The morning bell tolled and Dwalin rolled over in bed. Thorin's warmth beside him was welcome as he could feel the cold air trying to seep in under the edges of the blanket. Dwalin had become sensitive against the cold in his old age, but he supposed a few comforts were allowed after the hardships he had endured in his life.

Thorin turned around as Dwalin shifted closer to him. His ice-blue eyes had turned lighter with the years and his hair was now as white as the snow that lay upon the mountain. The wrinkles had softened his face and a smile often graced it these days. Retirement suited Thorin.

And Dwalin was glad to have him around more after they had often barely seen each other when Thorin had been king. Now, they mostly spent their days pottering about the apartment together. Dwalin's bad leg, which had forced him into early retirement, made it difficult for him to leave their home and Thorin was happy to no longer have to deal with too many people and their problems. Visitors were rare since Balin had left for Moria, taking Ori with him. They were dead, even though nobody else wanted to believe it.

Since then, Dwalin's niece Mírdis and her children were usually the only ones to visit them, when she found the time between caring for the children and her official tasks as Balin's heir. Thorin usually left them alone to talk, working on one project or the other in the forge.

Fíli and Kíli rarely came to visit. Dwalin supposed Fíli was busy ruling the kingdom. He didn't follow politics anymore. They had never interested him that much and now that he could, he just ignored them. Kíli was probably off chasing elves. The thought sent a shudder down Dwalin's spine. Surely, Kíli's attraction to those unnatural creatures would one day lead to tears and bloodshed.

"Are you cold again?" Thorin asked him, shifting closer.

"A bit," Dwalin admitted.

"That poses us with a slight problem," Thorin said. "It's breakfast time but knowing you, you probably don't want to leave the warmth of the bed, do you?"

"Hmh."

"How about I just bring breakfast over here? What would you like? Bread with strawberry jam?"

Dwalin wrinkled his forehead. "You know strawberries no longer agree with my stomach. I'd prefer honey instead."

"Oh, of course. I keep forgetting that," Thorin said and got up.

That was when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Dwalin groaned, remembering Thorin's dislike of answering the door.

He got up, put a cloak over his sleeping clothes and hobbled to the door with his stick. The guest wasn't anyone he would have expected.

"Gloin, my old friend! How is little Gimli?"

"I am Gimli, don't you remember, Dwalin?"

"Of course, of course! You are just so similar to your father, and I've never been good at names. How was your little trip to the elves? When did you get back?"

Dwalin took a good look at Gimli. He seemed to be well and healthy despite the long travels and the words of war that had even reached Dwalin.

"I returned yesterday evening. The elves weren't too bad, actually. I met Bilbo's nephew in Rivendell and he might be even braver than his uncle. The things he managed on our adventure…"

Dwalin chuckled. "Those hobbits are getting far too adventurous for their own good. Kíli went with you, didn't he? Did you manage to keep him from getting too close with any elves? His attraction to them is going to get him killed one day."

Gimli's smile froze and for a moment, Dwalin's thoughts jumped to that nightmare he often had. Kíli jumping to an elf's defence, the swish of a blade, red blood splattering on the snow. And Dwalin could never reach him in time.

"He didn't get too close to any elves, no."

The way Gimli said it made Dwalin scrutinise him. Gimli was rubbing the side of his beard and was that a hint of red creeping onto his cheeks?

"They aren't all bad, you know," Gimli mumbled.

"Wait... you aren't..." Dwalin burst into laughter. "You fell for one of those elves too! Just wait until the others hear that!"

Dwalin turned around and saw that Thorin had joined them. "Did you hear that? Wee Gimli here is an elf-fancier too!"

"Mahal, what have we done to deserve this?" Thorin groaned. "As if one isn't bad enough! Whatever has happened to the honourable line of Durin?"

"Oh, I'm sure the elf is perfectly honourable, right Gimli?" Dwalin said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"As a matter of fact, Legolas is," Gimli said indignantly.

"Legolas? Of Mirkwood?" Dwalin asked.

"Yes. He is a wonderful companion and not all elves are as horrible as you think they are."

"I'm not listening to this," Thorin grumbled, grabbed a glass of strawberry preserves and strode off.

Dwalin laughed and turned back to Gimli. "Don't mind the old grump. Just..." He paused, thinking of his dreams again, "don't let yourself get hurt for an elf. Whatever you think, they aren't worth it. Promise me that."

"Don't worry, I won't throw myself in harm's way for Legolas. He's more than capable of taking care of himself," Gimli laughed.

"Why don't you come in and tell us your story over breakfast. Just don't mention your elf too often and Thorin will happy to have you join us, even though he probably won't admit it."

Gimli looked astonished. "The king is here?"

It was Dwalin's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Fíli? That scamp hasn't visited in quite a while. No, it's only me and Thorin here."

"Actually... I think... I actually only wanted to say hello to you and let you know I'm back," Gimli said hastily. "I still have to say hello to the others. It was nice seeing you, Dwalin."

"Be sure to come by again, Gimli!" Dwalin said. "I never thought I would ever say this, but it is nice to have visitors every once and again."

"I will," Gimli replied, not quite able to meet Dwalin's eyes.

...

Gimli kept his word and returned. In fact, he did so rather sooner than Dwalin had expected. Dwalin had barely set up the kettle for afternoon tea and told Thorin to take his feet off the table when the doorbell rang again.

This time, it was not only Gimli standing on the doorstep, but Mírdis and a middle-aged woman as well.

"Do come in! I've just put the kettle on for some tea," Dwalin said, ushering them towards the sitting room and suddenly feeling rather like a hobbit doing so. "Didn't you bring the children along?"

"I'm afraid I couldn't today," Mírdis said and Dwalin noticed there were dark rings beneath her eyes.

"What's wrong, Mírdis? Have you been crying?"

She looked at the other woman as they all took a seat. Thorin looked up at them from the book he was reading in his armchair and merely nodded a greeting.

"I'm afraid today has just been rather stressful for her. I'm Healer Gudni, by the way, you might remember me..."

"You tried to treat my leg, yes," Dwalin said, suddenly remembering. He turned back to Mírdis. "What happened?"

She swallowed and looked at Gudni again and the coin dropped for Dwalin.

"Oh. There was bad news from Khazad-Dûm, wasn't there? That was the reason for going to see the elves. Balin is dead and so are all the others. I am so sorry, Mírdis." Dwalin reached to clasp her hand in his. "I wish I could have stopped your father from going. If there is anything I can do for you, let me know."

Mírdis was trying to blink back her tears. "Thank you. How did you know? Gimli said he decided not to tell you yet when..." she trailed off.

Dwalin shook his head sadly. "I knew as soon as the letters stopped coming. I knew the expedition wouldn't end well. Such things never do..." A sudden cold dread settled in his stomach, almost like the sick feeling he got whenever he ate strawberries. Dwalin looked over at Thorin who smiled at him reassuringly and the sense of dread lessened slightly.

"So you remember Balin going to reclaim Khazad-Dûm?" Gudni asked.

"Of course I do. I tried to stop him, to convince him otherwise, but he had already talked Dáin into giving his permission..." Dwalin trailed off, trying to remember what Dáin had had to do with this. He had probably helped fund the expedition, Dwalin decided.

"And... did you talk to Thorin about this? What did he say about it?" Gudni asked strangely carefully. Dwalin could see Mírdis and Gimli watch him apprehensively.

"I suppose so. Why wouldn't I talk to him about it?" Dwalin said, wondering why he couldn't quite recall these conversations. "We did talk about it, didn't we?" Dwalin asked Thorin. Thorin gave a brief shrug and buried his face into his book again.

Dwalin looked back at his guests. Tears were starting to stream down Mírdis face as she clutched his hand and Gimli looked completely uncomfortable.

Dwalin felt a lump rise in his throat. "I know I should have tried harder to stop Balin from going to Khazad-Dûm. I did try, but you know how determined he was to go."

"I don't think anyone is blaming you, Dwalin," Gudni said softly. "Could you perhaps tell us about how Erebor was rebuilt after the dragon?"

It was a strange question, Dwalin thought, but if it in any way helped make things better, he would talk about it. "We couldn't start rebuilding it as soon as we would have liked," Dwalin said. "We had to clear the battle field first. And then the gates we had built for the siege had to be torn down again to make transporting building material and food easier. Dáin gave the order to..."

Why had Dáin given the order? Thorin had been the king, why hadn't he been commanding them? Had it been because of the gold sickness? No, Thorin had won the fight against it. He had been injured, yes, that was it. There was that horrible cut to his foot, more bruises than any of them could count and another injury... that one to the lung. The one that...

For a moment, Dwalin's world went black.

When it came back, Dwalin's eyes were drawn to Thorin's armchair. He already knew it was in vain. Thorin was gone.

"He's dead," Dwalin choked out. "I knew, but I forgot..."

Mírdis had her arms around him, but he barely noticed them.

"I need to ask you a few more questions, Dwalin... Can you tell me..."

Thorin was dead and he had forgotten his death. Fíli and Kíli too, their bright little lads.

"I need to..." Dwalin stood up, clutching his stick. His leg, despicable thing that it was, wobbled and gave out. Many hands guided him back to his chair.

"Stay seated for a moment more," someone's voice said.

"I'll get you a mug of water," Gimli's voice added and Dwalin nearly scoffed. Here he was, being offered water and unable to stand on his own.

And Thorin was dead. Thorin's white hair, softer than silk, his happy wrinkles when he smiled and the blue of his eyes softening with age - none of that had been real. The lazy mornings in bed, the kisses at night, those soft words spoken between them...

"...can't determine the cause quite yet..."

"...shouldn't... not now..."

"... can stay with us for a while..."

Snatches of voices, soft but unmerciful, reached his ears, meaningless. Somebody pressed a mug into his hands.

Thorin was gone. Dead and buried over sixty years ago, but it felt as if no time at all had passed since then. Thorin was dead.

Dwalin closed his eyes. If he was completely motionless, he could still feel Thorin massaging his forehead, the faint scent of strawberries clinging to him.