Lív stayed on in Dale two more days. Between visits to look in on Inga and Bain to monitor their progress, she spent most of her time with Dwalin. Sometimes they wandered Dale's halls or returned to the courtyard. Often they simply sat together, chatting before a roaring fire in the small den Bard had offered for their use. Dwalin's company made her feel dangerously at home, even in strange surroundings.
In the evenings she drew her chair up as close to the hearth as it could go, to sit with her legs tucked underneath her and a blanket thrown over her lap. Although the great hall seemed sturdy enough, its masonry left much to be desired in the form of chinks in the stonework, from which one could never seem to escape chilling drafts. The first evening after Bain was born, Lív had walked all about Inga's chambers, testing for drafts, but apparently Bard had seen to that long before the child was born. The baby's room, at least, was sound.
Dwalin built up the fire with a few more sticks before settling himself into a chair close by hers. The firelight made his eyes dance red as he watched her. "You're not well suited to the cold, I see."
"To go from the warmth of Erebor to the chill of Dale will take more than a day to grow used to, I confess." Dwarves were made to withstand heat, not cold, though he didn't need to be told such things. She turned her hands underneath the blanket so that now only her face was exposed to view. "You don't mind it?"
"I've spent too much time out in the elements to be bothered by it," he scoffed. "You've not traveled much, I take it."
"I've traveled a bit - nothing quite like my whirlwind trip on horseback to arrive here, of course." The thrilling adventure had lasted all of a quarter of an hour. "To someone who has walked from Erebor to the Ered Luin, I suppose my travels wouldn't sound like much."
He quirked his eyebrows as though waiting for more.
"When I was younger, I wanted to travel, but Father was against it. I was a girl, and my place was within the halls." She smiled wistfully, thinking of the dreams of her youth. "Once I became a healer, I was sometimes called on to visit the villages of Men. I was always eager for a chance to sleep under the stars."
"It's not common for dwarrowdams to travel alone." From his tone, she could tell Dwalin did not approve.
"I was never alone, and I rarely traveled overnight, to be honest. My evenings under the stars have been few."
"Do you yet wish to sleep under the stars?"
"Aye, I would like to have the stars spread out above me again, though I suppose I don't need to travel for that. I only need walk out the gates of Erebor with a bedroll."
He gave her a warning look. "You do that, and we'll be having words. I'm not your guard for nothing."
She smiled, hoping to disarm the seriousness of the gaze he cast upon her. "I wouldn't go without my trusty guard." He seemed satisfied at this, though her own words mortified her for their implications. "Anyway, I'm not sure there's anyplace I'd rather be now than the caverns of Erebor."
"You never think to return to the Hills?" His tone was that of casual interest, but his eyes seemed to say otherwise.
"No, I find I am far too valued here."
"That you are, lass." The grin he wore warmed her far better than the roaring fire had done.
"And what of you? Do you wish to return to the Blue Mountains, or set off on the road again?" She, too, tried to maintain a casual air, but in that she suspected she had failed.
He did not even seem to ponder the question. "No, I think I'm bound to Erebor quite permanently." The intensity of his gaze gave a weight to his words that made her heart dance in her chest.
"Balin will be glad of that." Her own gladness must be evident.
"I wouldn't be too sure. My brother has traveled a great deal. The urge to seek out something new may yet come over him again."
"He seems so happy in Erebor." Admittedly, she did not know Balin well, but he fell among the most cheerful dwarves of her acquaintance.
"And so he is. But he never came here for Erebor itself." Dwalin's expression grew thoughtful in the firelight. "He came for Thorin. As did we all."
Always she was forgetting this piece of his history that tied him to the Lonely Mountain. He and his companions had not traveled all the way from the Blue Mountains to have Dáin be their king. "I'm sorry things did not turn out differently," she said softly.
"As am I."
After a moment, he turned his gaze on her again and the twinge of a sad smile pulled at his lips. "It seems I have a talent for turning a pleasant conversation to the morose."
"You've seen a great deal of sadness in your years. There's no shame in that."
His eyes glinted at her. "I believe you just called me old."
"I did no such thing." She paused as she scrutinized him. "How old are you?"
He laughed outright. "Now it comes to it, I'd rather not say."
"You're just being difficult," she said with a grin.
"No, I'm being practical. You will be difficult."
"You've as good as said you weren't born in Erebor." She squinted her eyes as she assessed him. "I don't think you are young enough to have been born in the Blue Mountains." She didn't know exactly when Thráin established the halls there, but it was at least thirty years after the sack of Erebor, which would have put Dwalin's age younger than she thought it.
He wore a pained expression. "This is worse than simply telling you would be."
"You're something younger than one hundred seventy-five, and rather older than one hundred forty-five."
"Aye, you've worked it out," he said, his chest rolling with laughter. "With precision, I might add."
"Will you not tell me?"
He gave her a stern look as though to prepare her. "I am one hundred seventy-three, Miss Curiosity."
She just nodded as she gazed at him. He was no older than she expected and in fact, he might have said he was one hundred ninety-three and she wouldn't have minded. It meant little, really. "I suppose it's only fair to tell you my age in return."
"One hundred thirteen." He didn't bother to conceal his smirk.
"How do you know that?"
He shrugged. "I asked."
"You asked about me?" A slow smile spread over her face but then it faltered. "What else did you discover?"
His smirk turned into a wide grin as he stretched his legs out in front of him. "I think I've been as forthright as I care to be for one evening."
#
While Lív would have been happy to have a much longer stay in Dale, she knew her duty was to the dwarves of Erebor, not to the Queen and Heir of Dale. Inga and Bain continued to thrive and it came time for her to say farewell, whether she strictly wanted to or not. She did not regret her patients' good health, but she did regret taking her leave of them, for it meant leaving such unhindered time with Dwalin behind.
Bard had offered to return them to Erebor as Lív had come, on horseback, but they respectfully declined. She had no interest at all in climbing onto an animal again. Dwarves were generally not fond of animals and she herself had no great love of them, least of all for the giant horse that had borne her to Dale in such haste.
Notwithstanding the return of Dwalin's axes, Bard would not be swayed in his decision to send them with half a dozen riders following close behind as escort. That orcs could be so bold as to travel within the short distance that separated the two kingdoms was a sad reminder of the poor relations between them. Even evil creatures knew Erebor and Dale did not look out for one another.
Lív could not understand it, for King Bard seemed a reasonable man, and Dáin never would have stood for such brazenness from enemies in the Iron Hills. Whatever strife lay between the kingdoms, it was beyond her ken.
Snow now blanketed the valley in light drifts. They would have a hard winter, although the dwarves in Erebor's great caverns would little feel it. She worried for the people of Dale with their drafty walls and charred homes. What a boon it would be to have Dwarvish masons restore their walls and defenses.
Thinking of all the ways Dale could benefit from the skills of dwarves, Lív's mind was not on the road before her, and she slipped on a patch of ice.
Dwalin caught her elbow before she could fall, although she'd already let out a ridiculous shriek of surprise. If only her reflexes were as good as his, she might have spared herself the embarrassment.
"All right?" he asked. She nodded, painfully aware of the blush that warmed her cheeks. "Here." He pulled her arm through his as they continued on.
She could hardly be worried about slipping again when she wasn't sure her feet touched the ground at all, she was so happy.
He looked down at her with a sly smile. "One would never suspect you weren't a seasoned traveler."
Once under the shadow of Erebor's main gates, Dwalin waved away the riders, who were then lost to sight in an instant. He turned to Lív and they simply looked at each other. This, too, seemed like a farewell. It wasn't, of course, nothing would change once they walked through the gates. Only, somehow it felt as though something had changed already.
"Thank you for your escort." Her demeanor was overly somber. "Truly, you make an excellent guard."
"Get on inside," he said gruffly, "that's enough of your sass." The laughter that tugged at his own lips betrayed his good humor, despite his comments to the contrary. What was it about Dwalin's rough appearance that made her want to tease him as though she were a coquette fifty years her junior? Perhaps it was simply that her teasing amused him, and she loved to see him smile.
They nodded to the guards and stepped through the gate. Gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked along the street that led through the antechamber to the main corridor of Erebor. It was a strange homecoming - she felt she had been away an age, and yet her absence had been far too short. As soon as they were safely in the passage and far from listening ears, she turned to face him.
"Thank you for joining me in Dale." There was no trace of teasing in her voice now. She only hoped it wouldn't betray more than she intended it to, though she was not sure there was anything of her heart he did not already know. "I was glad to have your company."
Dwalin inclined his head in acknowledgement of her thanks, his grey eyes piercing right through her. "I couldn't have done anything less."
#
The day after his return from Dale, Dwalin was in the training rooms, sparring with a few of his warriors, when the messenger found him. He was a slight lad who was fairly swimming in the blue messenger's tunic. Even without the tunic that shouted out his position, it was clear he had never set foot in the training room except to bear messages.
"Captain Dwalin," the messenger said, his voice barely above the din of the dwarves in the cavernous room. Dwalin only heard him because he had watched the lad's skittish entrance. How could such a timid thing get a position as messenger? Probably family ties. He called for a break from the soldier he was fighting.
"King Dáin requests your presence in his council chambers." The messenger's voice was not steady. He couldn't even keep eye contact with Dwalin, let alone speak loud enough to hear. It was as though someone had taken Ori back in time forty years, slapped a blue tunic on him, and asked him to relay important communication. It was laughable.
Dwalin nodded to the messenger. He grabbed a towel and quickly dried himself off before following the boy from the training rooms. There was no conversation between them - the boy was too frightened to speak, and Dwalin had nothing to say to such a one as he.
This lad was probably the coddled son of someone of high rank who had gained King Dáin's notice. Dáin loved giving favors from the throne, and doled out positions like candy to dwarflings. Whether the dwarf was wholly suited to the given job was less important than that the job was given by Dáin's good graces.
Dáin was not a bad king, but he was not the great king Thorin would have been. Dwalin never spoke of it, but it pained him to see Dáin on the throne. What might have been was not to be guessed, but he was certain sure Thorin would have had more sense than to grant such vain indulgences as Dáin often did.
When they reached the council chambers, he found Dáin alone, apparently relaxing at his leisure. When the king saw Dwalin he gestured for him to sit down.
"How was your visit to Dale?" Dáin's voice had the edge of a sneer to it at the mere mention of their neighboring kingdom. Bard was right - they were poor allies.
"Well enough."
Dáin nodded, showing little interest in how Dwalin actually spent his time, which was all well and good, since he wouldn't have told him such things in any event. "And the king's wife and child?"
"Lív saved them both. You can rest assured Bard was grateful to her, and to you for sending her."
"Good. It never hurts to have such a debt hanging over your ally's head." Dáin looked far too pleased. "I hope you didn't get into any arguments with Bard while you were there." His wide grin said that was not entirely true.
"None to speak of."
"Well, then," Dáin said with a flourish of his hands, "there's always next time. How is the king, anyway?"
"I saw Bard little, but he seemed well. A bit distracted by his new addition, naturally." Dwalin felt a touch of guilt as he thought of his tour through Dale with Lív, and the sight of the city's crumbling walls. "How go the trade negotiations? Will we send masons?"
Dáin seemed disinterested now Dwalin wanted to talk actual business. "Oh, yes, once all parties are satisfied."
Dwalin guessed Dáin would never be truly satisfied with another king on his heels. In days of old, Erebor had been a kingdom of renown and Dale but a market town. A prosperous one, but little more than a city of Men made rich by its proximity to the Mountain. As soon as Bard was made King of Dale, Dáin's ability to cooperate with the man had decreased considerably. That Dáin, himself, had only recently come into his crown hardly mattered.
"An agreement would mean plenty of work. Their outer walls aren't in good order, I can tell you that. They've been built up, but it's slipshod work. Anything might tear them down again." The fact was, Dwalin hoped the Men had sense enough to keep their children away from the walls. Some sections only needed the smallest nudge to come crumbling down.
Dáin cast a skeptical glance at Dwalin, his eyes hard. "Three days with Bard and you're singing his tune, are you?"
Dwalin laughed but there was no mirth to it. "I don't have to agree with everything the man says to see his outer defenses are weak."
Dáin nodded. "I'll see what I can do about the trade agreement. It's hardly urgent in the winter, since orcs usually stay in their holes."
"Usually," Dwalin grumbled. "Though we've already had three attacks."
"Have you changed your mind about seeking them out?"
Dwalin shifted uneasily. Had he? He hated the idea of desperate orcs roaming free lands, but he no more liked the idea of sending spies into the freezing north with little information to go on. "No, I still think it's ill advised in this weather. But Dale's walls would never hold off an attack of any great size." Maybe three days in Dale did have him singing Bard's tune.
Dáin nodded. "I'll send someone to look them over."
"Was that all you wanted from me?"
Dáin waved his hand in dismissal. "Aye, be on your way."
The king's carelessness riled him, but he left without a further word. He was loyal to Dáin, but damn if he didn't want to punch the dwarf soundly in his self-satisfied face sometimes.
#
Close on the heels of her return to Erebor, Lív was called on to tend another mother, this time a dwarrowdam who was with child. Her husband's concern was such that he had rushed Lív straight to her bedside, but it turned out to be nothing more than a bad case of morning sickness. Thankfully the mother-to-be had no pains and no bleeding, and even her vomiting was not of worrying frequency. After reassuring them that the symptom was natural, if unpleasant, and leaving a tincture to ease the worst of the dwarrowdam's upset stomach, Lív took her leave again.
She smiled to herself as she returned to her own chambers, thinking that here would be one of those bairns Óin so longed to see in the halls. She knew of a few dozen other dwarrowdams who were with child, but Óin was right, Erebor's numbers increased too slowly. Dale was a smaller city but could easily surpass them in population in but a few decades. Dáin's abandonment of betrothal customs could not change the fact that dwarrowdams were few, and not all married.
Turning into the corridor that led to her chamber, Lív was startled to see Dwalin leaning against the wall next to her doorway. The look on his face was of such seriousness, she feared the worst and was at his side in an instant. "Is everything all right?"
He stared down into her eyes and shook his head slightly. "No."
She paled at the ominous word. Inga? Bain? Another orc attack?
A look of guilt crossed his face. "I didn't mean to frighten you. It's only my hand. It's come open again."
This was more frightening to her than the threat of orcs. A wound that wouldn't heal could lead to festering and death, even among dwarves. That such a small wound could threaten such a powerful warrior was absurd, but worry swept through her all the same.
"Come inside." She led him into her chambers and he glanced about, seeming to memorize it all in a single look. The feat was not difficult, for she had little of note - a bookshelf, two overstuffed chairs in front of her fire, and a small table that doubled as a writing desk. She gestured for him to sit while she gathered supplies from a low cupboard.
Lív placed everything on the table and sat beside him to remove the bandages and inspect his wound. It was in the crease of his palm, where it must move every time he opened or closed his fingers. The edges of the wound had separated again, as he had said, but the tissue was not seeping and had not changed color, much to her relief.
"There's no way I can ask you not to use your hand for a time, is there?" She gave him an affectionate look, well aware of the answer.
"I'll be needing it."
"It's not festering, despite being torn open in places. Stitches in this part of your palm would only make things worse. My advice is to clean it and salve it again."
He nodded. "There's naught more to do for it, but I thought, seeing as I am in your care, you would want to have a say."
"You are in my care, are you?" The admission amused her as she cleaned his palm.
"Aye," he said softly, "I am in your care." His gaze was full of tenderness and meaning that could not be mistaken. His eyes held a question she did not then have words to answer, though her heart thundered in her chest, aching to echo the sentiment. Returning her attention to his injury, she carefully salved his wound and wrapped his hand again, her mind at a loss for a proper response.
Half afraid to look at him lest she lose her nerve, she turned over his bandaged hand and examined it, closing his fingers over her own. His knuckles had been split open and healed over so many times they were a mass of scarred tissue. She traced one fingertip along his knuckles in honor of their ruined state, and the smallest sigh rumbled through his chest.
As she had seen that first night they met, his large forearms were heavily marked by scars of all shapes and sizes. From his knuckles on up his arm, she gently traced the lines of each one, amazed at all he had endured over the years. Again and again her fingers found a new scar to touch, acknowledge, and soothe. Dwalin's breathing grew heavy from her attentions. Only when her progress was impeded by the rolled shirt sleeve at his elbow did she finally look into his eyes again.
She saw a hunger there, and understood that he saw the same in her. He knew how her heart raced for him, how every part of her body seemed alive with flame. He knew if he but reached out and touched her, she would be lost.
She traced the scar that ran over his forehead, through his eyebrow, and over his nose. A low groan rolled through him. He took her hands in his and pressed his warm lips to her fingers before she could trace the other scars that marked the skin on his face and bare head. The gentleness of his mouth and the softness of his whiskers sent a tumbling, tugging sensation through her belly.
"Lív, you've sparked a desire in me like I've not known before." His breath was hot against her fingers as he rumbled out the words.
Spurred to boldness by his confession, she leaned closer to him, her eyes on the line of his lips beneath his dark mustache. Dwalin needed no further invitation. His mouth was on hers in an instant. One of his hands was in her hair, holding her close as he kissed her eagerly. All the desires that had been building these last months welled up inside her full to bursting and she matched him with equal intensity.
After a few delicious moments, he drew back slightly. He looked all over her face before pressing slow kisses to each of her cheeks.
Another sigh came from the back of his throat and she loved the sound of it. "I need to go before I lose my senses." They were alone in her chambers - he was not the only one at risk of such a thing.
When he stood, he looked down into her eyes. "Can I see you again?"
It seemed an odd question from one she had seen nearly every day for more than two months. His sudden formality, combined with the taste of him that yet lingered on her lips, made her blush, though her slight embarrassment did nothing to curtail her eagerness to see him again. "Yes."
He gave her one last glance as though wavering on his decision to go, but go he did. As soon as he left her chambers, she put her hands over her hammering heart. As much as she longed for him, he longed for her, too.
