Say My Name
Dwalin names his son Thorin.
The child has blue eyes and black hair and to call him anything else feels like sacrilege. He's a beautiful baby and his mother is proud, but by the time he's toddling he's perfected his father's glare, and every time Dwalin sees it the knife in his heart twists a little.
He likes to think he is a good father. He encourages young Thorin to follow his passions and fight for his values. He cheers louder than anyone in duels and gives the longest speech at his son's wedding.
But Thorin, son of Dwalin, is a son of Durin through and through, and he looks so much like his namesake that it makes Dwalin want to scream. By the time the boy comes of age Dwalin no longer dares to drink while he is in the room. Once, drowned in drink, he screams at his son, his heir, his blood, to go back to the grave and to haunt him no longer. Once is enough.
The boy grows into a fine dwarf, an architect, and a trusted advisor of Dain's son, also Thorin. Dwalin goes out of his way to avoid seeing them together. There are too many 'Thorin's in this city.
There are not enough 'Thorin's in this city.
Thorin, son of Dwalin takes after his father in spirit but somehow it is tamed with the mildness of his mother. He reminds Dwalin of his brother, but Thorin is only a boy when Uncle Balin goes to Moria, and Uncle Balin does not come back.
Dwalin thinks that his son has dead eyes. They dance with life and fire and the joy and peace of a home of plenty, but they belong in other faces. They are the shade of their kindred, the brilliant blue that belonged to Balin and to Fíli and to Thorin and to Frerin. They even sparkle and crease the way that Kíli's would when he smiles.
Thorin, son of Dwalin receives the upbringing that Fíli and Kíli should have had. He has a safe home and he sees splendour, and he plays freely with his hair loose. His father loves him with all his heart, like he has loved no one before. He would throw himself on a sword in a heartbeat, he would set aside his world views and let his son marry a goddamn elf, if it would make him happy.
The boy is a blessing, and the boy is a curse. There are so many ghosts in his eyes.
Dwalin lives longer than most. He is in his three hundred and thirtieth year when his age finally catches up with him.
It catches up because he lets it. His son is fully grown, with a daughter of his own and another babe on the way, and when Bifur dies Dwalin becomes the only company member left and the guilt is finally too heavy. His body deteriorates at a rapid pace, beaten only by the deterioration of his mind.
When he is three hundred and thirty five, his son stops visiting. He cannot stand the pain that it brings them both and he wishes his mother had pushed harder for another name. Maybe if he was called something else, Thorin could see his father without sending the old dwarf into a grief-stricken frenzy.
His mother begs him to return when his father reaches three hundred and forty. The night was finally falling. Thorin returns, of course he does. He loves his father with every fibre of his being.
Thorin stands by his father's bedside. His mother is resting, and they are alone. Misty eyes open and squint at him.
"Hello, Adad."
"Ghost," his father rasps, his wrinkled hand clenching around Thorin's shirt.
"No, Adad," his heart breaks. Again. "It's your son. Remember?"
"Liar! Be-gone, you're dead, you're dead!"
"No, Adad," he cannot help the tears on his face and he wraps his hands around his father's. "I am your son."
Dwalin's eyes slowly focus, and, shaking, he lifts his free hand towards Thorin's hair.
"You used to play with my hair all the time," Thorin reminds him. "Do you remember?"
"You're back," Dwalin chokes. "You were dead, so long, you were dead."
Thorin swallows his sobs and stares at the sky.
"I, I missed you! Are the lads coming soon?"
"Yes, Dwalin," Thorin says quietly. "They will be here soon."
Dwalin smiles, his old crinkly face looking peaceful for once. "Good… I missed them, too."
"You will see them soon," Thorin's tears get lost in his beard. "I promise."
"Oh, my king, my brother, I missed you." Dwalin closes his eyes. "You should… you should meet my son. He is… everything we could never be…"
Thorin's throat closes up in shock. "You...remember your son?"
Dwalin chuckles, but the sound is so breathless that it hurts to hear. "He is my-" then his eyes open, and he frowns. "My son. My son has returned to me. Laddie, I missed you. Where've you been?"
"I've been in the Iron Hills," he lies, his heart burning. "Did Amad not tell you?"
"I don't remember. I don't remember many things."
"Then I should remind you, Adad, that I love you very much."
"Don't be a daft softie!" his father takes a deep breath. "I love you too." Then he blinks, and then his eyes again are foggy, and he looks towards the door.
For almost an hour they are silent, awake but silent, and then Dwalin stares at Thorin in shock.
"Who are you?"
Thorin cannot bear it any longer. He collapses to his knees and rests his forehead on the bed, before raising his chin and staring directly into his father's eyes.
"Please, Adad. Say my name. Remember who I am – just look back to yesterdays. Don't drift away, again, please…"
"I don't," Dwalin frowns, and it sounds like he can barely breathe. "What?"
"Say my name," Thorin begs. "Please, Adad, just say my name."
"Son… you are my son?"
"Yes," he chokes.
"No," Dwalin shakes his head his voice sounds weaker than ever. "My son, my son is but a babe."
"I'm right here, Ada," Thorin seizes his father's hand. "Right here!"
And then Dwalin's eyes widen. "Thorin?"
"Yes," the son lowers his head and sobs. "Yes, Adad, it's Thorin."
Dwalin smiles, and Thorin cannot tell if his eyes are focusing on him, or on the space behind him. "Thorin…"
"I love you, Adad."
"Thorin," Dwalin breathes, and he closes his eyes.
Thorin names his son Dwalin.