It was cold in Ered Luin. At least, it seemed so to the lone dwarf woman who stood upon a stone balcony jutting out from the cliff face. The Lady Dís of the Line of Durin blew out a long cloud of air, watching it form a tiny cloud before her. With a hand lost in the silky black braids of her hair (or was it her beard?), Thorin Oakenshield's sister was equally lost in her own thoughts. Durin's Day had come and gone weeks ago, and still no word had come from the East...from Erebor.

Dís knew well the significance of Durin's Day; the one day of the entire year in which the mountain of their forefathers could be accessed by the secret door. She had been but a dwarfling when they had fled from the pillaging of Smaug, and most of her life she recalled only from within the halls of their home in the Blue Mountains. It was a good home though, strong and carved of sturdy mountain stone. The walls and passages behind Dís within the side of the mountain had been carved and hollowed with an artisan's pride by her long-dead husband. They had built a life here. Not a life of royalty, but one of peace and plenty none the less.

The only sound at the moment was of the winter wind sighing across the valley far below, but Dís needed only to close her eyes to hear the giggles of dwarflings as they chased after one another along the many halls inside. Her sons, Fili and Kili, they had been born in these mountains. They knew nothing of Erebor but what they had learned from the stories Thorin occasionally bestowed on them growing up. Turning around to look beyond the threshold to the glowing hearth, Dís resisted the temptation to come in out of the chill wind to warm herself. She wanted to remember, from exactly the same place, how she had stood and listened to her brother's deep voice describing the wonders of Erebor to his nephews. Fili and Kili had sat on over-stuffed cushions on that very same rug, beneath that very same stone mantelpiece, their little brown eyes wide with wonder. Dís had been glad to see Thorin find reason to smile again, and had blessed every moment that he had spent recalling Erebor to the boys.

Now though, a tiny little chamber of her heart wanted to curse those moments. It had never really occurred to Dís until Fili and Kili had been well on their way to adolescence that The Lonely Mountain might haunt their family still. Pulling her thick woolen shawl closer about her shoulders, the mother recalled well the day she had realized fate.

Fili and Kili had been sparring, as they often did after a day at their lessons. Kindly old Balin had no sooner to leave their household than the young dwarves would be snatching up their wooden practice swords. Dís knew that Dwalin (and likely Thorin) had been hard at the two since they were barely old enough to grip a weapon. The only reason she had not protested was because of how much Fili and Kili clearly enjoyed their training. Dark brown eyes misting over, Dís thought back to the days of their play...

"Ha! That makes two for me!" Fili had crowed, managing to give his baby brother another smart rap on the shoulder with the flat of his wooden sword.

"Owwww!" Kili had whined, tears shining across his doleful brown eyes. "Fili that hurt!"

"Don't whimper Kili." Sitting at the table whittling, Thorin had been watching the two as their rumpus threatened to boil over into Dís's kitchen. "Move your feet, and keep yourself out of the way of any stray blow that comes your way."

Any reprimand or advice from their Uncle Thorin was taken with the utmost of gravity, and even as young as he was Kili had nodded his head and wiped his nose before a sniffle escaped. Fili had been standing waiting for his brother to make the first move before starting again. Maybe he should have been more on his guard. Without any warning whatsoever, the black-haired dwarfling had lunged forward.

"Baruk Khazâd!" Mimicking something he had heard Thorin say perfectly, Kili slipped straight past Fili's unprepared defenses and rapped him smartly on the knees. That was about as high as the little dwarf could reach efficiently on the already growing Fili.

Fili had been so surprised, he had fallen backwards on his rear on the woven mats Dís covered the stone floor with. Hearing slow but definite clapping behind him, Kili had beamed so proudly at Thorin's applause Dís had thought his little face would split.

"These two will be warriors, mark my words." Thorin had said, a proud smile on his face. "Warriors will be what's needed to reclaim our homeland, their birthright."

Dís distinctly remembered feeling the smile fall off her face at these words. Erebor had been nothing but a memory in the back of her mind for years, something to either speak of in hushed tones or recall in Thorin's stories. It had never occurred to her until that moment that her brother would ever actually attempt to retake The Lonely Mountain...

When Thorin had actually come to her one day, declaring his intent to put together a company to reclaim Erebor, Dís had known what he intended to say even before he said it. Never before in her life had Dís ever even thought of striking her brother. She thought of it then when he told her in a low voice that it was only right Fili and Kili be part of the quest for the Lonely Mountain. How dare anyone ask a mother to send off her sons into the lair of a dragon, never mind what other dangers lay along the way? Fili and Kili were young, so very young, barely even past the minimal mark of dwarvish adulthood. They knew nothing of the wider world beyond what could be found and explored in Ered Luin and the surrounding foothills.

Even if Dís could have argued with Thorin, she wouldn't have stood a chance against the enthusiasm of his nephews. Finally the tales Thorin had planted in their young minds for years were bearing fruit; the fruit of wanderlust. Neither could be restrained at the thought of a grand quest to take back Erebor, and were completely deaf to any suggestion that perhaps they leave it to older, more experienced dwarves. In the end, Dís had had no choice but to outfit her sons as befitting the heirs of the House of Durin and see them off along the mountain roads. She had been unable to help herself though; before kissing Kili goodbye she had given her youngest a rune stone token and extracted a promise from him that he would return safely. Fili she worried about less...her eldest had a good steady head on his shoulders. His promise that he would look out for his younger brother had done little to molify Dís though.

It had been summer then, when last Dís had seen the golden and ebony haired heads of her sons fade and disappear into the distance. Now it was winter, and there was a cold in the daughter of Durin's heart that had nothing to do with the wind. She sensed rather than heard the approach of a messenger from afar...a raven with a scroll clutched in its talons. Holding out her arm to the bird, Dís cared not at all as its sharp talons tore open the sleeve of her blouse. She had eyes only for the scroll, sealed in wax and bearing a royal seal.

The wax was red...as red as blood.