#balin fundinul

[ironmandeficiency]

balin: by ten, my handwriting had gotten considerably tighter

dwalin: among other things

[nakmor-leigh]

Idk who needs to hear this, but Thorin's last name (besides Oakenshield) wouldn't be Durin.

The dwarves' last names are all "son of-", and Khuzdul has a suffix specifically for denoting this, "-nul".

For example, Balin and Dwalin's father was Fundin, so in Khuzdul their names are Balin Fundinul and Dwalin Fundinul.

So, Thorin's father is Thrain, meaning his last name is Thrainul

[ranminfan]

So I’ve made this edit a long while ago, cause I love our grandpa dwarf so much.

Its been in my drafts for a long time so might as well put it here.

[dedicatedfollower467]

me, writing LOTR/Hobbit fanfic: oh i should do research to see particular dates and timelines and ages! then i can be accurate to canon :)

me: *opens the appendix*

me: *looks at dwarf timeline*

me: *closes book* hey the hobbit movie already said it so i’m gonna reiterate; fuck canon, actually.

[negreabsolut]

L’inscripció a la tomba d’en Balin, a Mòria. «BALIN FUNDINUL UZBADKHAZADDÛMU», és a dir “Balin fill de Fundin. Senyor del Nanminaire”.

[joyfullynervouscreator]

“Permission?!”

Random inspiration is random. Over-protective!brother!Dwalin and pining!Thorin.

“Are you looking at my sister?” Dwalin growled darkly. Thorin flinched in his seat, doing his best to pretend that his interest was completely innocent. It wasn’t.

“N-No?” he stuttered, well-aware that there was only one acceptable answer to that question. His best friend continued to glare, but he seemed mollified after a minute, sinking heavily into the seat beside Thorin and turning his own gaze towards the fire where Svala was providing the night’s entertainment, telling an old saga about a Moongazer from the Orocarni.

Her face was animated, the shadows of flickering flames only making her eyes appear brighter in Thorin’s mind, catching in her hair and glinting off the beads that kept it under control. Unlike Dwalin and Balin, Svala braided her hair and beard, the dark brown colour offsetting the gilded clasps nicely.

“You’ll have to get used to the idea at some point, Dwalin,” Glóin mused on Dwalin’s other side, and Thorin wondered if anyone would mind him strangling his cousin when he continued, “Svala is a bonny lass, she’s bound to catch the eyes of some lad soon enough-” Dwalin’s loud growl killed the words in Glóin’s throat. The merchant wisely moved a bit further away from the simmering anger that was bound to erupt every time he thought about Svala – his little sister, Thorin reminded himself, for the n-th time, why Svala was entirely off-limits – getting married or courting anyone. To an extent, it was a sentiment Thorin shared… though his reasons were far more selfish than his friend suspected, wanting Svala’s heart for his own. The warrior’s fingers crushed a walnut with ease. Glóin shifted further away.

“No one is going to touch my baby sister,” Dwalin growled, and part of Thorin sympathised – had he not felt the same about the lads’ adad? – but a far larger part of him wanted to stop caring what Dwalin thought and scoop her into his arms before anyone else got up the courage to defy the scariest warrior in their Clan. Thorin said nothing, making no move to draw attention to himself.

“Dwalin!” Svala’s voice snapped across the camp. The warrior stiffened, turning to face her with an innocent look that would only have worked on Kíli’s face. Svala scowled. “Are you being an arse again, nadad?” she asked sweetly. Dwalin shook his head. “Did we not talk about this?” she continued, as though he hadn’t replied at all, “I’ll court whomever I want, and you do not get a say in my choice!” she continued, her temper a match to Dwalin’s any day.

“But Svala…” Dwalin tried, “It’s our job to protect you!” Across the fire, Balin was shaking his head, but Dwalin didn’t subside, his protest only adding fuel to her rant.

“Dwalin!” she shouted. “I am an adult! I have been for years, and anytime anyone so much as looks at me, you’re there to threaten certain highly useful appendages I’d want my future husband to possess!” she seethed. Kíli choked on his drink. “I’m sick of it!”

“Nana’…” Dwalin tried again, clearly not noticing Balin’s frantic ‘Shut up, NOW!’-signing. Thorin winced.

“Don’t you ‘sister’ me!” Svala shouted, moving closer. “I can take care of myself, Dwalin Fundinul! You overprotective lummox!” Throwing a pebble at him, Svala’s angry tirade continued.

“None of those boys were good enough for you!” Dwalin bellowed back, jumping to his feet.

“No one will ever be good enough for you!” Svala screeched, punching him in the gut. Gesturing wildly at him, she continued ranting, “I bet even Thorin wouldn’t be good enough for you!!” Thorin wondered what he had done to deserve the level of fury both siblings were now turning in his direction, holding up his hands in a weak attempt to ward off their anger.

“Thorin would never-” Thorin really would, Thorin thought, when Dwalin faltered halfway through the sentence, staring at Svala who was moving swiftly towards them.

Soft… soft lips were pressing against his, and Thorin’s raised hands had tangled themselves in her hair before he could inform them why that was a spectacularly bad idea, his involuntary gasp silenced by the appearance of Svala’s tongue in his mouth. Kissing her back made it even better, tasting that plump top lip that had starred in so many fantasies of his ever since she reached adulthood. Svala moaned softly, tugging on his braids, but she made no move to get away from his touch, in truth – ohhh… Thorin couldn’t help but wonder if he had fallen asleep by the fire, dreaming the whole thing when he felt her arms sliding around his shoulder, her legs wrapping around his hips and her weight settling in his lap like she belonged there – she does belong here, part of him whispered, urging him to bring one arm down to wrap around her back. She tasted sweeter than he had imagined, and he wanted – badly – to taste her elsewhere, find out if the sweetness – a growl interrupted his thoughts, and Thorin finally managed to pull away from the best kiss he had ever had. Of course, he admitted ruefully, it was also likely to be his last kiss, if Balin and Dori let go of Dwalin any time soon. Figuring he might as well be killed for two as for one, he dipped his head once more, taking her lips in a kiss that spoke of sweetness, gently cupping her face and staring into her gold-flecked brown eyes. Svala was staring at him, wide-eyed, and a little afraid, and Thorin released her instantly. She did not move away. Instead, she pulled his mouth back to hers, licking across his lower lip before returning the gentle kiss, nipping at his lip when she pulled away.

Thorin slowly became aware of the deadly silence surrounding them; only the crackling sound of the fire and Dwalin’s heavy breathing could be heard. He purposefully avoided looking at Dwalin, keeping his blue eyes locked with Svala’s deep brown.

“I… I didn’t expect that,” she whispered, like it was just the two of them and the rest of the Company weren’t on pins and needles around them.

“I didn’t expect that,” Thorin teased, giving her a small smile. Svala winced.

“Sorry,” she whispered, looking so contrite that he had to kiss the expression off her face. Somewhere off to the side, someone groaned. “What… What happens now?” she asked, her face so close that Thorin felt her lips move against his with every word, felt the whisper of her breath across his skin.

“That’s entirely up to you,” he admitted quietly. “If you want to pretend it never happened… I won’t speak of it ever again.” He really wished she wouldn’t want that, but he knew he had to make the offer nonetheless, hoping beyond hope that he would be strong enough to go through with it now that he knew what she felt like in his arms. Svala stiffened. “If…” Thorin swallowed heavily, “if you want to…” he trailed off, his eyes falling shut; he had never felt so exposed before, so shy in reaching for what he wanted.

“Court you?” she asked softly, cupping his face. Thorin’s eyes flew open, staring wildly at her. The firelight glowed on her skin, limning her form in low orange light, but it was her smile that made his heart beat faster. “Would you let me court you?” she murmured against his lips, but Thorin was kissing her again before he even realised what she had asked, pouring his desperation into the kiss as he clutched at her. Someone cleared their throat.

“I accept,” Thorin croaked hoarsely. Svala smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and then she was kissing him again, mewling softly against his lips as he pressed her against his chest.

“See, Balin, I told you it’d work eventually,” Dwalin said, making them both turn to stare at him with eyes in danger of popping out of their skulls.

“Aye, brother, I guess I do owe you five gold coins,” Balin sighed, but he was smiling at them. Thorin almost couldn’t comprehend their meaning. “Though you’ll have to wait till we reach Erebor; I haven’t that much gold on me.”

“Wait, what?” Thorin asked. In his arms, Svala was gaping at her brothers as though they were strangers.

“Did you really think you could hide your feelings from me of all people?” Dwalin asked pointedly. Thorin blushed. He’d thought he had managed quite well. “And she’s been mooning after you for just as long, Mahal save us,” he continued in a loud grumble, “only she didn’t think you’d want her; and you’re completely impossible, too.” Tugging his arm out of Dori’s grasp – the tailor looked as stunned as the rest of them – Dwalin returned to his seat, taking up a stick and poking at the fire.

“It was Dís’ idea… I think,” Balin mumbled, hiding a chuckle in his beard. Thorin felt a powerful surge of love and gratitude for his sister. Squeezing Svala’s stout form slightly, he smiled at her.

“I always said if it had to be anyone, should be Thorin,” Dwalin added. “I can take him in a fight if he gets handsy.”

“But you!” Svala cried out, smacking Dwalin’s arm, and trailing off in angry mutters. Thorin immediately let go of her. Svala turned her head to glare at him, while Dwalin guffawed. Thorin smiled sheepishly, wrapping his arms back around her and accepting a kiss as reward. Deepening the kiss, he turned her soft and pliant in his arms once more.

“OI!” Dwalin shouted, interrupting them, “I may have given permission, but I don’t need to see that!” Across from them, Fíli and Kíli were nodding; each had a hand clapped over his brother’s eyes. Thorin chuckled.

“Permission?!” Svala screeched, jumping off of Thorin’s lap to whirl on Dwalin once more. Thorin winced at the volume of her voice as his future queen began haranguing her brother once more. Sharing a glance with Balin, who nodded gently, Thorin leaned back against his tree, tuning out the argument and watching his fierce Svala in the light of the fire until he fell asleep, dreaming of the diamonds he’d braid into her hair when they reached Erebor.

@life-is-righteous @pandepirateprincess

[thedwarrowscholar]

hello! may i first thank you heartily for all the work you do for the fandom and those who need some form of khuzdul, i have found incredibly helpful in my fanfic writing so far. i have a completely mundane question for just one tiny detail in an upcoming fic, which is: how would one express maternal lineage or at the very least "daughter of male-dwarf-X" i know that "ul" is used to express paternal lineage for sons, but i wasn't sure about daughters (thanks for satisfying my perfectionism)

Well met!

Thank you for kind words and your interesting question.

The “-ul” suffix in (Neo-)Khuzdul is an extremely versatile element. It can be used to mark adjectives, adverbs, estimations, compositions,etc… and yes, even parental lineage. - More details on its multi-functional usage in a recent tumblr post on the matter HERE 

THE prime example of its usage as a parental marker is of course seen on Balin’s tomb. Where we see the inscription as devised by Professor Tolkien:

“Balin Fundinul Uzbad Khazad-Dûmu”, which Gandalf translates to “Balin Son of Fundin, Lord of Moria”

Balin’s Tomb, by J.R.R. Tolkien 

In this translation Professor Tolkien did not clarify if this “-ul” suffix could be used for dwarvish daughters. When we however look to other Semitic languages for inspiration (which Khuzdul was based on), one can clearly see they use a different patronymics for “son of” and “daughter of”.

Some examples:

Jewish: first name is followed by either ben- or bat- (“son of” and “daughter of”, respectively)

Aramaic: the first name was followed by bar- or bat- (“son of” and “daughter of”, respectively) - the biblical name “Bartholomew” is a good examples of this, meaning “son of Tolmai” (or son of Ptolemy, with “P” being reduced).

Arabic, the word “ibn” (ابن) (or بن: “bin”, “ben”) is used to mark lineage. As used In the Qur'an for instance where Jesus (“Isa” in Arabic) is consistently termed “`Isa ibn Maryam” (Jesus, “son of” Mary)

Now, with the above examples in mind one would think this is a closed case and Neo-Khuzdul should have a variant of “-ul” used for daughters, as seen in other Semitic languages.This, however, I don’t believe is the case, for a number of reasons.

I am personally convinced in fact that the “-ul” suffix is applicable for both sons and daughters.

The main element in my argument is the multi-functional nature of the “-ul” suffix. Unlike the above examples in other Semitic languages “-ul” is extremely multi-functional and most definitely is not solely used as a patronymic marker in Khuzdul, even the name for the language itself uses “-ul”, indicating “-ish” (as in “dwarvish”)

Another reason for supporting this argument is that dwarves are extremely secretive and protective of their women-folk. And as such, would consider their gender to be a personal matter, especially for those of other race (explicitly dressing as males when leaving their halls for instance, to completely ensure those of other race couldn’t tell the difference). Hence, from that perspective it would not make much sense if they clearly indicated if they were “son of” or “daughter of” in their name. One could argue of course that one of other race wouldn’t ever hear the name uttered in Khuzdul anyway (as they kept their language secret for the most part), yet their tombs clearly marked this - which could be seen by the eyes of non-dwarves (as seen in the example of Balin).

Gimli Discovers Balin’s Tomb (Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring)

Lastly, using a single suffix to note “son of” or “daughter of” is not unheard of in Semitic languages. Unlike other Semitic languages Akkadian (the earliest attested Semitic language, now extinct) used the patronymic “bit” (sometimes written “bet”) literally meaning “house”, however, in the context of the name it meant “from the house of …”

Considering the protective clan/family-nature of dwarves and their reverence to their fathers of old, translating “-ul” as “from the house of” would most definitely be fitting for them. Though Professor Tolkien translated “Fundinul” as “son of Fundin”, not “of the house of Fundin” I believe this may have been because of the fact that none of the fellowship (other than Gimli of course) encountered any female dwarves (as those largely remained in their halls and rarely would have had contact with those of other race - and if so those of other race would be unaware of the fact the dwarf in question would be female in the first place) and as such the only dwarves they ever met were always “son of”, in their eyes.

Hence from the point of view of Gandalf (who reads the tomb scripture) “-ul” means “son of”. Yet (for reasons stated above) I believe it doesn’t exclude this suffix from being used for females.

In closing, I have ever used “-ul” to indicate either “son of”, “daughter of”, or even “of the house of” - in addition to the variety of other meanings used by “-ul”, so feel free to do the same.

I hope that answers your question.

Ever at your service,

The Dwarrow Scholar

[ao3feed-thehobbit]

Nwalin Gift Exchange 17

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2DEQFpz

by raiyana

When Nori needs a date for Christmas, and Dís needs someone to look at flats with her cousin, Nori accepts the exchange expecting to be met by someone like Balin the Lawyer.

Dwalin Fundinul, however, is not what he expected.

Words: 5407, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 5 of Nwalin works

Fandoms: The Hobbit - All Media Types

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Nori (Tolkien), Dori (Tolkien), Dwalin, Dís (Tolkien), Thorin Oakenshield

Relationships: Dwalin/Nori (Tolkien)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2DEQFpz

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Silver Secret

Silver Secret

imagine having broken up with Fíli a long time ago and then he catches you wearing something with special significance to both of you.

@life-is-righteous​

Post barrels

“Where is it?!” you cried, searching for the chain that had lived around your neck since the day you’d received the small present. Looking over the river, Kíli groaning something behind you while Fíli argued with Thorin, you wished for a small glitter of silver. Spotting the barrel you had used for your escape, you splashed back into the river, making the rest of the Company shout out in surprise.

“Thinking of sailing back to the Elves, Mjoll?” Nori asked, laughing when you threw a rude gesture at him over your shoulder, searching the barrel frantically.

The chain wasn’t there! You stared at the water, calm here but the current still swift. Staring back towards the rapids you had barely survived, you could feel tears pressing, as you once more clutched at your bare neck. It was silly, perhaps, caring so much about a small trinket, but it wasn’t so much the small silver and jade pendant as it was the sentiment attached to the gift. Fíli had given it to you, years ago, for your Nameday, back when you’d still believed he was as in love with you as he said. After the break-up, you hadn’t wanted him to know you still cared, and you’d lengthened the chain he had made, hiding the small pendant under your clothes, a constant presence nestled between your breasts. It was silly, you knew, but you had kept the gift anyway, as a reminder to your traitorously longing heart that the dwarf you loved did not want you.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Ori said, touching your shoulder and startling you out of contemplating the waters before you. You turned, brushing away the single tear that had escaped your eye. Ori was holding your chain, the small silver disc catching the sunlight as it spun slowly.

“Yes!” you cried, reaching for it. Ori smiled, clasping the chain back around your neck. “Thank you, Ori,” you gushed, leaning in to peck his cheek as your fingers wrapped around the familiar shape. Ori blushed fiercely.

“Err... you’re welcome, miss Mjoll.” He stuttered, fleeing. You followed him, splashing your way back to the bank, only to find yourself staring at the pointy end of an arrow. Your hand released your necklace, grasping for anything to use as a weapon. Someone gasped.

 Fíli had seen it, as Mjoll stood defiantly before the bargeman. He recognised his own work instantly, the small silver disc, a motif of an eagle in flight above a mountain on one face and the other spelling her name. Mjoll. She had kept it? All this time? The memory of kissing her assaulted his mind; clasping the small gift around her neck as he stole a kiss from her lips on her Nameday. Obviously, she had, or she wouldn’t have had it now, Fíli thought, unable to keep from staring at her chest, as though his eyes could penetrate her shift and see the small trinket once more, making sure it was really that necklace. But why had she kept it? It wasn’t like she’d ever loved him, why keep a token of their affair? As always, the word tasted sour on his tongue, trying to stop his heart from believing that maybe – just maybe – she had, in fact, loved him as she said she did. The romantic part of his mind wanted it to be true, while the ruthlessly logical part was quick to remind him that she certainly hadn’t cared for him as more than a sweet little fling, throwing the image of her in the arms of some stranger against the part of him that wanted to soften. Fíli winced. He’d never discovered who the dwarf was that had stolen Mjoll’s heart, and in the five years that had passed since, he had not seen her walking out with anyone special on the few days where he bumped into her accidentally – nor on the slightly larger amount of days where he had been actively following her. He still remembered…

“I’ll be back for you, raklûna[1],” the dwarf had said, whispered against Mjoll’s pale hair, and Fíli could only hear him because they were standing two metres from the corner of the house, arms around each other as his heart broke.

“I’ll miss you every day,” Mjoll swore. “Be safe, please. I love you.”

The dwarf had kissed her forehead. “I love you, too, Mjoll.” with that, he had left, and Fíli had stood frozen to the ground for a long time, watching her stare after the diminishing figure.

It had taken him three days to stop feeling sick at the thought of speaking with her. On the fourth day, he’d gone to her house and broken off their entanglement.

 ...Fíli had no interest in being some sordid little affair, he told himself viciously, every time he had caught sight of her smiling at one of the Company and wished that she would smile so sweetly at him. Mjoll tended to ignore his presence, which had suited him quite well so far, speaking to him only of inconsequential things like ‘Did you water the ponies?’ or ‘Would you get some firewood?’.

 You woke feeling someone’s hands pulling at the chain that disappeared under your borrowed dress. Bard had been scandalized to find that you were a woman – the binder for your breasts had been entirely waterlogged, and there was no hiding your bosom in nothing but a shift – but he had managed to find a dress that fit reasonably among his late wife’s, even if it was a foot and a half too long. In a couple of quick moves, you had the attacker beneath you, an eating knife pressed against his jugular. A braid whispered across the back of your hand.

“Fíli!?” you shrieked, incredulous, as Nori – the lightest sleeper, by far – lit a candle in response to the ruckus. Pinned beneath you was the furiously red-faced Heir of Thorin Oakenshield. “What in the name of Mahal and the seven Fathers did you think you were doing?” you hissed, stung by this unprovoked attack. “I’m not some camp-follower or something!”

“No, no!” Fíli tried, but you were in no mood to listen to excuses.

“Nori, would you go wake the King for me, please?” you asked sweetly. “I’d like to lodge a complaint against Fíli, son of Víli, for assaulting me in my sleep.” By now, half the Company was awake to hear your words, and Fíli’s blush was intensifying.

“What in the name of Durin is going on here?!” Thorin hollered, seeing his heir pinned beneath your furious form.

“I woke to find Fíli, son of Víli with his hands on their way into my dress,” you replied evenly, gesturing to the undone laces that did very little to conceal your ample chest. “Needless to say, it was not a welcomed advance in any way.” Getting up, you moved over to stand beside Dwalin, who wrapped his arm around your shoulder. The warrior had found you as an orphaned dwarfling and raised you like a daughter; Dwalin had taught you everything you knew about fighting. Balin wrapped an arm around your shoulder, squeezing you between the two Fundinuls, as Dori moved in to put your dress to rights, clucking his tongue. Thorin stood frozen, as Fíli stared up at him from the floor. No one spoke.

“I believed we raised you better than this,” Thorin said, his voice so cold it made you shiver. “I believed you were worthy of trust, believed that we had taught you to care for those under your command and protection.” You winced, as Fíli did on the floor beneath his Uncle’s gaze. Your fury was waning slightly as you watched Thorin tear every possible strip from Fíli’s hide.

“I swear, Uncle, I didn’t mean to-” Fíli tried again, getting to his feet.

“Didn’t mean to assault a dam as she slept, as she was under MY protection?!” Thorin roared. “Or perhaps you simply didn’t mean to get caught, thinking your status as my heir would let you get away with whatever you wanted?”

“Why did you do it, Fíli?” you asked, feeling so small. This, this was the final piece of evidence that he had spoken truly when he claimed not to have loved you, you thought, wishing that you could simply disappear. “Why?” you repeated, when he turned to face you, his usually bright eyes shadowed.

“I needed…” he trailed off, looking physically hurt by the way you flinched away from him. “I needed to see.”

“Disgusting,” Thorin spat.

“No!” Fíli shouted. “Not, not that! I needed to see if I saw what I saw earlier,” he continued, which made about as much sense as a comb without teeth, you thought. Once again, he reached towards you, uncaring that Dwalin was growling low in his throat. “Why did you… keep it?” he asked, looking like you were the one torturing him. Suddenly, your fury returned tenfold. Wrapping your hand around the pendant that hung down, the chain revealed by your undone neckline, you tugged sharply, breaking the thin chain.

“This is what you wanted?” you asked, incredulous. “You piece of scum!” you seethed, throwing the broken piece of jewellery at him. Fíli caught it deftly, staring at the small token. “Take it then,” you cried, “take it and never speak to me ever again!” Furiously, you whirled, leaving Balin’s protective hold and making your way out of the house.

 “Do you wish to explain that little display?” Thorin asked, his voice still as frosty as midwinter.

“I made this,” Fíli replied woodenly, staring in the direction Mjoll had vanished, his fingers wrapped tightly around the silver necklace she had thrown at him. “I gave it to her, years ago. I thought she threw it away, but she… she kept it? I just... I wanted to know why.” Thorin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You assaulted a dam – committed a crime – to find out why a girl kept a silly piece of silver?!” he roared. “I can’t even –” Thorin shook his head. “I’ll deal with you in the morning. I’m tempted to send you back to your amad in a fish barrel right now!” Fíli nodded meekly. He could admit that he should have gone about finding answers in a different way. He didn’t even try to avoid the punch Dwalin aimed at his stomach, knowing he deserved worse. Under their laws, he ought to face a harder punishment than a punch from an enraged father-figure.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Will you tell Mjoll… I’m sorry, for all of it.” Dwalin just snorted, turning on his heel to march out of the house, probably following the wayward dam.

 “Want to tell me what happened?” Dwalin asked quietly, sitting down on the cold boards of the walkway beside you and wrapping a warm arm around your shoulders, turning your face into his chest when you began to weep quietly.

“Fíli gave it to me for my Nameday, just before Jofur left,” you whispered. “along with a kiss. It wasn’t a promise, he said, even if he’d like it to be.” You hiccupped a slight sob. “He broke it off with me a week later, just after Jofur left Thorinuldûm.” You sighed, “I don’t even know why I kept it, clearly he never felt anything for me.” Dwalin rumbled a soothing growly sound – he wasn’t good with words of comfort, but he managed to convey his sympathy anyway. “I thought… for a long time I thought he loved me as I loved him, Adad, really loved him.” Dwalin didn’t say anything, letting you make up your mind. “I feel stupid.”

 “I always loved her,” Fíli admitted, when Kíli took up where Uncle had left off as soon as the two brothers entered the room they’d been given to share by the Master.

“WHAT?” the dark-haired prince said. Fíli laughed – a sound that was almost sobs.

“I made her that necklace because I loved her.”

“YOU were the one who broke up with her, Fíli!” Kíli cried, aghast. Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Kíli sank down onto his musty bed.

“Because she had someone else!” Fíli cried, just as hotly.

“Are you daft, nadad?” Kíli asked, poleaxed. “Mjoll only ever looked at you… just as you only looked at her. Amad has been planning your wedding for the last 20 years almost!”

“That’s not true, Kíli” Fíli replied tiredly, “I heard her tell him she loved him with my own ears.”

“Wait, tell who?”

“I don’t know!” Fíli cried, exasperated. “I couldn’t really walk up in the middle of ‘I’ll miss you every day’ and ‘I love you, too, Mjoll’ and ask who the dwarf was, could I?!” Slumping onto his own dusty mattress, Fíli continued, “I saved up the silver all through my summer guarding caravans for Glóin, giving it to her as soon as I returned home in autumn. It wasn’t even a week later I overheard her promising her love to this stranger!”

“I’d wondered why you never told me you’d broken up, actually,” Kíli said. “Wait, this was five years ago, no?” Fíli nodded, falling back onto his pillow. “But… Fíli that was the summer her older brother found Mjoll in Thorinuldûm… you know, Jofur? The brother who’d gotten separated from her, when she was little more than a pebble and Jofur got arrested for stealing food for her…” As Kíli spoke, Fíli’s face grew paler. “Jofur left in the autumn, going on a caravan job to the south; Harad or something… none of them were ever heard from again,” Kíli finished quietly.

“Oh, Mahal,” Fíli groaned. “I am an idiot.”

“Yes,” Kíli agreed evenly, “I think you’d be hard-pressed to find someone to disagree with that tonight, and even harder if you tell them you broke up with the dam of your dreams because she loves her brother. And then you assaulted her trying to find an old gift… yes, brother, you are an idiot.”

“Thank you,” Fíli replied drily. “Now help me come up with a way to fix it!”

“No idea. Repair her necklace, maybe. Oh, and grovel. Amad would say that you should grovel. Like on-your-belly grovel.” Kíli said, far too gleefully for Fíli’s taste. Covering his eyes with a groan, the older dwarf fell back on his musty pillow, nearly suffocating in the resultant cloud of dust. When he was done coughing, eyes red and streaming, Fíli picked up the small necklace he had so carefully shaped. The clasp – probably weakened from the strain of their river-journey, he thought, scrutinizing the break Mjoll had made when she yanked on the chain. If there were some pliers somewhere in this dump, he could fix it easily, wishing he could fix his other blunders just as swiftly.

 [1] Precious one

Chapter 2

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Sleeping One pt 7

The ceremony was short. Thorin was standing in for your father, while Balin stood for Dwalin’s; the Company split evenly to either side of the circle. You wore a simple robe Nengelien had found and helped you re-sew until it fit properly. Dwalin just wore his normal garb, though he had polished all the metal and weaponry he carried. Nori had been given the honour – he and Bofur had pulled straws – of carrying you into the circle, because Lord Elrond still wasn’t keen on you walking anywhere, even though Bifur had carved a beautiful cane for you as a wedding present.

Thorin raised the hammer – you had wondered how you’d get hold of a hammer, but Dwalin’s war-hammer was a reasonable substitute to your mind – the signal for the rest of them to gather around, as his powerful voice told the story of the first Dwarrow cowering from the Hammer and being accepted by the grace of Eru as his Children. Usually, the whole thing would have been in Khuzdul, but Thorin had apologetically informed you that due to location – and the interest of the few Elves you had invited – you’d have to do the whole thing in Westron. It didn’t matter to you, feeling your heart filled with joy a you stared across the circle at Dwalin.

Thorin lowered the hammer, stepping silently into the circle. You held your breath. There hadn’t been much time for forging a contract, so the deal was simple. Thorin raised his head.

“Today, we witness the joining of two Stones, the merging of blood in the form of Dwalin Fundinul and Geisli Kiuldul.” No one spoke, not even the Elves, who seemed aware that any sound made would be a show of great disrespect. “Together, they have agreed to live together, to take joy in one another. To share pain and grief evenly, shouldering the burdens of life by working together. They have agreed to abide by each other, to create whatever family the Maker and the Queen of Life will grant them, to keep love in their hearts unto the ends of their days. They have sworn to uphold the honour of their families, acting with dignity and valour.” You could feel your heart hammering, seeing little aside from Dwalin’s blue eyes above Thorin’s shoulder. “They have promised to love one another when they are together and when they are apart. Today, they vow to support each other, to share their dreams and to respect their differences.” Holding tightly to Nori’s arm as he takes most of your weight, you move into the centre of the circle. Making sur you’re properly balanced on one leg and your new cane, Nori steps back, taking his place next to Bofur.

“I choose you, Dwalin Fundinul. To stand by your side and sleep in your arms. To be joy to your heart and food for your soul. To learn with you and grow with you, even as time and life change us both. I promise to laugh with you in good times and struggle alongside you in bad times. I promise to respect you and cherish you as an individual, a partner, and an equal, knowing that we do not complete, but complement each other.” You say the words loudly, proudly, enjoying the small burst of laughter you catch in his eyes when you mention sleeping in his arms. Dwain steps up, smiling as he speaks his vow.

“What I possess in this world, I give to you. I will keep you and hold you, comfort and tend you, protect you and shelter you, for all the days of my life. Loving what I know of you, trusting what things I will discover. I will respect you as a person, a partner, and an equal. There is little to say that you haven’t already heard, and little to give that is not already freely given. Before you asked me, I was yours and I am devoted to you in every way. I marry you with no hesitation or doubt, and my commitment to you is absolute.” As he spoke, he walked around you, circling you as a symbol that he was committed to protecting you for the rest of your days, an older custom you had not expected – though you probably should have, marrying a nobledwarf. You blushed, hearing the cheering of both halves of the circle, catching sight of Balin’s proud smile.

Eventually, the Company ran out of breath – it was traditional to cheer for as long as possible, as the families attempted to out-joy each other – and Thorin spoke once more.

“Dwalin Fundinul,” You had never expected to be married by the King, but the regal voice and bearing could not be denied. “Do you take the daughter of Kiuld to be your wife from this moment on, to have as your own in the halls of your forebears?” Dwalin knelt, and you wished you could have stood here with your adad beside you instead of Thorin, imagining the proud smile on his face as he watched this warrior pledge himself to you.

“I do take Geisli for my wife, my own, my One. I accept all that she is, all that she was, and all that she will be. As Mahal spoke.” Dwalin spoke the ceremonial acceptance and you felt like crying at the emotion in his eyes when he glanced at you.

“Geisli Kiuldul,” Thorin exclaimed solemnly, turning to you. “This Dwarf, Dwalin Fundinul, wishes to take you as his wife. What say you?”

“I do take Dwalin for my husband, my own, my One. I accept all that he is, all that he was, and all that he will be. As Mahal spoke.” You did not kneel, but your words were no less solemn than Dwalin’s. Turning to you, Dwalin rose to his feet, clasping your hands with a smile. As he spoke each of the Seven Blessings, you repeated the words back to him.

Blessed are you Mahal who has created everything for the glory of Eru.

Blessed are you Mahal who fashioned the earth, the mountains and the hills.

Blessed are you Mahal who fashioned the gems and metals in the heart of the mountain.

Blessed are you Mahal who fashioned the Dwarrow and the seven houses.

Blessed are you Mahal who taught the Dwarrow the skill to work the gems and metals in the heart of the mountain.

Blessed are you Mahal who gladdens our Halls through his Children.

Blessed are you Mahal who gladdens groom and bride.

When the last syllable left your mouth, Dwalin kissed you, at once forceful and tender, bone-meltingly lovely. Around you, the Company broke out in loud cheering, those who still had them bringing out musical instruments and beginning to play a joyous dancing tune. You laughed, staring up at your new husband. Traditionally, the ceremony was supposed to be followed by seven days of feasting, but you had decided to do without it, in favour of spending the two days remaining before midsummer would enable Lord Elrond to read the moon-runes, with your husband.

 Dwalin had carried you back to bed to the chorus of loud cheering, and you were now basking in afterglow, lying half-on, half-off him as he played with your hair. The sound of music and laughter drifted in through the open windows; the Elves had joined in, you thought, the softer sound of their music mingling with what you believed was Fíli or Kíli playing a fiddle. Dwalin’s fingers ran slowly through your hair. You had had to promise Elrond to be very careful of your foot, but you had stood firm with both the elven healer and your new husband in demanding that you have a proper wedding night.

“Amrâlimê,” you whispered into his skin, making a goofy smile appear on his face.

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Silver Secret pt4

The answer to the question ‘What happened five years ago?’

art by Bob Kehl on DA

“Jo-Jofur?” you asked, staring at the stranger who was standing by the baker’s cart, flirting with Geilie. You hadn’t seen him in more than 60 years, but the pure white hair you shared with your late amad – Jofur said so anyway, you remembered – was unmistakable when paired with the pale jade green eyes of your late adad. The dwarf whirled, mid-reply, to stare at you.

“Mjoll!” Dwalin called, making you turn your head. “There you are, lass, what’s with the dawdling today?” he exclaimed, wrapping his big arm around you. “We’ve ter be getting on if we’s to be done by supper.” You had an appointment with Master Dori, who was going to make you a new frock for the Yule Ball in a few months; you were hoping Fíli would ask you to dance, the thought making you blush.

“Jofur…” you repeated, interrupting Dwalin’s admonishments, pointing at the dwarf by the baker’s who was still staring at you.

“…Mjoll,” he breathed, and then he was running towards you, wrapping his arms around you as he laughed.

“This is your Jofur then, lassie?” Dwalin rumbled behind you. Turning around, you nodded, beaming at him. Dwalin smiled; he knew how much it meant to you to know that your brother was alive. “Dwalin Fundinul,” Dwalin continued, holding out his hand. Jofur shook it warily, darting glances between Dwalin’s obviously good-quality clothing and the Line of Durin bead in your hair. He frowned.

“You are married?!” he cried, staring wildly between the two of you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then Dwalin’s loud guffaws rung across the cobbles. Your own laugh joined him.

“No, nadad,” you smiled. “This is my Adad, Dwalin. He found me after you’d been taken away by those Men…” Dwalin’s large arm wrapped around your shoulder, tugging on your Durin-bead. Thorin had made it many years ago, when Dwalin decided to ask you to be his kin officially. Jofur looked a little stunned.

“Why don’t you come along,” Dwalin offered, “Princess here has a meeting with the tailor to get through, but I’m sure we can find a way to pass the time until supper. You’re welcome to come along.”

“Adad,” you chided, but it was fond mocking, “you’re just trying to wiggle out of Master Dori holding up fabric samples against your face.”

“I don’t see why I hafta suffer twice,” Dwalin bickered good-naturedly, “Dís is just going to do it all over again in a few months for the yearly fittings!” The Yearly Fittings – in Both Thorin and Dwalin’s minds deserving of capitalization – was the day during early winter when Dís forced both Dwalin and Thorin through ‘Excruciating Humiliation’ – Dwalin’s words – in order to ensure that they both looked the part of royals during official appearances. Fíli had luckily inherited his amad’s sense of style – and you actually enjoyed talking about clothes with Master Dori – and Kíli usually managed to show up at the tailoring shop along with his older brother to go over fabrics and designs without needing Dís’ input. Thorin – and Dwalin – however, were decidedly not fashionable, and the Yearly Fittings had been a Thing ever since you could remember living with Dwalin. Secretly, you thought Dwalin enjoyed being fussed at, but the one time you’d aired that opinion, you’d been sworn to secrecy with such vehemence that you didn’t dare repeat the thought aloud.

“Maybe you’d learn!” you returned, opening the door to Dori’s shop with a tinkle of bells that always made you smile; the bells were some of the first things you had made on your own, even if your Craft was armour-smithing like your late adad.

 Jofur joined you for supper at Balin’s that night, slowly relaxing among your new family. He’d been in the Iron Hills for years, learning the warrior’s trade, and it was simple chance that he’d decided to take a job guarding a caravan heading to Ered Luin.

 “I’d believed you dead years ago,” he murmured later, as you sat side by side on Balin’s front stoop, sharing one of the pastries he’d all but forgotten he’d bought that afternoon. “I went back to look for you when I was released, but it had been several years since I was carted off, and no one remembered anything about you…” he swallowed heavily, “But here you are; kinsman to Royals no less… I’m glad for you, little sister.”

“Dwalin and Uncle Balin have been good to me,” you nodded. “I’ve learned so much from both of them.”

 You spent a few weeks running around with each other; Jofur’s return overshadowed even your excitement that Fíli would soon be home from his summer of guarding Glóin’s traders. Even Kíli liked him, and Kíli rarely liked people until he’d known them for years.

Fíli returned just in time for your Name-Day, though he only had time to drop off your present and steal a kiss before he had to leave again, going to the northern end of the range for diplomatic meetings with Thorin.

 “I’ve got a job, sister!” Jofur exclaimed happily, running up to where you were beating one of the carpets.

“Oh?” you asked, hoping he would stay; at least until Fíli returned. You hadn’t told anyone about your present – or your kiss – wanting to introduce Fíli to the only other family you had left before doing anything that could be considered official.

“I’m going to Harad!” Jofur was excited, but your stomach dropped. Harad was across the world; a dangerous journey by any criterium.

“I thought you wanted to look for work here?” you said, frowning. Dwalin had spoken of offering Jofur a place in the Guard, giving him a chance to spend more time with you.

“The Guard would still be here when I returned,” Jofur smiled, “and this job pays really well. Promise you’re not mad?” You just shook your head in disbelief; you’d only just gotten him back, and already he wanted to leave?!

“I’m not mad,” you croaked, “but promise me you’ll come back.”

  “I’ll be back for you, raklûna[1],” Jofur whispered against your hair on the day of his departure, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a firm hug. You put your arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tight in return.

“I’ll miss you every day,” you swore. Staring up at him, you didn’t want to be the reason for the light of adventure to leave his eyes, but you couldn’t help one final admonishment. “Be safe, please. I love you.”

Jofur kissed your forehead. “I love you, too, Mjoll.” He whistled as he walked down the street, turning just before he went round the corner to give you a wave and a rakish smile. You smiled your best as you returned the gesture, but you did not feel as serene as Jofur about his upcoming journey.

When you returned to your home and the tasks of the day, you felt a little cheered at the thought that Fíli would be home tomorrow. Perhaps he would kiss you again, you thought, blushing as your hand went to the small pendant he had made for you; it was already becoming an unconscious habit.

[1] Precious one

@filisleftmustachebraid : for the break Fili’s heart prompt :P

@life-is-righteous  @pandepirateprincess @littlemergirl4779 @aidanturnersass @childoftheshire

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Crushes

This is connected to my other imagine drabble ‘Cuddles’ in which the reader/oc has an undisclosed crush... this is the story of ‘what if that crush was Dwalin’.

based on “Imagine falling in love with Dwalin on the quest and, after rebuilding Erebor, the she-dwarves start fawning over Dwalin; when you are hurt, Balin confronts his brother and convinces him to tell you how he feels“

word count 1882

Of course, you’d fallen for him, how could you not? He was everything a dwarf should be; brawny, bulky, able to smash skulls with his fists… and he had a kind heart to go along with it, a softness in his eyes when he looked at the lads – even Ori, who was no kin of his had come under that blue-eyed aegis of protection during the Quest. Dwalin knew you well enough to know you could take care of yourself, and yet he still looked out for you and your brothers. Nori might have died in Goblin Town if not for Dwalin’s strength, you knew, the thought still making you shudder. How could you not love such a dwarf? Even back in Ered Luin you’d nursed a small tenderness for the gruff lump of granite, carefully hidden away in your heart. He had never looked at you twice, which was fine, you told yourself, stomping away from the sparring rings.

It was not fine.

With the Mountain slowly filling up with returning dwarrow, you did not have as much time to spend with any member of the Company – not even your brothers, who were busy in their own roles anyway – but you made it a point to show up for your weekly spar with Dwalin, even if you didn’t really have time to fit it into your schedule. Of course, you saw him at dinner sometimes – most eating was still done communally, and the Company ate together at least twice a month as a general rule. Usually, he seemed as eager as you when you showed up in the rings – though no formal agreement had been made between you, you still felt as though this was your time. Today, he was simply not present. You had gone a round with Fíli – still recovering so you didn’t use your full strength – but it was half-hearted at best.

You’d heard him before you saw him.

“Aye, and when the Great Goblin King fell, he took the supportin beams with’im and landed right on top o’ us!” Dwalin exclaimed, to a great chorus of female sighing. You stiffened.

“And then what did you do?” someone gushed. You wanted to throttle her, especially as you caught sight of the pleased look on Dwalin’s face as he looked at his little fan.

“Well, then things got a bit tricky. You see, we had people trapped underneath piles of wood, and a whole mountain’s worth of Goblins coming for us – s’pose they didn’t much like that we killed their king,” Dwalin added thoughtfully. “Well, I looked at Thorin, and Thorin looked at me, and then we started trying to pull at the beams. ‘Leave no Dwarf behind!’ I thought, as I pulled Lord Nori from the debris,” they ooh’ed and ahh’ed at that. You scowled. “Mori!” Dwalin exclaimed, catching sight of you. “This, ladies,” he gestured grandly, “is Lord Nori’s sister, Lady Mori.” It was such a little thing, to be introduced as your brother’s sister, as though you hadn’t earned your place in the Company ten times over; including saving Dwalin’s ungrateful hide a time or two!

“Hello, Dwalin, ladies,” you nodded coldly to all of them. Dwalin frowned a little at your icy expression. You felt an almost overpowering need to be elsewhere, immediately.

“Here for a good spar?” he asked, his eyes bright and hopeful.

“No.” Your voice remained cool, detached. “I haven’t any more time to spend fooling around here,” you claimed, decisively. Fooling around with weapons or fooling yourself that you mattered to the blind oaf, you weren’t sure. Being a fool, perhaps, you thought viciously, fully aware that Nori – at least – was aware of your crush. “Dwalin,” you nodded, ignoring the crestfallen look on his face, “ladies.” With another nod, you swept past them, resting your axe on your shoulder. It wasn’t your favourite weapon, preferring the sword or the glaives, but last week you’d promised him a fight with axes.

 “Mori isn’t sitting with us tonight?” Balin asked quietly, taking his place beside Dwalin. Tonight was the bi-monthly Company dinner and Mori was flanked by all three of her brothers as far away from Dwalin as the table allowed. Usually, the ri’s would sit by the Fundinuls, and Balin wasn’t the only one puzzled by the change in seating arrangements. He had tried to catch Dori’s eye, but the mithril-haired tailor had ignored him completely. The dismissal stung, the old diplomat having formed a deep friendship with the oldest ri-brother during the Quest. He had even tried subtly enquiring about the possibility of a closer connection – he wasn’t blind to the way Dwalin sighed after Mori, of course – though nothing had come of it yet. Dori was fiercely protective of his siblings, after all, having been more of a mother to them than their own who’d died when Ori was very young. Mori and Nori – born only three years apart and the only two who knew for sure that they had the same adad – had run wild in Ered Luin, their adad a known thief and grifter. Nori, of course, had become a thief, while Mori had become a sellsword, off with trading caravans before she was truly old enough, the both of them desperate to help Dori raise little Ori as best they could.

“No,” Dwalin sighed sadly. “She’s mad at me because I was late for our sparring session.” Balin just hummed thoughtfully.

  “It’s fine, Nori,” you hissed, keeping your voice low enough that Dori wouldn’t catch it. He was busy pushing greens on Ori, however, an unbreakable habit it seemed, and didn’t pay the two of you any attention. Nori was always looking out for you, the two of you affectionately known as the Twins. Brushing your red hair – a few shades redder than Nori’s auburn – away from your face, you tried to focus on the sumptuous meal.

“It’s not fine if you’re unhappy, Mo.” Nori whispered back. He was the only one allowed to call you Mo, shortening your already shortened name.

“I knew it’d never happen, No,” you replied, “I always knew. Just… just leave it alone,” you sighed. Nori frowned at you, but he changed the topic easily. Sometimes, you really loved Nori.

  “Where’s Mori?” Dwalin asked, sitting himself down by Nori with a puzzled frown. “She wasn’t in the rings today,” he complained, when Nori didn’t answer.

“Why do you care, Dwalin?” the spymaster asked, his voice deceptively pleasant as he played with one of his many hidden knives, making it dance between nimble fingers.

“She’s the only one willing to put me on my arse,” Dwalin admitted sheepishly. “I look forward to sparring with her every week! She’s so busy, but she makes time for me anyway.. it – she – makes me… happy,” he finished, staring into his mug with a desolate expression. He did not want Nori to know that part of his enjoyment came from feeling her body so close to his, the exhilaration he felt when he caught a whiff of her hair oil on his skin or his clothes after a round of unarmed combat.  

“You sound a little smitten,” Nori remarked drily, a smirk flashing in Dwalin’s direction. The warrior gaped. He’d been so careful! No one except Balin knew what he felt for the fiery temptress, he was sure of it, always careful not to watch her when others could see. It had been a nightmare on the Quest, honestly, her presence constant, her wry smiles inescapable. He could still see Bilbo’s hand wrapped around her breast that night, could remember wishing – and dreaming, later – that it had been his hand; that she had welcomed his touch.

“No!” he protested, acutely aware that he was sitting next to the one Dwarf in Erebor who would have no problem slipping a knife between his ribs if he thought Dwalin had set his eyes on his sister. “yes,” he murmured, a second later, momentarily feeling a need to get it all out there. “She’s so beautiful,” he whispered dreamily, while Nori looked a little green beside him. Dwalin didn’t notice, “and strong, and brave, and – Oh Mahal – when she smiles at me…” he trailed off, suddenly mortified. “Don’t worry, Nori, nothing will come of my infatuation, I know,” he sighed, getting to his feet. “Mori deserves better than a scarred old warrior.” Tossing back the last dregs of his ale, Dwalin morosely lumbered off to the large house he shared with Balin; the same house their adad had owned before their Exile.

  “Dwalin is in love with my sister.”

It wasn’t a question, but Balin nodded anyway, slightly surprised that the thief-turned-spymaster hadn’t said anything before now.

“Has been for… oh, must be 20-odd years since I first heard his tales about the fiery beauty who knocked him down flat in two minutes,” Balin mused. Nori chuckled. “I have tried, over the years, to get him to confess his heart,” Balin sighed. “I thought he would… before the Battle…” he trailed off, remembering the tense hours they had sat in the darkness of Erebor’s front hall and listened to the sounds of Dáin’s warriors battling the Orcs with the aid of the Elves.

“He only told her to be careful,” Nori replied, before he disappeared as silently as he had arrived. Balin shook his head in fond exasperation.

  “Where is Mori?” Thorin Oakenshield asked, at the next Company dinner. The ris were missing a member, he saw.

“Iron Hills, possibly,” Nori replied blandly. “Though she could be halfway to Ered Luin by now.”

“WHAT!” Dwalin roared, standing with such force that he knocked his chair over. “You let her go off on her own?! Anything could happen to her!” he seethed. Nori grinned unrepentantly. “She could be hurt! How can you just sit there, laughing!” Dwalin pointed an accusatory finger at Nori, while Ori’s mouth opened as if to speak. The thief’s lightning-quick hand shot out, blocking whatever words the scribe was about to utter. Dwalin continued ranting in that vein for some time until…

“Why, Dwalin, I didn’t know you cared,” you remarked, catching the tail end of an impressive rant aimed in Nori’s direction and concerning your well-being. You wondered what that was about, even as you felt giddy with the confirmation that Dwalin did care about you. The warrior whirled, staring at you as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. You smiled tentatively. “Sorry, I’m late, everyone,” you waved at the room in general, but no one dared break the silence after Dwalin’s outburst.

“Mori…” he groaned, and your name had never sounded so good before.

“Yes, Dwalin?” you asked, looking up at him with puzzled eyes. The hug was unexpected, but not as unexpected as the small words whispered in your ear.

“Please don’t leave me.” When he pulled back, you were surprised by the swirl of emotion in his eyes, the gentleness with which he cupped your face. You felt frozen to the spot, unconsciously licking your lips.

“Oh, Mahal wept!” Thorin groused. “Kiss her already, you old fool, before dinner gets cold. I’m tired of all the pussyfooting around!” The Company laughed, but you didn’t notice over the sound of your heart racing in response to the softness of Dwalin’s lips meeting your own.

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Naragfahnzunshûn

Some might question the friendship – hidden as it was – between Nori and Dwalin, but it had been going strong for nigh a century amid rooftop chases and bar brawls. Each had plenty of stories about daring raids and near-escapes, about plots averted and lives saved... but this is not one of those stories.

This is the story of how it began, in a dingy building in Thorinuldûm, on a dark and rainy evening, when Dwalin should have been safe and sound at home, enjoying his hot supper...

Art by Anna655 on DA

Dwalin sighed. His night had already been long; he had gotten off work early for once, but then he’d got himself involved in stopping a tavern brawl and here he was, staring at a young Dwarf who’d been arrested in connection with the fight. Fiddling with the papers on his desk – his promotion wasn’t official yet, but everyone already knew he’d be named Shumrozbid[1] within a week – Dwalin wished that Balin had sat in his place, or perhaps Dís. The both of them would have been better at speaking to the youngster; Dwalin’s interactions with Dwarrow his age were usually limited to shouting instructions in the training fields.

The youth did not look cowed to find himself in front of the next Captain of the Guard – the old Captain had died three weeks before from falling down an unsteady mineshaft – affecting an air of disregard for the power of Dwalin’s office. The Azanulbizar veteran had to hide a smile; the young dwarf in front of him played at being unintimidated better than most of his cohorts, but Dwalin was not fooled by his blasé attitude. The young dwarf had been brought before him on charges of theft and brawling in the poorer areas of their settlement. Usually, that wouldn’t be enough to land him an audience with Dwalin, but this was a special case. Dwalin just hoped there would still be supper left when he finally made it home.

“Your name, Thief?” he rumbled, quiet but with just the right level of menace to make a criminal sit up and pay attention. Dwalin Fundinul had long had a reputation for being hard, but fair, and he was unafraid to take advantage of that, especially with young criminals.

“Nori.” The thief spat. Dwalin simply looked at him, expecting that a father-name would not come. He was not surprised.

“Your family, Nori?” he tried to gauge the thief’s age. There was no question of his guilt, but Dwalin was less interested in the theft than he appeared to the uninformed eyes of young Nori. Even if he had been he still would have been inclined to show some mercy due to Nori’s age, and the obvious hunger in his eyes.

Dwalin knew that the young dwarf in front of him had mouths to feed at home; the way he was anxiously trying to stop himself from looking at the door told Dwalin clearly that he had somewhere – or more likely someone – to call him home. Dwalin knew both where and whom, though the little thief had no inkling of that small fact.

“Haven’t got one.” Defiance coloured every word, but Dwalin had danced this dance before. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel pleased that the old Captain was dead; it meant he had far more control over what happened next than he would have had if he had been reporting to a direct superior who was not privy to Thorin’s plans. Perhaps he would look into changing the way things worked in general, he thought, letting the thief sit in silence as he pretended to study him, Dwalin’s mind busy structuring a proposal to discuss with Thorin later. He knew Thorin would listen; his Kurdel had often lamented the lack of Thjofr’s progress when it came to making their people safe in the new settlement.

“How old are you?”

“80.” Came the insolent reply – another lie, Dwalin already knew. If the dwarf before him was a day over 70, he’d eat Thorin’s cooking.

“You’re lying to me, Nori,” Dwalin said, softly, watching the thief’s hackles rise, though he gave a credible attempt at nonchalance. Dwalin was a little impressed that Nori had not resorted to insults or shouting yet; most criminals in his experience would have attempted more than simple lies by now. “You do have a family. I think they’re waiting for you, possibly to bring them the food you stole. Probably frantic with worry that you have not come home.” Dwalin noticed the slight wince Nori couldn’t hide at that, but, overall, he was impressed by the young dwarf’s self-control. It boded well for his future plans. “I know that you were simply caught up in the brawl in Carnelian Street,” Dwalin continued pleasantly, as though they were old friends chatting and not a guard and a thief who were by any definition on opposing sides of the room, “and what you have stolen – or rather, what was discovered on your person as stolen goods – would not normally be enough to bring you to my attention.” Nori glanced at the doorway, but he didn’t attempt to flee – yet. “Can you tell me, then, why you think you are standing here?” Dwalin kept his words mild on purpose, channelling Balin at his most pleasantly interrogative. It was a skill he had never quite mastered as well as his brother, who could make anyone spill anything without noticing, but he usually got the answers he sought. It helped that he already knew the answers to his questions, but Nori did not need to know that…yet.

“Dunno, do I?” Nori retorted sullenly. “Yer some sort of nob, I see that.” His eyes once more shifted towards the door, and Dwalin began to realise what Nori might believe was the inevitable outcome of tonight if he wanted to remain free. He mastered his shudder of revulsion; he knew it happened in the Guard, but not with him, and if he had anything to say about it the practice would quietly disappear into the shadows of oblivion where such bargains belonged. He almost wanted to ask if such proposals had been sent Nori’s way before, but that was hardly a good ice-breaker. Dwalin sighed.

“Will you tell me your full name, Nori?” he asked instead, a thread of steel entering his voice. “I do not want to cause them troubles, but… I can’t let you go without someone taking responsibility for you, because of your age.” he let his voice trail off. It was often more effective to only imply threats; his size usually had enough ideas pop into people’s minds that he didn’t need to add more.

“Nori, son of Arnóra.” Dwalin kept his face impassive. He had been given an amad-name, which usually meant there was no sire. Again he simply nodded, having expected that.

“Son of Arnóra.” Dwalin wrote it down on the night’s arrest record. “You know, I do know a son of Arnóra. Dori the lace-maker on Granite Way. A good tailor, by all accounts. Your brother?” The thief tried not to give him any reaction, but Dwalin was shrewd and observant enough to notice the way his eyes widened just a little. Dwalin stood, sorting his papers properly and picking up Nori’s arrest record. He slung a bag over his shoulder and walked to the thief’s side. “Come on then, Nori, son of Arnóra. I’ll take you home to your brother.” He opened the door. The thief stared. Dwalin let his heavy hand fall onto the slender dwarf’s shoulder, nudging him forwards and out of the door, nodding at the grizzled old guad who’d been standing by in case Nori tried to run, and guiding him all the way out of the guardhouse.

“Why.” The question was more of a command and did not come until they were already turning onto Granite Way. Dwalin’s hand was still on the thief’s shoulder, a constant pressure, but not so firm it hurt. Dwalin knew the thief could probably have wrenched himself free, but he had stayed, docilely, and it gave the big warrior hope.

“Because you are hungry, and your brother is worried, Nori. And because I can.” Dwalin stopped before a red door, knocking heavily on the wood. The paint was starting to flake, but the front stoop was swept tidily. The inhabitants might not have much, but they did have house-pride, Dwalin noted, smiling to himself. The door was opened. The Dwarf inside paled at the sight that met him. Dwalin bowed his head politely. “Dwalin Fundinul, Shumrozbid, at your service. Master Dori, I presume?” Nori paled slightly at the revelation of Dwalin’s rank. The other dwarf nodded. Then his eyes landed on Nori and narrowed.

“Nori! What have you done now?!” he kept glancing between his younger brother and the giant guardsman who towered over them both. Nori’s face was set in defiant lines, but he stayed quiet.

“May we trespass on your hospitality, Master Dori? I would like to speak with you.” Dwalin asked, as calmly as though he were simply enquiring about the time of day. The mithril-haired dwarf took a step back, nodding permission. A small dwarfling peered out from the kitchen, lighting up in a giant smile when he saw the thief.

“Nori!” he shrieked, launching himself at the red-haired thief, who caught him easily and rubbed their noses together. Dwalin surreptitiously let go of Nori’s shoulder, stepping back slightly to avoid scaring the dwarfling. He liked little ones, but he knew that he could be intimidating. Beside him, Dori waved towards a small table, sighing in defeat, and Dwalin sat easily, ignoring the way the chair creaked beneath his weight, dropping his bag on the table. The thief sent the dwarfling back to the other room when his brother grabbed his collar and made him sit down. Dori sat beside him, scowling at Nori before turning to Dwalin.

“What’s he done this time, then, to bring the attention of the Captain of the Guard here?” he asked. Nori opened his mouth to protest, but Dwalin forestalled him.

“Simply a bit of brawling, which unfortunately resulted in the death of a dwarf,” Dwalin held up his hand, stalling Dori’s angry tirade before it really got started. “Not that the brawl was Nori’s fault; in fact, we have reports that he was simply a bystander pulled into the fray. Unfortunately, his age meant the matter required my personal signature before he could be released. That is not the reason I am here, however.” This time, he looked directly at Nori, who seemed just as surprised at Dori. Perhaps he had expected Dwalin to mention the theft too, but Dwalin really didn’t care much about that part of the story. Of course, stealing was wrong, but his soft heart could not bear to see a dwarfling starve, and even if Nori no longer counted as a dwarfling, the little one in the next room could definitely use more food, and so could Master Dori, for that matter, even if he was still one of the most beautiful dwarrow Dwalin had ever seen. “I want to propose a trade, Master Nori, but as you are underage, you need your brother’s consent.” He looked at Dori, who seemed flabbergasted, but on the cusp of anger. Dori knew well how beautiful dwarrow of their house were considered, and although Nori was young, he was certainly pretty. Dwalin continued, before the unwarranted explosion of Dori’s temper could occur. “I have heard stories of you, Nori, and your skills. They call you Fleetfoot and Stickypaws in the seedier taverns of Ered Luin, but the guards have named you Sakdûnith[2]. You are rarely caught, and when you are, it is usually innocuous and they have to let you go. What I want to propose is this-” Dwalin took a deep breath and continued quietly, “I want you to be the King’s Third Eye – The Black Owl. The Black Feather lies unclaimed, and its last master put forth your name before his death – nearly two decades ago.” Nori blinked, but seemed incapable of speech, while Dori had gone stiff as a board. “I have watched you, Nori, son of Arnóra,” Dwalin continued, seeing the more careworn features of the last Owl superimposed on Nori’s face; the resemblance was uncanny for someone who knew the truth, “and I think he was right. You have the skills to walk into places no guardsman would find, to hear the whispers that would never reach my ears, and I believe you have the intelligence the job requires.” Dori seemed speechless, but Dwalin did not care, keeping his attention on Nori, who looked intrigued.

“You want me to spy.” The young dwarf said. Dwalin nodded; that was indeed the role Nori had been picked for.

“Yes. You may continue to use your thievery to your advantage, and I will ensure that any arrests made against you are dealt with efficiently.” Sometimes by simply ignoring them, other times by orchestrating escapes or alibis; it didn’t really matter how, as long as the trade-off was worth it. Nori was nodding slowly. “In return, you will inform myself, my brother Balin, or Lady Dís of anything that requires the attention of the King; anything that might be harmful to our people and our settlement here.” Dwalin finished, studying the auburn-haired dwarf’s pointy features and feeling again the sense of familiarity wash over him. “Do you understand what I’m offering?” he asked. The young thief nodded.

“Why?” he asked, looking confused. “Why me?”

“I believe you can help me keep our people safe. Thorin has long needed a new Black Owl.” Dwalin admitted, an involuntary scowl crossing his face. “The Dwarf who tried to claim it after the death of the last one was…less than suitable,” Dwalin knew his expression gave the two others plenty of fodder for imagining what precisely had happened to the disloyal Dwarf and didn’t elaborate. Dori had gone pale. In truth, the unfortunate dwarf had got himself absolutely plastered and bragged about his job, and was summarily fired, demoted to the lowest mining job the Royals could find. In the olden days, he would have been exiled, but Thorin’s Halls needed every available worker.

“What’s the reward?” Nori asked, but he did not seem convinced yet. Neither that the offer was genuine, nor that the task would be worth it. “And how can you offer me this job. We’ve never met before. You don’t know me.” Here, Dwalin looked at Dori, trying to apologise ahead of his next words, and the stiffening of the other dwarf’s shoulders told him that he knew what words were coming.

“I do know you, Nori, son of Natfári, son of Northrasir, son of Kilvari. Nori, nephew of Nauma and Norin, grandson of Lawmaker Rúnvidr.” Nori stiffened, gaping at Dwalin, who kept speaking calmly. “I told you the last Black Owl put your name forth for consideration more than twenty years ago. At the time, you were still a dwarfling, and you needed more training, but he was granted permission by Thorin to begin teaching you the skills you would need.” Dwalin took a deep breath, exchanging a glance with Dori, who nodded once, sharply. “The last Black Owl was Natfári, son of Northrasir, son of Kilvari. Your father, though he could not claim you or your amad.” Nori seemed stunned by this barrage of information, and Dwalin could only sympathise, aware that Arnóra had put out the rumour that her three pebbles were fathered by different Dwarrow; something Dwalin knew had to have hurt his old friend, even if he couldn’t let it show. “We have tried to keep an eye on all of you since your amad passed a letter that she was dying.”

“That’s why Lady Dís came into my shop three moons ago?” Dori asked, but not in a way that made Dwalin think he was offended. He nodded.

“The Princess came up with the simplest way to keep an eye on Natfári’s family, to try to provide for you as much as the crown could be seen to do without rousing suspicions that you were important to us. We did not know if Arnóra had told you about his work,” Dwalin sighed; sometimes, Natfári’s leftover paranoia from working for Thrór and then Thraín for so long, was a hindrance, rather than a blessing, “but Natfári himself asked us to keep you safe when he could not.” Dwalin looked at Nori once more. The younger dwarf was still pale, and his hand had migrated across the table to wrap itself tightly around Dori’s, knuckles standing out white against his skin.

“Amad swore me to secrecy. She put out the rumour that each of us had a different father, that mine died in Erebor, and the rumour was enough for people to play up our dissimilarities as proof,” Dori spoke hoarsely, as if a great burdened had just been lifted. “She told me never to tell anyone, not even my brothers.” Dori seemed lost, but Dwalin did not know how to make it better. “I have spent every day, since Ori was born, waiting for the day someone would know,” Dori groaned, “praying no one would guess… and you tell me you’ve known all along?” Dwalin sighed.

“We didn’t know who,” he said, “only how they would get in touch, through a series of dead drops and secret couriers.” Dwalin had not been the one to set that up; the groundwork had been laid even before Thraín’s expedition to Erebor, and he and Thorin had simply made a habit of checking the final drop-site on their semi-weekly walk around the settlement.

“Did he leave nothing behind for us?” Dori asked, making Dwalin wince slightly at the volume. Nori still looked like he thought it was a hoax, even with Dori corroborating Dwalin’s story. “Since Amad’s death, we have barely been able to make ends meet!” Suddenly, Dori was angry, and since he couldn’t take out his anger on the father he felt had abandoned them, he lashed out at Dwalin, instead. “And now you want to take away my baby brother, too!”

“No.” Dwalin kept calm. Dori deflated, sinking back into his chair, one shaking hand reaching for his cup of tea, which had long-since gone cold. “I want to give Nori a chance to become a member of our society in a way very few dwarrow could manage.” Dwalin looked at both brothers, conveying his absolute belief in his words. “Thorin will ensure that your family is taken care of in return. You may keep your shop, Master Dori,” he promised, giving the flustered tailor a small smile, “and Dís has been so happy with your work that other ladies of the court have been hounding her for the name of the maker. She will make it known that you are under her patronage.” Dís had already done so, after all, so Dwalin wasn’t making promises he couldn’t keep. “When the little one… Ori – is it? – is grown, we will find him an apprenticeship with the best Master for his Craft, whatever that may be.” They had provisions for such a thing already laid aside, coins gathered before Natfári’s untimely death. “The work of the Black Owl is not without danger, but the position is necessary and the rewards match the risk. Ori’s apprenticeship is already paid in full, simply awaiting his coming of age; your own, Master Dori, was paid by Thraín, and even if Nori does not accept the Black Feather, we will see him settled with a proper craft.” Nori looked a bit peeved at that, which made Dwalin smile to himself; clearly, the young dwarf was more interested in the offer than he let on. “Natfári,” Dwalin claimed, willing the two brothers to believe him, “for all his faults and secrecy, was a conscientious dwarf, and he did make provisions for you. He never told us your amad’s name nor how many dwarflings he had, but he did leave Nori’s name and address behind, tapping him as a possible successor. Your names were in a letter that was in your amad’s keeping. Before her death, Arnóra knew how to get in touch with us for anything she might need, and we would extend the same offer to you.” Tweaked a bit, to ensure that messages did not go so horribly awry as Arnóra’s last letter, Dwalin swore to himself. “Your father was one of the best dwarrow I have known, and I was proud to call him friend, just as Thorin was proud to call him friend. Whatever else you may think, believe that your parents – both your parents – loved you fiercely and did their best to protect you.” Dwalin sighed mentally. He was sure Balin would have been better for this, but when they received the letter from Natfári’s widow – more than a year after her death, due to an unfortunate mix-up – Dwalin had been the one to come up with the idea of telling the brothers the next time Nori was arrested. If it had not so fortuitously – for them – happened tonight, Dís would simply have continued keeping an eye on the three brothers through chatting with Dori when she shopped. After all, if Natfári’s second son did not have the skills his father had expected him to have, there would be no harm in keeping their dead friend’s secret. If Nori did display the skills of his late sire, however, it was important to gain his support and begin training him as soon as possible.

“I’ll do it.” Nori said, smiling cheekily. “If the King asks me.” He smirked. Dori groaned, letting his head thump down onto the table. Dwalin grimaced in sympathy, but smiled at Nori.

“Fine. If we hurry, we’ll be home in time for dinner. Dís’ husband, Víli, is a fantastic cook, so it shouldn’t be too bad,” he shrugged, “though if Thorin has been near the kitchen, it may be a bit burnt. My Kurdel,” and this was a word that made them sit up and take notice, aware of the trust the revelation implied. Dwalin smirked to himself and continued blithely, “while a good leader and a Master Blacksmith, has no idea when it comes to cooking. He has managed to burn water,” he winked, pleased at Nori’s answering grin. Dori simply gaped, obviously unused to Royalty being discussed so freely by someone close to them, but Dwalin knew that it was important to show that they trusted Natfári’s sons to keep their secrets. “He’s also fairly dismal when it comes to directions aboveground,” Dwalin continued easily, smiling at an old memory. “In the stone, no problem, but I remember once arguing with him about the direction of West…at sunset.” As Dwalin rose, Nori’s grin had turned into a low chuckle, and Dori was sporting a slight smile he tried to hide. “Let’s go then.” Dwalin finished, pushing in his chair. “Master Dori, you’re welcome to join us, of course,” he nodded, turning towards the door. A small blue blur ran out of the kitchen, and Dwalin was staring down into the soulful brown eyes of wee Ori. The dwarfling reached up fearlessly, in the universal dwarfling way that means ‘pick me up, now!’ and Dwalin obeyed, easily swinging the little one onto one of his broad shoulders and steadying him with a large hand.

“Your bag, Master Dwalin.” Dori held out the sack Dwalin had dropped on the table. He shook his head, bouncing wee Ori with a chuckle. The little one was staring wide-eyed down at Nori, who grinned up at him, flicking his fingers in rapid Iglishmêk.

“Ach, no, that belongs to Nori. He was searched when he came to the guardhouse; I simply carried his belongings back for him.” Dwalin lied easily, enjoying the way Nori’s eyes grew when he did not mention the theft that had originally landed Nori in front of his desk.

Dwalin did not know it yet, but in that moment, a life-long friendship was born.

 That night, Thorin did ask, and Nori accepted his father’s legacy. When he was handed the small token of his job, the naragzunshfall[3] seemed heavy, as though it had been carved from something much weightier than black agate. The new naragfahnzunshûn[4] looked at his King, who did not have the Raven Crown of his forebears, but who still had some sort of indefinable quality of leadership, and Nori swore his service to him.

 Some might question the friendship – hidden as it was – between Nori and Dwalin, but it had been going strong for nigh a century amid rooftop chases and bar brawls. Not that Nori had never been arrested by Dwalin, for the Shamâr[5] did that gleefully and with great skill whenever opportunity arose, none more enthusiastically than their Captain, Dwalin Fundinul. Their different stations had no impact on the genuine fondness they held for each other, a fondness born of many hours working together as well as apart for the betterment of their people.

The story of the ri-parents can be found here

[1] Guard Captain. A compound made of Shumr (guard n.) and ozbid (art/capability of a leader)

[2] Young shadow-man

[3] Black feather, made from this stone(because it’s cool):

[4] Black Owl-man, literally black knowledge bird man.

[5] Guards

@life-is-righteous @pandepirateprincess

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Growth

Part of ‘Motorcycle Club’!

Strength - Original imagine for @hiccuplovver​

School’s Out & Lazy Sunday

word count 2729

Dwalin was being distant – had been for weeks, actually, ever since you got back from your teaching seminar – and you were tired of it, tired of him hiding out at the garage; leaving early and coming home late, too tired to do much more than peck your cheek and head to bed. You were worried. Not just for him, for yourself too, now, staring at the friendly face on the other side of the table.

“I need to speak with my husband,” you croaked, barely hearing the ‘Of course, I understand, Mrs. Fundinul, have a good day.’ chirped at your back.

Driving out to the garage required all your attention. Half-way hysterically, you wondered what Balin would say if you got arrested for reckless driving. Dwalin’s brother was a lawyer, and his quick wit had saved the Club from more than one legal kerfuffle.

Walking into the shop, you saw only Thorin, who looked up at you with a strained smile.

“Look, I don’t know everything that’s going on between you but…” he said, grabbing your arm as you made to pass. The pained voice made you stop, looking up at the man who was closer than a brother to your husband. Thorin’s dark blue eyes were hooded. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it, shaking his head, something like sadness in his eyes. “Just… he’s a good man,” he said, lamely, scowling at himself more than you as he let go, nearly fleeing outside into the light drizzle. Your puzzlement didn’t last long, overpowered by the loud clamour of your thoughts returning.

 “Dwalin?” you asked, wincing when the sound startled him, hearing his curse as he banged his head against the underside of the car he was working on. Sliding out from underneath the vehicle, he looked up at you with something like apprehension, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but with you.

“What’s ye doin here, then?” he asked, his voice gruff. You noticed the lack of his customary endearment, and in your heightened emotional state it was enough to make you burst into tears, sobbing loudly into your hands. Dwalin panicked. “No, please, lass, you know I don’t like it when ye cry,” he babbled, running his hands up and down your arms, trying to soothe you. “Please, amrâlimê,” he pleaded, but you didn’t hear the ancient word, only felt the way he wasn’t wrapping his arms around you, holding you tight and safe. You cried harder. Dwalin cursed. You vaguely heard the sound of fabric tearing and then his strong arms were wrapped around you, pressing your trembling body against his broad hairy chest. “Please, elskling, stop crying,” he murmured, pressing his face into your hair. Feeling marginally comforted, you hiccupped against his skin, but continued to weep. “Stop crying and tell me,” he ordered, though his voice was soft, strained somehow.

“I took a pregnancy test,” you sobbed, burrowing against his warmth.

“I know,” he whispered, and the devastation in his voice made you look up. He knew? And he wasn’t happy. You stared at him, tears spilling down your cheeks. Dwalin looked close to crying himself. “Please, elskling, I need… even if it’s not true,” he took a deep breath, while you stared at him, utterly confused, “please don’t tell me you decided to have an abortion.” At first, his words didn’t even register through your shock. Dwalin began babbling again. “I know you always said the school was more than enough children, you never wanted to have your own, and I never really cared, I know, but…” As you watched, Dwalin seemed to crumble before your eyes. “I just… please…” You could count the times the great Dwalin Fundinul had begged for anything on your hand – he was not so proud as Thorin, but pride definitely ran deep in the clan of Durin, you’d learned – but Dwalin was begging now. “Please don’t tell me you want to kill our baby…”

Dwalin’s words finally registered, making your eyes widen in shock. “You… you want to have children?” you asked with a sniffle, feeling small and insecure. Your hand unconsciously went to your stomach, staring at Dwalin as you bit your lip.

“I never thought I did,” he admitted, “but… aye… I do.” You couldn’t hold back the tears that began rolling down your face. Dwalin looked chagrined. “I’m sorry!” he cried, picking you up and hugging you even tighter this time. It hadn’t been an easy realisation.

10 days earlier:

“I think Anna’s pregnant,” Dwalin said, staring at the fire in their small camp. Thorin startled; neither of them had said a word since Fíli and Kíli had been put to bed, hours ago.

“Congratulations,” he said, when he found his voice, picking up a stick and poking the fire awkwardly.

“We’ve never wanted children,” Dwalin admitted. “I don’t know if…” Thorin hummed.

“I think you’d be a good father,” he said, decisively. Dwalin reared back as though struck, staring at him.

“Thorin!” he exclaimed.

“What?” Thorin smirked. “Dís said so just last week, watching you teach Fíli about tying knots.” The words made a small ball of warmth appear in Dwalin’s gut, as proud embarrassment coloured his ears. “What did Anna say?” Thorin continued. The ball of warm goo was replaced with icy lead in an instant.

“She didn’t tell me,” he admitted. “I found the test wrapper in the bathroom trashcan, but not the test itself, last weekend when she went to that teachers’ seminar.”

“That’s why you’ve been walking around like a moody bear all week?” Thorin asked, glad to have a reason for Dwalin’s odd mood at last. He’d been half worried that they were having actual problems, considering saying anything even remotely related to the topic of Dwalin’s wife had been a sure way to get his head bitten off. It was the impetus behind this weekend’s camping trip in fact – as well as getting in his sister’s good books by taking the two hellions off her hands and tiring them out in the forest. Dwalin grumbled something monosyllabic; a sound Thorin had always just called ‘The Scottish noise’ which was a versatile communication tool – capable of expressing anything from incredulity over boredom to joy or anger. He had tried to copy it – his grandfather’s people were from Scotland – but he’d never managed. Dwalin had the unfair advantage of being the son of a Scotswoman, of course, who had fallen in love with his father when she was on holiday, while his own mother was Canadian.

“I don’t know what to do, Thorin,” Dwalin admitted, shocking his cousin. Dwalin was never uncertain about anything, look how he’d gone after Anna in the first place, after all, getting her to move halfway across the globe to marry him.

“You don’t know?” Thorin asked dumbly. “Don’t know if you want the child?”

“I don’t know anything!” Dwalin roared, losing his temper. “I don’t even know if there IS a child!” Throwing his stick into the fire, he paced around the small clearing. “Anna said nothing about it when she got back, and I’ve been too much of a coward to bloody ask her!” Thorin gaped. Coward was another word which Dwalin embodied the antonym for; the man was a decorated war hero, for crying out loud, with the medals and scars to prove it. “And if there IS a child, and Anna doesn’t,” he paused, swallowing heavily, “doesn’t want it… what then? I’m scared to find out whether I want it… I don’t want to lose my wife, Thorin, my Anna.”

“Well, then you do know one thing,” Thorin said, trying for levity and falling short. “Look, did you never talk about the possibility?” he wondered, remembering the debacle about birth control a few years back. Anna had not been on the pill when they married, having had very little experience before Dwalin, and having bad experiences with the drug in the past. After four months of a lethargic and disinterested wife, Dwalin had nearly begged her to get off the pill again, feeling that getting anything was preferable to a moody nothing – even if that meant condoms purchased in bulk. Thorin had laughed at the predicament at the time, though he had not enjoyed working beside Dwalin for the four months it took his brother-in-all-but-blood to realise – something that required an intervention by Dís armed with a bunch of statistics as well as a far too teary and whisky-soaked conversation that Thorin had done his utmost to forget afterwards – that it was the pills that had killed his vixen’s drive, not some elaborate punishment she had devised for something he’d done without knowing.

“Not as such,” Dwalin frowned, slumping down on the log next to Thorin. “Anna always claimed she had enough children in her life, with the school and playing aunt for Dís’ two rascals.” Thorin nodded slowly. Dwalin blushed slightly. “The way she said it though, I kinda always assumed she thought she couldn’t, ye ken.”

“And you’ve never cared,” Thorin replied, knowing the truth of that. Before he met Anna, Dwalin had pretty much only cared about his bike, Thorin, Balin, and Dís, along with Fíli, who was little more than a toddler at the time. Dwalin shook his head.

“Still don’t know that I do,” he said softly, “but the idea of watching her… watching my Anna, round with my child… there’s something about that image that won’t let me go.”

“And the idea of a child…?” Thorin probed. “A small face with your eyes and Anna’s nose, maybe,” he could picture it, actually, and the sappy smile on Dwalin’s face told him he was picturing it too. “Hopefully not your nose… at least if it’s a girl,” Thorin teased, startling a laugh from his companion. An owl screeched somewhere in the woods.

“Aye,” Dwalin said, when the fire had burned down to nothing but a few stray embers. “I think I’d like to have a child. With Anna’s nose.” Thorin just nodded, relieved that this conversation had not involved enough whiskey to kill lesser men nor a teary-eyed Dwalin wondering if he was so bad at sex his new wife would divorce him. All in all, a weekend with his nephews in the woods was better for both of them physically – and mentally, Thorin ruefully admitted, still carrying the scars of watching his sister give an in-depth explanation of female anatomy, complete with charts – dragging Dwalin away from the ashes of their fire and pushing him towards the tent.

“You- you want to have a baby with me?” you asked, feeling ten tons lighter all of a sudden. Dwalin had always been indifferent to the idea the few times it had come up in conversation, and though you had watched him with his pseudo-nephews, he’d never expressed real desire to be a father – much like you’d never truly wanted to be a mother. Being the mother of Dwalin’s child, however… you felt like crying all over again when he nodded, kissing your forehead as he put you back on the floor.

“Aye, amrâlimê, I do,” he said, hoarsely. For the first time, you noticed the tired circles beneath his eyes, the strain he couldn’t quite hide when you were this close. You cupped his face, kissing him gently.

“Dwalin, I’m pregnant,” you whispered, the smile breaking through your resurgent tears. “You’re going to be a father.”

“Anna,” he whispered, suffusing your name with so much love it broke your heart. “Tell me again that you want to keep my child.” His hand had slid down, closing around yours and pressing against your abdomen lightly, even if there was nothing much to feel at all; hardly even a bump yet. “Tell me.”

“Our child,” you whispered, pulling your hand away so his rested against your soon-to-be-growing belly. “Our child is in there, my love.” You weren’t surprised when you felt his arm wrap around your back, though you had not expected him to fall to his knees, burying his face against your middle and the outright sobbing nearly scared you. Humming softly, you scratched your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, stroking the shiny dome with its intricate ink gently. Dwalin’s sobs abated, giving way to tiny kisses all over your stomach, his beard tickling through your shirt. Feeling buoyed by his positive reaction, you reached into your bag, pulling out a small piece of paper. There was little enough to see, but you’d needed proof, somehow, and the technician had been kind enough to circle the small blobs you needed to show him. Stuffing the paper underneath his palm, you waited for his reaction.

“What’s this?” Dwalin asked, staring confusedly at the small black-and-white printout. The blue ink from the technician’s pen did not seem to make sense to him.

“This is the reason I hope your cousins will be willing to help us redo the spare room as a nursery,” you whispered. “This is the first picture of our children.”

“…” Dwalin stared up at you for a few seconds, his eyes wide. “THORIN!!” he bellowed. You jumped, which instantly made Dwalin look contrite, rising from his position with one last bristly kiss on your belly to claim your lips in a blazing kiss, his hand rubbing lightly across your abdomen, the picture clenched tightly in his fist.

“Aye?” Thorin asked, popping his head through the door – apparently, he had returned once you’d disappeared into the garage. Dwalin grinned.

“Come see what my Anna brought me,” he crowed, holding out the printout. You grinned.

“Ah, a whatsit… sonogram!” Thorin replied, proud that he’d remembered the term. You laughed, joy filling your veins with bubbles as Dwalin picked you up and spun you around, reclaiming your lips once more. “Congratulations, both of you,” he smiled, clapping Dwalin on the shoulder. His eyes returned to studying the small picture. “Err, what’s the markings?”

“Twins,” Dwalin exclaimed, kissing you breathless. “We’re having twins.” Thorin sat down heavily, staring from the picture to you to the picture a few times, lost for words. “You’re going to be an Uncle to my twins!” Dwalin laughed

“I’m still hoping for girls… with Anna’s nose,” Thorin remarked faintly. You chuckled, kissing Dwalin’s nose and making it twitch – much like another protrusion currently digging into your belly, in fact.

“Nothing’s wrong with Dwalin’s nose,” you said. Thorin laughed. Digging in one of the toolboxes, he uncovered a magnet, tacking the sonogram picture to the notice board.

“It’s a fine nose… on Dwalin.” With a wink, Thorin turned back to you, kissing your forehead. “Congratulations, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Now take Dwalin away and make sure he gets some sleep tonight. He’s been a mess for weeks!” Looking up at your powerfully built husband, you knew Thorin was right; even if Dwalin’s smile was currently as powerful as the sun, he looked tired.

“I’ll take good care of him,” you promised. “He’s only got 6 more months to stockpile sleep, after all.” With a wink at Thorin, who chuckled good-naturedly, you dragged Dwalin out of the garage. He shivered lightly.

“Let me get my jacket, woman,” he grumbled, but the smile never left his face.

“Why are you half-naked?” you wondered, enjoying the view as he rooted through his locker, looking for a shirt but finding only his leather jacket.

“Engine grease on my shirt,” he said sheepishly. “I wasn’t about to hug you like that.” He gestured to your white shirt, “Though perhaps it was a waste,” he sighed. “I didn’t think about wiping off my hands,” he continued guiltily, while you stared at the large black smudges that marred your white shirt.

“I just bought this last month!” you complained, glaring at him half-heartedly.

“I’ll buy you another,” he promised, sealing it with a kiss. “Now let’s go home and I’ll try to make up for ruining your shirt.” Wrapping his arms around you, he kissed your temple. “Perhaps you should just take it off,” he suggested, fingering the top button. You felt your nipples perk up against the fabric of your bra. Smirking lasciviously, he licked his lips. You suddenly had a very good idea of what was going through his mind. “I wonder if you taste differently now,” he whispered, stealing your mouth and pressing his erection against your hip.

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Sweetness to Tears

Another long chapter of ‘Motorcycle Club’!

Current read order:

[Strength] [School’s Out][Lazy Sunday][Sweetness to Tears][Growth]

tag-list: @thedarkplume​

This went from fluffy to angsty.

“Doreeeeen,” you cajoled, giving the older lady your best puppy eyes. Doreen just laughed, tapping a few keys on her computer. “Pleeeeaaasee,” you whined. “I promise to love you forever and ever, but pleeease do this for me!”

Doreen sighed, giving you a stern glance over her glasses – you often wondered how a woman who looked like the stereotypical secretary, down to the sensible shoes and gold wirerimmed glasses, was also a card-carrying member of a motorcycle club – and sighed again, this time in defeat.

“Fine,” she said. “But you’ll show up at mine bright and early tomorrow, and no telling Balin!”

“Yes!” you crowed, jumping up from your seat to hug her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You nearly danced out of her small office, bumping into Mr Grey by accident.

“Good afternoon, Anna,” he said, kindly steadying you.

“It is, Mr Grey!” you enthused, smiling widely. The old man chuckled. Giving Doreen a small wave, he disappeared into his office, the rhythmic thunk-pause-thunk of his walking stick hitting the floor one of the sounds you had come to love about Bree School.

“Bright and early!” Doreen threatened, waving you off with another fond chuckle.

“And no telling Balin, I know,” you replied cheekily before retreating from the office, seeking out your little dark green car. You knew the symbol at the front end was the manufacturer’s sigil, but you really cared little to remember who made your car. The car had been Dwalin’s idea – you had not wanted a bike of your own; why would you, when it was more fun to sit behind Dwalin, wrapping your arms around his bulk? Dwalin had offered to build you one himself, but you had stuck with the car idea and he had chosen the make, model and colour – it matched his bike, which secretly pleased you no end, even if you claimed your favourite colour was blue – after long nights of debating things like safety and reliability and even sustainability with Thorin while you pretended you knew what they were talking about half the time. It worked – Dwalin, of course, kept it in perfect condition – the radio worked, too, and it didn’t seem to require too much fuel. You loved the little thing, really – you had paid for it, after Dwalin had decided which car you should have – feeling that it was a lovely example of how much your husband of almost two years cared about you.

 Next morning, just before 7, you left the house you shared with Dwalin, telling him you’d be having breakfast with Doreen and then going out for a spot of retail therapy after her last failed date. He had simply chuckled, kissing your cheek with a reminder that Balin would be coming around for supper and turned over, wanting another hour of sleep before heading off to ‘playtime’ with Thorin. They didn’t call it playtime, of course, and you probably wouldn’t tell him that was what you thought of when he tried to explain to you just why he liked going to the garage to work on bikes and engines on his days off from going to the garage and getting paid to work on bikes and engines. The happiness he found there warmed your heart, and the door was always open, he’d promised, even if you barely recognised a wrench from a bolt. Sometimes you went along – mostly to gossip with Dís, who had accepted you as a new sister far more easily than you had expected when you first met the only woman who could make Thorin Oakenshield sit down and shut up, or play with Fíli, if you were honest – loving the look on his face when he watched you enjoy spending time with his family.

 You didn’t feel bad for the small white lie, pulling up at Doreen’s modest cottage. The flowers in the window-boxes added a becoming touch of colour and a welcoming feel to the small white house with red shingles. You were going to breakfast with Doreen, after all, though you probably wouldn’t be doing much shopping. Instead, you had asked – begged, really – Doreen to teach you some of the domestic things your computer engineer mother never bothered to learn. Specifically, baking. Doreen had the distinct advantage of being a domestic goddess in your eyes, and of your small circle of acquaintances and friends, she was the best baker. You had learned to cook – Dad was adamant that you learn to feed yourself nutritionally, without relying on a microwave. Mum hadn’t cared, and Dad’s knowledge of cooking was somewhat limited, though he did manage to feed the three of you passably well. He was a distrait man at the best of times, a scholar of some note in the field of literature, and you had spent your childhood with a meal-schedule consisting of the ten dishes he could reliably conjure up – eleven if you counted porridge – though you had read the Russian classics by age 8 and learned more than passable proficiency in the art of programming. These skills did not translate to feeding your mountain of a husband – and after you’d gotten married, you had felt a peculiar satisfaction in cooking things for Dwalin –  and though Dwalin liked cooking for you, you had decided to do something a little out of the ordinary and learn to bake him a cake for his birthday. You’d given yourself a month to work on your little secret, though Doreen claimed it wouldn’t be that hard.

“Morning, luv,” Doreen said, when she opened the door. “Come in, come in, leave your shoes. Tea’s on in the kitchen.”

Walking into the kitchen, you decided you had arrived at a professional culinary school. The counter was stocked with bowls and more utensils than you knew what to do with, bags of flour, sugar, and cocoa, cartons of eggs – Doreen kept chickens, or rather, Nori kept chickens at Doreen’s house – and other sundry ingredients not immediately identifiable to your inexperienced eye. A large platter of freshly baked scones met your eyes, making your teeth water. Slathering Doreen’s homemade jam on your scone – seriously, how had no one snapped up such a wife, you wondered – you barely paused to bite into a small piece of heaven with a happy groan.

“Not every day you have pretty women moaning in your kitchen, Dori,” came Nori’s cheeky voice from behind you, stealing a still-warm scone over your shoulder. “Does Dwalin know how your baked goods seduce his wife?”

“Watch your mouth, rascal,” Doreen warned with a smile. Nori grinned. “You staying here for the day, brother?” she asked, calmly spreading butter on her own scone.

“Nah, gonna go meet Ori. Promised them I’d take them to the park and do some sketches.” Nori replied, stuffing his face.

“Take a bag of scones with you, Nori,” Doreen proposed, though Nori had already begun filling a plastic bag with the delicious treats. “And don’t let Ori get in trouble!” she called after his disappearing figure. You chuckled. Nori just laughed.

“Bye, Dori!” Nori called in return, the door closing behind him.

 Driving home, looking at the cake carrier on the passenger seat, you felt slightly nervous. The cinnamon swirl cake was Balin’s favourite, you’d been informed, though Doreen had had an odd smile on her face when she told you, and the large chocolate chip cookies – not as good as Doreen’s, but good for a first-timer, Doreen said – were bound to find favour with your husband, whose sweet tooth was the size of a mountain.

Arriving home, the house appeared empty. Glancing at your clock, you frowned. It was past 5 already, and Dwalin had meant to make a pot roast for supper. Walking into your house, you wondered at the utter silence of the empty building. Walking through the rooms did not produce a Dwalin, though you noticed a piece of paper next to the phone you’d forgotten this morning. The note said only ‘Call me’ in slightly shaky letters. Truly worried now, you picked up your phone with trembling hands, dialling Dwalin’s number.

“Anna!” he answered the first ring, sounding relieved and tearful.

“What’s wrong Dwalin? Where are you?” you whispered, frightened by the hoarseness of his voice.

“Ahh, we’re at the hospital, elskling, Víli-” William – Víli to his friends – was Dís husband “- was in an accident driving home from work. It’s… it’s bad. They don’t think he’s going to make it. Dís is here, and Thorin, and Balin.”

“Where’s Fíli?” you asked, worried. Dwalin groaned.

“Dís says he went to play with Thengel’s kid,” Dwalin explained. The phone rustled, changing hands. You clutched yours in a white-knuckled grip until Dís rough voice came through the speakers.

“Would you go pick him up, please, Anna?” she whispered. “I want -I want him to say goodbye.” Her voice broke on a sob, your heart breaking for her.

“I’ll go right now. Text me the address.” On your way back to the car, you called Doreen, getting her to begin calling the rest of The Company, and organising some food to be taken to those keeping vigil at the hospital.

 “Auntie Anna!” Fíli cried, when Thengel opened the door to admit you. The small body hurtling into your legs made you stagger slightly, wrapping your arms around him in a hug.

“Hey Fee,” you whispered. “Can you go get your things, sweetie?” He nodded, scampering back into the house. “Anna Fundinul,” you said, offering Thengel your hand.

“Thengel,” he replied. “Are you alright? You look…” he trailed off awkwardly, scratching his trim beard.

“Fíli’s dad was in an accident,” you whispered, shaking your head, “I’m taking him to Dís at the hospital. It doesn’t look like he’s going to make it.” Thengel paled, squeezing your hand a little tighter in a show of comfort.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. You nodded, wiping away the tears that kept appearing in your eyes. You managed a pale smile at Fíli, whose golden curls and small face were so like his father’s it physically hurt when he returned the smile.

“Ready to go, sweetling?” you asked, holding out your hand. Fíli nodded, seeming to sense that something was wrong. Waving goodbye to his friend – a shy boy hiding at the back of his father’s legs, he grabbed tight to your fingers, letting you walk him to the car. You had a child seat in the back – with your work hours, Dís often called you to pick up Fíli from day-care when her own editing job went overtime and Víli couldn’t make the hour-long commute in time – and Fíli was strapped in comfortably.

“Why are you crying, Auntie?” Fíli’s small voice sounded scared as you drove carefully through the streets towards the hospital.

“Your daddy was in an accident, Fíli,” you croaked. “He’s very hurt. We’re going to see him now, mummy’s waiting for you.” Fíli didn’t speak, just stared at you with his large blue eyes as you unbuckled his seatbelt, letting him hop out of the car.

 “I’m looking for the Durinson family,” you told the on-duty nurse quietly. Fíli was clinging to your hand, nibbling at his bottom lip as he stared at the unfamiliar surroundings.

“Waiting room, third floor,” the nurse replied, her voice kind, but you heard nothing more as you swept Fíli into your arms, heading for the elevators.

Waiting for a car to arrive on your floor had never seemed to take so long, you thought, hugging Fíli’s small body to your chest. He had wrapped his arms and legs around you, but he wasn’t crying – not yet.

 “Fíli!” Dís cried out, spotting you as soon as you stepped off the elevator. Fíli slithered down from your hold and into her arms that for a moment you wondered if he was part eel. Then Dwalin’s arms were around you, hiding his tears in your hair. Thorin had gone to hold his sister and nephew, and, for a while, no one spoke.

 “Where were you?” Dwalin whispered. “You left your phone at home.”

“Doreen’s,” you replied. Dwalin growled.

“I called her. No one answered.” It dawned on you suddenly that Dwalin thought you’d been elsewhere, making Doreen cover for you. You laughed, mirth breaking through the grief in a half-strangled combination laugh-sob.

“She turned off her phone while I was there… she wa...” you hesitated. “I meant it to be a surprise for your birthday, but… I was learning how to bake,” you admitted. Dwalin shook lightly against you. “Honestly!” you cried, suddenly desperate for him to believe you. “I’ve got cinnamon swirl cake in my car and a bag of fresh cookies!”

“Oh, my Anna,” he chuckled wetly, nearly crushing you against his chest. “I do love you, elskling.” Falling back into his sombre mood, Dwalin ran his fingers through your hair and down your back, stroking your body meditatively. There was an abstract print in your eyeline, a distracting swirl of colour that seemed too bright and cheerful for a hospital ICU.

 “How did it happen?” you whispered, suddenly realising that you had never asked, simply falling in with the watchful silence of your family.

“Side-swiped by a lorry running the light,” Dwalin whispered, his voice hoarse with long hours of emotional turmoil. You wrapped your fingers around his, stroking his hand gently. “He was coming back from work – he only went in so he could take the day on Tuesday for their anniversary – and the lorry just smashed into his car. They resuscitated him twice while getting here.” Dwalin fell silent, his face once more taking shelter in your long hair.

“I’m sorry, love,” you whispered. You had only known Víli for three years now, but Dwalin had known him since his family moved here when Víli was a toddler – only two years older than Dís, in fact.

 “Mrs Gyldencwég?” Someone called, mangling the pronunciation terribly. Víli’s family name was apparently Old English for goldmine, harking back centuries. Dís rose woodenly. You held out your arms to take Fíli from her, the small boy having fallen asleep hours before. Thorin stuck by his sister, the two of them so alike they might have been twins if not for the seven year age gap.

Your heard Dís’ scream and Thorin’s pained bellow – no one had ever accused anyone with the blood of Durin in their veins of being a quiet person when their emotions ran high – and you knew what the news must be. Dwalin squeezed your hand tightly. You weren’t surprised when he picked you up as though you weighed nothing, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back to rest against his chest, perched on his lap. Fíli snored lightly.

 “They say he’s braindead,” Thorin told you, his voice as dead as his eyes. “We’ve been allowed to go in and see him, but it’s only machines keeping him alive.” Dwalin’s arms were tight around you, but he released you easily, letting you take Fíli to Dís, who had sunk listlessly into a sofa, staring at mint-green walls she didn’t see. Wrapping your arm around her shoulders, you pulled her head to rest against your chest. Dís was holding her stomach like she felt ill, but she reached for Fíli before she relaxed into your hold, crying into your chest. At first, you hardly heard the murmur she pressed against your skin like a secret, but then the words registered.

“I’m pregnant.” You didn’t know what to say, simply holding her tightly.

“I’m sorry Víli won’t see that,” you whispered, tears sliding slowly down your face to land on Dís’ hair.

“Was going to tell him… Tuesday,” she sighed wetly, and you knew she had fallen asleep, even though her tears continued to fall.

 The funeral was jam-packed. Víli’s colleagues had shown up in large numbers – he’d been a popular union man at the local cobber mine – and of course, The Company all showed up on their bikes to drive in cortege. You spotted Mrs Silvermann with someone you thought was her husband, standing next to Elrond Kløvedal and the four children. Little Aragorn obviously remembered his own mother’s funeral, you thought numbly, watching tears slide down his face until Mr Silvermann – he was something in local politics, you thought, for one of the eco-parties – picked him up. You squeezed Dwalin’s hand. You’d been told to wear the blue of Durin’s Clan – Dís wore a pretty topaz dress, which was apparently the colour associated with Gyldencwég’s – and Doreen had found you a lovely hat with a veil to go with it. Thorin stood with Dís, looking resplendent in a blue – you could only call it a tunic, though you didn’t often see men wearing such things – with silver embroidery along the hem and neckline. It looked very old. His leather jacket had been left on his bike, and the dark hair tumbling over his shoulders made him look like a prince from a fairy-tale book, you mused in a moment of whimsy.

When it came time for the closest family to say goodbye, dropping a symbolic handful of small pebbles onto the casket, you hadn’t expected to be joining Dwalin, but he never let go of your hand, and Dís’ wan smile when she saw you convinced you to pick up a fistful of pebbles. The thuds of small stones were loud in the silence of the graveyard.

 Compared to the sombre service, the gathering afterward was raucous. Th Company were there, of course, and a few people you thought were probably Víli’s family, and everyone seemed oddly celebratory.

“This is a night to remember Víli’s life,” Dwalin explained quietly. “Honour his memory, as it were. It is not the night for mourning, Anna, it is a night to be as merry as we can be in the face of tragedy. Life goes on, and all that.” You did not think he would have been able to smile at the thought if he knew what you now knew about Dís.

“I’ll try,” you croaked, escaping his concerned gaze to find Dís, squeezing her hand comfortingly.

“I haven’t told them,” Dís said, out of the blue. “I don’t want to do it without Víli to laugh and be proud…”

You thought you understood, wrapping your arm around her shoulder. “We will be proud for him,” you promised, earning a watery smile.

“Dís,” an elderly woman said, coming to a halt before the two of you. You felt Dís stiffen, her hand wrapping in the back of your dress to keep you from moving away as the other woman obviously would have preferred.

“Holly,” Dís greeted. “I don’t believe you’ve met my sister-in-law, Anna Fundinul?” turning her head to you, she continued, a fake smile on her face, “This is Holly Gyldencwég, my Víli’s mother.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you offered sympathetically, holding out your hand for a shake that was instantly snubbed. Beside you, Dís bristled.

“Of course, we will expect young Philip to continue to spend his Sunday afternoons with us,” Holly said, as though you weren’t there at all. “You’re far too young to be a mother, after all, someone needs to see to his education.” Dís seemed speechless, but now you finally understood why you’d never met the woman before – and felt sorry you couldn’t continue to live in ignorance of this harridan’s existence.

“Actually, I will be doing that,” you interjected breezily. “After all, I have a degree in child psychology and I wrote a thesis on the education of pre-school children.” You stared at the older lady, keeping your gaze steady and calm. Some sort of protective instinct was going haywire inside you, as you engaged in a silent contest of wills with the domineering Holly Gyldencwég. With a huff, she turned on her heel, stalking off to the side of an elderly man with a kind face and the same curls Víli had passed to Fíli. “What on Earth…” you whispered, silently horrified that someone would dare to say something like that to a young widow… at her husband’s funeral!

“That was… the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Dís croaked, her eyes wide. “She’s always been a bitch, but this was a new low, even for her. Víli never truly managed to stand up to her, but he had a way of swaying her from her path.”

“So Fíli doesn’t currently spend every Sunday with that dragon?” you asked jokingly. Dís shook her head.

“Every other. He hates it. I don’t blame him. Víli hated it growing up, and she’s only gotten stricter since he was a child. Víli’s father is the nicest man you could meet, but he’s completely incapable of telling Holly no.”

“Well, you have me now,” you offered, squeezing her hand. “We’ll keep Fíli – and the little one – away from her influence as best we can.” Dís gave you a pale smile, her hand wandering to her belly.

“I’d feel bad for William,” Dís sighed, shaking her head. “Holly thought we were too young to marry at 18, but she couldn’t stop us. Then I was too young to have a child at 24, and so on. William never objected though. He came to the wedding.”

“Perhaps we could set up a secret meeting that didn’t involve Holly?” you proposed, watching as the woman nearly dragged her husband out of the house and into their car – a sleek silver thing that looked expensive even to your eyes. Dís smiled, leaning her head against your shoulder.

“I’m glad Dwalin found you,” she whispered. You hugged her.

“What are our two favourite ladies plotting?” Thorin asked behind you, startling the both of you. You felt Dwalin’s warm arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back against his chest with a sigh. It had surprised you, at first, how tactile he was, but you’d decided that you rather enjoyed the way he always wanted to touch you. Leaning back into his chest, you tilted you head up, giving him a cheeky smile.

“We’re planning on deceiving a dragon and saving a young prince from its wrath,” you claimed. Dís laughed, looking startled that she still could. You caught a flash of gratitude in Thorin’s eyes, giving him a fond smile. “Also known as ‘I just met Dís’ mother-in-law’” you added.

“You should have seen Anna stare her down,” Dís chuckled, watery but genuine mirth on her face. “She was trying to demand I let Fíli go stay with them every Sunday.”

“That… cow.” Everyone could tell Thorin had wanted to use a different word – one with implied exclamation points behind it – but in that moment, Fíli’s small voice sounded between you.

“There was a dragon?” he asked, making you all laugh.

“Aye, Fíli,” Thorin said, swinging the small boy onto his shoulders. “And your Auntie Anna made it go away.” He grinned boyishly at you, while Fíli simply stared, his mouth a perfect ‘o’. Dwalin kissed your head.

“Story?” Fíli tried hopefully, still looking at you. With a chuckle, you accepted the small boy, sinking down on the sofa with Dís on one side and Dwalin on the other. Thorin claimed the armchair for himself with an expectant grin.

“Well, once upon a time, there was an evil dragon, who was holding a young prince prisoner,” you began. “Because the dragon believed his hair was made of gold!” Fíli touched his own hair. You winked. “For many years, the dragon controlled the young prince, always careful that his golden hair was the shiniest of her treasures…

 An hour later, the brave princess had rescued the golden prince and they lived happily ever after, though Fíli had fallen asleep at some point, scampering over to snuggle with his mother, who was also asleep.

“We’ll get them to bed,” Dwalin whispered, making you realise that the party had gone. Someone – Doreen or Balin, you bet – had cleaned up most of the supplies, the snacks and the drinks, and even made inroads on doing the dishes. With a soft smile, Dwalin picked up the sleeping Dís and Thorin carefully removed Fíli from her grasp, taking the boy to bed while Dwalin carried Dís into her own bedroom.

“Should we leave her alone?” you asked, worriedly.

“I’ll sleep in here tonight,” Thorin said calmly. “You two get home and get some sleep too. Thank you for coming,” he added, but you both waved the gratitude away.

“Sleep well, Thorin,” you murmured, brushing past him with a kiss on the cheek.

Dwalin drove home in silence. You hardly noticed the road, almost asleep yourself when the car stopped and Dwalin pulled your sleep-limp form from your seat. With a sleepy murmur of protest, you wrapped your arms around his neck, soothed by the familiarity of his rumbling chuckle reverberating through your chest.

You tried to cooperate when he began to undress you, though you found it impossible to open your eyes for any length of time. Sliding under the covers you didn’t even bother with a nightdress, simply snuggling into Dwalin’s bulk and sighing sleepily when his warm arm wrapped around your middle.