You seemed distracted today, lad.' Dwalin was watching his young pupil with concern, while Kili struggled back to his feet from where he'd fell to the ground. He was not up to his usual impeccable standards, his mind wandering and causing him sufficient distraction to allow the flat side of Dwalin's sword to hit him again and again with little resistance.

Kili shrugged, 'I'm fine. Just tired and stuff.'

Nodding, Dwalin let it go until he could ascertain the truth behind it. Just then the two heard a commotion from the main road into the mountain. Packing up swiftly, they made their way across the field and down the bank, coming face to face with the King and the Blacksmith, returning from their 'meeting with the elves.' Dwalin was not stupid, contrary to popular belief, and he knew his closest friend all too well. Thorin had been lusting after the Blacksmith for months, and – though it was not yet widely known – intended to make her is consort.

The large dwarf chuckled, the laughter rolling through his chest like thunder, causing Kili to look up at him curiously, 'What is it, Mister Dwalin?'

'Nothing, lad. Just a hunch.'

Dwalin watched as Kili blushed and looked away, looking anywhere but Dwalin, or the secret couple. At once, he caught on and his face darkened, 'You know!?' he asked, roughly.

The younger dwarf tensed, 'Thorin knows that I know, don't worry.'

'I expect he wasn't too pleased with you when he found out?' growled Dwalin.

'No. I'm to go for punishment as soon as I get back to the mountain.'

He smirked, 'Well you better get going, then.

Kili's shoulders slumped as he sheathed his sword and headed back to the entrance. The older dwarf watched him go, wondering just exactly what he'd heard, and if it was something more than perhaps Dwalin himself knew? He shook his head, deciding that perhaps he didn't want to know either way, and headed down the hill after Kili, swerving right to take him down one of the darker tunnels to the armoury. It was better stocked than it had been two years ago, what with the reintroduction of metal work and mining once again, but there was still a lot missing from their collection and they never knew when they might need it next.

The rest of the day he had free, which meant only one thing; the tavern.

Gloin, Oin, Nori, Ori, Bofur and Bifur were already there, seated around the largest of the round oak tables, laughing and drinking raucously. Usually, those that were members of the famous company met in the tavern on an evening, even the king himself, though he usually came much later once the ordinary folk had gone. Gloin looked up when he heard the door bang open and immediately lifted his tankard in the air, 'Dwalin, my lad! We were beginning to think you weren't coming!'

The burly dwarf snorted and took a seat next to Bofur, 'Fat chance of that. Finished my training with young Kili a little later than expected…the lad's a bit scatter-brained of late.'

Nori smirked, 'Oh, really…I wonder why that is.'

They all turned they eyes towards the self-confessed sneak. Ori frowned, 'What do you mean by that, brother?'

'Well, I'm surprised you lot haven't noticed,' he said, with an air of superiority. Dwalin narrowed his eyes along with Oin, and Bifur growled something in Khuzdul. Nori held up his hands in mock surrender, 'No need to be so rude, gentlemen. All I'm saying is, if you haven't noticed Kili's sudden…attachment…to that young serving lass in the royal kitchens, you're all as blind as Oin is deaf.'

'Oi! I heard that!' exclaimed Oin.

Nori shrugged, and the others gasped a little in astonishment. Even Dwalin himself was a little surprised at this, considering the current laws against royals marrying into common blood. However, it was no secret that Thorin was not happy with that law, and Balin had hinted at a change to the legal system with all his talk of reform and council meetings. Perhaps the young lad might have a chance after all. Dwalin sat a little straighter as he said in his most commanding voice, 'I've noticed no such thing,' he said, giving Nori his hardest stare. The dwarf shrank back a little, but lost none of his mischievous air. The others fell silent, 'Even so, let the lad do as he chooses. He's earned that right, him and his brother…damn it, all of us have.'

Nods and sounds of agreement followed this, and Bofur held up his tankard, 'Aye! Dwalin's right. Good for Kili, I say. And here's to hoping I get so lucky!' Everyone laughed and toasted, gulping down their choice drinks. At was then that Dwalin noticed there had been no maid to their table, and his brow furrowed dangerously.

He looked up, glaring around the room – not being of a very gentle and understanding nature – before he spotted a figure he had not seen before. The girl was younger than Bronwen, the older and meaner bar maid, and appeared to be struggling under the weight of about ten tankards of ale, amid a chorus of drunken laughter and petty insults. This caused his chest to tighten and his anger to flare more dangerously; because outright cruelty to a woman, whatever her incompetent bar maid or no, was not honourable on any level.

Bofur lowered his tankard and followed his line of vision, 'That's Emmy, the new bar maid. Not the best, I must say, but – hey! – are those lad's giving her a hard time?' The dwarf squinted into the deepening gloom of the tavern, replacing his glass.

Dwalin growled, 'Aye, apparently so.' He rose, looking down at Bofur, who nodded and followed him. The others had noticed this, watching them go with mixtures of confusion and amusement in their features. Dwalin got there first, 'Is there a problem over here, gentlemen?'

Bofur immediately went to Emmy's aid, taking most of the tankards out of her much smaller hands before they fell and shattered upon the floor. The dwarves at the table stopped laughing, seeing who it was, and the ring leader – a red bearded, sly faced dwarf not originally from Erebor – glared up at him defiantly, 'Nothing that's got ought to do with you, mister.'

Dwalin smirked, realising that the man did not have a clue who he was, or – as had been known to happen before – knew exactly who he was, and wanted to test to see if the rumours were true. Dwalin, son of Fundin, had long held the reputation of most fearsome warrior amongst Thorin's chosen few, and would be only too happy to show the Ironborn exactly why he held that reputation still. His companions blanched at the idiot's words, inching away from him with their tankards clutched tightly in their large hands, and said not a word in his defence. Evidently, the man was as bad at retaining friends as he was at making them, 'Oh, really? Well that's a little odd, my friend. I see you're not from around here, so I will give you this piece of advice. No one, man or dwarf, comes into this tavern and gives hassle to a woman – or I will make it my business, understand?'

Bofur pulled the woman away toward the bar, knowing Dwalin well enough to give him ample space – and Dwalin could hear her protesting against the impending skirmish. He would not back down though, not when some stone-headed clot thought he could come into his local and act as if he owned it. The red-beard stood, slamming his drink down on the table top and – without any warning at all – slammed his fist into Dwalin's broad chest. It caused the taller dwarf to step back a little, his breath leaving him in one motion – but he recovered quickly. From the opposite end of the bar, Dwalin could hear Bifur, Gloin and Nori as they shouted out insults, and warned the other dwarf that he had made a fatal mistake.

And he most certainly had.

He stood to his full height, glowering down at the fool who seemed to finally understand what he had done. Before he could so much as move to escape, however, Dwalin reached down – picking the man up by the scruff of his tunic – and threw him single-handedly out of the tavern door. The other's cheered and laughed, while the fallen man's companions looked around at each other – clearly wondering if they were next. Dwalin slammed his fists down onto their table, causing all three of them to jump with a start, 'Now listen here. You finish your drinks, pay the lady, and get the hell out – before the King is informed of this.' They nodded hastily, throwing coins onto the table and scrambling for the doors. Dwalin watched them go with a satisfied grin.

Scooping up the pile of money, Dwalin turned to where Bofur and Emmy were leaning against the bar – Bofur chuckling, and the girl trembling in fear. He handed her the change, 'I know they already paid you, but this should cover the damage done to the door. I'll have ale when you're ready.'

She took the money timidly, Dwalin wondering how this frightened little thing even managed to get a job in such a place as this, before she almost squeaked out, 'Yes sir, I'm sorry for…you didn't have to do that.'

Dwalin shrugged, 'Aye, I didn't have to, but it made me feel better.'

Emmy bit her lower lip, and action that Dwalin followed with his eyes, before she left to pour his drink. Returning to his seat, Oin and Bifur slapped him on the shoulder and began to give their own versions of the events – guffawing and gesturing wildly. Dwalin laughed along with them, his eyes occasionally flicking back over to Emmy, his face betraying nothing when she placed his drink in front of him. He thanked her with a curt word and a nod, something he had picked up from Thorin in their younger days.

The night progressed much better after that, and slowly the tavern started to fill up. Word had gotten round about the dwarf that had been catapulted out of the tavern, and many of the dwarves of Erebor came up to him to congratulate him on getting rid of 'unwanted Ironborn scum.' Dwalin shrugged this off, not really wanting a further reputation for inciting hatred of other clans, but happy with his actions nonetheless.

By late evening the other's arrived; leading the group was Bombur, Fili and Kili came next, then Balin, Dori and finally, Thorin. Their meeting must have finished sooner than expected, as the crowd was still pretty thick inside the room, but most were too drunk to realise their king had just entered. Those that did notice were frozen in place, or else called out, bowed and greeted him warmly. He sat down next to Dwalin, blue eyes looking tired but oddly contented. Dwalin narrowed his eyes, 'The meeting went well?'

Thorin met his gaze firmly, 'Council matters shouldn't be discussed in a tavern, Dwalin.'

'Pah! Bollocks,' said Dwalin, it was his ninth ale after all. 'I can see that look in your eyes, my friend. And what's more, I saw you earlier, coming back from your 'meeting' with the blacksmith…'

'Watch your mouth,' Thorin growled back, the blue irises turning out a chilling glare. 'It's none of your business, anyway,' he added, a little softer.

Dwalin nodded, 'Didn't get any then?'

Thorin choked on his wine, before thudding his friend in the arm – a lot harder than that other little rouge had only hours before. Dwalin snickered, face turning up into a grin when he realised that Thorin was not really irritated at him. The king tried and failed not to grin back, allowing his rarely seen smile to light his face, as Dwalin slung an arm around his shoulders and muttered only loud enough for Thorin to hear, 'Come on, my friend. Take those marbles out yer mouth and just be one of the lads again! We don't want no king in here.' Saying that, he ordered another round for himself and Thorin, before the pair engaged in a very serious drinking competition.

Thorin won, having started later than Dwalin, though it served the purpose that had been ultimately behind the ruse. Thorin was sufficiently tipsy enough to be a little less touchy, 'I tried, Dwalin!' he was whispering, though it was still rather loud. Luckily, Kili had chosen that moment to fall off his chair, soaking his brother and issuing a brawl to entertain the others. Dwalin chuckled as Thorin leaned heavily on his arms, which were braced on the table, causing him to slump forwards, 'I even took my shirt off…she wouldn't budge.'

'You've got a decent lass there then,' said Dwalin, truthfully. He briefly looked up from Thorin, noticing Emmy moving between the tables with a harried look on her face as she tried to handle the large volume of customers. 'There's few of them around these days.'

'I'm losing my touch,' continued Thorin, as if his friend had not spoken. 'Why didn't it work?'

'You can't expect everyone to be impressed with muscles and brawn, mate.'

'The tavern girls always are.'

Dwalin paused, 'Yeah, they are usually. Not all of them, though.'

Thorin sat up straighter at hearing his friend's tone of voice, before he followed his gaze over to where Emmy was now serving drinks. The king chuckled, 'Was she not impressed when you threw the Ironborn out by his neck?'

Dwalin snapped his gaze away from her instantly and grumbled, 'Dunno what you're talking about.'

'Come, Dwalin. Now who's being stuck up?'

'I am not stuck up!' he hissed, downing yet another ale. 'She looked petrified when I looked at her afterwards.' The alcohol was not only affecting Thorin's sense of secrecy though, it seemed. Dwalin cursed himself, wondering why he had taken a bit of a fancy to the timid looking thing.

Thorin seemed to guess his thoughts, 'She's pretty, and she's determined…many a lass would have given it up for a bad job long ago.' He nodded to where she had just dropped someone's goblet of wine, and was now wiping it up and apologising profusely.

Dwalin felt a stab of sympathy for her, the ache in his chest urging him to go up and help her – but the thought of him, warrior and best friend of the king, wiping wine off of a tavern floor to help a bar maid…it was so funny it made him nauseous. He shook his head to rid himself of that particular notion, 'True enough, but she's fragile and…breakable. Tell me where to find a lass like yours and I'll be happier.'

'You'd be looking a long time for a lass like Dala,' he said wistfully, before launching into another rambling, drunken speech about how bloody wonderful his future bride was. Dwalin was – if honest with himself – more than a little bit jealous. Dala was everything he thought was his type of woman – strong, skilled, fiery and still pretty enough to admire her. Ok, she wasn't the prettiest lass he'd ever seen, but she was ok…and more than made up for it in other areas. However, it was not Dala he was jealous of his friend for, he realised. It was the fact he had someone, and she loved him enough to put up with his temper – and tell him when to shut his trap.

It was that Dwalin wanted, a woman he couldn't scare, or break; who would face him and tell him when he was being an arse – which was more often than not. His eyes once again found the bar maid, following her slightly built, fair skinned, soft haired form around the room. He felt something stir inside him, a kind of protectiveness one might feel towards a young animal that was lost or alone. Was it love? He wasn't sure it was.