forgottenbrother | OPEN POST

Dís isn't sure how she's holding herself together. They're a sturdy race, hardy and built to endure but this is surely too much isn't it? How can they survive after so much grief, after losing their home and losing the prospect of what might have become one? She'd seen the smattering of warriors left, couldn't even begin to tally the lost lives and wounded and she was good at maths. As good as someone who had no resource to train better could be.

But most of all, she'd noticed the stark lack of her father and grandfather and it feels as if someone has split her in two and scooped out the tender flesh of her heart. Her limbs feel heavy like lead, and she counts each step out in her head (one two one two) until the door she'd left swinging looms up ahead with both the comfort of a dock after being mired at sea and the broiling fear that once she steps through the doorway it will all be permanent.

Frerin breathes and whispers hollow words wrought with apologies into her hair and Dís steels her spine, carries him through like it's a smithy's flame and they're being reforged from a broken blade into something better and stronger.

(She can only hope.)

"We'll make you another one, brother." It's almost offhand, but there's purpose behind her words, voice mithril-strong because even though she's young, Dís is determined. She's lost much, in the exodus from Erebor and after, but never so much as the loss of what today has brought and Mahal bless, but she's never letting anybody take what's left of her family from her again.

First though, she's got a wounded brother in her arms and she must take care of him where their mother would have had she lived. With soft touches Dís guides Frerin to the kitchen and settles him in a chair. Then as she bustles about gathering water (thankfully she'd been set on making tea to calm her nerves and it's already warm), long strips of white bandages, bottles of ointments meant to cleanse wounds and needle and thread just in case.

With a soft look in her eyes Dís cups his jaw in her hand, leaning down to press their foreheads together for a brief moment as reassurance. When she pulls away it's with the grim determined look on her face only someone who's seen a loved one hurt and been the only one to do something can muster.

"Off with your shirt."

Frerin doesn't like the silence. It's too quiet, too empty. This house should have more people in it. Thorin should be here.

He wants to talk but what is there to say? He desperately wants to reassure Dis but there's no words to give her that can make this any better.

Frerin sits down in the chair, head bowed as Dis bustles about getting everything ready. It reminds him so much of their mother, and he swallows hard, tears pricking at his eyes again. He takes a deep breath, hands shaking in his lap.

At Dis' touch, he finally raises his head, blue eyes glassy with tears. He lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, taking comfort in his sister for the moment.

Frerin glances at his useless arm before looking back at Dis, starting to pull off his shirt as best he can manage with one hand. "I think it's broken," he says softly, almost apologetically.

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.

There's gratitude in his eyes, even if he can't say it again without sounding too repetitive. Frerin sucks in another breath, a shiver running down his spine as Dis helps him undress. It hurts but he'll do his very best to be strong, to not show it.

The worry in Dis' eyes makes him frown, and he swallows, trying to make his breathing even out and ease the pain throbbing steadily through his arm and multiple wounds.

"It looks worse than it is," he tells her, and that, at least, is true. The few slashes across his torso are not very deep, thanks to his armor, though his ribs are starting to bruise and ugly purplish color. "I should have died out there."

His words draw a sharp glance, icy with fury and helplessness as Dís cleans his skin and hisses.

"Don't you say that." It's laden with fear, and though her movements are gentle, her hands tremble. "You did not die and you will not die -- not for a very long time or I will bring you back just to kill you myself, do you understand?"

But he's telling the truth, the wounds she can see are relatively minor damage and though there's a possibility of bleeding beneath the surface and cracked ribs, Dís could do nothing about that. She just clears away what she can, gently, and dips the rag in the water, wringing it out until the bowl is pinkish in color and the rag not so much. Eventually, when Frerin's mostly cleaned, she turns to his wounded arm and tries to cause as little pain as possible. Fingertips skim along his limb in search of the break, feather soft so as not to jar bone, but enough to feel it. There's a nod, eyes half lidded so she can focus more on the feeling of bone and skin beneath hands and she looks back up at him.

"It's broken. But cleanly, I think. I'll try to set it and splint it but we'll need to call for a healer who knows more than I do if you want to be able to use it properly again."

Frerin regrets the words immediately after speaking them. He touches Dis' chin with his good hand, biting his lip.

"...Forgive me, sister." He falls silent, watching her tend to him and wincing slightly.

Frerin is already anticipating the pain when his sister gently takes his wounded arm and looks away, trying to breathe evenly. He hisses out a soft curse when her fingers find the break but doesn't flinch away, knowing better than that now.

He looks back at her when she speaks, nodding at her assessment. "Can it wait? The healers will be busy."

He doesn't want to take any of their time if it means someone else will be suffering.

"Dis, I..." Words die on Frerin's tongue. He's not even sure what he wanted to say. All he can think about is the battle and how terrible it was, how many died around him and the way Thorin screamed when Grandfather was beheaded. He shudders and looks down.

Her chin trembles beneath his touch, teeth sinking into her lip so she can keep hold of herself and not give into the tears she feels filling up her eyes. Still, her voice is heavy with unshed tears when she speaks.

"You are forgiven already, brother." Her face turns into his palm, seeking the comfort, and with a soft sigh she pulls away to dump the dirtied water and gather clean water. Once she's returned, Dís picks up the vial of ointment and gently spreads it across the wounds. That done, she winds bandages just loose enough about his torso. His arm is trickier, and it's why she's waited to reply to his question.

"It cannot wait long or it won't set right and you might lose the ability to draw your bow or hold a blade properly."

She's just glad the bone has not broken through the skin, she wouldn't know how to help if it was, hardly knows how to help with this as it is. Still, she takes his wrist and has Frerin hold out his arm, carefully feels out where the break is and with eyes mostly closed, gently tries to nudge it back into place. That done, she wraps a layer of bandages about his forearm and then suddenly realizing she had't gathered something to splint it with, looks around. Her gaze falls upon the mostly empty quiver he'd dumped before they struggled through removing his shirt.

"Frerin, can I have one of your arrows?"

Frerin's thumb brushes lightly over Dis' cheek before she pulls away. He gives her a tiny smile, the corners of his lips just barely twitching in an attempt to be reassuring. He's sure it doesn't work well.

He tries to breath shallowly as she treats and bandages his wounds, blue eyes fluttering closed. It hurts, but he'll try to focus on other things.

Instead his mind brings him back to the battle, watching dwarves fall left and right, friends and strangers alike, and oh Mahal when Grandfather was--

He opens his eyes with a soft gasp, trembling worse than ever now. He can't stop thinking about it, can't stop seeing all the dead. He can hardly imagine how terrifying it must have been for Thorin when Frerin had fainted on him, covered in blood as he'd been.

He looks up at Dis just as she starts to feel at his arm, not even hearing what she'd said in regards to setting the bone. Frerin's good hand curls into a fist and he bites back a curse when she nudges the bone into place, pain throbbing through his arm. He's strangely out of breath.

"Aye," he grunts, still catching his breath.

That soft touch is soothing, and as Dís smiles just a tad as she bandages him up. There's a twinging pain in her chest as he flinches and gasps for air, eyes moving feverishly beneath closed lids. It's obvious what he's remembering, and though Dís wasn't there, couldn't have been there, she can't help but wish she could take some of his pain up her shoulders to help.

What she can do is be swift and sure in the way she bandages up his arm. With his permission recieved, she grabs his free hand and presses it to where she's holding the bandage tight.

"Hold this for me." And she shifts to pluck an arrow from his quiver, carefully pulling arrowhead and fletching off the shaft of the arrow. Once done, she sets the arrow on the table and pulls a knife from her belt, cleaving into two shorter pieces.

Dís pauses here though, reaching up and cupping his cheek in hand, soothing thumb along cheekbone and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Almost done, ok?"

Frerin can't stop the trembling, the way he shakes uncontrollably. Having his sister near is at least better than being alone. Being alone is terrifying; even being near a silent Thorin with Grandfather's crown in hand is a little too much for Frerin to bear.

He wonders if he was too young for all this. But then again, it's hardly as if he could have stayed behind. He is a Durin, and war is expected to be in his veins. But Frerin isn't like the others, not even like his brother. He's always been gentler and more light-hearted. But this? This has broken something inside him, his innocent purity gone forever. He doesn't know who he'll be anymore.

He nods at Dis' request, keeping the bandage in place. His eyes watch his sister this time instead of closing. There's a tiny wince as she dismantles his arrow but he says nothing.

Her touch makes him tremble worse than ever and he leans into her, letting out a shaky sigh. He wants to curl up against her and cry, but that's hardly what's expected of him.

"Alright," he replies, and his voice is empty.

Sometimes Dís feels as if she is far older than the nearly four decades she's seen. Erebor seems so long ago, memories buried beneath the gauzy haze of childhood and the ash and dragonflame of a mountain burning. Right now she feels twice her age, if not thrice.

Their mother would have been here taking care of them if she had not fallen long ago, and so it falls upon Dís' still thin shoulders. But sometimes she wonders if she will be able to handle the weight of being the cornerstone of this shrinking family. The knowledge of it lurks in her gaze, hidden beneath her worry as she carefully uses the arrow shafts to splint his arm. It can't take more than a few minutes but there's pain in it and she can feel Frerin trembling against her.

With a quiet sound of relief she tucks the edge of the bandage away and double checks to make sure it's bandaged well.

"There, 'twasn't hard was it?" Her smile is nebulous, trembling at the edges and not quite reaching her eyes as she cradles his face between small hands and touches their foreheads together.

He doesn't make hardly any sound, though his breathing comes a little faster, heavy and ragged as Dis binds up his arm. Everything is throbbing, his multitude of relatively minor wounds all thronging together to make it feel much worse than it is. Frerin blinks away tears, not sure if they're from the pain or the aching grief.

He looks up at her because she's trying so hard, he can see it. It's in her voice, her movements. Dis has always done her best to take the place of their mother, to fill the gap that she had left and take care of her brothers, and Frerin is grateful for that, more than he could ever say.

"Not hard at all." His voice is near a whisper, and his smile is utterly forced. He leans his forehead against hers and closes his eyes.

"Dis...I think I need to lie down."

Every little ragged breath is like a dagger through her, carving up the tender beating heart beneath her breast. There are tears still gathered upon her lashes, mouth trembling with the want to cry and the need not to. When Frerin closes his eyes, she drags in a soft, gasping breath of air, too loud in the silence of their home.

"Come then," Her arms beneath his hold him up, and though Dís is still small and in her youth, not yet hitting the older growth spurts, she is strong. She half-carries him to bed and helps him lay down. And then, with a faintly distressed look, she piles in after him, face buried into the crook of his neck. She doesn't sob, but there are tears against his skin, helpless and worried, "I'm sorry I couldn't help more, brother."

"Thank you."

He leans against her, needing the support. Frerin's so tired, his steps heavy and his head hanging. A soft groan escapes him as he finally lies down, eyes closing almost immediately.

His arms go gently around her, even his injured one, and he strokes through her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Oh Dis," he murmurs softly. "My little baby bird. You've done so much for me. Don't be sorry."

Support is the least she can give him, and what Dís gives freely even if he were not to ask for her to do so. What more does she have, after all? Still, he lies down and wraps his arms around her, pressing kisses and endearments to the dark curling mass of her hair and for a moment she can forget that his arm is broken and his mind is darkened with battle.

For a moment, Dís can pretend that nothing has happened and they are cuddling after a bad dream.

"Brother dearest, your safe return 'twas all I wished for." Still, she smiles, pressing a kiss to the line of his jaw and curling closer. She hasn't slept well in far too long, too worried and too unused to the silence. Perhaps now she can, knowing at least part of her family has returned.

Frerin loves Thorin dearly, but Dis is his favorite. His sweet little sister, so willing to give to those she loves. Fingers brush through her dark hair and if it weren't for the pain throbbing steadily through his body, he could forget too.

He breathes, buries his face in her hair and knows that Dis is breaking just as much as he is.

"I could never leave you," he tells her, but in his heart he can't forget just how close he was to death. It was luck that saw him through to the end of battle. Frerin is not a warrior, not like Thror or Thrain, and yet he made it through. He assumes his father is dead; the thought of him leaving them is too terrible.

"I'm here." He wishes he were stronger, wishes the words meant more than they do.

I could never leave you he says and while Dís wants dearly to believe him, that is a lie she no longer can find the heart to keep faith in. Everyone leaves, everyone dies, it is a fact of life and she has gone through enough to know it well. So Dís' mouth turns up into a trembling smile, arm winding around Frerin's waist to hold him close.

Part of her wonders how it would have been if she could have been there on that battle field, if she could have done anything. But that's folly to worry about, not when she's got the deaths of her father and grandfather already weighing on her mind. So with a little sniffle she nods.

"You better let me take you to see Oín, at least." A poke at his shoulder, "I'll be very cross if you don't."

Frerin sighs, he closes his eyes and relaxes. His fingers pause in her hair, his bad arm still against Dis' back.

He smiles faintly at Dis, exhaustion settling in.

"You know I can't handle you being cross with me," he replies softly. "But later, I think."

"Aye," she replies just as softly, pressing a kiss to his jaw and settling in comfortable. "Sleep now, you need your rest."

It's unspoken, but there in the way she holds him close and presses warm against his side Dís makes it clear she will guard him as he sleeps. And she will definitely take him up on that promise later on.

Frerin smiles half-heartedly, fingers brushing softly across her cheek. He lets out a sigh and his eyes close. He's so, so tired, emotionally and physically worn.

He doesn't fully relax until sleep claims him.

She counts his breathing, hand warming upon his chest so she can feel the steady thumpthumpthump of his heartbeat beneath her fingers. Eventually, when he eases out and slips into sleep, Dís relaxes enough to let herself follow him.

The day might have been one of the worst in her short life, but that night Dís dreams of a chamber with star-studded gems embedded in the walls and ceiling, little constellations marked out like the sky until she couldn't tell one from the other.

In her dream they laugh and curl close, point out shapes and name them like there's not a care in the world. And she sleeps through the night for the first time in weeks.

OPEN POST

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