oooh, this sparked some ideas, Nonnie! Thank you for the lovely prompt 🙂
All newborns are generally a tiny bundle of responses and needs, but give them a few months and they begin to show their distinct personalities…
Durin is an easy sleeper, but Dísith is a demanding cuddler. She likes to fall asleep on her father’s chest, her little fingers buried in his beard. It’s Dain’s old chair, too. The Stonehelm leans back, props up a book and holds her against his heartbeat until she stops mumbling and fussing, and finally falls asleep. It’s not unheard of for her father to fall asleep that way too, the pages of his book riffling open and neglected on his lap.
Bomfris has discovered them together this way, more than once.
Durin is a grabber. He has a strong, stubborn grip that causes Bomfris both pride and worry. He’s ENDLESSLY curious, and is most definitely that child that sticks everything in his mouth. He is also good at focusing early: he follows his mother’s finger as she waves it before him, and grabs for his toys with something a little more purposeful than the usual baby flail.
Dísith is not a wailer. She is a HOWLER. When she is upset – say, she is wet, or hungry, or sleepy – she yells blue murder. Sometimes little ones just yell at their parents, and the parent is left with the guessing-game of OH GOD WHAT IS WRONG WE JUST DON’T KNOW, WE’VE TRIED IT ALL… and Dísith will just yell and yell, red in the face, a furious little nugget of discontent.
Durin is the one who likes being carried everywhere. He is the backpack baby, the one who is chill with being worn in a sling or bundled onto Mum or Dad’s back and just watching everything happen with massive eyes (not all babies are into baby-wearing, jsyk! Some, but not all). He’ll put up with a bit of jostling if it means he’s strapped to Bomfris’ back as she goes about the Mountain.
(Dísith will put up with it for a little while… but only if she is strapped facing forward.)
Dísith sits up early. Lying on her back constantly is boring as hell, and she wants to be an active part of everything instead of observing the ceiling all the time. She was a good roller, and was happy enough on her tummy too. It was almost as though she knew she had to strengthen those neck muscles enough to sit up herself. Before she was strong and big enough to sit, however… if you didn’t prop her up with cushions and include her in the conversation, you were toast. She is not a passive lil bubba.
(Durin was decidedly NOT happy during Tummy Time).
Disith chews her feet. She also learns to pull off her nappy. She was the first to crawl, and dear Mahal below the turn of speed she has is alarming.
Durin sucks his thumb. He also is quick to begin ‘cruising’ on the furniture, using his strong little grip to haul himself upright and shuffle himself along.
The one who takes to solid food first is
Dísith. FOOD IS AWESOME, MORE PLEASE. Durin is slightly fussier, and takes longer to adjust. Dinners with Durin are very messy. The Stonehelm has gone to council with mashed cauliflower and sweet potato on his jacket more than once.
Durin smiles first, but Disith laughs first. Once they are both giggling, Bomfris develops an addiction to blowing raspberries on those lil chubby tummies, just to hear that laughter.
Teething Sucks. So. Much. For everybody involved. It’s bad enough with one, but two is nightmarish. Thira and Alris stay with the twins for a night during the ordeal, so that the Stonehelm and Bomfris can escape and grab 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep. They were beginning to look sort of… haunted.
So, anybody confused should read this post… and then this one, for the tags especially.
well, the dynamic would be very… very different. Um.
the Stonehelm would spend a lot of the time perplexed and exasperated at this incompetent little Hobbit Leeroy Jenkins. I mean, I get the impression that Trotter would legit attack the ankles of a troll, if even slightly provoked. And he goes about the place trying to act all portentous and mysterious a lot. Which = ridiculous.
So the Stonehelm would be saving his pugnacious butt, over and over again. There would be eye-rolling.
Trotter would be calling the Stonehelm a useless wet blanket a lot, I feel. BC my version of Stonehelm is.. a bit diffident and self-effacing, and doesn’t feel like he’s as good as either his namesake or his father. He’s honestly a bit of a close-mouthed awkward butterknife… unless he’s truly and properly angry. So he’d be advising caution a lot. WHICH TROTTER WOULD HATE, bc he is THE SCION OF DESTINYYYYYYY.
but maybe they’d also have Heartwarming Shenanigans, wherein Trotter would get some lessons in being less of a sword-happy ass having better judgement in battle, caution, respect etc… and the Stonehelm would learn to respect and admire Trotter’s sheer determination and refusal to give up or back down.
(Ol’ Gammer Boffin would hit them both with her stick, bc they’re both bloody idiots and she just dgaf.)
(cradlesong anon) pt 2 im changing the lyrics a bit, so it’s for two treasures, and im gonna use your alto line but an octave or two down for thorin. bomfris’ line is gonna stay the same. im just feeling things about bomfris and thorin and little disith and durin and how loved they all are, idk. would that be ok, to change it like that?
(cradlesong anon) pt 3 i just decided that the tenor line that comes in around measure 32 is going to be bombur singing along from the halls of mahal, watching over his daughter and grandchildren. and now i made myself sad.
Hey Nonnie! Absolutely – go nuts, move it around as much as you like! It’s your thing now, this major version is your baby and you can play around with it in any old way: lyrics, tune, harmonies, anything. It’s all yours, with my enthusiastic encouragement and blanket permission for WHATEVER! I can’t wait to hear what you come up with.
And omg ajhsdglajhasgdfsah that headcanon hurts my heart. A lot. In a completely wonderful, perfectly perfect way. Bomfris and Thorin and their tiny little surprises and BOMBUR HOW DARE YOU augh
actually, now that I come to think of it… wow, that is EXTREMELY fitting for a Sansukh song, that lil
*hugs* Oh Nonnie. Yes, it’s a song about home, and coming home. You’ll make it though! You can get all that lovely knowledge and study, and come back with your head packed with all new stuff ❤
I crammed a LOT of character motivation into those two big Stonehelm-and-Dain chats, I think. Possibly a bit too much!!
Well, canonically we don’t actually know very much about this. What we have is briefly summarised here. There’s also the speculation that Durin would return to herald the final era of glory for the Dwarves, before they dwindled and disappeared to give way to the era of Men.
The Dwarves believe that the eldest of the seven original Dwarves, Durin, would be reincarnated seven times and reign as King. There have been six Kings called Durin thus far.
In Sansukh, the seventh just arrived!
We know that Durin VII is meant to be descended from Thorin III Stonehelm, which is shown in the family tree in the LOTR Appendices.
What we DON’T know: how the heck do they know it’s Durin??????
My solution: Durin’s eyes. They shine in certain light, like ithildin.
Some speculation and ideas, now: I don’t believe that this little baby is going to have ALL the memories of his earlier lives. I think that is a recipe for disaster and heartache, frankly. He’s still a child, who does child things.
Each incarnation is like a possibility: I’m of the nurture-over-nature school of thought here. Depending on the influences in a kid’s life they can grow and develop in a myriad of ways, and this one is no different.
Some memories will come later in his life, as he becomes ready for them (not his deaths, though. Mahal would never be so cruel). More important is how people help and prepare him to face his own legend – and whether they treat him like an actual child, who does child-things both good and bad!
His new parents are very well suited to help with this, actually. Thorin Stonehelm knows ALLLLL about following in the footsteps of giants and having to live up to an impossible legacy. And Bomfris would tell Eru himself to shove it where the sun shineth not! She’s not going to hold back from telling a naughty Durin to ‘go to your room!’ if needed.
So, there’s some headcanoning! I hope you like, Nonnie!
I POST THIS IN THE FULL KNOWLEDGE THAT IT HAS BEEN A HELLA LONG TIME SINCE I UPDATED. So, here is a bit of the draft for Ch46, with my sincerest apologies. *smooches*
…
“So you are telling me,” said the Stonehelm, very slowly,
“that the Dwarrowdam who served my father as his guard was in fact Queen of the Blacklocks.”
Ashkar shrugged and took a sip of wine. “Rightfully, this is
so.”
“She was deposed,” added Kara.
Orla herself was sitting stiffly to attention. Her face was
set and her eyes glittered with a dozen emotions, but she made no sound at all.
Dwalin was holding her hand.
“Strictly speaking, her mother was assassinated, and Orla
was framed for the deed,” Ashkar said, frowning at Kara. “But the exact
technical details mean little.”
Watching, Balin huffed into his beard and nudged Thorin with
his elbow. “Did you know about this?”
“Some,” Thorin admitted. “But not much.”
“So the current Queen is a pretender?” The Stonehelm turned
to Orla and raised his eyebrows. “Orla?”
If anything, Orla’s back stiffened even further, and Dwalin
shifted closer to her. “Look, it’s been difficult for her,” he said, in what
was probably the understatement of the Age. “She hasn’t spoken about all this
in decades.”
“I do not want the throne of the Ghomali court,” she said. “My
home is here, in Erebor. I will not return.”
“There’s many who would rejoice to hear that you live,” said
Ashkar gently. “We did.”
Orla’s eyes slid shut, and her jaw worked as she swallowed.
Then she nodded. “I know. But there are also those who would work great evil
against me and mine, and I will not have that.”
“Why depose you in the first place, though?” Gimli said,
tipping his head. “Why put your sister on your throne?”
“Good question,” murmured Balin.
“Because The Cult couldn’t use Queen Ara nor her first
daughter, Orla, but they found the second more malleable. My mother Arna wanted
to please, above all things,” said Kara, bitterness twisting her voice. “The
Cult of Sauron used that. Now she is completely under their thumb, lost in the
haze of their words and drugs. I honestly don’t think she knows my name, most
days.”
Orla’s shoulders hunched, and her eyelids squeezed tight.
Her breath escaped her in a soundless shudder.
“But Sauron is dead now,” Gimli said, and indicated Legolas
and himself. “We can attest to that. So what do they have to gain from
promoting his worship?”
“Power, what else?” said Thranduil, shaking his head. “I
fear that undoing his works will be the labour of many Ages yet.”
“Dwarves are not afraid of hard work,” said the Stonehelm
firmly, a hint of his Iron Hills burr in his voice. “And this will be long, and
hard. They have held the realm for more than fifty years in the name of their
puppet, and their dominance will be well-established. Still, they must know by
now that the Dark Power is overthrown. That will drive them into
disorganisation and despair.”
Orla’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowed. “I will not be an
instrument in any plans you devise. I will not be a figurehead for you.”
The Stonehelm sighed. “That is not what I am suggesting.
Orla, I would never do such a thing to you! I have received my own throne in a
war, unwilling and too soon: would I wish the same on a friend?”
Dwalin glowered under his brows, and his muscles bunched in
warning. “Just so’s that’s understood, then. Yer Majesty.”
“I do not want them to know I live,” said Orla, and she
turned to face Ashkar and Kara. Her words were halting as she spoke, as though
she were assembling thoughts that had lain asunder for years upon years. “My
life is my own to risk. But I have sons. I have a home, and a people I have
chosen, and I have fought and bled with them, and for them. I will not
relinquish them, nor put them in danger.”
“Like to see ‘em try it,” growled Dwalin.
“I wouldn’t,” said Ashkar bluntly. “You may be formidable in
war, I do not doubt, but the Cult uses weapons other than steel. They will
uphold one belief and perform another openly and before all, profess their
decency and respect whilst tearing you apart with their slippery words – and
when words have served their purpose and all opposition is disgraced and
terrified, ah! Then! Then the steel emerges.”
“The question of whether we confront them is not under
discussion,” said the Stonehelm wearily. “We cannot fight another war, on such
a distant front, so soon.”
“Then what can we do?” Kara said, and she wrung her hands.
Her face was tired beyond her young years. “Aunt Orla-”
“It is not my home any longer,” said Orla, kindly but with
absolute finality.
“But it is my
home!” Kara burst out. “And you could save it!”
“No, child,” she said, and reached out to lay a hand upon
Kara’s shoulder, catching and holding her gaze. “No, I do not think I am the
one destined to do that.”
Kara’s lip quivered as she stared at her aunt, and then she
lowered her head. “I had hoped…” she said brokenly.
Thorin gnawed on his lip and tugged at the plait in his
beard, his feelings torn. “Does she not feel a responsibility to her people?”
he muttered. “Does she not wish to seek her birthright?”
Balin gave him a sympathetic glance. “Not everyone is you, my friend.”
“I know, I know,”
Thorin said. “And she has forged her own path after losing so much, enduring so
much, and I do understand why she would not risk the happiness she has found
nor the others in her life…”
“But it would not be your way.” Balin’s smile was wry. “Never
a choice in your mind, remember? Not so for her.”
“One person cannot defeat the Cult of Sauron,” Orla was
saying. “I tried before, and I lost everything.”
“If any could do it, I’d lay my coin on you,” said Dwalin
staunchly. She let out a quiet huff of amusement.
“Not helping, dear.”
“I think that the defeat of the Cult of Sauron must belong
not to one, but to many,” said Ashkar. Then they laughed sourly. “That is, if
it can be done at all, homeless and hopeless as we are.”
“You are welcome here,” said the Stonehelm. “For as long as
you need sanctuary. You are not friendless.”
“And the rest of our people? For there are many living in
fear,” said Ashkar. Their eyes were shrewd as they rested upon the King. The
Stonehelm grimaced, but nodded.
“Aye, them too. It’ll be a tight squeeze, no doubt…”
“No, we cannot make ourselves such a target,” said Orla,
standing up swiftly. “The Cult will insinuate that Erebor is seeking an Empire
– that the Longbeards intend to assimilate and colonise the Orocarni by holding
Blacklock Dwarves as hostages, rather
than taking in refugees! They will find their excuse for a war, no matter what
you do. And they will paint us as the aggressors. You thought those Dalemen
were vicious liars? They were children compared to the Cult of Sauron.”
The Stonehelm ran a hand through his hair. “We can see them
off, as we did before…”
“So soon after the last lot?” Dwalin looked torn. “I hate t’
say it, lad…”
“We beat their armies, didn’t we?”
“Not really,” Dwalin said, very reluctantly. “They left when
Mordor fell. If the Ring hadn’t been destroyed, we’d have starved to death by
now.”
“And look at the cost of victory,” snapped Orla. “Dale is a
ruin, two peoples lost their kings – our dead fill our tombs – there was fire
and treachery in the very heart of the Mountain!”
“They can’t do it,” Balin whispered. “Erebor is too weak,
too exposed…”
“I won’t leave these Dwarves living in tyranny and fear,
with nowhere to go!” said the Stonehelm, slamming his hand against his thigh. “My
father said it once, and I will say it again: we are a people who lose their
homes, century after century, and I will not see it repeat itself henceforth! These
are meant to be days of peace, of rebuilding, free of the Shadow at last! When
do we say ‘enough’? Where can they seek refuge, if not here? Our homes are
their homes: I will hear no argument, and I will not support any inaction that
will see Dwarrows fleeing into the wilderness once more, alone and rejected. We
must give them our aid. We must find another way.”
“But where?” said Dwalin in frustration. “We’re exhausted!
Not the Iron Hills either, they’re too barren to support more mouths, and they
too are exposed to the Northern trade routes…”
“Blue Mountains? You can’t get further from the East than
that,” suggested the Stonehelm, but his voice was dubious.
“Oh, even better, ask ‘em to settle an abandoned and
crumbling ruin, half a world away,” sneered Dwalin.
“The Cult would accuse us of slavery and exploitation, it
would be used to fuel their propaganda,” said Orla, with a jerk of her head. “It’d be
added to the list of justifications for attacking us: the outrage over the conditions
there would unite many people against us. Ered Luin is out of the question.”
“Aglarond,” said Legolas, suddenly.
The word fell across the argument like a granite slab,
rendering all silent with confusion. Gimli gasped, and Thranduil tipped his
head, his expression thoughtful. His eyes rested on Gimli with piercing
curiosity.
“The… place, with the caves. In Rohan,” he said.
“Aye, though calling them ‘the place with the caves in
Rohan’ is doing them a vast disservice,” Gimli said, eagerly leaning forward.
“My king, it’s perfect – the White Mountains are ringed all about by the Lands
of Men, and we can call upon the Horse-Lords and upon Gondor to aid us if
needed!”
“It is closer to Umbar than we are,” said Orla, but her face
was clearing as she mulled it over. It seemed that the idea was to her liking.
“True enough, but there’s no clear route from the East.”
Gimli stood and began to pace, gesticulating with his broad hands as he thought
aloud. “We’re in direct line to the East here in Erebor, and only the Iron
Hills stand between us and them, and they could go around those, quite easily.
Whereas the Glittering Caves!”
“That’s right,” Legolas agreed. “There’s the whole of Mordor
in the way, to begin with – the Towers of the Teeth, and then the River
Anduin…”
“Osgiliath and Gondor…!” Gimli said, pouncing on this with
some enthusiasm. “And if by some miracle they get through Aragorn and Faramir,
they’d have to sneak past Meduseld unseen, which from that vantage point is
nigh-on impossible! We’d have the fortress of Helms Deep to use as a base for
our fortifications…”
“After some renovation, I should hope,” Legolas said drily.
“Hush you, cheeky Elf, I’m thinking.” Gimli grinned at
Legolas.
“As it happens so rarely, I apologise for the interruption,”
Legolas murmured, and Gimli snorted and flipped a hand at him.
“I’ll deal with that comment
later. But this is a very good idea. Aglarond is a new place, a new home, and
belongs to no clan. We could build it together. Surrounded by allies and in a
heavily defensible valley, we could easily shelter any refugees of the Orocarni
who are fleeing the death-throes of the Cult.”
“Look at Thranduil,” said Balin, and Thorin glanced over at
the Elvenking. He was watching Gimli with unconcealed intensity now, as though
absorbing his every word and movement for later study.
“This is all sounding very fine,” said Ashkar in a dry
voice, “but how are you going to let them know that, without letting the Cult know?”
“Oh, I suspect the Cult will know, almost immediately.”
Gimli waved that away. “That’s another problem. The first problem is to let anyone in the East know. And the second
is to convince them that our intentions are good.”
Ashkar looked surprised. “What?”
Gimli snorted. “Well, you wanted nothing to do with me at
first, eh? A Northern Dwarf, a Longbeard. Gondor and the West meant nothing
good to you: it meant slavery, slaughter and dominion. Such is the fruit of the
history between you. Were I to walk into the Ghomali court tomorrow and make my
offer, it would not be long before the Cult tried to twist my words into these
foul, miserable shapes of old. Am I right?”
“You’re right,” said Kara flatly, before Ashkar could
answer.
“Then we find a way to make our offer, and then we find a
way to make it believed,” Gimli said, and he rubbed his hands together. “The rest is not up to us, but to them. Ach, I need
a pipe. Thinking on a knotty problem always goes better with a smoke, as Sam
says!”
She’s staying with Dis, at the moment. She’s okay. She isn’t coming out a lot, after what happened. Her son and Bomfris come over each morning for a cup of tea and a slice of cake. Mizim has been cooking for them both.
Genild and Beri have also been keeping an eye on her – Genild has known her a long time, from the Iron Hills. Now and then Dori drops by when his busy schedule allows.
She will be all right – she’s iron all through, our Thira – but she’s had a very rough few months.
Aw Yiss 