The Sacrifice: The Story of Dis   Part 2 ~Míriel

Disclaimer: All people and places are taken from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings

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And here she was now, the loser of another argument.

             Dis anger soon dissipated into sadness.  She fought back tears as she walked.  Thorin had unknowingly touched on something very near and dear to her.  Dis knew that Thorin was right; that women could not fight as well as the men.  It was something, something that Dis had vowed to erase from her mind, yet somehow it kept returning...

            She had been twenty-eight years old, a mere child in the reckoning of the Dwarves.  The Dwarves were well into their second year of the War of the Dwarves and Orcs.  Dis could not remember where they had been fighting; she had tried her best to forget.

            It had been a “normal” day.  The men had left the previous day for battle, and the women had stayed behind to mind the camp.  The men would return in several days, their numbers somewhat fewer, but that could not be helped.  The Dwarves were at war, and death was to be expected.

            Something that day, however, had gone horribly wrong.  Several companies of Orcs had broken away from the battle and had somehow found the camp of the Dwarves.  The women had been completely caught off guard, and although they had managed to find weapons they had not been nearly fast enough to save themselves from the slaughter that would take place that day.

            Dis had panicked.  She had been unable to find any weapons and was vulnerable to the deadly blades of the Orcs.  She had done the only thing that she could: she had run. 

            But there had been nowhere to go; the camp was completely filled with Orcs.  It was not long until Dis had found herself on the ground, waiting for the blow that would end her life.  Except just when the Orc had swung, Dis had been pushed out of the way by her mother, who had then taken the blade and died in Dis’ place.

            Dis was still unsure how she had made it through that day alive.  The men had arrived just in time to rescue the women.  Dis learned that day that, given the circumstances, women could not fight.

            She had never told anyone what had happened.  The guilt of knowing that she had caused her mother’s death was too great for words.  But now, years later, as she found the men going into what would most likely be the final battle in this war, she realized that she wanted to go with them as well.  Death or revenge was the only ways that she could redeem herself in her eyes, and battle was the only way that this could be achieved.  Yet the men did not simply let the women onto the battlefield, which would be certain disaster.  Dis needed a plan.  She also would need help.

Several hours later, Dis returned from the woods into the Dwarves camp.  She looked about her as she entered.  The camp was about two days march from the valley of Azanulbizar.  Seven thousand Dwarf men were gathered here ready to fight to the death, with more from Iron Hills arriving in several days.  Fires were being lit all across the plain; they shone as beacons in the growing dark.

            There were very few Dwarf women there, perhaps seventy-five or so.  They were of the house of Durin, Dis’ kin.  When the dragon Smaug had destroyed their dwellings in Erebor, the small company of Dwarves that had escaped was left homeless wanderers in the wilderness.  Such were the women that were there now.  They had no dwellings; this was their home.

            Dis walked across the snow-covered ground towards her family’s fire. Her brother Frerin was there, smoking contentedly on his pipe. No one else was there.            

“Hullo, Dis,” Frerin said

            “Hullo Frerin!” said Dis as she walked over to him.  “Where are Father and Thorin?”

            Frerin stopped puffing on his pipe and leaned back in thought.  “They said that they were meeting with the other leaders of the army.”

            Dis nodded.  “Ah.  That would explain why no one is here at suppertime.”

            Frerin laughed.  “It depends on what you would consider ‘supper.’ ”

            Dis smiled back.  “Cram...and more cram.”

            “It is better than nothing, I suppose.  Would you like some?”

            “Later.  Right now I would like to speak with you.”

            Frerin sat up attentively and gave her his full attention.  “What is troubling you, Sister?”

            Dis relayed the events that had transposed between her and Thorin in the woods.

            Frerin shook his head.  “What he said is not true.  I believe that you could fight very well if the need presented itself.”

            “Thank you Frerin.  But your confidence does nothing to solve my problem.  I am still a woman, and we do not fight.  I suppose that I will once again be left behind to tend to the camp while you fight for our home.  It is my home as well as yours, Frerin!  Why should I not be able to help defend it?”

            “Does it not though?” Frerin asked with a grin.

            “What?”

            “Dis, I think that my confidence is very well the solution to your problems.”

            Dis looked at him skeptically.  “And how is that?”

            Frerin motioned her to sit down next to him.  She did.  “Dis, I am in a position to greatly help you.  Dwarf women are so alike to us men that it can be very hard to distinguish the two.  I have extra armor.  If you were wearing that and a helm, I fail to see why you cannot also journey with us into battle.”

            Dis stared at him.  “Frerin, did I fail to mention that you are one of the wisest people that I know?”

            He waved his hand.  “No need.  Now, come, let us go find that spare armor.”

            After being equipped with armor, including a shirt of chain mail, a breastplate, a helm, and a shield, Frerin let her investigate the weapons.  Choosing one was not terribly difficult.  There were many extra weapons from the Dwarves that had been slain in the recent battles.  Dis selected a short sword.  She was not handy with the axe, nor was she particularly fond of the bow. She much preferred the straight, clean lines of the sword.

            All of these things Dis stored underneath one of her blankets.  When the Dwarf men left for battle, she would be going as well.

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It was now the night before the march, and Dis could hardly sleep.  Everything was ready for her plan to be executed, but now she was wondering: was she truly willing to go through with it?

Dis rolled over onto her back and looked up into the sky.  It was a cloudy night, and the blanket of clouds blocked the light of even the moon.  Dis wondered if perhaps the darkness was foreboding the fate of her journey.

“No,” Dis thought.  There was no turning back.  She would enter battle.  She would fight alongside the men, and avenge the many deaths of her family and friends, even if the cost be her own life.

            With these thoughts swirling in her head, Dis’ dark brown eyes slowly closed as she drifted into an uneasy slumber.

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