"Lady Dis." He went down on his knees in front of her, bowing his head. The hall had gone silent; he knew people were staring. It didn't matter. All that mattered was Dis. "Forgive me," he rasped. "I promised I would keep them safe and I failed you."

He felt rather than saw Bofur kneel beside him. "My lady," Bofur said quietly.

Strong fingers clasped Dwalin's jaw and forced his head up. Dis's face was beautiful and terrible to behold. He clamped down on the cowardly instinct to close his eyes.

He gazed up at her, caught in the accusation of her eyes. Dis looked so much like Thorin that it took his breath away, but Thorin had never looked at him like this. Thorin had never looked at him like Dwalin was a criminal who'd committed a heinous act.

In her eyes he could see Fili and Kili as they'd been at the end, when Dwalin and Gloin had sorted frantically through bodies, calling their names. Kili, cut open from stomach to sternum, lying on his back. Fili, two broken arrows in him and blood still oozing from the wound in his head, wrapped around his brother, one dead hand trying to hold his brother's ragged flesh together to staunch the crimson flow.

Dwalin had hated Thorin then, for this stupid quest and his stupid pride and for letting nephews just out of the nursery run laughing into battle. He'd grown angrier still as he returned to searching through the dead, friend and foe and those in-between allies, until Balin came to tell him that Thorin had been found.

"My lady," Bofur said, bringing Dwalin back to the present, "Your sons died honorably and with valor. They made their choice as all of us did. We all knew the risks."

Dwalin thought of spiders and barrels and goldlust and wanted to laugh, because none of them had had the least idea of the risks.

"They were children," Dis said.

"They were not, my lady," Bofur said, quiet but firm. "They died as men. They were the best of all of us."

Dis's eyes flashed anguish and fury, but she kept her voice level. To Dwalin, she said, "You will visit me tomorrow and tell me of them."

"Yes, Lady Dis," he said hoarsely.

Bofur must have pulled him to his feet. Later, Dwalin wouldn't remember much of the next half-hour. He did remember that Bofur was a steady, worried presence at his back, making introductions and guiding him through the maze of dignitaries and hangers-on. But he couldn't have recognized a single one of the people he exchanged stiff pleasantries with.

Krevlin brought him some wine, which helped.

Several dwarves tried to take Bofur aside and talk to him about mining, which seemed curious to Dwalin when he was calm enough to think on it. Ered Luin mined silver and iron, while Erebor mined gold and precious stones. And as far as Dwalin knew, Bofur had been a simple miner in Ered Luin; he hadn't held a position higher than crew leader until he'd been given the western mines at Erebor.

On the other hand, Bofur had done everything in his power to make sure nobody lost their life in his mines. Dwalin had heard Oin complaining about having to be more careful about safety lest he lose his miners to Bofur.

When the room went silent again, Dwalin looked up. A tall, almost skeletal dwarf with thinning white hair stood before them. He did not bow. "Bofur," he said. No "Mister," and Dwalin had half a mind to object to the repeated insult, but Bofur was bowing regardless.

"Uncle," he said in the same flat voice. He turned. The normally expressive face was wiped of all cheerfulness. "Dwalin, may I present Balur, head of clan Broadbeam. Uncle, this Dwalin, son of Fundin."

Dwalin bowed automatically, then wished he hadn't. Family or not, Bofur didn't like this man.

Balur returned the bow. "I am at your service, Mister Dwalin."

Dwalin inclined his head without answering.

The dwarf looked disconcerted, but rallied. "Ah, Mister Dwalin, if I may beg a favor?" Dwalin waited. "The King most graciously sent a letter – about my son –"

Confused as to why he was the one being asked, Dwalin sought Bofur's eyes. Bofur shrugged and shook his head slightly.

"Mister Bifur acquitted himself honorably at the Battle of the Five Armies and slew many Orcs," Dwalin told the old man. "Eleven, if memory serves. He is an accomplished warrior and a good friend."

"But why has he sent no news?" Balur fretted. "Surely he could have a letter written for him, or one of his cousins could write?"

Again, Dwalin sought Bofur's aid. Bofur just grimaced.

"Really, it's too much, not to send a single letter to the man who raised him from a babe," Balur said.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but for just a moment Dwalin thought Bofur looked almost murderous. But the moment passed and Bofur said to his uncle with a smile, "Well, we'll put it right when we go home. I promise you a letter from your son if I have to write it myself."

"Please don't," the old man sniffed, looking at his nephew as if he were something particularly disgusting found on the bottom of a boot. "Bombur shall write if Bifur cannot find a scribe. You never did master your letters enough to write legibly."

"Right you are," said Bofur cheerfully. "In the meantime, Dwalin can tell you about Bifur's position as King's guard."

Dwalin grimaced. The last thing he wanted to do was spend more time in Balur's company; if Bofur didn't like him then he wasn't worth knowing. But a father did deserve to know of his son, and Bifur was one of the best warriors Dwalin knew. "Bifur and I are bodymen to King Dain," he said. "There are eight of us, two guarding him at any time. Bifur has foiled two assassination attempts."

Bofur's eyes widened at that. Bifur must not have mentioned it to his cousins. Fair enough; the royal guard didn't like to speak of such things. Dwalin had said nothing of it to any but Balin; it was something of an embarrassment to the guard that the assassins had gotten as close as they did. Nori had been livid – and mortified. It had convinced Dain to spend the funds necessary for a decent network of agents and spies to let Nori do his job, at least. Were it anybody but Nori, Dwalin would have suspected the head of security himself – but it was Nori, and Nori didn't lie to his comrades even if he was willing to lie to the King.

"And why was Bifur not sent as part of the King's delegation?" the old man demanded. "I would have liked to see my son, and no doubt he would have liked to see his father."

Bifur was not much for words, but Dwalin knew him fairly well, and in three years he'd never spoken of his father. Dwalin had assumed his parents were dead. "We obey the orders of the King, Mister Balur," he said blankly. "It is not for us to question his judgment."

Balur sniffed again. "I see."

They were rescued from an awkward silence when the doors of the feasting hall were opened to great fanfare. The crowd swept them inside. As guests of honor, they sat at the head table with the fourteen clan heads, but Dwalin was relieved to note that Balur had been seated at the very end.

"Is he always that unpleasant?" he demanded after they'd been seated with much bowing and further introductions. A moment later he realized how rude the question was and flushed.

"Generally, yes," Bofur said absently. "Oh, is Lady Dis the clan head now that Thorin is gone?" Dwalin turned to see her taking a seat several places down the table. "I wonder at it – but she was always a shrewd politician."

"Most of the Longbeard clan has returned to Erebor," Dwalin pointed out. "Besides, she's the last dwarf with Durin's blood in her veins. Why should she not be clan head?"

To his knowledge, there had never been a female head of clan, but if anyone were going to change that, it would be the Lady Dis.

His kinswoman was a power to be reckoned with. He wasn't looking forward to meeting with her on the morrow.

The feast proceeded much as it had among the Redbeards, only with more pomp and ceremony. Dwalin was obliged to stand and offer many more polite words than he'd ever have been able to keep straight in his head. Fortunately Bofur, who had presumably been prepared by Balin, whispered the right words when he fumbled.

The feast was deadly dull, all formal posturing. Dwalin made Bofur lead the toast to Thorin's memory. He wasn't sure he'd be able to bite his tongue around these hypocrites.

And he ached when the bards came to sing the Battle again. Dwalin and Bofur, who had been there, were offered no part in the telling this time. While it was a relief – once was enough – it also felt wrong, as if the dwarves of Ered Luin were trying to claim the victory for their own. And in the speeches that followed, Dwalin kept hearing about the "special relationship" between Ered Luin and Erebor. He seethed.

Finally it was time to unwrap the scroll he'd carried across a continent, and read the words of the King Under the Mountain. Dain thanked the dwarves of the Blue Mountains for welcoming their brothers all those years ago – Dwalin repressed a snort of disbelief; they had hardly been welcomed – and urged the refugees and any others who wished it to return to their ancestral home.

Dwalin couldn't stop the gusting sigh of relief when his duties were finally done with. Mahal above, how he hated politics!

Bofur elbowed him with a grin. "Stop scowling, you're scaring them," he murmured.

Dwalin turned his scowl on his friend, instead.

And then finally it was over. Dwalin and Bofur made their way outside, still bowing and responding to polite inquiries. Out in the street, even Bofur looked relieved.

"Bofur!" They both turned at the sound of the shout. Dwalin had just time to see Bofur's face light up in unadulterated pleasure – the way it did sometimes when Dwalin joined him of an evening, back in Erebor – before a dwarf with red-gold hair hurtled across the plaza toward them.

When Dwalin glanced at Bofur again, the look of pleasure was gone; Bofur looked wary. Dwalin's hand went instinctively to his sword, ready to protect his friend.

"Bofur," the new dwarf panted, stopping in front of them. "I was afraid I'd miss you."

"Havlin." Bofur stepped forward to clasp hands, and was pulled into an embrace. For just a moment, Dwalin thought Bofur resisted, but then he laughed and pounded the dwarf on the back.

After they'd embraced, Havlin held Bofur at arm's length to look him over. "You mad bastard," he said with a grin. "Krevlin told me you'd come back. I never thought to see you again. Oh, but you're sight for sore eyes!"

Bofur laughed and his cheeks turned a little pink. "You're looking well too, Havlin," he said. "Come, let me present you to my friend. Dwalin, son of Fundin; Havlin, son of Gavlin, and brother to Krevlin who you met earlier."

"At your service," Dwalin said, bowing.

"At yours." Havlin sketched a sloppy bow that reminded Dwalin jarringly of the princes. "Any friend of Bofur's is a friend of mine."

"Likewise," Dwalin said politely.

"Oh!" said Bofur abruptly, studying the runes on Havlin's dress tunic. He reached out to trace the tooled leather. "You're the clan heir! But that means – your father…"

Havlin nodded, suddenly sober. "Da passed not long after you – after Thorin started on his quest."

"Then Krevlin is clan head, and I offered him neither honor nor condolences," Bofur said, guilt thick in his voice. "I grieve for your loss, Havlin."

The dwarf nodded. "My thanks," he said. "But I would prefer to dwell tonight on cheerier subjects. May I buy the heroes of Erebor a drink, perhaps?"

"Yes, of course," Bofur said. Then he glanced at Dwalin. "Or – tomorrow? We've had a long journey…"

"You go," Dwalin grunted. It had been a long time since he'd seen such happiness on Bofur's face, and he was as loathe to interrupt it as he was to witness it. "I will see you in the morning, Bofur." He nodded his respects to Havlin and strode away before Bofur could protest.

Dwalin couldn't sleep. It was annoying, but it was inescapable. The midsummer heat was oppressive here in the shadow of the mountains, and the room was stuffy.

After writing his letter to Balin, he climbed through the open window onto the small balcony that joined his room and Bofur's. The air was a little cooler out here, and he could see the stars. Rather undwarven of him, his fondness for the stars, but he justified it by telling himself they were akin to diamonds.

He hadn't known that Bofur had left family and friends in Ered Luin. Of course, Bofur made friends everywhere he went. But he'd never spoken of home. Twice in as many weeks, Dwalin was left wondering just how well he knew his friend.

He sighed, leaning back against the stone wall, and gazed out over the dwarven city below.