A fortnight of mourning.

Roland hesitated for a moment, on his face was the look of a man about to engage in a fierce battle, one that he was sure he would lose and yet he had no choice but to engage anyway. Decisively, he reached his hand down and ripped the quilt off the bed, revealing the figure that had been hiding beneath them.

It was his wife Sigrid, she was curled up like a child beneath a heavy quilt on a rainy day when the sky was raging. In her arms was a small red black baby sized clock which she had been hugging to bed every night and holding through the day.

She had been mourning the death of their child for a fortnight. During that time, she had done nothing but sleep, eat, run and cry. She did those things in that exact order, repeating them through the day.

The businesses had been left to Roland, the Thorin's and her subordinates.