Family, Duty, Honor... mostly.

"Dah, Dah, Dah!" The Dwarfling squealed with joy, dashing as quickly as his legs would carry him- not very quickly, in fact, although he fell once- to the opening front door, bouncing excitedly as his father entered. "Dah, yer back eawly! Mum says f’at you awe watching Feewee and me today! Does f’at mean stowies, and f’a special stones, and pillow fights, and-and-" Kili paused, his brow furrowed as if in deep contemplation before finishing triumphantly, "-and fun, lots and lots of fun?"

With a smile, he picked Kili up afterwards.

"Now, lad, what would you like to do, then?" he asked with a grin, "And where's your brother, hmm?"

He gave a slightly nervous look.

Quickly, he lowered his hand again.

"I don’t know. I can’t remember living among dwarves, so I suppose you don’t miss what you don’t know."

He couldn’t help but give the boy a curious look.

"Familiar in a good way, I hope?"

Well - he was thankful for every tiny bit of information he could grasp, wasn’t he…

He sat down again, leaning his back against the stone wall.

"Why don’t you take a seat, hmm? It’ll take a while until you get out of here again, and I won’t bite."

"Aye, it is in a good way…like I said, I cannot truly explain it. Mostly, all I can tell you is that you seem familiar." He shrugged his shoulders, walking towards the other before sinking onto the earthen floor. 

He leaned the back of his head against the cold stone wall.

"What kind of traders are you, then?"

Dwarves usually didn't travel this much, did they? It had been a human caravan, after all, that had taken care of him, and there had been few wandering dwarves he had met over the course of the last few decades. And the boy sitting next to him rather looked like a ranger than a blacksmith. Well, maybe he was one of the caravan guards.

"Allow me to say, you don't look much like a blacksmith..."

He gave a slightly nervous look.

Ten house points if you say why!

This is an ask blog, as well. As in, come into my askbox, anon or not, and talk to my character. I am always open for conversation.

He gave the younger one a slightly worried look when he saw him try to break the iron bars.

Welcome back among dwarves, he said.

Dál gave a small smile.

"If I so desired, yes", he answered, unintentionally raising a hand to rub the small scar on his forehead that was all that had remained of his previous life, almost hidden beneath golden hair.

"I can remember for as long as eighty years, maybe", he answered, "That’s… complicated, you see?"

However, he frowned when Kili continued.

"The house of Durin? Are you on your way to the Iron Hills, then?"

"We would not have even met, if that is the case…strange, yet you seem slightly familiar…yet no matter. One day, perhaps…you could rejoin those who remember you." 

A dark glower directed upward towards the ceiling crossed his face as Kili smoothly replied, “Aye, we were on our way to the Iron Hills…now I am not so sure.” 

Quickly, he lowered his hand again.

"I don't know. I can't remember living among dwarves, so I suppose you don't miss what you don't know."

He couldn't help but give the boy a curious look.

"Familiar in a good way, I hope?"

Well - he was thankful for every tiny bit of information he could grasp, wasn't he...

He sat down again, leaning his back against the stone wall.

"Why don't you take a seat, hmm? It'll take a while until you get out of here again, and I won't bite."

The words felt stuck in Dál’s throat as well, unsure of whether the boy was maybe making a joke. Then again, of course he couldn’t know about the full extend of his injury, could he? Unconsciously rubbing the scar on his forehead - all that was left of his previous life - he looked over Fili from head to toe.

Well - yes, there were vivid images, stored away somewhere in the back of his head. Laughter, a blond haired child, battles and fire, a young she-dwarf with dark and curly hair…

Daughter of Thrain?

Now, that was… interesting. Memories or not, he knew that name.

"You…"

He cleared his throat.

Except… his eyes draw up briefly to Dál’s hand as it reaches up and touches that scar. It chills his blood, not from appearance but in worry. And though he keeps his smile, the brightness, that eagerness in his eyes fades; doubt sneaking at his edges.

He doesn’t have to wonder if that healed injury affects him like Bifur’s does him because the lack of reaction tells the young blond what he needs to know. Dál didn’t come back because he was dead… he didn’t come back because he couldn’t remember. Or, he did just… not enough.

Of course he knew the stories about Thorin, son of Thrain - but there was something else, the blurred image of a younger dwarf of maybe something around hundred years of age, curly dark hair and usually stern - it'd be better if you treated her well, for your own good -

"With blue eyes" he replied slowly, "Like your mothers... and like yours."

Still unsure, his eyes met the younger ones', only to find what he had just said.

Like yours.

"What about your brother's eyes?"

Something moved eerily in the back of his head, but the image was gone before he could grasp it - and then again, he was used to these kinds of things happening from time to time. When he was hunting. When he was working on one of the stone talismans he sold at times. When he smelled fire and ash…

"Oh, no, no, don’t worry. I could fix it for you", he offered. "For a good price, too."

He gave the boy another look. There was something… about his eyes, maybe, that seemed…

The man before him is what he recalls from dreams, the ghosting images of his father. He’s the face he remembers from his childhood and the little sketched portraits back in Ered Luin. If he’s nervous it’s because he’s so excited that this, albeit older, face could be the one that was lost to him decades ago. Understandably, he can’t believe his ears. Did he hear right? Dál, son of—?

It doesn’t seem to matter because he’s smiling, a rogue breath ragged as he nods insistently. “Yes,” Fíli tries to say without his voice quivering, failing as he continues: “We have—a lifetime ago.” He swallows again before clearing his throat. “I am Fíli, son of Dís, daughter of Thráin.” The smile is something he can’t fight, vivid blues alight with his bubbling anticipation.

The words felt stuck in Dáls throat as well, unsure of whether the boy was maybe making a joke. Then again, of course he couldn't know about the full extend of his injury, could he? Unconsciously rubbing the scar on his forehead - all that was left of his previous life - he looked over Fili from head to toe.

Well - yes, there were vivid images, stored away somewhere in the back of his head. Laughter, a blond haired child, battles and fire, a young she-dwarf with dark and curly hair...

Daughter of Thrain?

Now, that was... interesting. Memories or not, he knew that name.

"You..."

He cleared his throat.