#dwalin request

The closeness of their bond only grew in the first few months of the journey. Wherever one was found, the other was not far away. Whether it was when (Y/N) had been startled by the loudness of their companions, when fleeing from orcs, or simply sitting next to one another around the fire, (Y/N) was always holding onto the Dwalin in some way. These innocent touches hadn't escaped the notice of those closest to Dwalin, nor had they escaped the darrow's own notice.

(Y/N)'s affection warmed him. Never had anybody else doted on him to the extent that (Y/N) did. The touches did nothing to dampen his growing feelings. However, the darrow wasn't sure if (Y/N) was just touchy in nature or felt the same way as he. So Dwalin kept his feelings to himself, confiding in no one else. Despite this both Thorin and Balin had worked it out amongst themselves and made it their mission to give Dwalin the push he needed to make the first move. It hadn't been particularly hard to work out considering Dwalin blushed every time (Y/N) touched him. From scheduling watches and other duties together to leaving the only free sleeping spots next to one another Thorin and Balin planned it all. Though these attempts pushed the two closer together they did little to push the boundaries to anything outside of a close-knit friendship.

In the end it was there incessant harping at him that caused him to snap and awkwardly confront (Y/N) in the forest one night. It occurred when the two were gathering firewood late one evening in the forest. Dwalin had made a point of lugging along the heavier wood, like the gentledwarf he was, so that (Y/N) would not have to carry anything to heavy. Tension from his previous discussion with Thorin and Balin hung around him like a thick fog, seeping into (Y/N)'s mood too, threatening to choke them both.

It took a lingering touch on his shoulder by (Y/N) to comfort him that finally made the darrow snap. Dwalin was quick to brush away her hand, resulting in a questioning, and somewhat hurt, look to make an appearance on the young human's face. Dwalin sighed, "I need to know for my own peace of mind, are you such a touchy person with everybody that you're close or is it something more than that." (Y/N) let out a small nervous snort, "you're the most clueless man I've ever met." With that the human gave him a small peck on the cheek, gathered up the remaining firewood, and trekked back to the company, leaving a stunned darrow in their wake.

"My uncle will kill me, but send a raven to Mirkwood too." I couldn't help but snort at the thought of an elf performing for Thorin. "We must require the services of the best bard we can find." Fíli ruled his eyes begging me for support as we moved through the halls of Erebor with a trail of servants behind us. "Spare no expense on it, Thorin's first birthday under The Mountain has to be perfect."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning of the party, I was summoned by the princes at the mountain's entrance. I attended as soon as I could, and when I got there, the two brothers were whispering. Kíli seemed nervous, and Fíli, distressed.

"What you both plotting, lads?" They both looked at me with that look. I stopped dead in my trucks. "What did you do."

"I told Kíli we needed a bard and-" Fíli started.

"I spoke to Tauriel," the brunet continued, immediately exclaiming, "and she found the best bard!"

"She's an elf."

"In Durin's beard—" I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Thorin will kill you himself."

"No-" Kíli stalked towards me. "but that's why you need your help!"

"You ought to hear her sing," Fíli spoke, "her voice is the most beautiful sound I've heard."

"Hold on- she's here?" I whispered, peeking over my shoulders in case someone might have heard us. "You brought an elf-maid here?"

"I walked in by myself, sir." a fourth, silky voice made me look over the brothers' shoulders. "No one brought me."

I, myself, noticed how my jaw fell at the sight of her. She was a vision of loveliness; the beauty she possessed was not from this earth.

"Mister Dwalin?" Kíli's chuckle snapped me out of my astonishment and sent me back to reality. "This is Y/n, from Mirkwood. The bard." my orbs went from the brothers to the elf and vice versa. "Y/n is really pretty isn't she?"

"I..." with a smile she captured my eyes again. "Must you complicate things all the time?"

"It's worth it!" Kíli defended their idea.

"Is it?"

"I can assure you it is." she spoke with a confident half smile. "Must I sing to you to prove it, master dwarf?" there was some kind of daring undertone in her voice.

"Nae." I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to look as stoic as possible with my heart pounding against my chest. "Won't expose myself to any kind of elvish witchery."

"I believe I do not need witchery to gain your favor, do I?" the knowing grin twisting up the corner of her perfect lips made my blood boil for some reason.

I grunted, fighting to pull my gaze away from Y/n, which earned an amused laugh from her. "I'll try to speak on behalf of the lass." I declared, already walking past the princes. "Only because she's already here."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

We were only starting the celebration when the blond prince approached me and took me away from the rest, supposedly to ask for updates on the bard's topic.

"Did you convince Thorin?" Fíli whispered peeking over my shoulder to check on our king.

"Nae, had no time to do it." I looked over my shoulder to see Thorin. "Since Bilbo arrived, I wasn't able to separate your uncle from him." I turned around with crossed arms and a sigh escaped me as I contemplated the hobbit. "For the sake of the lass, I hope the master burglar can placate whatever reaction Thorin has."

"Don't stress about it. Once she starts performing," I felt his blue eyes on me, "everything will be alright, you'll see."

"Where is that famous bard?!" Thorin's joyful yell triggered a grimace in Fíli's face. I clenched my jaw and my shoulders involuntarily tensed as the servants guide a fancy-dressed Y/n into the hall, along with the instrument she would be playing.

There was an uncomfortable silence, in which Thorin’s eyes searched for answers in the rest of us whilst Y/n prepared herself without any kind of distress.

Just as Thorin was about to complain, Bilbo gripped his arm and pulled him to whisper something in his ear. After a moment, Thorin, still with a weary look on his face, nodded, which gave Y/n the cue to start.

She sang, and as the performance progressed, I wondered if she had put us under some kind of spell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The celebration went on an on for an entirety of three days, so, despite Y/n's endurance, she had to take breaks between performances to rest, drink and eat.

No matter where I was, nor with whom I was, my eyes would periodically search for her. I would lose my train of thought, and even become self-conscious of my actions if her eyes laid on me.

The youngest ones noticed that, so did my brother, and they didn't pass a chance to tease me about it as loud as they could, attempting to draw the lass' attention to us.

Thank Mahal, Bilbo kept hogging Thorin’s attention for the most part of the celebration. I wouldn't be able to take whatever opinion my king had on the topic; a dwarf like me, smitten over an elf-maid of Mirkwood.

"Well, master dwarf," her voice startled me, for her steps had been stealthy before she had plopped down in the bench besides me. "was it worth it?"

"Aye, it surely was, lass." I replied, wiping the beer from my beard with the back of my forearm. "Though I have the impression that you know that already."

"Maybe I do." I contemplated her as she grabbed a jar of beer herself. "Did you enjoy it?"

"How could I not?" I stared at the jar in front of me as I spoke. "no words known to me can describe what that voice of yours made a dwarf feel." I grabbed the beer and quaffed what was left of my beverage, hoping the alcohol would somehow mitigate the blush that was already reddening my neck, ears and cheeks.

"Maybe words are not what you need to express what I made you feel." Fíli, who was sitting near us, spit the beer he had been drinking and I had to stop myself from doing the same.

"I see no other way to express it." I lied, not wanting to meet her gaze.

"may I suggest something?" I looked up from my jar and turned to meet her gaze.

Just when I was about to prompt her to do it, she closed the space between us and let her lips place a feather kiss on mine.

Her eyes were now casted down, just like mine had been a moment ago. It took me a minute to realize I wasn't breathing, so I took a deep breath before guiding one hand to grab hers, while the other one held her cheek and brought her lips back to mine.

She let out a chuckle shortly after pulling away from the kiss. "See, mister Dwalin?" her eyes went from mine to our interlaced fingers. "Sometimes words are not needed."

"This may be a stupid thing to ask," I began, trying to keep my voice steady and confident. "But will you let this brute dwarf court you?"

There was a pause in which I feared I would receive a negative for an answer. Dwarven costumes were not the same as elvish costumes after all.

"I would love to say yes," she sighed. "but I'm afraid I will have to leave soon."

"No you won't." Thorin's voice startled us both and my hand would have left hers if she hadn't gripped on it. "I would like to request your services as a bard." he spoke with a half smile on his lips, sharing a knowing look with Bilbo, who had taken a seat in front of us.

"For how long?"

"Depends on how much time Dwalin may need to gain your favor." the dwarves near us let out muffled laughs and I felt my cheeks burning.

Well there he was outside of Bag End at precisely 4pm – he’d timed his arrival perfectly.

Dwalin had been looking forward to his visit to the Burglar of Bag End for many months. He’d spent one winter in Erebor after the reclamation and, as much as it pained him to admit it, it was not the home he once remembered. There were too many ghosts in the stone walls for him, not least the death of his great friend and King who he hadn’t been able to save. Dain had graciously offered him a decorated position in the Royal Guard, and though Dwalin truly appreciated the offer, he’d declined. He had his share of the treasure, so there was no need for him to work. Apart from that, he knew deep down that no King would ever hold his loyalty in the same way that Thorin had, and how could he dedicate his life to protect a King he cared little for when he’d already done that for a King he did care about and had failed. Not long into that cold winter, he’d began entertaining thoughts of following Bilbo back to The Shire, if only for a change of scene. He needed to get away from that mountain mausoleum.

It surprised him just how much he longed for soft grass and rolling hills, perhaps because it was the exact opposite of the things that reminded him of his pain. Balin had been the one to convince him to wait until the winter was over before heading out, especially as he intended to undertake the journey alone. Azog might be dead, but the roads were still far from safe. The snow had come, and stayed for months, but as soon as it had melted Dwalin was ready to leave. He’d completed all his preparations weeks before.

Bag End was exactly like he remembered, although the mark Gandalf had placed on the door was gone. The Shire itself didn’t seem any different, though he’d hardly gotten a good look at it the first time he’d been there, considering he’d arrived under the cover of darkness. He stood in Bilbo’s front garden, stalling, for now he had finally arrived at his destination he felt a strange hesitancy to complete his journey. That, and he was still debating as to whether or not he should actually knock, or simply walk in. Which would be more of a surprise? After a short internal debate, he decided to heed the Hobbit’s advice, and he pushed the door open without knocking.

When Dwalin stepped into the Smial he was suddenly transported back over a year before, remembering how he felt setting off on such a mighty quest. Had he known quite how it would end, he most likely would have done everything in his power to prevent it from happening, for what was a Mountain Throne without a King to sit in it? The tall dwarf was pulled from his moping by the sound of voices. The first, Bilbo’s, but the second he did not recognise. Intrigued, he walked towards the voices and found himself hovering outside Bilbo’s Kitchen.

“Bilbo really, this is the absolute last time I stitch you up because you slept with that silly knife in the bed.”

Dwalin heard the tell-tale sound of Bilbo sniffing, and just knew he was wrinkling his nose. Beorn’s nickname for Bilbo had been rather accurate, hadn’t it?

“It is not a ‘silly’ knife. Its name is Sting, and it’s my sword.”

“Sword or no sword, it does not belong under the covers Bilbo Baggins!”

Bilbo being scolded? Now that Dwalin had to see. Quite as a mouse – or at least a mouse that was close to 5ft of solid muscle – he moved his body so he could peek around the open arch-way that led into the kitchen. As silent as he’d been up until that point, the sight of Bilbo sitting on his kitchen bench – blushing – as a sweet female hobbit tenderly examined his arm, made him forget himself.

“By Mahal buglar, ye’ never told us ye’d found yerself a wife!”

---

As it turned out, Bilbo had not found himself a wife, thank you very much Mister Dwalin. The Hobbit had been blushing because he’d been embarrassed, as it was not the first or even the second time he’d needed patching up after cutting himself on his on sword whilst he slept. Dwalin understood the underlying meaning behind the injuries; the Hobbit had been sleeping with his sword because he felt unsafe somehow. Dwalin didn’t need to be as smart as his brother to work out why that might be.

If he’d needed an excuse to stay in The Shire, he could’ve used the excuse of staying to help Bilbo feel safe, but as it turned out Bilbo was more than eager to have his friend stay at Bag End for an extended period of time.

“Now you’re here you surely won’t be off again in a hurry, Dwalin! I’ll have the guest room ready for you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

Dwalin hadn’t been quite sure how lambs’ tails came into anything, but he wasn’t going to question an invitation to stay, not now he had yet another reason for wanting to remain in The Shire for the foreseeable future. By Durin’s beard if she wasn’t the most beautiful creature he’d ever beheld, beardless face and all. Having found out that she was not in fact Bilbo’s wife, but rather his cousin – once removed on his father’s side, and thrice on his mother’s – and The Shire’s most knowledgeable healer, he’d felt a sense of relief he could compare with none he had ever felt.

It had taken Dwalin all of 10 minutes to realise that she was his One, and he was not at all disappointed that she was a Hobbit, though he realised that Hobbits did not love in quite the same way as Dwarves did and he knew he would have to properly win her affections. He felt up to the challenge, though the very thought of courting her made him jittery all over. Still, if he could face down a pack of warg-riding orcs with less than a handful of fear then surely he could face this new challenge head on.

---

The day you met Dwalin had started out no more remarkable than any other day, but it had not ended so. You’d been rather exasperated to find that, upon your visit to one of your more cherished family members for afternoon tea, you had yet another injury to tend to. You were growing rather concerned for your cousin Bilbo, though it came out of you as exasperation. So far he had only given himself gashes – rather nasty gashes, but gashes all the same – but you knew that sleeping with a sharp object could never bring anything but harm. How long would it be before he gave himself an injury that would be much more difficult to fix, and more difficult to heal from?

You’d barely finished the business of stitching up his latest cut when a third party had made itself known in Bag End, and by the Lady you were glad he hadn’t shown up before or else you might not have had the presence of mind to complete the stitches properly. You didn’t think you’d ever seen anyone quite so attractive in your entire life. You felt certain that his biceps were larger than your head, and oh sweet Yavanna, he really did tower over you, being a respectable 3ft and 6 inches yourself. You finally understood why the Lady had taken Aulë as her husband. It seemed a very wise decision if he looked anything at all like the beings he’d created.

You were rather busy for a week after the Dwarf, Dwalin, had arrived, but after that time you began to find more and more excuses to visit Bag End. Your cousin, who seemed to see right through you to the real reason of your visits, also began to invite you to dine with him more regularly than before.

A week more, and strange things began to happen. A strong wind had blown a tree down, which had in turn damaged the fencing in the front garden of your own Smial. You’d mentioned this in passing whilst eating dinner at Bag End one night, as you hadn’t yet had a chance to get it fixed. Then the next morning as you left your Smial to go and collect healing herbs, you found none other than Dwalin himself in your front garden. The tree that had fallen was no more, having already been chopped up – by one of Dwalin’s axes, you assumed – and the logs piled neatly. The gruff dwarf was already going about the business of mending the broken fence when you greeted him. Naturally, you thanked him profusely and asked him what he wanted in return. He’d seemed about to say something, but a wonderfully pink colour had spread across his cheeks, partly hidden by his facial hair, and he’d clammed up. He’d quietly grumbled something about not expecting anything in return, and that it was the least he could do for any cousin of Bilbo’s, and so you’d thanked him once again and gone on your way feely very grateful but also thoroughly confused.

The second incident occurred two days after the first. At about midday you’d gotten a knock on the door, and when you opened it you’d been surprised to see Dwalin once again at your front door …. holding a brace of rabbits. He held them towards you, and you’d taken them, for there seemed nothing else to do.

“A-are these for me, Mister Dwalin?” You’d asked, and he’d nodded to confirm it, but had said no more.

You floundered a little at that, having never been gifted meat before, but you’d stepped to the side slightly and asked him inside. You supposed the least you could do would be to offer him some refreshment – it was time for lunch after all. Dwalin had once again gone that rather delicious red shade and had muttered something about ‘not wanting to impose’ so quietly that you almost missed it. He’d bowed a little then, and hurried away, and you were left feeling as confused as you’d felt at the conclusion of your last meeting, although this time the confusion was tinged with disappointment. You’d rather wanted to spend some private time with the gorgeous Dwarf, but he didn’t seem interested at all. His kindness towards you was rather frustrating if that was all it truly was.

After a few more similar happenings, you finally snapped. You’d waited until you knew Dwalin would be away from Bag End – several Hobbits had been employing him to do menial tasks they were not strong enough to do themselves – and when the coast was clear you snuck in to have a private word with your cousin.

“And that’s not all, Bilbo!” Your hands tugged at your hair in frustration as you paced the floor of his study, whilst Bilbo himself remained seated calmly in his chair.

“First it was the fence, and then the rabbits, but he’s also given me furs ‘in case next winter is too harsh for ye’ lass’..” You paused to glare at Bilbo as he laughed at your poor imitation of the dwarf’s accent.

“Yes yes, well you laugh, but he’s also given me a brand new dagger to make it easier for me to collect herbs. It looks like he made it himself Bilbo! No-one around here would either make or own a knife with dwarvish runes carved into it!”

At that Bilbo sat up a little, suddenly alert. All the gifts Dwalin had been giving you, and the order, seemed to be ringing a bell in his mind, he just couldn’t quite remember why.

“Now, don’t you worry. I’ve been writing letters to his brother Balin, you see.” He picked up a piece of paper from his desk and held it aloft.

“It’s my turn to write, and write I shall. I will ask Balin if there is any greater meaning behind this, and when the raven brings his reply we shall know all, if there is anything to be known.”

---

Another fortnight of you enduring an adorably blushing, extremely helpful, frustratingly unwilling-to-explain-his-actions dwarf and Balin’s letter finally arrived.

Dear Bilbo,

As always it was very nice to receive your letter, but I won’t waste your time with needless chatter, as I am sure you will be eager to hear what I have to tell you next.

It would seem that my brother Dwalin has forgotten the first rule of Dwarven courting, which is tell the person that they are being courted, for though he is as stone-headed and iron-fisted as our father could have ever wished for, he is sensitive in his own way.

As you have no doubt deduced from that previous statement, it would appear that my brother is trying to court your cousin. Dwarrow do not go about sharing the details of our rituals and habits, but it is necessary in this case, and though you are a thief I know you to be an honest one, my friend, so I know I can count on you not to spread this information further than is needed.

Our courting is about showing your intended that you can take care of them, provide for them, keep them safe and protected. From what you say Dwalin has been doing, it seems he has covered these steps and is moving on to the next. The dagger you could say is a gift with the purpose of protecting her when he cannot do so himself, even if he has used the herb-gathering as a cover story. I would not be surprised if he soon gives her something more expensive – there should be at least one gift given to enhance something about her that he finds beautiful.

Do write again Bilbo, if all goes well I hope I shall soon be able to call you family in more than just combat!

Yours,

Balin.

“Well.” Bilbo said to himself as he leaned back in his chair, bringing his pipe to his lips. “Well, isn’t that something?”

---

You sat in your front room, twisting your skirt between your fingers anxiously. You’d heard about Balin’s letter from Bilbo, and now whenever you weren’t busy you were anxiously waiting for Dwalin to come around with his next gift. You hadn’t seen him for a few days, and you could only assume that the next time he came, it would be with the ‘expensive gift’ Balin’s letter had mentioned. Your stomach was twisted in many, many knots, for you knew that you had to get Dwalin to admit that he was courting you – your heart could only take so much, and though Balin’s letter had done much to confirm your own sneaking suspicions, you couldn’t get the nagging voice of doubt to shut up. Besides, Balin’s letter had said it was only right and proper that Dwalin actually let you know that he was trying to court you.

Then it came, that knock at you front door, and you practically jumped a foot out of your chair at the sound. You took a deep breath to steady yourself before going to open it, and were rather disappointed to see that it wasn’t in fact Dwalin, but a rather frantic looking Hobbit that you didn’t know that well. As it turned out, their husband had come down with a fever, and before you knew it you were rushing off to treat them, your worries about Dwalin temporarily forgotten.

By the time you got back to your Smial, it was dusk, and you were exhausted. You almost didn’t notice Dwalin sitting on the bench in your front garden, patiently waiting for you to return with a box in his hands.

“O-oh, hello Mister Dwalin!” You stammered out, and felt rather put-out that you hadn’t had any alone time to prepare yourself for meeting him.

“Good evening, lass.”

As always he was rather quiet when addressing you, seemingly unable to look you in the eye for more than a second in total. He shuffled where he stood a little, and then held the box out to you, telling you to take it without using his words. You steeled yourself before replying, pushing your shoulders back in an attempt to physically force confidence into your small body.

“I… Dwalin I…” You took a deep breath and tried again.

“Dwalin I cannot take this, I-”  

You’d been ready to continue, to explain everything, but Dwalin’s face visibly fell so dramatically that it caught you off guard and your words escaped you. His whole body seemed to deflate and sag until he was almost your height, and you swore you could see his hands tremble slightly around the box they were still holding.

“O-of course lass..” He began, his voice trailing off until it sounded more like he was grumbling at himself than really responding to her.

“Don’t know wha’ I was thinking… ugly brute like me… of course ye’ wouldn’t…”

You were so stunned by the things he was muttering about himself that you couldn’t do anything, and only when he turned to leave did you finally regain control of yourself. You reached out your hand and held his arm to keep him where he was, and he stilled, though you did not doubt he could break out of your hold in an instant If he chose to. He looked at you, his face a heart-breaking picture of self-doubt, confusion, and a small amount of hope.

“M-mister Dwalin.. that is to say..” You could feel your own face growing red as you tried to force out the words you’d so carefully prepared by yourself, in front of your mirror.

“I-I will gladly accept it… but isn’t there something you need to say to me? That is.. I.. Balin’s letter said…” You trailed off, your embarrassment and anxiety having risen to no-doubt dangerous levels.  

Dwalin on the other hand finally seemed to have regained the ability to speak at a normal volume around you.

“Ye’ had a letter from my brother Balin, lass?” He asked, utterly confounded by the idea, for how would his brother even know to send you a letter? You shook your head quickly.

“N-no.. his letter to Bilbo!” As you continued to speak, you voice got quieter and quieter until Dwalin had to strain to hear the words.

“He said.. that dwarven courting … needs to be… told plainly.. I mean..” You swallowed, once again consumed by the thought that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t actually been trying to court you at all and this was all some cruel trick.

The truth of the situation finally dawned on the old warrior.

“Oh Mahal.. lass I’m such a fool…” He groaned, and finally all the words he’d been yearning to say but hadn’t had the courage to came spilling out like a flood from a burst dam.

“I wanted to tell ye’ really I did… but I couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. I should’ve stopped then lass, but I did not have the strength …”

You let out a shaky, but relieved breath, and let go of his arm in favour of gently taking his – much larger – hands with your own, curling slim fingers over thick fingers where they still grasped the box.

“Dwalin. One question, just ask it.”

You could visibly see him swallow, buying himself time to gather his courage.

“Will ye’ let me court ye’, lass?”

“Yes, yes Dwalin I think I will.”

You laughed out loud, euphoria filling your small frame, and you flung yourself against Dwalin. Your arms found his broad shoulders and thanks to his warrior’s reflexes he managed to catch you with one hand, still holding the box with the other, all the while not even realising what had happened. Before he had time to process that you were in his arms – well, arm – you kissed him, and when his brain finally caught up with reality, he kissed you back as well.

---

Several months later, you lay sprawled out on your marriage bed, feeling practically weightless. Dwalin lay beside you, on his side with one arm resting over your stomach.

“Did ye’ enjoy that lass?” He asked, a teasing note in his tone as he looked at you, though there was an undercurrent of insecurity. He still didn’t quite know how an old, battle-scarred dwarf like him had managed to wed a sweet wee hobbit like yourself.

You turned your head slowly to look at him, your eyebrows raised almost to your hairline.

“Dwalin love, are you kidding? That was incredible.” You smiled softly at him and reached out a hand to stroke his cheek, and when your fingers lightly brushed over his facial hair he groaned a little and pressed into the touch.

“Oh? Dear husband, would you like to go again?”

His eyes snapped open in surprise. Of course he would very much like to, but he’d imagined that you would probably want to sleep after the first, as the wedding had been a long and – though very happy – rather tiring.

“A-again?” He choked out, and your smile turned mischievous.

“Oh yes, I think so.”

You pushed your hand against his shoulder and watched with satisfaction as he rolled onto his back, though you knew he could easily resist if he wanted to. You swung one leg over his thick waist and settled yourself above him, and he thought he might go blind to see such a vision above him.

“This time, however, I think you should lie back my dear, and let me take care of you.”

“Oh Mahal.”

Dwalin realised then that he would get little sleep that night, but as your form shifted over his, he realised that he did not care.

The End.

I could kill Thorin Oakenshield. You thought, subconsciously running a palm over your swollen stomach in a futile attempt to soothe yourself. You didn’t mean it, not really. You remembered what loosing Erebor had felt like, and you wished to live there again one day as did any of the Dwarrow who’d been rather forcibly evicted by Smaug the Terrible. You understood as well as any that for this dream to come true, the Dragon would have to be forcibly evicted – or killed – in return. What you didn’t understand was why Thorin had decided to go off on a fool’s quest now. Not when you were 6 and a half months pregnant.

It had been inevitable really, the argument, but there was no way you could’ve stayed silent. You’d had to ask Dwalin not to go on the quest. Then again, just as you had to ask, you knew deep down that Dwalin had to go. How could he not? Whatever Thorin needed, Dwalin was there to provide. Though in this instance you were frustrated, you could not fault his loyalty. It was one of the qualities that had attracted you to him in the first place.

You ran your fingers through your hair, trying and failing again to soothe yourself. This wasn’t your first pregnancy, it wasn’t even your second. This would be your third child. It should have been an easy process, but now your husband was off preparing to go on what was really a glorified suicide mission. He wouldn’t be there for birth, and what was worse, if you thought about the balance of probabilities he probably wouldn’t be coming back at all. The chances of reclaiming Erebor from Smaug were at least 1000/1, even if more Dwarrow agreed to join the quest other than the initial 12 Thorin had managed to persuade, which you truly doubted would happen.

You felt your baby kick in your stomach, and you groaned a little as you took deep breaths to slow your heart rate. It wouldn’t do, allowing yourself to get this stressed this late into the pregnancy.

---

Dwalin’s scowl was firmly set on his face as he sharpened his axes. It wasn’t exactly necessary, he always kept them reasonably sharp, but he wouldn’t have another chance to do so for a long time. He was due to set off in a few weeks, but his heart was torn. It pained him so to argue with his mizim, but she’d made things unnecessarily difficult. He could see in her eyes that she knew he would go even before she asked him not to, but then she asked all the same. He did not appreciate the guilt now placed upon him.

Suddenly there was a frantic knocking at the door, and Dwalin sighed heavily.

“Please ghivashel if yer here to argue again-”

He couldn’t continue, because once the knocker heard Dwalin’s voice, they burst into the room. It was Dwalin’s oldest son.

“Adad! Come quickly!”

He had to pause to take a breath, evidently having ran to find his father. Dwalin felt a chill settle around his heart. His inùdoy was not overly fond of exercising. Something serious must have happened to get him to run all the way to his father.

“It’s amad… the baby is coming now!”

“Mahal, no.”

---

Dwalin burst into your room. He’d sprinted the entire way there, having left his eldest far behind him. His eyes found your face, twisted in pain and glistening with perspiration as you tried to breathe through the contractions, and he was by your side in an instant.

Your hand reached for his and your fingers thread together, and Dwalin didn’t even grimace when you squeezed hard to get you through a particularly difficult contraction. The healers in the room were trying to remain calm, but you could see the worry in their eyes. An early birth, nothing more perilous for the baby.

You felt something wet on your cheeks, and it was only then that you realised you were crying. One glance at your husband showed that Dwalin was barely keeping himself from doing the same. You’d had no issues with any of your other pregnancies, something you were very grateful for, as Dwarrow were not known for their fertility. A third pregnancy hadn’t been something you’d been expecting, but it had been a blessing all the same. Now, you weren’t sure the baby would even survive.

“D-Dwalin”

You spoke through gritted teeth as you tried to distract yourself from your thoughts, that were growing steadily darker and more self-critical.

“Ay, ‘am here amrâlimê.”

“I’m sorry.. for before .. I know..”

Dwalin squeezed your hand and went to reply, but all that came out was a rather strangled, choked sound. He swallowed thickly and tried again.

“Ye’ had to ask lass, I don’t begrudge ye that.”

You felt your eyes burn as you brought your joined hands together and pressed your lips to the back of his.

“I love you..”

Your speech was cut off by a loud cry which you only vaguely recognised as your own. This was far more painful than any of your other births.

“Dwalin.. what if.. what if we lose the baby?” You gasped out, breathless from the agony your own body was putting you through.

Dwalin’s grip on your hand tightened and he looked at you with his signature fierce determination that you adored, as if anything were possible if he merely willed it hard enough.

“Don’ even say tha’ lass. We’ll get through this together, with another pebble to love and care for.”

---

Hours later, your mind swam back to consciousness. For a few blissful moments, it was like any other time waking up, but then your memories came back to you. You quickly tried to sit up, but found yourself too weak and in too much pain to do so. Groaning, you turned you head to see Dwalin asleep, his body slumped forwards in a chair and his head resting on the mattress beside your body.

One of the healers noticed you trying to get up, and walked over to your side, looking solemn. You felt like your heart had dropped out of you.

“M-my baby?” Your voice was scarce louder than a whisper, your eyes wide as tears quickly gathered, ready to spill.

The healer thankfully seemed to realise what you were trying to ask, and came and sat down lightly on the side of the bed Dwalin wasn’t leaning against.

“Your baby is safe, alive…”

You did begin to cry at that, your face crumpling in relief. You knew the statistics of early birth among your kind, and they weren’t good.

“But…”

Your tears abruptly stopped as the healer trailed off, evidently not sure how to continue. Panic gripped you, and you once again tried to get up off the bed. The healer’s hands quickly came up to push you back down.

“Easy, easy! You bled a lot, you are very weak.”

You didn’t care about that, how could you?

“Let me see my baby!”

Your voice was loud enough that it woke Dwalin, who’s head jerked up off the mattress as he blearily tried to adjust to being awake. When he saw that you had finally regained consciousness, he exhaled and smiled at you, clearly exhausted himself.

The healer rose from the bed and went over to a little cot, their motions slow and cautious. You wondered why they seemed concerned as they brought over your baby to you, as if they were wary of your reaction. Idiots. You thought to yourself. When you finally had your third son in your arms, you thought that he was simply perfect. Beautiful, perfect, and alive.

---

Over a year later, you arrived in Erebor with your three sons, as well as many other Dwarrow from the Blue Mountains who were ready to move back into their true home. It had been hard, naturally, to spend the first year of your third son’s life without your husband and his father there to share in the experience of parenthood, but you’d managed it. Dwalin had more than repaid your effort by simply remaining alive, and now you could raise all three of your pebbles in the home you’d both been raised in.

You let your two eldest run ahead at the first sight of their father’s bald, tattooed head, and you walked slowly behind them carrying your third son. At just over a year old, he’d already began to start making garbled noises that almost resembled words if you didn’t listen too closely. You were excited to introduce your husband to his third son properly, as he hadn’t had much time with him before he’d set out on his quest.

You looked up and saw your eldest son running back towards you, evidently with some message to deliver that couldn’t wait the short walk. Your son’s enthusiasm warmed your heart, and you looked past him to meet the gaze of your husband, who looked on with the same fond expression you knew you shared.

“Amad! Amad! Adad says uncle Bifur and uncle Bofur have promised to carve nadadith some pretty crutches when he is big enough!”

Uncle Bifur and Uncle Bofur? They hadn’t been called that before, but then again, you supposed they had just faced death in the face and laughed alongside your husband, so you could get behind the titles. When you finally reached your husband, and his big hands reached out to hold his third son for the first time since he’d left the Blue Mountains, you knew that everything would be alright.  

Khuzdul translations:

Amad – Mother Amrâlimê – My Love Adad - Father Ghivashel - treasure of all treasures Inùdoy – Son Mizim - Jewel Nadadith – Younger brother