Hey everyone!

I just love Tolkiens works and I have intended to write something myself for a very long time. I just love Dwalin as a character as portrayed by Peter Jackson and I hope I do him justice!

I do not own anything of this, Tolkien does.

English is not my mother tongue, so please do not be too hard on me as I am trying my best. If I make mistakes, do not hesitate to point them out as I want to become better.

Now, on with the story! Enjoy!

.:CHAPTER ONE:.

The battle of Azanulbizar had been one of the worst battles yet in the history of the dwarfs. Countless dead Dwarves laid on the mountain slopes outside the gates of Moria, their blood turning the stone red, mixing with each other's, making them blood brothers in death. Unseeing eyes stared into the dark winter sky, fallen bodies mixing with their enemies. The Orcs had suffered even greater losses and had been driven back from where they came from. The battle may have been won, but there was no feast nor song that night as the surviving dwarves cut down the wood surrounding the battlefield. It would be impossible to bury all the fallen dwarves in stone, as was custom. Instead, they would be burned, given as much of a funeral as possible.

Amongst the grieving dwarves stood Dwalin. His great mohawk whipped in the harsh winter wind and his battle axe swung angrily at the trees surrounding him. No one dared to cross the warriors path and the trees fell where he walked. His muscles burned with exhaustion, but that only drove the great dwarf to swing his axe harder, taking out his anger and grief on the trees.

I could have saved them.

He saw his brother not far away, sorrow in his eyes. Tears fell down on Balins cheeks, cleaning the blood and dirt away in their trail. Dwalin knew that his brother was not a warrior, that he hated wars. Dwalin did as well, he hated watching people he loved die, but fighting and killing Orcs was what he did best.

They did not have to die. Maybe... if I had done more...

The faces of the fallen dwarves filled his mind. Friends, cousins... his kin. He blamed himself for their death. He was the warrior, having trained since he was a wee dwarfling. He was the best there was, yet he had not managed to save them. He swung his axe at the tree next to him, grunting at the impact. Another one, and the tree fell.

If I had done better... I could have saved them. If I had tried harder.

Balin had walked up to him, silently clutching his brothers arm. Dwalin leant his forehead against his in grief for a second or two, thanking Mahal that his brother had survived. Balin might not be a warrior at heart, but he could fight, something Dwalin was forever grateful for. He did now know what he would have done should his brother have fallen. It was unthinkable.

"I will be at the tents to see what I can do to help", Balin said, stepping back. Dwalin nodded, grabbing his axe with his other hand, shifting the weight before swinging it at another tree.

They did not have to die. I could have saved them. I should have saved them.

A sharp snap of a branch to his right made him look up, his axe ready for who had dared to approach him. He blinked dazedly at first and took a step back, not believing his eyes. It was a dwarf, a woman. What was a woman doing out in the woods, so close to the battle? Sure, dwarven women would fight almost as fiercely as a man, but they were still kept far from battle with the young, as there were so few of them. Her long hair was dark and tousled, her face dirty. She gripped an axe similar to his in her hand, resting it on the ground as she studied him.

"You really should get that wound looked at", she said, her eyes locked on a deep cut in his arm. The blood dripped down on his hand and he knew it was bad. He just did not care.

"It might get infected", she added, raising an eyebrow when he did not answer her.

"I know", Dwalin responded, his voice rough and his throat sore from the battle.

"Then come back to the tents, the healers will help you."

"There is still work to do", Dwalin grunted, lifting his axe from the ground. He would not leave his kin on the battlefield, amongst Orcs and other filth. They would have the burial they deserved. He would not rest until he watched them burn, their ash travelling in the wind, their soul with Mahal once more.

"Others can do it", she said, stepping closer him and laying a hand on the axe, stilling the movement.

Irritated, Dwalin shook her hand off, wondering who the hell this woman was. Who was she to tell him what to do?

"I am serious", she growled. "You will not help at all if you bleed to death out in the woods. Let the healers look at you, then you can come back. You will be of more help then."

Dwalin shook his head, stepping back from the intruding woman. "I will finish first."

"Oh Mahal, help me...!" she muttered, grabbing his uninjured arm. She then proceeded to drag him away, taking the warrior by surprise. Dwalin cursed as he struggled to stay on his feet, feeling the weakness of his blood loss keeping him from breaking free from her grasp, having no other choice than to follow the mad woman.

Please let me know what you think! How do you like Dwalin? My mind is still very open about the woman, how would you like her to be like? Name suggestions would be very much appreciated! I will try to update as soon as possible, as I intend to make this a series with several other dwarves as well!