready.”

“You don't want us to set the table?”

“You can do it afterwards. Properly, now, I don't want to be tripping over anything you've left lying around again!” The boys called back wordless acknowledgment of her admonishment, little boots thundering across the dining room and into the front hall, turning and fading as they ran up the stairs. With a quiet sigh, Dis put down the spoon she'd been using to stir the night's soup and beckoned Isbeil to take the chair at the side of the large kitchen table, pulling up another to sit in front of her. “Now, what happened?”

Isbeil sighed deeply, unwinding her scarf from her neck, looking as miserable as Dis had ever seen her in their many years of friendship – but not even that could have prepared her for what was actually said. “I'm not goin' back to the market again alone. Not for you, not for the little masters, not even for my own self. It's not safe anymore.”

Her mouth dropped open and for several precious moments she could only stare at Isbeil, finally noticing the telltale glint of tears in the corners of her eyes. The only times Isbeil had ever cried in front of any of them had been after someone died. “Why? What... why?!”

“It's that Miss Sorcha, ma'am, and Mister Torcall. They're agitatin' people worse'n ever, and people are listenin', more now than before. Your brother's been so quiet since the accident and the family's never come out and spoken about everythin' up front-”

“They've spoken! We've all spoken! You've spoken!”

“Aye, but maybe it isn't been enough, or maybe it isn't the right sort of speakin', because people aren't believin' it! Likely they just don't want to but I saw that gaggle of friends of Sorcha run smack away from me when I came into the market, glarin' fit to kill, and then Torcall shoved himself right in my face and pushed me against the inn and started yellin' at me about so many things I couldn't make heads nor tails of it. But he seemed to think I could take blame for whatever actions they think you all did just because I live and work here, as do my family. He was sayin' if I had any decency I'd pack up and leave you all, and no matter you're still not well and the little ones still need watchin', he seemed to think I was a demon just for doin' my work-”

“Enough, Isbeil.” Dis could feel her rage boiling over at the insults to both her family and her friends and trusted helpers, made even worse than normal by the normally unflappable woman in front of her reduced nearly to tears. With a wrench, she realized she'd clenched her hands so tightly that her nails had dug little crescents into her palms, some of them oozing a few drops of blood as she flexed her fingers deliberately to release the tension in them. Her teeth were clenched so hard she could nearly hear her jaw snap. “What sort of sick mind attacks someone who had no involvement-”

Isbeil's hand on hers broke her train of words. “An angry, hate-filled one, ma'am, one who lost his cousin and his brother-in-law's leg and one who's always had somethin' to say about the way the business has been goin' in the pass. And one I don't ever want to see alone again.”

Her mind was made up in less than a second as she wrapped Isbeil's hand in hers. “And you won't have to. From now on, I'll do all the chores that take one of us into the city. I'll take Dougal or Alpin to keep an eye on things. If you want to come with us, you can, if not, you'll stay here. Once things die down, we can return to the way it was if you're comfortable again.”

“If they ever do die down,” the housekeeper replied with a bleak look.

Dis could only nod in response to that, her heart pounding in her chest, and she realized too late that she couldn't tell whether it was from anger or apprehension.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The air was unusually warm for late January – still cold, freezing, but surprisingly damp and heavy and therefore somewhat insulating. There was a slight, steady wind blowing through the small spaces between buildings, one that carried the scent of snow on it, and Dis glanced at the solid grey mass of clouds above the city with a wary eye. It was impossible to tell when the snow would start, but she refused to be caught outside when it did. The heaviness in the air told her it wouldn't be a light dusting, but something long and lasting. The walk back to the estate and their house wasn't a very taxing one, but in terms of the city it was no short journey. With the whispers making their way around Dale, she couldn't be sure of her family's reception in any of the homes or businesses if they were caught outside before it became too difficult to travel.

She could feel the stares on the back of her head, eyes focused on her distinctive braided hairstyle that the scarf wrapped around her neck failed to hide. They would always be gone when she turned, almost everyone looking at something in the distance, or bending to their work, when she faced them. There were a few that were still as warm and sympathetic as ever, greeting her boys with smiles and pats on the head and herself and Alpin with warmth and caring, but the majority were pulling away, unsure now about how to approach her. It was strange, but she found she didn't mind that feeling very much – it was easy to believe that they were simply unsure how to talk to a woman who was known to have mourned heavily but had come back into society more completely much sooner than they could have expected, especially one with several more distant relatives remaining and also servants in her employ. Those stares were uncomfortable, but not unknown.

It was the other kind that were making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Not all the gazes out there were benevolent, or even confused. Some were downright hostile, angry about circumstances she'd had no control over and would have gladly given almost anything to avoid herself. They watched her as she moved from stall to shop, from the little old woman selling thread from a basket on her hip to the baker's shop down the street, seeking any weakness, any chink in her armor they could find. She was, for once, glad to be wearing layers of heavy clothing in the freezing air, since it hid the shivers down her spine at the weight of their gazes and the sweat dripping down her neck and back at the tension she was under.

In her fury over Torcall's treatment of Isbeil, Dis had failed to realize that she'd left herself open for those same accusations from the portion of the city's residents who'd attacked her friend and helper, and that beneath her diamond-hard surface she was still barely holding herself together with hope and little else. The only thing getting her through the day-to-day round of living was the fact that her sons needed her, and her brother as well; if not for them, she'd still be in seclusion, weeping over her losses. She'd never felt so fragile as she did right at that moment, standing in the center of the city's market with Fili, Kili, and Alpin besides her and what felt like ten thousand angry eyes on her, not even in the terrible days just after the tragedy. Her strong face was molded into a carefully neutral mask, to hide the shaking of her spirit and protect her sanity.

“Mam, can we go look at Mister Camran's shop? Please?”

Fili's and Kili's eyes were turned up to her, wide and innocent in a way she didn't buy for a moment but made her smile nonetheless. As hard as the past few months had been for them, as much as she knew they missed their missing family members as much as she did, her boys' spirits were bright and strong and undaunted by the tragedy around them. It was at least half their doing that she hadn't folded in on herself yet, Thorin had been right about that, and the least she could do was to let them go look at the toys the city's best woodworker carved and displayed in his shop. She reached out to run a hand through both their thick hair, giving Fili a push in the direction of the shop as she did. “Go on now, and make sure you stay there so Alpin and I can find you when we done.”

“Yes Mam!” They didn't need telling twice, scampering off around the stalls, Kili's scarf trailing behind him as it started unwinding once more. Hopefully he or Fili would notice it in time to keep him from losing it again.

Once they were out of sight, Dis turned back to Alpin, checking the items in the hand cart he'd brought along to carry their purchases. “I think we just have the herbalist left, don't we?”

“Seems so, ma'am,” he replied, bending a little to grab the cart's handle before they started off in a different direction than the boys had taken. “Your young ones seem to be doin' good as well. It does a heart good to see 'em so alive and happy after everythin' that's happened.”

Dis' smile returned at Alpin's words, still tinged with sadness but, for once, more happy than anything. It struck her how out of place that expression felt on her face nowadays, and she mentally swore to bring it to light more often and show her children just how much they meant to her. “They are, aren't they? There's still bad days – they still grieve, as I do. But they're strong, so strong. I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell them how much they've helped me.”

"I think they're able to tell. Childer usually do, and your boys are smarter'n most. You've been helpin' them, too, in turn.”

Her expression fell at the words; kindly meant they certainly were, but she couldn't find it in herself to believe them. “Your wife has been so much better for them than I have, all I keep doing is struggling not to fall apart.”

“I'm not sayin' it's been easy, I'm sayin' you've helped your boys. They see you pushin' forward and they do the same.” Alpin's normally slow, mellow voice had developed a more pronounced sharpness as he looked at her from the corner of his eye, managing to watch both her and the road before them as they continued walking. "Whether you want t' see it or not, you've got more influence over 'em than anyone, no matter what's happenin'. And they love you and want t' see you happy, just as you hope t' see them. It feeds, you see what I mean? Family, love, care - that's what you're teachin' 'em, lessons they'll hold to in the future, mark my words."

Dis couldn't reply to the words of her family's longtime friend and helpmate; her throat was thick with emotion, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. But there was a smile on her face, one that wavered a little as she continued walking but still felt absolutely genuine as she restrained herself from crying in a public thoroughfare. Alpin didn't demand any response to his somewhat uncharacteristic speech, instead simply laying his arm along her shoulders for a moment, giving her a small pat to her upper arm as they kept walking.

The stop at the herbalist didn't take long at all, the packet of sleeping tea for Thorin already mixed and waiting to be fetched on their weekly visit. Airdra, the old mistress of the shop and one of the people in the city still absolutely loyal to Dis and hers, even provided her with access to the kitchen of her living quarters so Dis could scrub away evidence of the few tears that had escaped. One of the oldest people in Dale, Airdra knew all about carefully maintained poise, the compulsion to control the face one presented to the public, and had aided Dis in her own dissembling before. But Dis was hopeful this would be the last time she'd have to take advantage of the kind woman's generosity, as seeing her boys be so free and hearing Alpin's words seemed to have finally settled something loose inside of her. It wasn't all the way fixed - that would have been an astonishing miracle - but it was on its way at least, the first step having been taken. And it certainly didn't hurt to know she had a friend she could speak freely to outside her family's estate. But the lowering clouds visible through the windows and the gusts of wind that banged the door into the wall when it was opened didn't invite lingering too long this day, and they quickly headed to collect the boys and return home.

They were still three streets away when they heard it, even through the tangle of high buildings blocking the way, carried on the wind blowing the snow clouds in above their heads, the first flakes dancing past: the sound of shouting, both young voices as well as older, tones not happy and carefree but rather tense, tightened, and loud. Without speaking, Dis and Alpin both picked up their paces along with others in the vicinity as shoppers gathered to see what the disturbance was, words becoming more clear the closer they came.

“Get him, you-”

“All of you stop-”

“-fight him, kick right-!”

And then, a voice she knew far too well, ringing out above all the others in the shrill tone of a child angry beyond coherency: “TAKE THAT BACK OR I'LL KNOCK YOUR TEETH OUT!”

Alpin didn't wait for her to tell him what to do, but dropped the handle of the little cart and began shoving his way through the gathering crowd with no regard for niceties or politeness as Kili's words still rang through the air. Years of work in the mine had given him breadth and strength and it was no great task for him to make his way through the crowd, Dis following along in his wake as quickly as she could. When he reached the center of the crowd gathered outside Camran's woodshop, he dove forward, hidden briefly by the crowd; by the time Dis broke through herself, Alpin had grabbed Kili about the waist and hauled him up over his shoulder, the boy still screaming and flailing through angry tears as he struggled to reach his victim. His clothes were dirty with road dust and patches of mud, his face scraped and hair in complete disarray, but none of that seemed to register to her little boy who had apparently entered a berserker state. Four other boys, including Fili, remained in the eye of the storm, all of them sporting various injuries but one of them being an absolute mess. The one whose eyes were still wide, one of them blackening, and was trying to fade into the crowd to escape her son's wrath but was finding the people too close together to do so.

“What is going on here?” she demanded as she grabbed Fili's ear, making him yelp as she dragged him away from his own two opponents. He sported a red mark or two that would probably bruise, one of them had a split lip that was dribbling blood into his mouth, and the third was hobbling from what was probably a well-placed kick to the knee, while all three of them were splattered with mud and dirty old snow. Dis pitched her voice to carry over the crowd, silencing most of them, though there were still murmurings and whispers around her. The level of Kili's shrieked dropped a little but didn't stop, and she made him yelp as well when she grabbed his ear along with his brother's. “I let you go off and you start fighting? We didn't raise you like that!”

“They started it!” Fili immediately said, glaring at the two boys he'd been having it out with.

“Did not!” one of them yelled back, both of them glaring as well.

“Yes you did! You were insulting our da and our family!”

Dis' eyes immediately sharpened onto the three boys, her expression a very good clue as to where Kili acquired his viciousness from. “What were you doing?”

“They were doing what I said!” Fili yelled, wrenching out of his mother's grip but not going anywhere else. When she met his eyes she was shocked to find them welling with angry tears; more calm and level-headed her older son might be, but he was just as furious as his brother. His hands clenched into fists as he glared at her in defiance of his actions, obviously not caring about any punishment that would result. “They started in on Kili! Said he was awful and terrible and our family was a bunch of greedy murdering thugs who didn't care about anyone else! They insulted Da and Grandda and Uncle Frerin and I-”

Dis grabbed him around the chest before he could launch himself at one of the other boys again; Kili, taking his brother's cue, resumed his screaming and reached for the one he'd been facing off as Alpin struggled to keep him contained. “I don't care what they said, you DO NOT fight like this! None of that is true, you know that, everyone knows that, we are not going to let you behave like-”

“We don't know that's not true,” a new voice broke in, hard as iron, scratchy, and obviously angry.

Dis turned to see a new figure pushing its way through the crowd – Sorcha, one of the people who had lost a family member in the accident, in her case a husband. With five children to raise on her own now there was no question that her lot in life had gotten much worse; rumor around town always held her and her husband as one of the couples they'd seen most in love in many years. Dis knew what losing your other half tragically felt like, all too well, but it seemed that Sorcha hadn't been trying to find comfort in her children and her remaining family, but rather wallowing in her grief. She'd never before looked so haggard and drawn, almost wraith-like herself.