A/N: Hi everyone! I needed to take a short break from my other story, so as a little practice, I've started this one. Dwalin is one of my favorites of the Company, so I made up this little something for him. It's not long, only eight chapters, but it's almost completely written, so updates will come fast. I hope you like it, feel free to comment!
Favor
Hot women and cold beer: what more should a proud dwarven warrior wish for at the end of a long, busy, and almost successful day?
Dwalin wished for nothing more. Please, understand his frustration then, when he faces the trouble of not getting it straight away.
His long and unforgiving sparring session with Thorin had just ended, and he was thirsty and drawn-out. Honestly, age and bruising of old battles had started to catch up lately, and to be the only person in a lonely and mistrustful King's life to be able to take the physical aspects of his insecure fury was not a forgiving position either.
There was a tavern just beside the training yard, especially for exhausted fighters to take some refreshment. A good place it was, Dwalin liked it and visited as often as he could. Being a long-time regular, he had his own corner, and beers arrived timely without asking for it. Serving lasses knew him well and offered their cheerful beauty to admire – strictly just for looking – while listening patiently the old dwarves' bragging tales.
So to say, Dwalin loved this lively place. Now, instead of the noisy crowd he met with silence and some brooding drunkards supporting their heads on their hands or the wall; whichever was in reach. The flock of barmaids had probably already gone home, leaving only one or two unlucky ones to endure the worst of the hours. Dwalin silently cursed the impossible schedule of a king; Thorin had had dinner with some envoy, and after an hour or two of light chatting, he found the desire to go sparring – since the battle of wits with a dumb opponent was hardly satisfying. Their session had stretched into the night, thus depriving Dwalin from real, liberating entertainment; but perhaps the girls remained beautiful deep into the night (closer to dawn), and his favorite beer had never run out yet, so he thought it's worth a try.
He took his usual seat, and waved a hand to call for a barmaid. When she arrived, he had to book the first disappointment of the night: the lass was… not very pleasing to his eyes. A disrespectful dwarf would surely call her ugly; her face was angular and bony, her gaze cutting, barely any stubble hiding her sharp features. She wore no stylish adornments in her hair, her only braid fixed all of her locks in one knot on the nape of her head. And Mahal, she was thin! She had none of the attractive curves of a proper dwarrowdam, she looked like a starving washerwoman in the villages of men, hiding her thinness under too large clothes.
Dwalin, of course was polite enough to mask his pitying repulsion. Poor lass, she had a hard competition to get customers and tips! Maybe this is why she took the night shift. Or the keeper tried to hide her from the full house during the busy hours, not to scare the customers away – a few pissed regular might be harder to get rid of.
"The usual," Dwalin growled. They knew him well, and he was not in the mood to entertain neglected lasses. He tried to avoid looking at her, but he heard no movement. She was still standing there, too frightened to speak. "What? Are you deaf or slow?"
"I don't know…"
"A beer, lass, a cold, golden beer. Do you think I'm here to get smashed?"
His command gave her a jump, and she scurried away. She returned briefly with his beer, a bit overflown and definitely not cold enough for his liking. He tasted it to make sure, and told her so:
"Took you long enough, it's warm like piss," he growled. She was almost trembling by now, so he sent her away. "Useless wench," he mumbled. Judging by her tensing shoulders, she must have heard. Dwalin shrugged. It was not his fault that she couldn't get her work done properly. She had not even offer to bring a new one on the house. Not that it bothered him; he could afford a bad cup of beer, but still. He drank it in a long gulp, and called her over again. He tried to avoid looking at her again; her ugliness, he could get used to, but the fear shining in her eyes disgusted her. Why work around people if you fear them?
"Bring me a new one. A cold one. When my cup is empty, bring another, full. Not too full, I don't like my table messy. Stay silent, I don't do small talk. If I do, I will tell you. Go now."
His day was hard, and Thorin annoyed him much lately. Thorin always asked for his opinions, but he rarely heeded them. Balin suggested him to take a wife, but he wasn't happy with the idea. Since then, Dwalin had to jump at the most awkward times at Thorin's wishes. Exactly like a wife would, in Dwalin's opinion. Except for the activities, since one does not go sparring with his wife, nor do any of the activities Thorin invited him to do. Thorin clearly did not want to marry. Dwalin understood him; he did not particularly want to marry either, but Thorin seemed to think the opposite. Dwalin felt like Thorin wanted to interfere with his (non-existent) marriage plans by showing him the pleasures of the life of a bachelor. Dwalin certainly enjoyed spending time with his old friend; they had never been as free as now. Still, his constant presence wearied him. Both of them had grown to be very private, and Dwalin liked to be alone from time to time.
He did not understand Thorin's aversion to marriage either. Beer came after beer, and he started to dwell on this marriage topic more. Thorin had a new prospect according to Balin, and the King was set to meet her the next morning; thus the impromptu fighting spirit. Dwalin was stuck between the two party: Thorin hated the idea of engagement, and Balin wanted Dwalin to encourage the King to take a Queen.
To get Thorin to marry was important, it was widely known. He was supposed to sire heirs, to keep up the Durin line. Thorin always objected, citing, that he had already named his heirs to the throne. But Kíli was far away now, in Gondor, always wishing to wander the world, and Fíli… well, no one knew exactly what Fíli was still capable of.
The ugly lass came and went silently, and suddenly, Dwalin noticed that the tavern was empty except for him and the lass. She was cleaning tables, sending scared glances in his way. She probably wanted him to leave, but he was so pleasantly and comfortably numb…
"Hey, lass, one more beer and I invite you to sit with me." The slurred words escaped his mouth without his approval; why would he let her sit with him? Perhaps he wanted company and she was the only one; sitting next to him he would not have to see her. The lass brought the beer, but did not sit, so Dwalin growled.
"Fine, be scared. I'll tell you scary stories then." Her eyes fell, and she fumbled with the cleaning rags. "You seen battle?"
The lass was just standing there, so he started one of those tales he only told when he was way too pissed. To her credit, after a while, she silently excused herself to go cleaning, while she listened. Dwalin knew he should feel stupid talking to no one, since he doubted she really paid attention, but stopping now would take more self-control than he possessed.
Soon, she finished, and returned to him.
"Would you like another beer?" she asked with unfailing politeness, and complied with his request of a new one. He continued to talk about old battles and adventures, constantly mentioning Thorin.
"Those were the good times, lassie," he stated. "Now he needs to marry and I fear the one he would accept to spend his life with is me," he joked. The lass did not laugh. "He follows me around, wants me to do the same, but you know what? May he be King for long, but my life is my life, ain't his. He does not want to marry? Then piss off and stop bothering me!" He emphasized his point by slapping the table, his empty cup jumping by the force. "What is so scary about marriage? He is King, hm? He does as he pleases. He takes whom he pleases. He makes her do what he pleases. He can just piss off and leave me be, too much is too much. Why did you stop working, by the way?" He finally noticed that she had been sitting by his table for who knows how long. Was his tales so entertaining? He did not want to entertain ugly, neglected lasses, they were clingy, and he was… pissed – rather because of Thorin, not the beers.
"I have nothing more to do." Her expression and tone did not imply that she was entertained, quite the opposite.
"Then why not close up?"
"You are still here, and I was told to wait until the last guest is gone." Her voice was so soft that he barely heard. She was scared, more than before, and Dwalin had to laugh; but she showed hints of stubborn determination, too.
"How are you working here, being afraid of us, tough warriors? Dare you not throw me out?" he teased her.
"May I?" she asked timidly. Dwalin had to release a booming laugh, which echoed in the empty halls.
"Are you completely clueless? Have you ever been in a tavern before?"
"It was my first day at work here. I'm sorry I wasn't good enough, but I need the job!" Dwalin made an exasperated gesture.
"I don't care. Your job, not mine. Be better, leave me be, no problems. Take you home?" The offer was more of a polite turn of speech said without thinking, he did not really wish to spend time with this dull creature; a dwarrowdam should know how to… whatever dwarrowdams should do.
"Excuse me?" Exactly! Dwalin felt his opinion validated, but since he was a dwarf of high moral standing, he repeated the offer.
"I offered to walk you home. I don't need to drink more, I can sit elsewhere, you can close up, and I will get you home safely. Fair offer, isn't it?" He was proud he could yet reason so sensibly, after all the alcohol he consumed. He was talking about Thorin and marriage, for Mahal's sake! His tongue had loosened up considerately, and his mind must be clouded to bring up this particular topic!
"I believe so, Mister," she mumbled, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. Dwalin snorted. She was entitled to be uncomfortable, but if she cannot say so, he will sure ignore it!
The lass fumbled with the locks of the tavern, and then walked silently by his side. She only muttered the directions to him, and he was not so much up for conversation. The lass got even more nervous when they reached her door, so Dwalin forced out a polite, but short goodbye, and swiftly clomped away.
