Dwalin always suspected he would live to regret his generous nature. Offering to train Askel had sounded good - the lad was as near to Lív as family, and he had needed to make things up to her. But the reality of it was, he didn't work with dwarflings for a reason - he had no patience for it. He was out of practice with their reckless exuberance and utter lack of skill with a blade. Frankly, he hadn't trained a dwarfling since Fíli and Kíli and was at his wits' end after ten minutes with Askel.
He'd given Askel a dull training blade, more out of concern for the lad's safety than his own. Even so, as soon as he had it in hand, Askel swung it about so wildly he nearly knocked himself in the head. Dwalin could just imagine Lív's incredulous scoldings if he had to bring the boy to her with a scalp wound.
Askel kept trying to wield the sword single-handed, rather than double as Dwalin had showed him. He reminded himself it was the lad's first time in the training rooms, but his frustration was at its limits. Askel was just far too excited to contain himself, so Dwalin had him run around the room to try to burn off a bit of that energy. After five laps, Askel returned to Dwalin out of breath but eager to take his sword up again.
Dwalin refused to hand it over. "Wait a moment." Askel drew his hand back in hurt confusion. "If I'm going to train you, you'll need to do exactly and only what I say. Is that clear?"
The lad's bright blue eyes were suddenly somber. "Yes, Captain Dwalin."
"None of this swinging the sword around. Careful control is what we're after."
"Yes, Captain Dwalin."
A few soldiers lingered near the arena where he lectured Askel. "Move along," he shouted as he waved them on. Apparently disappointed to miss out on the show, they slowly shuffled off. The last thing Askel needed at this stage was an audience. It wasn't too likely to help Dwalin's efforts, either.
"Using a weapon is deadly business. If I think you're not taking this seriously, I won't bother myself to train you. Understand?"
Askel swallowed hard. "Yes, Captain Dwalin."
After this lecture, the lad did a better job following directions. They mostly worked on proper grip, stance, and terminology, but at least now he did as Dwalin asked rather than flourish the sword about like a fool. That was why Dwalin preferred axes - no one ever waved them about for show. That, and they were brutal.
At the end of the lesson, Dwalin allowed Askel to try to strike him with the sword. The lad lunged and jabbed, but Dwalin easily avoided these moves. Askel worked himself into a full sweat as he frantically slashed his sword through the air, using far more effort that was needed, but he grinned all the while.
Finally, Dwalin called an end to it. He poured a mug of water for each of them, and they sat on a bench to rest a moment. Askel gulped at his water and ran his fingers through his black hair, pulling the lanky clumps back from his forehead. He still wore that crooked grin, apparently too delighted for words.
Fíli and Kíli had been just the same in their day. At first, Thorin intended to train only Fíli, as he was the older. Kíli had been unhappy at having to wait five more years for his turn, but seemed to bear his disappointment well. Only later did they realize that each evening after going to bed, Fíli showed Kíli everything he'd worked on that day. Training them together had seemed the safest course rather than risk injury to both in those late night demonstrations.
Kíli had grinned like a little madman the entire first week of his instruction. He couldn't get over his good fortune at being allowed to train alongside his brother. The fact that he was to be taught by his Uncle and Mister Dwalin only added to his excitement. Dwalin did not pretend to be on a level with Thorin Oakenshield, but he knew the lads had looked up to both of them with a sort of reverential adoration.
Mahal, that was an age ago.
"Captain Dwalin, did you know my father?" The lad's eyes were bright with hope.
"I can't say I did."
Askel's shoulders slumped a bit, but he nodded understanding. "He was a really brave warrior."
"I'm sure he was."
Askel nodded again, resigned to bitter acceptance of his father's death. Asgrim couldn't be brought back - there was nothing for the lad to do but carry on. Dwalin hadn't been much older than Askel when his own father was killed by orcs. His memories of Fundin had dimmed through the years, but his loyalty to him still burned with a bright ferocity. So it would be with Askel.
"Why don't you go on home. Practice the stances I showed you, and I'll see you next week."
"Next week?" Askel looked crushed. "Why not tomorrow?"
Dwalin had to laugh at his eagerness. "We'll work up to it."
Askel seemed pleased to know it wasn't a permanent situation. He stood and made a slight bow. "Thank you, Captain Dwalin."
He nodded and the boy scampered off. Dwalin chuckled to himself as he eased back against the wall, stretching his legs out before him. Dwarflings weren't so bad, when you got used to them. Perhaps he had patience enough to train them, after all. One or two, anyway.
#
Once again, Lív found herself carefully examining her reflection in the mirror as she prepared for an evening out. Dwalin had invited her to have dinner in Balin's chambers with him and his friends from Thorin's company. He had explained that although they all were busy with various endeavors throughout the Mountain, the ten of them gathered together now and then for old time's sake. He also mentioned something about these parties sometimes ending in argument and disaster, so she had little idea what to expect from the evening.
When he knocked at her door, she opened it to find him casually dressed in a simple brown shirt and green vest. He was not dressed so fine as he had been for the Winter Celebration, but the change from his usual plain garb was still noticeable.
"By my beard," he said slowly as he stepped over the threshold, looking her up and down, "that color becomes you."
She had found a soft, lightweight wool dyed forest green at the market stalls one afternoon. It so reminded her of the colors Dwalin favored, she bought it and asked Runa to work up a dress for her. When Runa discovered why Lív had selected that particular shade of fabric, she went to great pains to craft the most flattering dress she was able. It seemed Runa's efforts had not been in vain.
"I hoped you would like it," she admitted.
"Oh, I more than like it." He gazed at her so, her cheeks turned hot, though she didn't look away from him. He took her lightly in his arms. "Seeing you in this..." His words trailed off until they were no more than a deep rumble in his throat. His feelings were made plain when he kissed her with firm purpose. She was lost in him as they explored each other, sending a sinking sensation from her belly to the tips of her toes. His hands roved slowly over her back and waist but he stopped himself just shy of going either too low or too high.
He pulled back slightly, shaking his head. "I have strength enough when it comes to fighting orcs, but none at all to resist you."
His kiss was such that she needed a moment to recover from it, and opened her eyes again with difficulty. The grin he wore when she looked up at him was one of unmistakable satisfaction. "All who see you wearing this will know that you are mine."
She had just sense enough for a pert response. "And how will they know that you are mine?"
"Any can see that from a league away."
They left her chambers and he led the way to Balin's rooms. She walked with her arm looped in his, unconcerned by the curious glances they received as they passed through the corridors. Lív guessed most of the dwarves in the Mountain had the same thoughts of Dwalin she'd had before she truly knew him - that he was a fierce fighter with a heart full of rage and little more. They'd all been wrong, of course. He far surpassed all she might have hoped. She beamed up at him, feeling nothing but pride to be on his arm.
When they reached Balin's chambers, Dwalin opened the door to reveal an unruly sight. The several rooms she had seen on her previous visit were now filled with dwarves. It was only eleven of them, but they were all so loud and boisterous, it seemed like thrice that. She tried to take in the scene, dwarf by dwarf, but quickly lost track of them. Two were engaged in some sort of dance demonstration, another great dwarf lounged on one of the settees, while still another stood off to the side flipping through Balin's books. All eyes turned to Lív when Dwalin ushered her through the door.
For the briefest moment the rooms went silent and she felt the weight of eleven curious stares. Then laughter and merriment reigned once more as Balin came forward to welcome her.
"Lív, my dear, you are most welcome. I'm glad you could join us this evening." He looked her over and gave her a sly smile. "That's a very lovely dress you have on." To his brother he merely raised his eyebrows merrily.
Dwalin's hand lingered at her waist as he introduced her to those dwarves she had not yet met. Eventually hellos had gone all around between her and his nine companions from the Blue Mountains, as well as Glóin's wife and son. Her mind spun, working over the tales she had heard of these dwarves whose names were legend in Erebor, whom she now saw in the flesh.
"If it isn't my favorite healer," Óin said, making her laugh. "I heard from Balin of your great success with delivering the King of Dale's child."
She opened her mouth to respond when Glóin spoke up. "Bah. The man's so slippery, I'd have thought any child of his would just slide right out." At this, his wife, Nara, smacked him on the shoulder. "What? We're among friends, I can say what I think. It isn't as though I'm insulting the man to his very face."
These last words were spoken with a significant look to Dwalin, who merely shrugged his indifference. Lív, too, turned curious eyes on him.
"You're still carrying on, are you?" the one called Bofur asked him. "Now, a grudge against the elves I will endorse, but a grudge against Bard seems a bit unfair. He did help us out."
"How exactly did he help us out?" Dori asked.
"He didn't," Glóin said. "He took our money and gave us nothing we asked for in return."
"Bard did take us across the lake," Bofur pointed out.
"And he gave us dry clothes," Ori added.
"Even doing that much isn't exactly helping us out when we paid him to do it," Nori said.
"Agreed," Glóin said. "Receiving payment for services doesn't qualify as generosity."
"How does our generous friend fare these days, Dwalin?" Nori asked with a hint of malice in his voice. "I understand Dale has been rather bothered by orcs of late."
Dwalin glanced from Lív to Nori. "Not in recent weeks."
"Dale is under attack?" she asked him.
Dwalin shook his head no. "They've been hit by the same sorts of bands as we have. They should have no troubles with such small numbers."
"If their walls hold up," Dori said.
"They won't for long," Nori said.
"He asks for masons just as winter is coming on," Dori said with a shake of his head. "Everyone knows you can't build a wall properly in winter."
"Why does Erebor not help them?" Lív asked, her eyes still fixed on Dwalin. He started to answer but was interrupted by Glóin.
"Bard's pride is such that he would never ask for help for anything."
"He asked for me to help with his wife and child."
Glóin shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, well, any man would make an exception in such a case as that."
Lív turned her attention back to Dwalin. "Are they in need and we do nothing?" Once again he was interrupted before he could answer.
"Now, I wouldn't go that far," Balin said. "Erebor has agreed to trade for masonry and arms. Their first delivery of weapons arrived two weeks ago, but the masonry can't be done until spring. Dori's right, it's too cold, and the mortar wouldn't set right. But once the walls thaw a bit, we'll see it done. So it's not so grim as our friends make it sound." He gave a rather hard glare to Glóin.
"And he's paying as little as he can get away with, no doubt." Glóin scowled as though just the thought of Bard was distasteful.
"What does price have to do with it?" Lív asked.
"We can't operate on charity."
"Isn't it our duty to help protect our allies from orcs?" She glanced about the room, dumbfounded at their attitude. In the Iron Hills, Dáin had considered the nearby villages of Men to be under his protection and retaliated against any attacks on them as fiercely as though they were his own people. Never had she expected to hear such callousness from those who had fought side by side just a few years previous.
By the way the other dwarves looked away from her, she could see this was a touchy subject for all of them. Getting worked up about it was likely not the best first impression she might have hoped to make. Even so, she hated the idea that Bard, Inga, Bain, and the others of Dale could be left in danger.
She turned to Dwalin. "Do we just stand by when they're attacked?" He looked slightly chastened but didn't answer.
"Aye, we stand by," Glóin said, his brows furrowed just a touch, "same as they stand by when we are under attack. We've lived under the motto of 'To each his own', and it's worked out quite handily so far."
It was not Lív's place to argue over trade or diplomacy, and certainly Balin, Dwalin, and Glóin knew more of the situation than she did, but such disinterest between kingdoms that lay so close was confusing at best. She was formulating a new argument for cooperation when Balin spoke up.
"I'm sure this is all very illuminating, but it's hardly polite conversation for our guest." He nodded significantly in Lív's direction, in case any of them weren't sure who the newcomer was or failed to see her dismay in what she had heard. "Perhaps we could have a change of topic."
Bofur scratched his chin a moment. "All that's coming to my mind are questions for our guest, and I expect not all of them would be considered suitable by other members of our party." He cast a cheeky look at Dwalin, who acknowledged it with a dismissive grunt.
It was at least reassuring to Lív that even among friends, Dwalin's curt responses were unchanged.
"How did you meet Dwalin, Lív?" Nara asked eagerly.
"He was mildly injured in a skirmish a few months ago and I tended him."
"I'm sure that went well," Bofur said with no small amount of sarcasm.
Lív had to smile at the memory of their first meeting. "He was not one of my easiest patients, that's true."
"I believe your exact words were 'most difficult'." Dwalin flashed her the barest smirk.
"That sounds about right," Ori said.
"A bit overdramatic, this one is." Dori thumbed towards Dwalin.
"You're one to talk," Nori put in. "After we escaped the Elvenking's dungeons, who was it that flopped himself out his barrel moaning, 'I'm drowned, I'm drowned, oh, save me'?"
Dori turned slightly away from the other. "I might have been drowned. I'd never swum a day in my life."
Nori laughed at his brother's discomposure. "Nor did you have need to. We were all in floating barrels."
"Water washed in mine." Dori looked put out by this line of conversation. "I could have drowned had we gone on any farther."
"Lucky for us that you didn't." Bofur grinned all around, effectively ending Dori's lament about his supposed near-drowning.
Lív turned curious eyes to Dwalin, but he just shrugged. Every piece of this story was a mystery to her, from the mention of the Elvenking to the barrels. He had not yet told her of his journey from the Blue Mountains, nor could she guess how such elements fit into it. She stored these questions away for later.
In time, they all sat down to dinner. As usual at dwarvish meals, conversation was sparse as they tucked in to their food. Bombur had prepared a delicious spread, apparently seeing fit to use his time off from the great kitchens of Erebor to put himself to use in Balin's own small one. Roast pork, roast chicken, boiled baby potatoes mixed with sage and onion, thick slices of fresh bread, mince pies - Lív was pleasantly stuffed by the time the meal was over.
They all removed to the sitting room, which, with the addition of chairs pulled from the den and dining room, was able to hold them all comfortably. Dwalin drew his chair close to Lív's next to the fireplace as the party enjoyed the restful satisfaction of full bellies after a large meal.
"Won't anyone take up a song?" Óin asked the room generally, his ear trumpet at the ready.
"What, do you think we always come prepared for song and dance?" Bofur looked aghast until he grinned and pulled a clarinet from his pocket. "In fact, we do."
Bofur and his cousin, Bifur both played clarinets and together they performed a rousing tune. The melody was cheerful as the two dwarves' fingers flew along their instruments, setting the others' feet to tapping in time. When their song ended, the room exploded into applause and cheers for more.
Dori, Nori, and Ori were not to be outdone. They, too, had brought instruments and played a jig on flutes. Their audience clapped the beat while Bofur and Bifur danced about happily, despite the cramped quarters.
The scene was so pleasant and merry, Lív was smiling broadly long before she realized it. The fireplace crackled behind her, the warm smell of their dinner still lingered in the air, and all about her was the sound of laughter. Whatever their disagreements in conversation, it could not be said that these dwarves had any contention when it came to their love of music.
As the last notes of the trio's song faded away, Dwalin stood. Lív was surprised to see him take a large instrument from a shadowy corner, and it seemed the entire room watched him with a sense of anticipation.
"You don't mind if I borrow yours, do you Brother?" Dwalin's voice was low as he settled himself back on his chair, the instrument resting lightly between his legs.
"Not at all." Balin's voice cracked slightly, and Lív remembered how he had praised his brother's talent on the viol. He had also said that Dwalin had long given it up.
The instrument's low notes hummed into life as he pulled the bow across its strings. His fingers moved with ease along the viol's neck while he worked the bow in long, careful strokes. The melody he played was slow and haunting, a mournful dirge that was sorrowful yet full of beauty. Long ago, Lív had heard the words to it, but now she could just remember traces. It was a lament for a king, that much she knew.
Tears pricked at her eyes as she watched this powerful dwarf play a song of such grief. She was not alone in this sentiment, for many of the others had tears in their eyes, as well. Balin's had fallen and he cried silently, his eyes fixed on his brother.
When at last the song was finished, Lív felt as though her heart had been taken hold of and caressed in its sorrow before being returned with new life. All the room was hushed until Ori clapped his appreciation, and then all applauded together.
"If you'll indulge me one more..." Dwalin glanced about the room. When his eyes lit on Lív, his mouth quirked up slightly. He looked down at the instrument and seemed to regain his focus before he began.
This song, too, was slow and measured, but unlike the last, it was a song of love. Although he did not sing them, the words that went with it were of a man's joy in finding his beloved. Listening to Dwalin play this song, before all of his friends, Lív could hardly contain the bliss that coursed through her. It seemed she was nothing but happiness made flesh. Had she ever felt such love in all her life? If ever she'd had a voice for song, she might have sung the lyrics back to him. Instead, she was content to listen, captivated by his wordless declaration.
Dwalin let the final note of the song linger until it dwindled to silence. As the other dwarves fell to clapping for his skill, he turned his eyes on her. That even the barest hint of a question lingered in his gaze was shameful to her. Such a dwarf with such a heart should not have to wonder if his affections were returned.
He stood and put Balin's viol back in the corner, shrugging off cheeky compliments from Bofur and requests for an encore. When he sat back down beside her, she reached out and took his hand. They were surrounded by his friends, but she cared nothing for that, she cared only for him. He met her gaze again, and this time his eyes held no question. He lifted her fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss to them.
A few more songs were played by the others, and Bofur entertained them all with a saucy rendition of a song of his own devising that spoke of various encounters between awkwardly ardent lovers. Dwalin glared at his friend for the implications, but Lív just squeezed his hand all the tighter.
Eventually the hour grew late and the little party broke up. Lív received many hearty goodbyes and good humored well-wishes before at last it was only she, Dwalin, and Balin who remained.
"I can't tell you how glad I am that you could join us, Lív." Balin shook her hand, paused, and then wrapped his arms around her in a brief hug. "You're welcome anytime. I expect to see a lot more of you."
"All right, all right," Dwalin grumbled as he separated them. "It's long past time I get her home."
"Thank you for the invitation, Balin. This was - " she paused, at a loss for words great enough to convey her feelings. "I had a wonderful time."
Once again, she and Dwalin walked through the corridors of Erebor arm in arm. There were few about at this late hour to witness them, and they walked as slowly as they liked. Her heart was too full to say anything, and it seemed they were in perfect understanding even without words.
At her chamber door, Dwalin looked down at her. "My friends are not always so quarrelsome when they get together." He paused a moment. "Actually, I suppose they are."
"I'm not bothered. It would take more than a few rowdy dwarves to scare off the likes of me."
"Clearly." The low, rumbling word was almost lost on her as she gazed into his grey eyes. He leaned down and they kissed for a long while. His gentleness became more insistent, his hands firm against her back. She, too, grew more ardent, and debated the wisdom of inviting him into her chambers. Thoughts against it were fleeting but enough to restrain the offer.
In time, his kisses became slow and soft again. He couldn't know how such gentleness only fanned the flames of her ardor all the more. When at last he pulled away to press his forehead to hers, a sudden urge came over her.
"I love you," she whispered, her chest churning with a liquid nervousness as she waited in the silence.
She did not wait long. "And I love you." In his gruff voice, the soft words were like a purr, and she thrilled at the sound almost as much as the sentiment.
"It's late." He stood straight again and loosened his hold on her waist. "Get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."
She nodded as she walked into her chambers and bid him goodnight. Her desires were such that closing him out of her rooms was the last thing she wanted, and she sighed heavily for longing as she leaned against the door.
She loved him. Whatever befell, whatever were to happen between the two of them, she knew she would love Dwalin the rest of her days.
