2799 TA, Battle of Azanulbizar

Dwalin was sobbing into his father's mail. Fundin lay amongst many dwarrow and countless orcs on the banks of the Mirrormer. Their cousin Frerin lay a few yards away. The dwarrow had been pushed away from the East Gate of Khazad Dum by the mass of goblins and slaughtered until a counterattack led by Thorin and Dain saved the remnants. The fighting moved up the slope and reached the Gate itself where Dain – barely a peach-fuzz cheeked stripling! – killed the orcs' leader Azog.

But that Dwalin did not know. All the lad of 27 summers, too young to fight, knew was that within a few moments he will be an orphan. The knowledge that his elder brother Balin, also underage at 36, was somewhere up there in the thick of the fighting only added to the boy's – as he was still a child – despair. With nobody to leave them with their father Fundin - a widower - had taken his sons along to war.

Even though Balin still had some growing to do he was "battle ready" - as the dwarrow put it - and had proven this many times over during the three year long war of the Dwarves on the Orcs waged in revenge for the murder of Thror. The keen eyed older Fundinul was particularly adept as a scout. Dwalin was used as a messenger or – due to his predilection for music – as a bugler. Being quite large for his age the younger Fundinul doubled up as a stretcher bearer. The horrors he witnessed as an impressionable lad in that last duty stayed with him for life.

"Son" – Fundin croaked.

"I beg you and Balin for forgiveness. I killed your mother ..." – the dying Prince began to cry.

"She died in childbirth ... with your sister ... in that hovel in Dunland ... I couldn't keep it in my pants ... I knew we shouldn't ... but I wanted IT so much ... little food ... leaky roof ... she was so pretty ... I insisted ... she humoured me ... I killed her ..."

Dwalin was very, very uncomfortable with such TMI.

"Pa! I don't wanna hear THAT! And it's not the time for The Talk!" – he wailed.

Not listening Fundin continued.

"I got her with child ... yet we were homeless ... no conditions to have children ... I killed her ... I killed her with that baby ... I killed her ..."

With unexpected strength he grabbed Dwalin by the shoulders and brought his son's smooth face – the beard was yet to come in - to his own.

"Promise me ..." – he rasped – "that you will not do as I did ... not marry until you have a roof ... promise me!" – he shouted the last demand.

"So I swear" – Dwalin spoke though his chocked throat.

"Greta, forgive me ..." – Fundin rasped out and died.

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2799-2941 TA, all over Middle Earth

True to his word Dwalin shaved the top of his head which – as dwarrow NEVER go bald – immediately drew all dwarrow eyes to it. There the tattooed runes proclaimed:

WOMAN. STAY AWAY. I HAVE NO HOME. I HAVE NOTHING TO OFFER YOU. MOVE ALONG.

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2942 TA and afterwards, all over Middle Earth

It was only after the recovery of Erebor that Dwalin let his hair grow out. But at that moment he was too old to marry, being one hundred and seventy. Some ascribe him reaching the incredible age of 340 years to his abstinence from matters carnal. Instead he performed the role of bachelor old uncle to many generations of young dwarrow.