After so long waiting, the silence is no longer quite so poisonous or distressing. Or rather, it wasn't. Now, Dís knows the silence will never quite abate. There will be no more fireside chats with her family as they try to keep warm in winter and keep morale among them high. There will be no more strong arms to pick her up and twirl her about, no laughter when Dís kisses the eyepatch covering the scarred mess where he father's eye once was. The silence seeps into every corner of the room and settles there like a weary traveler finally come home, slinks into her very blood until she can hear the blank rush of it in her ear drums. The longer Thorin stays out there, dealing with mourners and court members, the louder it gets.

But Dís cannot focus on that right now, she double checks she has what she thinks she needs and re-arranges items before turning back to face Frerin and smile softly at the blue eyes so like hers and Thorin's. For all her youth, Dís can feel the age settling upon her shoulders.

"I'll help you then." Carefully, carefully, she reaches forward and takes the edge of the tunic from his hand, holds it so he can slip his uninjured arm free and then tugs it over his head and down the wounded arm. There's a quick draw of breath once his torso is revealed, and brow creasing in worry she carefully takes a rag and dips it in the water, cleans the blood and grime from his skin before she can even think about cleaning out and patching up wounds.