When Kíli, born dark and quiet though the wind howls outside the window, is passed to Thorin instead of a father for his public naming, Dwalin says nothing, because it is not his place.
Instead he waits while first Thorin, then Balin, and then Glóin takes his turn examining the babe. If Balin sees anything of his brother in Kíli's eyes, he keeps it to his own counsel. Glóin, newly married himself, has a look to him as he cradles the baby in his arms, and Dwalin can only hope that soon the boys will have another playmate.
When he finally holds Kíli – so small he can nearly balance him in one hand – and Fíli comes over to stand with him, Dwalin feels Dís' eyes on them, and knows that his resolve will crumble. He does not regret a moment, not his proposal or his actions, but this is worse than he had expected. He has made things before, of course, intricately wrought in steel, and gold, when times were better. He has felt that hot possessiveness inherent to his kind. It pales like a cold winter night to the heat that burns him now.
She knows – must have known – the feelings that would be stoked in him, the fire that would come to burn so bright. Her eyes are triumphant, but shadowed by regret, when he meets them. She is sorry that the cost will be his to pay, but she would do it again in a heartbeat. And he knows, even in the part of the fire that burns the hottest, that he would too.
"Fíli," he says, his voice, by some miracle, level. "Would you like to hold your brother?"
The lads return to their mother, to their family, and Thorin wraps his arms around all three of them. They make a pretty picture, happy and hopeful and warm, and when Balin pulls him out of the room to allow them some time to themselves, Dwalin does not resist.
The boys grow. Glóin's wife bears a strong son too, and names him in the fashion of his cousins, so that they will have that in common with their family. Dwalin teaches them to fight, and they love him for it, but it is Thorin who teaches them to smith, the true craft of their people, and the right of the parent to impart. He tells himself that it is for the best. Thorin is a better smith than he is, at any rate, and certainly a more patient instructor. They are raised on stories and songs as much as they are on metal and meat, and if they are arrogant for it, it befits their place as Thorin's heirs.
They move from town to town, following Thorin and Balin as they look for work. Dwalin takes jobs now and then, guarding caravans and the like, but Thorin has stated more than once that he rests easier when the boys have a guardian. The towns of Men are rough, and rife with prejudice, and the young badgers are as hot-headed as any of their family when it comes to personal insult. Dís is more than capable of their protection, of course, but her shrewd head is needed more at the market where the bulk of their trades and bartering takes place.
So it is left to Dwalin to keep the dwarrows out of trouble. He is not always entirely successful: no child can be monitored all the time, and so when Fíli comes home nursing a black eye, with Kíli trying to hearten him, Dwalin can only provide a cold cloth and wait for them to tell the story. Eventually it comes to light that one of the human children had mocked Fíli for being fatherless, and Fíli had tried to knock him over in spite of the sizable difference in height.
"Ah, lad," Dwalin says, the old ache in his heart. "Men do not understand that your mother's blood is all you need, and worth more than anything else in this piss-poor excuse for a village."
"What do we need of fathers anyway?" Kíli says reassuringly. "We have Mister Dwalin, and Uncle Thorin too."
Dwalin has been hit by axes that hurt less, but he doesn't flinch. When Dís gets home, he tells her of what transpired, and she takes her sons to task for fighting, though she also commends their loyalty to their House.
The following morning, Dwalin is offered employ on a caravan going south, to a faraway city of Men. Thorin is with him when the offer is made, and encourages him to take it, turning aside all protests.
"Your badgers will be fine," Thorin says. "Oin and Glóin are coming, and the family as well. We will be well cared for, and I know you tarry here for my own well-mindedness. I cannot hold you here forever."
It goes unspoken that they also need the coin, because they always do.
"As you wish, my prince," Dwalin says, and the matter is settled. Dwalin will go south with the traders, and send what money and news he can to where ever Thorin calls home.
This time, he tells Dís before he begins packing, and she holds her anger at bay. Kíli first tries to convince him to stay, bribing him with promises and, finally, tears, and then packs his own gear for the road. Dwalin does him the courtesy of not laughing when he sees what the boy thinks is necessary for a long trip, and helps him put everything away again when Dís insists that they clean up before they have dinner.
In the morning, when Dís and her sleepy sons bid him farewell, she is every inch the proud princess of Erebor, and gives no indication of how desperately she'd clung to him, all throughout the night before his leaving.
He does not see any of them again for many years.
To be continued...