Dear unknown reader,

before we enter Middle Earth together with our favourite dwarves let me just say a few words.

I am not a native English speaker and this is a try to translate my German story for English speaking readership. I really worked hard on it but still there are probably mistakes in spelling, grammar, sentence structure, punctuation... If it is too bad and causes you physical pain reading, please let me know…

Where she is right

Each time Oin checked on Thorin's lung later he was astonished again that the king had actually survived the heavy blow. His will to live had been irrepressible. At least as long as the fact could be withheld from him that Fíli and Kíli had been killed in battle. After the king learned the truth about his nephews' death he seemed to have aged for years. He had been lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling altogether unresponsive. Balin had taken over the most urgent of the king's duties and had no difficulties acting for him. His reputation and loyalty were known and everybody had complied with his orders. He had also prepared the ceremony for laying to rest Fíli and Kíli in the royal crypt. But the set day approached and the king did not seem to be willing and able to fulfil his duty as their next of kin. Balin had talked in vain to Thorin insistingly. Finally, following a sudden inspiration, he had sent in Dwalin.

The thick stonewalls and heavy wooden doors somewhat muffled the turmoil in Thorin's quarters but it could not be missed that Dwalin bawled at the king sharply. In response the angry roar of the king was heard. Back and forth the yelling went. Balin was just about to regret having asked for Dwalin's assistance when all of a sudden everything went quiet inside. An hour later the doors opened and they both stepped out. Badly shaken as it seemed. Dishevelled hair and bruised lips. Dwalin's left eye was about to swell and turn black and Thorin's one ear was torn and bleeding badly. But the king had finally gotten up and was dressed and they made their way together down to the steam baths as if nothing had happened. They spend two hours in the hot bath, had a massage and a rubdown with rough sponges to finally relax with a mug of beer in the warm water.

Thorin took a big gulp, rested his head on the edge of the basin and closed his eyes.

"Mahal, I guess I needed that", he murmured.

"My pleasure any time", Dwalin groaned, cooling his swollen eye with the mug.

"I want you to go and pick up Dís", Thorin said unexpectedly.

"Only if Balin comes with me and does the talking. Or I'll be looking worse than now afterwards", Dwalin grumbled in reply.

"Very probable", the king sighed and submerged under water.

Subsequently Thorin had led the funeral ceremony for Fíli and Kíli exemplary. Balin had ordered the making of two beautiful stone coffins bearing the brothers' images in masterfully crafted reliefs. The stonemasons worked with drawings Ori had made of the brothers.

Both heavy coffins stood side by side in the royal crypt and the images on it were facing each other. So it seemed as if Fíli and Kíli looked at each other even in death. Balin had chosen the unusual portrayal to show the closeness of the two brothers, praying that Thorin would agree with this. On the eve of the ceremony they both went down slowly to the crypt together. Up until this day Thorin had avoided this. But now he entered the spacious hall and when he first caught sight of the coffins in the soft candlelight his knees almost gave way. He was panting and had to hold on to a pillar. Balin misinterpreted his reaction at first and hastened to assure:

"This can still all be changed. It should only..."

But Thorin silenced him with a gesture without looking at him and motioned him to go. Balin sighed, left the chamber and as he was about to close the door behind him he saw the king kneeling between the coffins with his head drooping and his shoulders quivering.

Thorin had then taken over all of his duties again. And if he had been already strict in the past it was nothing to his nowadays rigour and intransigence. And strictest of all he was against himself. He allowed himself no break and hardly any rest. He was the first one rising in the morning and the last one to go to bed in the evening. And only then was he exhausted enough to fall into a dreamless uneasy sleep eventually.

Two weeks after the funeral Balin, Dwalin and a selected escort company left for the Ered Luin to bring home Dís, daughter of Thráin. With them also rode Bilbo. He could travel a great part of his way together with the dwarves to get back safely to his home in the Shire. The parting was hard for all of them and Bilbo said with tears in his eyes that he already looked forward for an opportunity to visit.

Thorin had watched them leave from the battlement of the outer ward and he was afraid already to appear before the eyes of his sister. His sister from whom he had taken the dearest. She had begged him not to take her sons with him. At least not to allow the little one to join the company. But they had both joined him. And were both dead now.

He wondered for whom he was working so hard now everyday to lead Erebor back to it's former glory. That was what he had wanted so badly during those last past years in Ered Luin. More than anything else in the world. More than a sheltered home in the Blue Mountains with his family. The small remaining family that was left to him. He had all led them into misfortune. And now he would have to accomplish what had driven him almost into madness back then. It would be his punishment. And if he would ever finish he could throw himself from these battlements and put an end to his pain.

He had wondered if it would appease Dís to see the halls in their former splendour but he was pretty sure she could hardly have any own memories of Erebor and all this would mean a lot less to her.

He would have to face her as he had faced Azog. And somehow he felt that he would rather take it up against Azog again.

Long before Balin had reached the Blue Mountains with the official message there had been rumours about the fall of the dragon and the great battle. Some travellers had told in the tavern what they had supposedly learned from some merchants trading goods with the mirkwood elves. And that were tales of great losses on all sides and Dáin ruling the Erebor.

These were mere rumours of course but deep down in Dís's heart there was a voice whispering to her that her deepest fears would come true.

Four week later the arrival of the delegation from Erebor was announced to her and she hurried to the entrance hall. Her heart was racing and when she saw the faces of Balin and his brother she knew the worst had occurred. Balin's well-chosen words hardly penetrated into her mind: The Erebor was won back, Thorin had survived seriously injured, but she would never be able to embrace her sons again. The shock flooded her limbs. She could just thank the delegation and give orders for their accommodation. Then she retired to her chambers and collapsed. Like black icy cold water the knowledge of her loss slowly leaked into her consciousness. During the following days and weeks phases of horrible pain alternated with boundless rage at her brother and bottomless weariness of life. It took weeks until she was willing and able to set off for the Erebor at all.

She had no obligations other than to keep her pony in line and so they travelled East at an easy pace. The long ride gave her time to grieve and to remember her sons together with Balin and Dwalin. The princess could drift off into her memories, indulge in her dark thoughts or let her tears run free. The Battle of the Five Armies had driven back most orcs leaderless in remote territories and the roads were quite safe again.

When the travellers had left the Ered Luin they had also been joined by nearly two dozen mostly young unbound dwarves, which had not to support any family or to dissolve a large household. All of them were attracted by the prospect of an adventure and a new beginning in Erebor. And Dwalin was glad about it. The more they were, the safer it would be. At night a comfortable tent was set up for the princess and so the journey was relatively comfortable and relatively uneventful. Apart from that one memorable skirmish in the Misty Mountains.

Balin and Dwalin deliberately avoided Rivendell and they advanced well on old and narrow trading paths in the mountains until one evening they reached the pass. At the camp fire Balin told of their adventures during the original quest with the fourteen companions. Of the battle of the stone giants, of the orc chief's song and their narrow escape. But it had hitherto been so peaceful on this trip the young ones threw amused glances among themselves and obviously did not believe a single word he said. Dís herself had her doubts when he mentioned the stone giants. But Balin simply narrated so wonderfully. And it let the last journey of her sons come to life for Dís.

The next morning drew near with birdsong and windy, cloudless spring weather and everybody was up very early to tackle the descent. The barely discernible path wound down and the surroundings became unclear with turns and dense undergrowth on both sides. Dwalin was strangely restless since he had gotten up this morning and pressed forward. Finally he decided to ride ahead of the others to explore the way. About half an hour later they heard his battle cry and the clash of arms from afar. Dís startled.

As agreed in case of any danger immediately Balin and five experienced fighters rushed to Dís's side while the rest took up their arms and headed downhill towards the noise of the fighting. When they were gone and none of her guards made a move to follow, Dís angrily gave her pony the spores and rode after them herself so the dwarves around her had no choice but to give in and follow quickly.

But when they reached the spot everything was already over. Ten orcs lay dead in their blood, three of them heavily armed warriors. The rest, and Dís had to look twice, was obviously female. Orcbroads. Skinny, almost naked and unarmed except for a few jagged knives.

But the one thing that drew all attention to it was a raging, dirt staring bundle of skin, muscle and matted hair. With one of the orc knives the gaunt figure stabbed again and again at one of the dead bodies, shouting curses. Finally Dwalin grabbed her arm and wrenched the knife from the small fist.

"She won't get more dead! Stop it!", he barked.

Breathing hard the neglected dwarrowdam, than that she seemingly was, paused and looked at him wildly and with bared teeth. Slowly she came back to her senses and Dwalin pulled her up on her feet. She was quite a bit shorter than him, naked except for a stained loincloth, wiry and pitifully meagre. Her whole body was covered with dirt and soot and littered with old and fresh welts and bruises. It was difficult to determine her age but Dís estimated roughly that she was somewhat older than Fíli had been. Around her neck she wore an iron clamp from which a heavy chain dangled. But she craned her neck and looked defiantly at the approaching travellers.

"Stop gawking and bring a blanket! Kunin! Get this thing off her!", roared Dwalin.

Kunin, one of the smiths, jumped off his pony and grabbed his leather fine tool roll. While he busied himself on the rough lock of the clamp Dís had taken off her coat and flung it around the poor wretch. A moment later the clamp opened and Dís gently removed it. The angular metal had rubbed deep into the flesh and the skin was bloody and inflamed. Dís noticed that the stranger was about to cry and she pulled her into a hug and stroked her back soothingly.

"Sssh. Everything is fine now. Nobody will do you any harm. You are safe with us, dear", Dís whispered and felt the other one still breathe hard in her arms.

Meanwhile Dwalin stooped over the dead body at their feet. With the hilt of the knife he still held in his big hand he hit hard and well-aimed at the orc's upper jaw. With an ugly crack one of the canines came loose.

He held up the long pointed tooth and said:

"I'll keep this safe for you. As a talisman."

Then he mounted his pony.

"Let us bring a few miles between us and this orc pack now. You! Help her up here to me! She can have one of the pack ponies later", he ordered.

With the help of the dwarf she sat the next moment aslant in front of Dwalin in the saddle. Wrapped in Dís's coat and with her bare dirty feet dangling to one side.

Dís took her hand once more and asked seriously:

"One thing we need to know: Are there any more prisoners?"

"Princess! We are not on a mission to free someone", interrupted Balin, frowning.

"Princess?"

The strangers voice came hoarsely from under the hood and she looked in surprise at Dís with big green eyes.

"My name is Dís, daughter of Thráin and I am the sister of Thorin, the king under the mountain Erebor. That is where we are travelling. This fellow here is Dwalin, son of Fundin", she introduced, "And what is your name?"

"Dwin. At your service", she answered, bowing slightly as best as she could in her position.

Her voice war rough and hoarse as if she had not spoken in months.

Then she added haltingly:

"I am the last… prisoner. Because… because durbûrz… er, I mean… because I'm strong and could do all the heavy work. All others have been… been eaten… Tin… and Jobi, and..."

She broke off, buried her face in Dwalins fur vest and clenched her fists. Dís exchanged a horrified glance with Dwalin. Dwin must have lived through dreadful times.

Dwalin put his forefinger under the stranger's chin and lifted Dwin's head slightly so she looked in his eyes.

"You survived. You're strong. And that scum got what it deserved. Do not look back", he growled.

Dwin looked at him, took a deep breath and nodded.

Without further ado Dwalin held Dwin securely with his left arm, turned the pony gently with his right hand and rode onto the path further downhill. Juntin had already sought another coat out of Dís's extensive baggage and held it ready for his mistress. Dís mounted quickly again and caught up with Balin who now rode behind Dwalin.

"So you speak the Black Speech?", Dwalin was just asking.

"Well, only the chiefs speak it properly. Most of them talk a mishmash of Black Speech and their tribal gibberish. But in three years you pick up quite a bit."

"Three years!", Dís thought pityingly.

"What do you think? Will they follow us?", Dwalin asked next.

"No. Sure not. There are just broads and old ones left. Of all the warriors there were only seven came back from the great battle. And you killed three of them up there. And those three had no close relationships among the rest of the horde. Except that old witch you took the tooth from. So no need for blood revenge for anyone. No, they will come out tonight and look for the missing. And what the wolves have left over they will take. And go back into hiding. If they had not been so much in need of firewood we wouldn't have been outside at dawn today. And if they had not taken me with them to carry the wood I would still be down there… Oh, Mahal!, she answered shuddering.

Dwalin muttered something in response but Dís did not understand it.

"About five miles from here is a plateau. There's a brook and a small lake. I would very much like to wash myself", she said.

"That's pretty necessary I'd say", growled Dwalin with a grin.

Then he reached in his saddlebag and pulled out a pouch with dried meat.

"Here."

Dwin groaned gratefully and gulped down the content as if starving. Then she leaned back against Dwalin totally exhausted. They rode on silently and when they reached the lake around noon she had fallen asleep in his arm.

Dwalin woke her gently and she jumped off the pony nimbly. She looked up to him.

"I feel much better now. But you should not have let me sleep so long. Now your arm is probably stiff", she said yawning.

"Probably not only the arm", someone in the company quipped and the roaring laughter that followed died only down on Dwalin's scowl.

Dwin smiled.

Dís was meanwhile gathering together fresh clothes, soap, vials, ointments, towels and brushes from her luggage with Juntin's help. Dwin quickly came and helped her carry everything. Together they walked a little way along the lake shore. Dwalin ordered the prankster to gather firewood and let the others rest and prepare a meal. He himself stood guard in some distance to the dwarrowdams with his back to them. The sun was up high and warmed already decently but the water was freezing cold from snow melt. Dís hung her two coats in the bushes as an additional screen and undressed slowly. She sat on a sun-warmed stone on the shore and washed herself thoroughly with a cloth as she watched the other one. Dwin threw away the loincloth and plunged into the water spluttering. She swam to the middle of the lake, dived and returned. With her teeth chattering but beaming joyfully she got out of the water and Dís lathered her vigorously with a cloth and her fine soap. Dwin did not want to accept the princess's help at first but yielded to her commanding tone. Next in line was her matted shock of hair. Dís washed it three times with her own exquisite hair soap and a honey-blond, curly beard and similar mane came to light. Completely felted. Dís sighed and spread half a bottle of her best hair balm in Dwin's tassels and hoped this would ease the combing a bit. Before Dís let her put on the clean clothes she had chosen for her she treated Dwin's many wounds with a healing ointment.

"Is he bound?", asked Dwin suddenly while Dís gently anointed her flayed neck.

"Who?", the princess asked back puzzled.

"Well, Dwalin", Dwin answered.

"No, he is not. He is primarily warrior, secondarily warrior and thirdly too. He is only close to his brother Balin. That is the old fox with the white beard over there. And he is loyal to my brother. So it has always been. Since I can remember. A dwarrowdam never existed in his life as far as I know."

The princess noticed that Dwin war turning her elegant hairbrush in her hands and her eyes went wide.

"What are you thinking about?", she asked anxiously.

"He is the One for me", Dwin answered seriously.

"The One! Dwin! What a nonsense! You know each other just half a day and most of it you have overslept. And believe me: He is not quite of the charming kind", Dís objected dismissively.

"I always took those stories of "The One at first site" for fairy tales. Pretty love stories for little girls. Not for me", she admitted.

She shook her head, sighed and went on:

"You know. I've had some admirers in the guild. And some of them I liked more or less too. And I would have surely chosen one of them one day because everybody does. And no one wants to grow old alone. But I've never ever even come close to feeling like I feel today. Never! You know, half a day ago I was sitting down there in the dark. Somehow I had dragged myself through the night again once more, toiled and all I wanted was a few hours of sleep in my corner. Just sleep and forget. And then Krôz took my chain and dragged me outside. In the East we could already see a bit of dawn. We rushed to gather wood and I could barely walk because I had gotten nothing to eat for almost two days. And then the sun went up and suddenly there was this huge warrior! And he has slain them all. And how easily! Almost like… like a dance! One after the other. You should have seen that! And then he stood there and looked into my eyes. And it… it was just as if the world stood still and my heart was about to burst. And it seemed to be the same for him. Then the others came rushing down the path. And I saw Krôz lying there with this huge wound in her belly. But she was still moving. And I went berserk and did not calm down before he held me and took away the knife. He freed me and his words touched my heart. We belong together. I am absolutely sure about that."

"Well, that sure were not very many words and then about nasty, yellow orc teeth. Very romantic", Dís joked.

"I have to know if he feels the same", Dwin said firmly and buttoned up the tunic Dís had lend her.

She bowed low to thank Dís. Then she turned around to Dwalin but Dís held her back.

"Wait! Do not rush that! This has certainly time until tomorrow or the day after. Or wait until he says something for my sake!"

But Dwin took her hands and smiled.

"Who knows if we are not dead tomorrow, Princess Dís. And then I would sit forever in the eternal halls and be mad at me. Terribly mad at me because I will never know what he thinks. And he will not make the first move. This is up to me. No. I'll ask him now."

And with these words Dwin turned around and walked resolutely over to Dwalin.

Dís watched her go aghast and was absolutely convinced that this would not end well. Of all those dwarves! Dwalin. Dwalin, that stubborn, taciturn roughneck. Perhaps Dwin's perception had suffered during the years of captivity or maybe it had been a blow on the head too much. On the other hand Dís had admittedly been a little surprised about Dwalin too. He had held her in his arm during the ride as if he would know her for years. It would have been no great loss of time to quickly repack so she could ride by herself either. Maybe the warrior was just afraid Dwin would be too weak to ride alone. But then again he could have ordered someone else to take the stranger along.

Dís looked around for help and noticed that Balin stood there petrified and watched his brother and the stranger with an open mouth too.

Dwin stood in front of Dwalin, who was still leaning on one of his axes. Dwin looked up at him and wordlessly held out Dís's wooden brush. Dís held her breath. If Dwalin actually took the brush, brushed and braided her hair, it would be just as good as an official engagement.

Doing each others hair was something so intimate among dwarves that it was only done between very familiar lovers, spouses, siblings or parents and children. Dís was firmly convinced that Dwalin would reject her with a brusque remark but he just stood there and looked at her seriously. Then he lowered his eyes and said something but Dís was to far away to understand it. Dwin smiled and answered him just a few words.

And finally, Dís could not believe it, Dwalin slowly took the brush out of her hands. Dwin's face lit up in a happy smile and she made herself comfortable cross-legged on the sunlit grass. Dwalin laid his weapons aside, sat down behind her and began to unravel her hair gently. Without even one look to the left or the right.

If in that moment an attack had occurred they all would have been easy prey. The whole company starred at the two in disbelief. Finally Dís began gathering together all her stuff from the lake and strolled over to Balin who unhappily ran his fingers through his hair.

"Now how about that?", she whispered amused.

"What the Balrog is he doing? How can he enter such an obligation without knowing who she is and where she comes from? Dwalin! We do not know anything about her. Nothing! Dís! I don't believe it!", Balin wailed.

"You should better believe it. Your little brother has found his One", she said and patted him on his back sympathically.