Chapter Text
Life in the Blue Mountains was harsh and difficult, and Dwalin had never shied away from doing his part in supporting his family in any way he could. He remembered how bad it had been in refugee camps and hastily established settlements near the very outskirts of Ered Luin, above ground and barely good enough to shield the Dwarves from wind and weather and the dangers posed by outsiders. Compared to that nothing would seem bad enough to Dwalin to complain or stop his hard work, and even at the worst he was sure he could endure so much more for his people and family.
Things had gotten a little better when the Dwarves finally settled inside the mountains and in the valleys between good tall cliffs. At least then they didn’t have to worry about protecting themselves from the forces of nature descending on anyone above ground or from Men who thought Dwarves were easy prey. It wasn’t perfect, and though Thorin had managed to help the Ereborean Dwarves make a new home after Azanulbizar robbed them of any hopes to at least return to Khazad-Dûm, life was filled with hardship.
It was only right; Dwarves had always been hard workers and did what they had to to survive. But where that hard work had been for the good name and comfort of their families, the Kingdom and for Mahal himself, now it truly was for survival and safety, the barest minimum of what a good livelihood was.
Dwalin did his part to support his own family where he could, but it was hard for him to find anything to do. Balin and Glóin both travelled a lot, for trade and to help Thorin keep up relations with Dwarves and allies beyond the Blue Mountains. Óin practiced medicine as he had when he had meant to when he still studied in Erebo, while Dwalin’s mother returned to helping at court and with the law when it was needed after her husband had fallen in battle. Then there was Dís, with her little growing family. She could not work outside of Ered Luin or do much at all with the children, her wife Víli being so wounded and still needing help after the battle, and with the assistance she offered Thorin when it came to ruling.
Dwalin had nothing but the utmost respect for his cousins, and naturally he did his best to support them where he could.
No work was too low for him to consider, no task too hard. He had no craft that was of any use to him in Ered Luin, so he did anything that was asked of him.
There was no need for the delicate and beautiful jewellery Dwalin had worked with when he was younger, and neither that nor his skills with a viol really made any money, as there was nobody to pay for such services. In the worst of times in Ered Luin there was nobody who would need any of these things, not to mention that it had only ever done either of these things for himself. His experience in battle and his strength were always asked for though, there would always be a need for protection and raw brawn, so Dwalin had turned to that and never tried anything else.
Most of the time Dwalin was paid to accompany trade caravans back and forth along the length of the Blue Mountains, as the ways that made travel the easiest also posed danger of ambushes and thieves. Sometimes he even travelled close to the Shire like this, or to the sea. Sometimes Dwalin was asked to guard places or people in the settlement he lived in, and occasionally it was his strength asked for, when it came to construction or moving heavy goods from place to place when hands were needed.
It was tiring and dull, but Dwalin would receive little purses of coins for each service, so there was nothing to complain about.
He did not live in the city of Belegost, where his family had settled down and from where Thorin was ruling. Instead Dwalin lived near the edge of the mountains, in a smaller town, which was partially underground and partially outside where the cavern broke open and only open sky was above the buildings rather than good solid stone. It was closer to the main trade routes at least. While most of the travellers and traders did move on to Belegost it was easier to find work in a smaller place like that.
Dwalin had a house for himself, bigger than he needed but it was his own and did not cost him more. He stayed there most of the time, when he wasn’t working, and there wasn’t much to do but rest or keep in shape with his weapons on a good day. Sometimes there was little to do though, and Dwalin was alone. He did not want to spend his sparse coin on too much things he didn’t need, so Dwalin rarely went to taverns or sought out any kind of entertainment. He had enough company when he was guarding caravans and could talk to the hired sellswords, and if he wished to drink he would buy a bottle of the cheapest ale, which also had the perk of him never drinking too much of it at a time.
Instead he would leave the mountains when he couldn’t stand being on his own and without work. The Blue Mountains were covered by forests near the slopes, so Dwalin would walk for a few hours and settle down and just stare towards them and the lighter density of trees. He sometimes wondered whether he should hunt, but he’d never been good at it and he’d rather leave that to actual craftsmen instead of disturbing the creatures inside the forest.
Sometimes Dwalin would buy toys for Fíli, just so the child would have something nice from him, and sometimes he bought something for his mother. It was the only thing that made him feel a little guilty about living so far away. Lawara’s children both travelled a lot, and though Balin also stayed in Belegost at times, her youngest rarely visited for more than a few days.
It took Dwalin two days of travel to reach Belegost when he did want to visit, and every time he would bring his carefully saved up money to give to his family just as he tried to spend the time with them to make up for the absence.
Lawara would embrace him and offer him to stay for as long as he wished, though Dwalin never took her up on the silent offer to stay. His cousins would embrace him and take him out to drink, to catch up on good old times or just to talk, but Dwalin didn’t always feel up to it, sitting quietly as they drank. He would offer Thorin his service, half hoping that there was a use for him, and Thorin would sigh and say that he wished he could make use of fighting skills and brawl, but he could not in his problems. It pained Dwalin to see his friend that way, but they also both knew that another six years of war would do nothing but destroy the peace their people had, so best be grateful for the quiet.
It was Dís who was hardest to face, funnily enough.
Most of the time it was her Dwalin would give the money he made to, as she needed it most with being the only one having a child in their family, while also knowing how to spend it best.
“We don’t need this,” Dís would tell Dwalin every single time, though she still took the purse.
Her attempts to refuse it as Dwalin stubbornly insisted had stopped after the first few times Dwalin had brought money.
“The Dwarves of Ered Luin are doing better and better by the year, our entire family can make ends meet without you working yourself into dust with all those dull guarding assignments!”
“You do need this more than me,” Dwalin insisted. He remembered being young and helpless and doing his best to help his family even just have enough food not to starve, or having to make the choice between an empty belly for a night or freezing with no firewood to be had. He did not want to risk Dís facing the same again.
“At least keep more for yourself.”
Dís always chided him for that, but what did Dwalin need gold for? He didn’t go hungry, his clothes were in good condition and he had a warm place to call his own.
Their brief arguments of Dís trying to make Dwalin change his behaviour and Dwalin simply not answering usually ended with Dís rolling her eyes and moving to fetch her little toddler for Dwalin to hold for a bit.
Only rarely did Dwalin even consider not accepting work or simply stopping with this altogether and returning to Belegost.
There was a trader who Dwalin had worked for for years, a Dwarf named Tulek who always needed guards for his warehouse or for the trading caravans. It was very soon after Azanulbizar that Dwalin had met him for the first time, and though his pay was very little compared to similar jobs, he always had use for Dwalin when he was in town. A little but steady income was fine enough by Dwalin, and he rarely had any issues with any of it.
Only once in a while did Dwalin hear of other sell-swords hissing about the pay or the Tulek’s demands about how his ware was to be protected, as if the Dwarves he hired knew nothing of what they had to do.
Dwalin had ignored it, until Tulek’s pay became less for him as well.
“This is not the usual amount,” Dwalin had growled as he counted the gold in the little purse Tulek had given him after a night of guarding his warehouse.
“It is not,” the trader agreed, though he did not elaborate.
“We did not agree on this. Why would you cheat me like this? I have always done what you asked me to and kept your things safe!”
Tulek listened quietly as he noted something in a little notebook, calculating the cost of his next caravan even as Dwalin ranted quietly. He had a small room in his little warehouse, where he planned the routes and paid the guards. Through the door Dwalin could see Dwarves checking the bundles of textiles that had been stored for the night and would be carried on to Belegost where Tulek could sell them.
Tulek was quiet for a few moments, checking his notes, before he finally looked up at Dwalin.
“You were hurt the last time you accompanied my caravan, were you not?”
“Yes?”
Dwalin was a little taken aback by the question, wondering what it had to do with his cut pay.
“See, I don’t want that happening around my goods. An injured warrior means more of a chance for them to be defeated should it come to a fight. You are a risk, so naturally I will spend less on a risk.”
Dwalin glowered at the much shorter Dwarf.
“I was injured protecting your ponies from wolves!”
He hadn’t even been hurt by the wolf itself. As the creature tried to jump on one of Tulek’s pack ponies Dwalin had dealt with it with just one well-placed blow of his hammer. He’d fallen off his own pony and into the snow as it shied away from the attack, but he had rolled through it and helped his companions deal with any other wolves. It was only later that his shoulder had swollen a little and ached, though it really hadn’t been a serious injury.
“Get injured and then are a liability in protecting what you are paid for further. No no, I can’t run my business like this.”
Dwalin’s fists clenched in his knuckledusters, the well-worn leather creaking dangerously.
“I have always done my work despite anything that came in my way. You can not do this.”
Tulek’s gaze flicked over Dwalin’s thunderous face and his clenching fists, enough to make most Dwarves nervous. Tulek did not flinch away though. He worked with many warriors, some more hot-headed than Dwalin, and all of those sell-swords and young soldiers had sought him out because they needed the pay more than they wanted to risk trouble. Besides, some of the guards outside with their wares were looking towards the little office now, a bit concerned but ready to intervene, despite all of them being on good terms with Dwalin.
Dwalin’s hands eased back into a relaxed position. It was just not worth it. The brief spark of anger lapsed just as soon as he had appeared, returning Dwalin to his usual state of quiet affability he had taken on too long ago.
The quick change back to this attitude pacified Tulek at least.
“Fine then. You have always been one of my best and most reliable guards. I’ll overlook that last little mistake.”
He moved to his stone desk and rummaged in the drawers briefly before he pulled out a handful of coins. He dropped those into Dwalin’s hand and crossed something off on his notebook.
“The usual amount then. Go have a drink or something to calm down.”
He made a dismissive hand gesture and walked out to oversee whether all of his wares were packed on the ponies correctly. Dwalin simply stared at the gold coins in his hand. It really wasn’t much, but enough to not want it to be cut from the already low pay Tulek was giving him.
Perhaps he ought to use those coins to go to a tavern again, get sauced enough to forget what he had been up to the day before or to wake up in an unfamiliar alley. Shanked most likely, with his belongings gone. It’d be a waste of both money and booze on such a jaded warrior as him. Best to do what he always did, and save the money for his family and go distract himself in different ways.
*
The people living in the town Dwalin had settled in had a healthy respect for the forests so close to their home. While the trees were sparse and short on the slopes it did not take too long of a walk to end up in a forest.
Dwarves travelled through it on paths, or ventured in to hunt or gather if the need arose, but few liked to stay for longer than the day’s hours, and few liked going there too often. There was the reasonable fear of encountering wild animals in packs or being attacked by an angered boar, but there also was some of the unknown lurking there.
Some children would scare younger siblings by insisting that one could find Goblins in between the trees, and Dwalin knew for sure that this wasn’t true. They had made certain of it.
The talk the adult Dwarves kept up was less easy to dismiss. Demons and spirits of the forest that could be slighted by things no Dwarf would consider insulting, ghosts and creatures that did not wish to be disturbed in the twilight of the trees too much.
Most of the stories were old folk’s tales, superstition and an unease of the world outside that was so unkind to Dwarves whenever it could be. Dwalin wasn’t one to dismiss all of them entierly. Everyone knew that the forests themselves were wary of Dwarves more than of others, running back to the days of their creation when the Maker’s Green Lady created means to protect her children from those of her husband.
Though Dwalin doubted the spirits would bother all that much with Dwarves who didn’t chop and burn down threes at will. Since all of them respected the forest Dwalin saw no reason for vengeful spirits to be a problem.
Despite all the town’s Dwarves thought of it, Dwalin liked the forest. It was peaceful and he could spend hours there. Just as today, after leaving Tulek’s warehouse.
It did not cost him any coins to just sit on the grass and stare out over the treetops further down the mountain slope. He only had to bring food or water, so that he would not need to return for it, and then walk for about half an hour until there was no trace of anything Dwarvish or Manish at that. He could just be alone with the sounds of birds and wind.
The comfort he took from it had shamed Dwalin at first, for what Dwarf would ever feel a panic or numbness painful enough to force them out onto the surface for relief? In the first years after the war in the Misty Mountains deep and narrow tunnels had disturbed Dwalin, the sight of stone above him had made him think of drums and screams in the distance each time before he could catch himself and feel that this was not the same rock as near Khazad-Dûm.
By now Dwalin just accepted that it was the quiet he loved so much, the few hours he could think of nothing and have a gentle steady noise fill his head to keep any thoughts away.
The brief lingering anger he’d felt when Tulek had tried to pay him less was gone even before Dwalin had reached his favourite spot to rest. There wasn’t much he wanted to do about this anyway. Even a small pay was good if it was steady, and a steady pay was more important than pride to provide for a family, so Dwalin contented himself with it.
He sat quietly, watching the treetops move. He’d taken a flask of water with him, and a bit of bread with small smoked sausages to snack on for supper. He ate and drank and looked out at nothing, his axes lying next to him untouched, and time passed steadily and near unnoticed as the sun moved lower across the sky. An entire hour must have passed before Dwalin saw the fox.
It was just sitting on one of the rocks a few feet away from Dwalin, perched on it without even trying to make itself look smaller. Golden eyes were meeting Dwalin’s fearlessly when the Dwarf looked.
Dwalin stared back at it, wondering why the wild animal was just watching him like that, staying even as it had so obviously been spotted. It still had its winter pelt and lazily and slowly wagged its big bushy tail.
“Hello,” Dwalin tried, feeling daft for speaking to an animal like that.
The fox’s ears twitched and it rose to hop down from the rock, walking towards Dwalin as if he wasn’t a big and potentially dangerous Dwarf. It did stop just a little bit away from him, but also right in front of the hand that still held some of the leftover sausages. Dwalin chuckled at the realization. Of course, it had smelled something delicious and wanted it.
He slowly moved his hand towards the fox and place one of the sausages as close to it as he dared, lest it got spooked away. But the fox didn’t mind the hand moving towards him either, just picked up the food and quickly devoured it as Dwalin watched. Once that was done the fox looked up at Dwalin again, waiting.
“What, you want more?” he asked, raising his eyebrow and holding up another sausage.
Before he could decide whether to give it to the fox or no it had already crossed the last bit of distance between them and snatched one out of his hand. Dwalin laughed as the fox ate that one as well, and placed the last few he had in front of it too.
He watched the fox eat, amused by its boldness. The fox had a beautiful fur, red and brown and with a fiery glow in the afternoon sun. Dwalin wondered whether it was as soft as it looked.
Despite knowing it was a bad idea he reached out carefully, expecting to be bitten or scratched for this, but the fox did not move away as the big hand touched his back. It had the softest fur Dwalin had ever touched.
Feeling a little bolder Dwalin started to stroke the fox, trying to be as gentle as he could with his too rough hand. It was a calming feeling to stroke the little animal, over and over along his back and once or twice over the big fluffy tail.
When the fox had finished the last of the sausages it turned its head to look up at Dwalin, and its eyes narrowed as if in a smile.
A tiny pink tongue darted out to lick over Dwalin’s fingers and then the fox twisted away and loped on towards the forest as quickly as it had appeared.
Dwalin sighed and shook his head. Had he really spent so much time sitting around these parts that the forest animals had grown used to him?
The food was gone and the sun was setting, so Dwalin picked up his axes and stood to return to the settlement without looking towards the forest again.
*
The trees whispered with the birds’ gossip all around them as Nori leaned against a tree and watched the tall warrior go.
“You shouldn’t have bothered that Dwarf,” his brother’s voice chided him from behind. Dori had never understood what fun was, but Nori didn’t let that stop him.
“I haven’t, I just wanted to take a closer look for once,” Nori clarified.
Dori sighed and shook his head. The old fox had never liked interfering with the Men who didn’t bother them in their forest, and there were only few Dwarves that ventured near enough.
Nori watched the Dwarf walk away and patted his paws against the tree’s bark in thought. He would return to his home now, and stay there all on his own. Unless he was off to guard something. Nori had been interested in that one ever since he started noticing him sitting near the forest doing nothing. He’s watched him in his settlement as well, quiet and invisible as smoke as he lingered on the rooftops to watch him. The Dwarf stayed so close to his home, so of course Nori wanted to see some of his as well. He didn’t know his name, but he knew him as well as one could with such a quiet and solitary Dwarf.
“I like him,” Nori said slowly.
Behind him Dori groaned.
“I think I will go live in that settlement for a while,” Nori went on.
“You can’t be serious! For what? Your curiosity?”
Nori grinned at his brother and watched as Dori squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head again. Good old Dori, never wanted to know the details of what his little brother was up to.
And Nori was curious too, besides very much liking being a Dwarf every once in a while. This time he’d have someone specific to watch out for when walking among Dwarves as one of them. That big rough hand had felt so good on his fur, had been so gentle as the scarred warrior treated him cautiously as if not to scare him. How nice would those hands feel if he were to touch Nori as a Dwarf?
“Don’t worry,” Nori told his brother as he watched where the Dwarf had disappeared to, already plotting how to best introduce himself in the little town. “I just want to take a look.”