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Chapter Text

The Line of Durin is proud and unbroken, with generations of Dwarrow scholars keeping careful watch of each addition. The start of the line is, of course, Durin the Deathless, who shall be born again into his own line. From Nain, from Thrain, from Thorin, from Gloin, from Oin, from Nain, the path splits. On the Kingly side, Dain, to Thror, to Thrain, to Thorin and of Dis, to Fili and lesser Kili. From the lesser of Nain, his brother Borin, to Farin, to Fundin, to Balin and lesser Dwalin. This was what had become of the Line of Durin the Deathless, still strong, despite the great exile from Erebor.

Life in Ered Luin (known in the common tongue under the Blue Mountains), lacked the splendor and the richness that the Longbeard Dwarrow had known for generations. Work was of coal, of blacksmithing, and of merchants. Thorin II, now Thorin Oakenshield, held the title of King, but bore no crown, no mountain, and no riches, his only asset the loyalty of his people. Life held a steady course, and for what it lacked in excitement, it made up for in comfort. Dis of Thrain, of Thror, sister of Thorin Oakenshield, had wed the architect Vili and birthed two sons, Fili, and lesser Kili. Thorin took no wife, his priorities lay in his people's health, and hence, Fili was made Crown Prince. The Line of Durin remained unbroken.

Husband to Dis, son of Ve, Vili, was killed very young, so young that his children couldn't even speak his name. Vili carried the craft of his father, an architect of most high standing for the Durin House. He led a team of miners, engineers, and architects in the creation of a new city, carved into the heart of the Blue Mountains. A miscalculation on the engineer’s behalf caused scaffolding to collapse, followed by dense stone. Vili was trapped for three days before his passing, calling out to his Yasthûna. The rocks were precarious, and could have wounded more Dwarrow, had they been moved. This was a black time in the life of Dis, and she often traveled to the entrance of the rock to plead for her husband's life back. A memorial is built to him there, and in the common tongue it reads: “Vili, son of Ve, Husband of Dis, Father of Fili and to lesser Kili. Durin the Deathless Owes Thanks to Him.”

After the death of her husband, Dis daughter of Thrain, of Thror, made home with her brother, Thorin Oakenshield. Dis’s children were raised as if they were Thorin’s own, and he held the three of them sacred to his heart.

Nain’s lesser line was essential to the life built in the Blue Mountains. Though Fundin had perished in the Battle of Moria, his sons Balin and Dwalin found themselves to be in confidence with Thorin Oakenshield himself. Balin was called upon often for all matters contractual and political, a sort of diplomat, if that is what the Dwarrow would call it. When he did not report to his King, he ran a farm of goats, making profit off of the wool and the livestock, and many goats of his were bred for chariot-life. On the other hand, Dwalin, born with unnatural strength and the countenance of a battle ram, was a professional warrior. He was relied upon for escort work, and for the protection of the Longbeards' offspring. Dwalin took pride in that work, for many years, until he was called upon to escort goods through the Shire.

He lingered there in the months of strawberries and birdsong, and then for the months after that. Letters came, where he addressed his absence and shared little information, saying nothing other than his health and mind were well. Balin expressed no concern of his younger brother’s vagueness. Dwalin never shared anything that wasn’t necessary. But then the letters stopped, for almost a year. Thorin Oakenshield, the King himself, nearly left Ered Luin to go search for Dwalin, but there was no need, for the warrior was soon spotted on the path home.

Balin, who had sworn that nothing would shock him after the Dragon, failed himself. For in the arms of his brother, there lay a child.

Chapter Text

Dwarrow Holidays are held in the highest regard. Whilst the race of men hold their festivities and exhibitions around a yearly cycle, the Dwarrow hold the advantage of a longer life, hence, their holidays follow a quarter of a century rotation. It is deplorable for a Dwarrow to go amiss during their traditions, excepting for reasons of grief. Even those who are sick are well accommodated, for a moment of attendance. For all the secrecy and distance between Dwarrow, their customs ensure strength in connection for themselves and their children.

The first of these grand events is Durin’s Day. As the dwarven New Year, this is the sole festival celebrated on a yearly basis. Durin’s Day was officially proclaimed by Durin the Deathless, and is named in his honor. This day is focused on small, immediate family member gatherings. A meal is prepared, serving the best picks of the fall harvest, and usually includes a spit roasted pig as a centerpiece. Families living within a day or two’s journey are usually gathered, but no large hike is required of distant cousins.

The second of the celebrations is the Fire Festival, as translated into the common tongue. Every five years, each of the seven dwarven houses hosts a grand festival that showcases the craftsmanship of the Dwarrow. The most skilled of smiths, embroiderers, weavers, glassblowers, architects, engineers, scientists, distillers, toymakers, brewers, cooks, and so on are called upon to produce the best of their work. Achievements are awarded to these craftsmen in ingenuity, usually by the Monarch, or the Elder (retired) Head of each Guild. This event attracts many merchants, for new and fresh goods to commission and profit from. A rotation of the displays ensures that even the busiest of Dwarrow may spend at least a day of this two-week exhibition to simply enjoy the brilliant work of their race. All of this skill is accompanied by each and every attendee wearing the most elaborate designs and fabrics they may afford. A constant, central fire is always burning, and the usual timing of this event aligns with the men and elven Midsommer, so clothing, while grander in appearance, also becomes scarcer. Dancing is practically required, and accompanied by the best musicians, the most awe inducing fireworks, and a never-ending feast. Every Dwarrow works this festival in some way, and every Dwarrow spends their time enjoying it.

Every decade, a coming of age activity takes place called the Rites of Strength. Only immediate family is required to attend, but many Uncles, Aunts, Cousins, and Grandparents come for the viewings. This event takes the course of a month, and ends with a ceremony. Once young Dwarrow men reach the age of 50, they are tested for their endurance, determination, courage, wit, and power, in the form of sporting matches, games, and combat. The Young will never be exiled for lacking qualities, but the strong will be recognized and awarded with gold in the final ceremony. Elder Representatives from each of the seven Dwarf families are in charge of judging those who deserve distinction, and the competitions include activities such as sparring, games of *Ruck, disc throwing, fisticuffs, caber toss, logic games, wrestling, so on and so forth. Many opportunities for growth are presented to these younglings, as Masters of craft will offer apprenticeships, Heads of Houses may craft contracts of betrothals, and of course, families receive bragging rites for their sons. Dwarrow girls often refrain from these Rites of Strength, as in their culture, they are already considered perfect and appealing, with no requirement to prove themselves. It is common for Noble families to announce the betrothals of their sons at the end of each month, as most have been promised to their spouses from a very young age. Usually, the young Dwarrow women approve of the announcement. There have only been two recorded cases of complete and utter rejection of the marriage. One woman loved another Dwarrow, and families will not stand in the way of that. The other, her intended suitor, had failed so spectacularly in the logic games that she vowed the only way she would accept him would be for him to go through a complete re-education. He did, and after another 50 years, they wed.

On Birthdays, Weddings, and more.

Weddings are considered some of the greatest holidays in Dwarrow culture, as their population is comparatively little to men and elves, and on top of that, only one Dwarrowdam exists for every three Dwarrow man. Betrothals are often announced at the age of 50, with the ceremony taking place at the age of 90. Without betrothal, Engagements typically last for 5-10 years, with much care in the Courtship. Weddings take place over the course of two weeks, starting with the signage of the contract and the feast, then the actual ceremony the week after, which is followed by another feast that lasts for a week. The couple usually only attend the first night of the last feast, and it is customary for that couple to leave their work for the rest of the season, as to fully know their spouse. There is much to do contractually with all the betrothals, engagements, and weddings, but that is our summary.

Birthdays are not quite as impressive for Dwarrow as they are for Men. The actual day of Birth is hugely celebrated to welcome in a new member of the family, and for the first ten years of that Dwarrow’s life, a small feast is held for their honor. Afterwards, the only large birthday ceremonies are held on the dwarrow’s 50th, 90th, 100th, 150th, and 200th, and 250th year. Any living after the 250th is celebrated how the Dwarrow sees fit. Afterall, for creatures that regularly live up to 300 years, constant birthday’s can grow tiring.

The last of the major celebrations is the most grand. Meragel, the Feast of all Feasts, is held every 25 years. For an entire month, a grand community feast is held in each of the seven dwarven families. Every cousin, no matter how distant, is accounted for, and well prepared to help. The preparation alone takes weeks, and each family is expected to help serve/clean throughout this time. The feast takes place within the Monarch’s city, and travel is expected for those who live a great distance away. If any Dwarrow are not accounted for, without reason, they are considered disowned from the family. In recent times, the only story heard of a Dwarrow absent took the form of Nori, son of Dwarrowdam Ri, of the Longbeards. As a very distant relation of Thorin Oakenshield, this story made some notoriety, though Nori’s family ties were later mended through the forgiveness of his half-brother Dori. It was discovered that Nori had been imprisoned in the village of Bree for five years on charges of theft. Not honorable, but it was still accepted as an excuse. Family is incredibly important to the Dwarrow, no Dwarf in their right mind would miss Meragel, and Dwalin son of Fundin was no excuse.

A wee babe in the arms of Dwalin son of Fundin was a sight many had never considered. During his Rites of Strength, Fundin had announced no betrothal for his lesser son. Fundin’s house was expected to die off, which was no great pain in Dwarrow culture, as it was considered simply unlucky that no daughters were born, and no Dwarrowdams available. The only truly important lines were that of Royalty. Such a shock was when Dwalin came to the house of his brother, that Balin asked if the child was stolen. Dwalin’s response was only that this was, without a doubt, his own flesh and blood, his one and only child, and now niece to Balin. It took three days of careful questions to discover in full how this came about.

Dwalin, while escorting, had stopped at a Hobbit’s place, called the Greendragon. He made light talk with a woman by the name of Donnamira Took, who was of Noble birth for Hobbits. Dwalin had left to finish his escort to Bree, but could not shake Donnamira from his mind. She was quite tall and strong, for the Hobbits, traits which were attributed to her ancestor, Bullroarer Took. In all of Dwalin’s years, he had never made such easy conversation, never had such a lovely companion, and had never considered himself to be smitten, until then. On his return from Bree, he left his party traveling (which was no crime, as they held no goods to protect now), and diverted back to Hobbiton. Such a strange sight to see, a fearsome dwarf amongst the crowd there, but the Tooks were odd for Hobbits, and welcomed Dwalin as a guest. Within mere months (unbelievably rushed to Dwalin, but quite acceptable for Hobbits), Dwalin and Donnamira were wed, and soon expecting. Such a strange combination, and much talked about in town, but Dwalin built for Donnamira a house in old Tuckborough, a hilly space that was perfectly suited for both Dwarrow and Hobbit.

Donnamira had never considered the risks for her childbirth. She thought herself more than capable of the task, as she was well-fed and sturdy, but as her pregnancy progressed, she began to feel quite ill. Hobbit midwives had no experience in this matter of dwarf and hobbit blood, but what they could conclude was that such a mixture of races was too much for a Hobbit’s womb, and that Donnamira was quite literally being drained of her life. What energy the couple had been using to prepare the welcoming of their child, had now become diverted to simply trying to keep Donnamira alive. The days leading up to the birth were horrifying for Dwalin, son of Fundin, as Donnamira remained bedridden, pale, and retching. Once in labor, it became perfectly clear that these days would be Donnamira’s last. Tanta Hornblower, a midwife and wet-nurse, insisted that the child must be cut out, just to give one of them a chance to live. The mother screamed for release, overpowering the pleas of her husband, and it was done.

Donnamira lived for three days more afterwards (shockingly long, based on Tanta’s predictions), and used the last of her strength to name her daughter Clove. She urged Dwalin to return to the Blue Mountains after their child was old enough. Following Donnamira’s death, there was no time for Dwalin to grieve. Tanta kept Clove alive as a wet nurse for a year, until the half-breed was old enough to handle the mixture of cooked and ground fat with goats milk. Dwalin, who had planned to arrive at Meragel to introduce his wife and young family, arrived two weeks before the feast with his sorrow. From what Balin could see, the only small happiness that stirred in his brother came from his little daughter.

Chapter Text

‘You are not serious,’ [Thorin] the King said, ‘In all of the years that have passed between us, marriage, let alone a child, was never a wish of Dwalin. I should think he stole the child, if I had no knowledge of his true character. The time passed cannot be more than three and a half years, how can it be true?’

‘That is the catch, you see,’ [Balin] replied, ‘The child is not fully Dwarrow. My brother wed a Halfling, one of those folks from the Shire. I believe that his wife, now belated, was of larger stature than most of her kind. She carried the child for no more than two years, from what I can make out. He wishes to speak little of it, poor man. I have never seen my brother in such a state of misery.’

Smoke from pipe-weed filled the room, swirling hazy circles over piles of dried fruits, excess flours, salts, and anything else that could be collected for the feast to come. The creaking of the chair in the corner sounded as Dis nursed her lesser son. Her greater son, Fili, was asleep in another room.

[Dis] spoke, ‘But the child, how old is she? Surely naught but a yearling? Has she no milk to feed?’

‘Nay Lady, her nurse’s milk became dry. Dwalin is slowly weening the babe, but for now she drinks cow fat and marrow with goats milk.’

‘But the journey he took! He must have traveled well over a month. How could that have been safe, no babe should face the weather like that until at least their second year. Was there truly no other wet nurse amongst the Shire-folk, they that breed like rabbits?’

‘M’Lady I know not. Once more, my brother hardly speaks of the matter. I can only assume that the others of her kind refused to suckle a half-dwarrow. But no matter, the lass is strong enough, and she survived what weather Dwalin brought her through. I wish not to trouble you with these things M’Lady, not when your years have been hard.’

‘Worry not for me, my grief is mine own. For what reasons Dwalin chooses not to speak of his troubles are the same reasons I wish mine weren’t a cause to treat me softly. This matter is most important, many yearlings die from lack of milk, no matter the race. Goatsmilk and marrow are very well, but I have a child almost weened and milk to spare. You will bring your brothers-daughter here.”

There was a sputtering from both men, and Thorin straightened. ‘Dis, the child is well enough, look to your own children, you need no other burden.’

‘M’Lady, that is a most generous offer, one I must decline. Another child to ween is very tiring, and as your Brother said, you need no other burden. In addition, Dwalin would not part with his child so easily, he-‘

‘Oh no, never would I ask that he part from his child. And his daughter no less! What a joy to have a little dame. No, Dwalin will stay in the lower room while I nurse the yearling. She will grow her strength here, until she can be weened properly. And have you not had many goat-kids this year? Balin, if you were to be in constant worry for your brother and niece, your livestock would struggle. I say that until the Babe can walk, she will remain here.’

‘Sister-‘

‘And that is final. Balin, you will go and tell Dwalin at once. Prepare his packing, I will expect him at the door within an hour.’

‘M’Lady! How sudden you make such a decision. This is-‘

‘The child will not be strong without proper milk. Please Balin, at once, make haste for your nieces sake!’

The poor man looked to his King for his opinion, but clearly, there was no battle to fight. None that could be won, at least. Balin son of Fundin rose and left, fiddling his sleeves on his way out.

And so Clove was moved to Dis’s care. She nursed alongside the lesser son Kili until he was weened, at the three year mark. Dwarrowdams were seldom born into the line of Durin, and the Princess had never assumed she would birth a girl. Clove delighted Dis for the next two years, and if she had been in charge of tracking the Durin lineage, Clove would have appeared as her daughter. To say this is not to diminish the love Dis carried for her sons.

Dwalin son of Fundin was relieved to remove Clove to the house and farm of his brother. He felt uneasy to live in the house of his King. Grateful, of course, for he saw Clove grow in strength and size within the first two weeks of living there, but uneasy all the same. He had made himself as useful as possible, and took his dinners in his room or away with Balin, much to the dismay of Princess Dis. But now, he could simply be. Dwain's work had changed. While he still trained new escorts and warriors, the dwarrow refused to leave his daughters side for his work. Instead, he settled with Balin’s farm. They reared goats, for their milk, for their meat, but mostly, for racing.

Balin was an old champion of the dwarven goat races. Whilst men charged on horseback, Dwarves were well-versed with boar and goat, especially for battle. Many dwarrow children sought thrill from mutton-busting, and when grown, chariots, weapons, battle rams, and elaborate tracks were added. When Erebor was prime, Balin enjoyed distinction as a master charioteer. Once the exhile began, and they settled in the Blue Mountains, Balin took to raising Goats for income. He was successful, and made a comfortable living. Buyers would come every five years during the Fire Festival, and many of Balins goats can be found racing all over Middle Earth, from the dwarrow settlements of Bree to the Iron Hills in the East. Now that Clove was apart of his life, he planned to raise her in the business, with the help of his brother. Life was changed for the sons of Fundin, now they had something greater than themselves to care for.

Chapter Text

Racing Goats is a large part of the lives of Dwarrow. Naturally, the Great Rams they use for war are useful elsewhere, for hauling materials up steep slopes and for traversing the mountains Dwarrow call home, but the hearty people do enjoy a good show as well, and the Racing Goats are employed in that task.

To race a goat is no easy task. A simple track is well enough. But add onto that a competition with ten other charioteers, an endless maze of dwarrow-made mechanical obstacles, capturing opposing charioteers banners, and the right to pursue combat, the races, while endlessly entertaining, become extremely cut-throat and dangerous. Of course, there are boundaries to these games, but they are few, and mainly consist of no intentional harm of the goats, and no aim to kill other Darrow, which, though rare, occurs. The races are known to be accompanied by gambling, which is a surprise to no one. Fundin, son of Farin, father to Balin and Dwalin, had made no small fortune off of running the gambling dens for the races of Erebor. Being around the mess of it, Balin was naturally inclined towards the races, and in his youth spent much time among the riders and goats, before debuting his own chariot and team. Balin's goats were the sturdy breed of the Grey Mountains, stocky, strong, and not particularly fast, for he ran the race of endurance, and quickly became a winning rider. His success only grew, and the young dwarrow found himself inventing mounted weapons for his chariots, to aid his success, weapons that could wipe out flags from halfway across the track. Though Balin pursued a career in politics, and was in close confidence with the Prince Thrain, he was much more recognized for his work with the Goats.

After Erebor's fall, it was only natural that Balin should go back to the occupation of his youth. He raced for some time in Bree, earning what coin he could in the now meager betting pools, before removing to the Blue Mountains with his lesser brother. The charioteer was no longer as strong as he was in youth, and made the decision to retire his reigns before injury broke him. Still, the dwarrow found ways to be active in life he loved. Rearing the rams were nearly as difficult as racing them, but Balin once again found success, and soon, he held steady business, and sooner still, his brother and niece joined in.

'But Uncle, how is he ever to survive?' Clove was sat cross-legged on the ground, cradling the tiny, wretched animal. How terrible, to be left alone in the autumn-chilled pasture, crying out for a mother that rejected its pleas for warmth and food.

[Balin] responded, 'It won't survive, my dear. I'm sorry to say, but for a kid to be rejected is for it to die. Animals can become cruel, and if they wish to not care for their young, then they will not.'

'But I am not cruel, not like an Animal. I want him to live, and to grow!'

'Clove, I know you wish it, and you may cradle the kid until it passes, but its mother will not return.'

'So I will become his mother.'

The dwarrow sighed, and prepared himself for the battle to come. He cursed the day Clove learned to argue, for now she possessed all the stubbornness of her father, with all the sweet talk of a young dame, a combination that made for fights nearly impossible to win. In the twenty years that Clove had been in his life, he had never found greater joy, and yet, had never known true peace.

'It is much more costly to raise the kid than it would be to lose it. It is not practical for our business, gulmalûm, we would lose much.'

'And he will lose his Life! That is far worse a fate, if you ask me, and I could not bear to see it happen. I will care for him, as his mother, and I shall call him Otis.'

'No, Clove, you shall not.' The red dwarrow was stern and his tone was final.

Three hours later, Dwalin son of Fundin, returned home to find his daughter and brother nursing the sick little goat, Otis. Clove had made up a wee bed of straw at the foot of her own, and, with the guidance of her Uncle, was feeding the goat from an old moleskin pouch.

'Are we to sleep in the pastures and the goats in our beds?' [Dwalin} asked, taking in the scene with a wrinkle of the nose.

'Only the one, brother, none else. That was made clear to the pebble.'

'Was it? I believe we discussed at dawn that Clove was not to be near the abandoned kid, for you have no backbone against her, none at all. You have failed.'

'It's good for a Goat-rearer to raise at least one rejected kid. It will help the lass appreciate how much work will be needed for the task, before she considers caring for the next.'

'Will it now?' Dwalin had shaken off his coat and boots, and walked across the cold tile to sit aside the rest of his family. 'And Clove, you agree to burden yourself with all the work of the kid? To care for it day by day, and night by night, even when you grow weary and angry?'

'Of course, Adad. I am his mother, and Otis will grow up to be very happy.'

Clove's father groaned, 'Balin, you've let her name the wretch already? We are done for, she will never give it up.'

'I should like to see you try to stay this madness. You have surrendered for far greater matters than this,'

'Otis is family now, don't speak as if you wish him gone!' [Clove] said, huffing her chest.

[Dwalin] reached his arms around her for an embrace, 'Aye lass, there's no getting rid of it, not now. Go out into the sun and play with the beast.'

The young dwarrowdame detached the drained moleskin from the kids mouth and tossed it aside, scooping up the bleating goat and dashing out of the door. The greater brother Balin sighed and began picking up after his niece, taking the moleskin to the wash bin and clearing out the remains of milk. 'How fared your work today?' [Balin} asked, turning the moleskin inside out. 'Were the children as hopeless as the time before?'

'Nay, the greater Fili grows more sure of himself. He wishes to do Thorin proud, that one. Kili, however, must learn to focus. The lad is always off in his head, and he couldn't focus if it would save his life.'

'Well, he's only twenty, and barely can hold his axe above his head. Time will show that he is Durin's folk. How fares their Mother?'

'Well enough. Anxious for news of Clove.' Dwalin rose to his feet, and looked out the door in the direction of Clove. She was frolicking around with the kid, doting on it and speaking to it in words it would never understand. He smiled after her, until his face soured. 'There is more that she asked. She and Thorin. They spoke to me after the lads went off to wash. They wish to have a formal meeting, with the four of us.'

'Whatever for?'

Dwalin cleared his throat, and the words seemed to try to force themselves back down, before he found the strength to express them.

'I believe they intend to draft a betrothal contract. It seems Dis's wish to arrange a marriage of one of her sons to Clove.'

Chapter Text

The dwarrow-folk seldom wed before the age of 90, which is well-known. With a longer stay on Middle Earth, the first century of their life is devoted to their education and craft, whether it be through an apprenticeship or in the scholars lair. Despite that, is quite common for families to plan betrothals for their children quite early on, especially for the young dwarrow-dames. While the race of men trade daughters for their own profit, Dwarrow plan betrothals to ensure their daughter's security and protection, should any ill-fate befall their father. Of course, the daughters have final say and approval of the suitor who is to marry them, but parents work hard to line up a complimentary match early on. 

Dwarrow-men have no certain promise for marriage, but a Dwarrow-dame is almost certain of a choice of husbands from birth. No dwarrow-dame is left husbandless, save by her own choice. Like many dwarrow-men, some dame's have no desire to wed, far too immersed in their craft for emotional dealings, and additionally, there are a few dwarrow-dames who are jealous, and refuse to wed anyone they do not desire (often times men devoted to their craft, or men who are devoted to their wife). It makes for an unsavory situation for the population of the dwarrow, the lack of available dames are evident. A solution was made to help those few eager dwarrow-men who wished a wife when none were available, and this was the addition that two dwarrow-men of similar rank in birth, skill, and heart can be promised to one dwarrow-dame, with her approval. While the relationship can be sometimes envious, it has success in many families, such as the Brothers Ri. The Eldest son Dori was born from one of Ri's husbands, while her lesser sons Nori and Ori were born from her other husband. With a population in decline, a tradition of two husbands for one dame is perfectly agreeable, especially when it leads to rare children. This is why the race of stone celebrate the union of a match with days of feasting at a time, and the birth of a child for weeks. 

Once a child reaches the age of twenty, it is acceptable for families to begin plotting out potential matches, as children begin to show much more personality. A fifteen page long contract is created, laying out the boundaries of the potential union, the outcome if the dame does not desire the match, and the dowry's promised for both families. Children are kept in total secrecy about these documents, until at least the age of 50, when the dwarrow boys go through their trials to become full men. At the Rites of Strength, it is common for families to submit their documents for announcements, and the matches made will be approved, renounced, or simply 'taken into consideration' by the Dwarrow-dame. Nothing must be completely approved yet, for the men must then work for the courtship of their potential wife. Courtship lasts for decades, up until the ages of 80-100, when the bride is ready for marriage, and the Couple together ready in mind and body for the potential responsibility of a child. 

It is a very long and devoted process to complete a marriage, and the investment is great on both families.

"You are incorrigible, Brother." The Dame Dis was sat beside Oakenshield, whilst Dwalin and Balin sat across the great table. The children were taken into the care of the distant cousin Gloin for the next month, and the young princes's Fili and Kili were tasked with helping to renovate Gloin's walls to welcome his future child. Clove had taken the goat Otis with her.

"I am looking out for the best interests of all parties." [Thorin] replied, "There is the matter of an heir, and Clove is not a full-dwarf. To expect a child of Durin from her would be cruel to suggest, particularly because of her Mother's death." Dwalin straightened in his chair, a hard look passing through his face.

"I am in agreement. 'Mira was split open to bring Clove into the world. I will not think of our daughter carrying the burden of an heir, and falling to the same fate. I will forbid it."

This conversation had taken the course of several hours already, over several days. Dis was of the opinion that Clove and Fili should be betrothed, as she believed their personalities were very compatible, and was already certain of the protective nature that Fili felt for the young dame. But she was out-numbered three to one, as apparently the most important thing for a betrothal of the Durin's was the heir that should come of it. 

"And why should there be an urge for an heir, from Fili?" [Dis] responded, "Kili will be inclined to wed a dame, I am sure of it, and his child would still be an heir of Durin's line."

"Because Fili is the crowned Prince, M' lady. To take away the chance to raise his son to the crown would be unfair." [Balin] spoke. 

"And is it not 'unfair' that I should not be raising my son to the crown? That the brother I loathe in this moment should take my son away each day for his studies? It indeed is, but I am content with it, as would Fili be, for he has his father's temperament and soft heart."

Dwalin placed his tankard on the table with more force than necessary, "But there is more, Lady. Are you willing to expose both Clove and Fili to the ridicule that would face them, should they be wed as King and Queen someday? Sure now, there is no harsh objection to my noble daughter Clove, the Half-breed. But to have Clove, the Half-breed Queen of the Longbeards, perhaps someday the Half-breed Queen under the Mountain? No one would accept it. We can't even tell if she will grow a beard. I will not sign any agreement that promises to mock my daughter for the rest of her life."

"Clove is a perfectly passing Dwarrow-Dame! She grows just the same as the others, perhaps only a bit smaller. But nothing completely out of the ordinary. She has your height and strength to thank for that, Dwalin. I highly doubt there would be anything biological to cause mockery."

"You fool yourself, Sister." [Thorin] replied, "For even if she does grow to an acceptable size, she will still not be a proper Dwarrow. You know this, and so will all those who would be subject to her. It would turn to a miserable life, even if Fili and Clove are compatible in their love."

A long silence stretched out on the table. Dis knew in her heart that even a happy marriage between her son Fili and her almost-daughter Clove could sour quickly, if they were to be exposed to the pressure of the people.

[Balin] cleared his throat, "What of Kili?"

"What of Kili?" [Dwalin] replied.

"M 'lady, we know it is your dearest wish to have Clove as your full daughter, and indeed, despite our objections to Fili, we wish that Clove have a happy marriage to a fine suitor. So, I ask, what of Kili? They are compatible as well, no? Kili will always follow wherever she goes, and Clove will always join in on his fun. Are they not also suitable for one another? There would be no pressure for Clove to birth an heir at least, not if Fili is available for a Dame from another Noble line."

"Yes, that may work" The King responded eagerly, mostly to divert his sister's stubbornness to this new idea, "They would be happy together, with child or no, and so long as Clove is not a Queen, I doubt the Longbeard's would object her place as royalty. What say you, Dwalin?"

The warrior looked skeptical to promise his daughter to anyone, but this was indeed more appealing than promising her womb to the Line of Durin. 

"I am... Agreeable to discussion."

Balin clapped his hands together, and dipped his pen in the inkwell.

Chapter Text

"Adad, why did my Amad die?"

This question was the one that Dwalin hated the most. He could not bear to tell his little jewel that she was the cause of her mother's death, yet Clove would probe again and again, never satisfied with the half-truths her Father gave. At twenty and five years of age, the Warriors daughter had began to notice that all the other children (though there were only dozens in the Blue Mountain settlement) would go home to their mothers, would be cared for by their mothers, and confide in their mothers. The Dwarf understood that his daughter would long for her own.

"Adad, was she very different from us? Kíli said that she wasn't normal, and that is why I donna have strength like him. But Kíli was only born a year before me, so how could he know? And, I don't like it when he talks about my Amad. He is very rude sometimes."

"Lass, if Kíli ever talks about your Amad to you, tell me. He hasn't the faintest idea of what is what, so don't you listen to him." [Dwalin] spoke. He noted that Kíli was to shovel goat dung on the 'morrow. "And your Amad was perfectly normal, and very beautiful and strong, just as you are." Clove studied the rope in her hands, that was pulling Otis along beside them.

"I don't think Amad was normal." A long silence trailed between them. Dwalin was not ready for such a mature conversation with his daughter. He knew she would start noticing her differences more and more, especially now that her feet were clearly far more hairy than anyone else's in Ered Luin. "Balin says she didn't even live here, that she was from one of the lands to the South and East, which doesn't make sense. There aren't any mountains between here and Moria. I checked on the maps!"

"Clove, we shall speak no more of this today,"

"Da-"

"Drive Otis to his stable, now. I will be inside."

Clove stirred up the dirt beneath her, creating blooming clouds of dust in the harsh sun, as she drove her goat away. Dwalin had walked away in a rush, turning his head so his daughter didn't see the tears that flowed from his eyes. He hated that his daughter had to answer for something as basic as her birth, that she had to question herself and him. He could not bring himself to discuss her mother, not yet. Every time the dwarf's thoughts would linger on his late wife, he would find himself loosing his composure, with wet eyes and a red nose. He had been with his wife for less than five years, but those five years would forever be noted as the greatest and most peaceful years of his life. Now his daughter, more than four times as old as the length of years he had known his wife, was in want of answers. 

Dwarrow never re-marry after the death of their spouse. It is considered a downright insult to the love that was shared between a pair. Even with a marriage of mixed race (which was rarely found, and even rarer were children of a mixed race), a dwarrow was expected to live in a state of eternal mourning. Not to say that they could not experience joy or happiness, but it was widely looked down upon for a widowed dwarrow to find excitement in the realm of romance. There is even debate for if a dwarrow should re-marry if they were in a courtship with another who passed, For even the tragic death upon an almost-marriage would still cut a deep whole in a dwarrow heart. 

The dwarf Dwalin had just fortified his expression, when a flash of golden-brown hair appeared in the doorway. 

"Adad, I go to the house of Thorin Oakenshield. I will stay for their supper, if the Lady will have me."

"I'm sure she will, tread carefully my 'ubran." The Warrior had barely said the words before his daughter agreed and was back out of the door. Dwalin sighed and sunk into his chair, staring into the fire and debating on how and when to give his daughter the full truth of her birth.

Clove trotted along with relief. She loathed the awkward air her father would leave her with whenever she asked of her mother, and would find excuses to hurry out of the door to avoid that dreaded silence, even though she brought it upon herself. Now she followed the path to the outskirts of the village. Her Uncle's house was a good mile away from the bustle of community, for Dwarrow were generally displeased with the stink and sound of livestock (even though they benefited greatly from it), but now that Clove had a mind of her own, Dwalin agreed that she should walk the trail herself. Hardly anyone but Dwarrow entered the village, so it was quite safe. 

The young girl's thoughts were now removed from her mother and instead were placed upon her goat. Otis was a strange goat to be sure, much more reclusive than the other ewes and rams. Balin attributed it to his abandonment at birth, a general mistrust for his own kind. Clove thought it was because Otis would much rather be in the nice warm house, rather than the musty old stable. A couple of years ago, Clove had tried letting her pet come back into her bed, but that notion was quickly put to an end. Balin and Dwalin were much less open to compromise on this matter. 

A stone-apple* skittered across Clove's feet, disrupting these thoughts.

"Awh, Fíli! You are no good with your aim!" The apple had already found its way into Clove's hand, and she chucked it towards the old tree where she knew the young princes's were hiding. Her aim was true, and Kíli soon stumbled from behind the foliage, rubbing his forehead. His brother followed with a grin.

"Kíli, you are very rude!" [Clove] spoke, hands on hips. "I ran from my home to play games at your house, and this is how you treat me! How cruel you are, hiding within the bushes."

"I did not throw the apple! That was all Fíli! Why am I to be in trouble?" Kíli had strode to Clove's side and pounded her on the back as a form of embrace. Clove winced but tried not to show her weakness. Fíli was much more gentle. Soon the three were walking into the village, talking of the unfairness of being young and subject to parents wishes. They were joined by several other dwarrow-pebbles, with Dråk from the house of Barin, with Skadi from the house of Taski, and with Yarín from the house of Farín. The three of them began a makeshift game of Ruck in the town's square. 

This game lasted for a good twenty minutes, the dwarrow-folk around them scolded their antics if they got too close. Dråk was best suited to the game, as he was older and larger than the others by a few years, with the first whiskers of his chin poking out from his face. Dråk and Fíli would usually play as opposing captains, with Kíli and Skadi siding with Dråk, and Yarín and Clove siding with Fíli. These other children were of a more noble birth than the other village pebbles, and grew closer in friendship to the prince's due to the closeness of their parents. Taski's grandfather was the leader of the Iron Guild, while Yarín's great-grandmother had made no small fortune with the incredible skill of her weaving (She was one of the few dwarrow in history who mastered the art of spinning gold into thread),  and lastly, Dråk's father was a very well-respected merchant (The same Merchant that had hired Dwalin's escort work years ago). 

"We've won again!" [Skadi] declared, her fist triumphantly raising the ball into the air. 

"Only because Kíli cheated!" [Yarín] objected, getting up from where Dråk had tackled him. Kíli squinted at his friends.

"I NEVER cheat, I just am better at the game! S'not my fault that Clove couldn't tackle me."

"You practically punched her in the face! That's cheating, you're not allowed to hit above the chest!" Clove silently thanked her friend for defending her, and made a note to drop off a wheel of goat's cheese to Yarín's family.

"Yeah Kíli! You pushed me in the face, how could that NOT be a cheat move!"

"Well, that's only because you're not strong, not like a proper dwarf!" The lesser prince retorted, a glint coming into his eyes.

"I am too! You just won't admit you're a cheat!"

"You are not strong, and it's because of your Amad!" [Kili] said. The other children, who had been laughing or celebrating, now fell silent, eagerly awaiting the next line from Kíli. "I snuck into the kitchens very late last night, and then heard my Uncle and Amad talking in the hall, and they said your Amad wasn't a normal dwarf!"

"Don't talk about my Amad, she was perfectly normal, my 'Da said so!"

"Oh really? Well, My Uncle talked about how your Amad was a Halfling! Not a proper dwarf!"

"That's not true!"

"What is a Halfling?" [Skadi] asked.

[Dråk] replied, "My Adad told me about them! They live in the South, and are VERY small. Some are hardly two feet off the ground! And they farm and live in the dirt."

"That's right!" [Kili] gleamed, proud of the attention that his statement was making for him. "They live in the dirt and are very small and NOT strong. Clove's Amad was a Halfling!"

"That is NOT true Kíli!" [Clove] again protested, her voice rising high and anxious, "Adad said that my Amad was completely normal, and strong, and beautiful! I am  a normal dwarf, and so was she!"

This only spurred on Kíli's glee, about having 'caught' out Clove in a lie, "Nope! My Amad said so too! She said that your Amad died when you were born, because she wasn't strong enough to have you. You aren't a proper dwarf, because your Amad wasn't." The other children around them shifted. They knew that it was wrong to take pleasure in information such as this, and Clove had started to sniffle. Kíli sensed that he was becoming unpopular, and now desperately tried to cling to his audience.

"If your Amad was a proper dwarf, then come on and tackle me! Then you can prove you really are a dwarf!" Kili stepped aside into clear space, arms spread wide as an invitation to go after him. Clove blinked back her almost fallen tears and steeled her resolve. She lunged for the lesser prince, with as perfect form as she could manage. But he tricked her, and quickly leaned down to come at the dwobbit full-force. The poor girl ended up flat on her back, her bones aching as Kíli rose in triumph.

"See, see! You can't be a full-dwarf-"

"Shut up Kíli!" Fíli yelled, finally interjecting the scene, "You look a fool, stop making up stories." The other children looked at one another, knowing that there was trouble to come from all of this, and they were planning their escape routes. A soft cry diverted their attentions back to the present.

Clove was crying, large tears welling up in her eyes, and streaming down her red face. She had never felt more embarrassed, and never had been in such pain. Kíli had quite literally knocked the wind out of her, and she could feel welts beginning to swell on her legs and arms. Her cries started small, and slowly grew into frustrated sobs. Gråk offered his hand to her, but she rejected it, getting up despite the pain, and glaring at Kíli through her tears before dashing away. 

"Look what you've done, Kíli! A'lâju Mahal!" Fíli spat at his lesser brother and hurried after Clove, anxious to repair the damage that was done. Hot shame had already started to flood Kíli's face, and he couldn't even find anger in his brother's curse. The other pebbles made their awkward excuses for departure and soon Kíli was left alone with his conscious. He hastened home, hardly saying hello to his Amad before sitting on his bed, knowing that there would be hell to pay for his actions. 

Chapter Text

Clove threw open the door of her Uncles's home, and dashed past her father and his brother as they were preparing their supper of lamb.

Once Clove had reached the age of 24, Dwalin had set about building his daughter her own wing of the house. Balin's home was built into the overhang of a rocky cliff, half in stone, half in air, and suited dwarrow livestock farming perfectly. Dwalin had spent months carefully dissecting a wall of the house, and building Clove's very own chambers halfway into the Skarn rock, and halfway into the sunny fields. Her exterior walls were made from strong white pine, and Dwalin had installed windows that overlooked their garden of herbs. This project was a source of pride for him, especially when Clove loved it so.

These chambers were now where Clove had retreated, slamming the door behind her. Her father was much alarmed, and had just begun to hurry towards her door when Fíli burst through the entrance. The lad ignored the elder dwarves and went straight to Clove's door, pounding on it.

"Clove! Kíli was just telling stories, they hold no truth! You are a proper dwarf, and he's just jealous that everyone prefers you to him!" The only noise from behind Clove's door was continued weeping.

"Fíli!" [Dwalin] said, standing over the boy, "What has happened? What has Kíli done?" The blonde child sputtered a bit, still angry at his brother, but not looking to get him in too much trouble. "Out with it, Boy!" the prince, faced with the wrath of Dwalin, decided that protecting Kíli wasn't so important.

"Kíli said that Amad and Uncle said that Clove wasn't a real dwarf, and Kíli told Clove that to prove that she was, she had to beat him in a tackle, and Kíli won and now Clove is cryin'." The blonde blinked at the Warrior, whose heart had just been broken for his daughter's sake, and turned back towards the door. "Clove truly, Kíli is just a fool, please let me in!"

"No!"' [Clove] replied, voice muffled within her bed-furs. Dwalin looked towards his brother, whose face had become clouded, and opened the door.

Clove lay buried under the quilt that Lady Dís had made for her, and was indistinguishable from her surroundings, save for the messy tangle of her hair. She was crying very hard. Fíli ran to her side and tried to lift the covers, to no avail. "Clove, I promise you he didn't mean it. Your Amad was a dwarf, not a Halfling like he said. He's just stupid. Right, Mister Dwalin? Kíli was just making up stories, like he always does." Fíli looked back up at the Warrior, but the elder made no encouragement to aid Fíli's claims. His jaw was clenched and his stare was hard.

"Up, Clove." [Dwalin] spoke. The cries stopped for a moment as Clove processed this. She had expected her Father to lie with her and comfort her, and tell her Kíli was making things up. "Clove, come on, Up." The girl lifted her head and stared at her father in upset confusion.

"Adad-"

"Up, Clove. We are going to the House of Thorin." Ignoring her protests, and ignoring Fíli's questions, Dwalin looked at Balin and nodded. He had been searching for a time to tell Clove, and now Kíli had forced it. Clove was rubbing her red eyes, and Dwalin spotted the beginnings of a swelling bruise upon her arm. That angered him.

"Clove, Fíli, Now." The two pebbles stumbled out of the door after Dwalin, not daring to protest further.

Dwalin strode the two of them through the village, past the courtyard where the trouble had taken place, and straight in front of the grand house of Thorin II, the entrance carved into the stones by the late Víli son of Ve. The head of the household, a stern old dame named Trina, ushered them in.

"O aye knew there was to be trouble when that young Kíli came home, all red to his ears I swear, and hardly a word to say-"

"Where is Lady Dís?" Dwalin cut of Trina, who now understood that something very severe had taken place.

"I'll fetch her into the hearth-room. Shall I send for our King Thorin as well?"

"Only if he is within these walls." Dwalin replied. Whilst Trina scurried off in her search, Dwalin trudged into the hearth-room, Clove and Fili behind. Poor Clove's tears had almost dried, and now she sat only sniffling. Fíli gazed around anxiously, hoping that whatever punishment Kíli was about to receive, that he would be saved from it. Dwalin said nothing, leaning forward and glaring into the fire. Thorin entered the room first, and Dwalin rose to speak with him.

"What has happened?" The King asked, eyeing his heir and noticing the puffiness of Clove's face.

"We wait for Lady Dís and Kíli for that discussion." [Dwalin] replied. Thorin straightened, and then his eyes fell on Fíli once more, almost accusatory. "Don't mind the greater brother, he was not an aggressor." The Warrior confirmed, and Thorin nodded. An audible sigh of relief escaped the blonde prince. A bustle came in from down the hall, and soon Dís appeared, dragging Kíli in tow.

The Lady forced her son onto a chair, and gave both him and his brother a hard look before speaking to the other adults. "I haven't gotten a word out of him, so he truly did something terrible. What happened? Fíli?" Once again, Fíli recounted the story, but this time a bit more organized, and in a bit more detail. Kíli's gaze was casted downwards, burning with shame and angry at the betrayal of his brother.

Once Fíli had finished, [Thorin] spoke. "So, this is how an honorable prince acts? Do you truly think that your actions and words were correct, Kíli?" The prince stared into his lap, not moving a muscle. "Look at me when I speak to you, Kíli! I ask you again, were your actions justified?" Kíli blinked and shook his head no. "Then why did you act in such a manner? Do you not care how your decisions reflect upon this house? Do you not care how your words were cruel, and shameful? Do you not care? Do you think that Clove is going to want to partake in your friendship, when you have not only insulted her, but also have injured her to the point of bruising?" The King was now shouting, and fat tears had begun to pour from Kíli's eyes.

"I care!" [Kili] cried, lip quivering, "I care, and am very sorry, truly!"

"I am not the one you apologize to. You must beg that Clove forgives the assault you put onto her!" The King was fuming. Dwarrow indeed do not take insult to their women lightly, even if it was an insult from their own kin. "Honestly Kíli, were your 'jokes' worth the pain that Clove is now in?"

"No Uncle! No they were not, I'm sorry!"

[Lady Dís] now spoke, "You must give to Clove a proper apology Kíli, and hope that she will forgive your foolishness. I expect better from my son, and am truly appalled at the behavior you have shown today."

"Amad, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" Clove's father cut the lad off.

'You keep asking for forgiveness, but not from the right person! Do not you see the swells on Clove's arms, the pain in her eyes?" Kíli finally looked Clove in the face, and tear-stained eyes met tear-stained eyes.

"I am terribly sorry Clove, truly I did not mean to hurt you! Please forgive me, I do not wish to loose our friendship!" Clove stared back at him, and when she finally replied, It was in a small, strained voice.

"You have been so cruel to me, Kíli. I don't want to forgive you quite yet." Kíli's face fell, and before he could plead his case again, The King spoke once more.

"You will go to your room now, Kíli, and hope that someday Clove might forgive you. Do not argue with me, leave to your bed at once." The lesser prince started to cry harder, but obediently left to his chambers, Trina meeting him in the halls and marching him away. Clove did not feel much better after this situation, but still took a little satisfaction in the fact that Kíli was for sure in trouble. A hand combed through Clove's hair, and she became aware of the fact that Dís was sat next to her, caressing her hair and holding her close.

[Fili] worked up the courage to speak, "I am not in trouble too, am I?" Thorin glanced at his heir, and began to calm.

"No Fíli. Come with me to the kitchens, we will begin to cook supper." with relief, Fíli slid off the cushioned seats, and followed his uncle away. A long silence followed, with Dwalin continuing his stare into the flames, and Dís worrying over Clove. Many minutes past, and when Clove could hear the clank of silver in the distance, she finally spoke up.

"Adad?" Dwalin startled out of his trance

"Yes, my gem?"

"Was what Kíli said true?" Dís pulled Clove into her lap as Dwalin finally took a seat.

"Clove, my daughter, you are the most precious in the world to me, do you understand?" Clove nodded. "And you were so precious to your Amad as well, and we were both delighted that you were born, do you know that?" Clove nodded once more. "Then now I shall tell you, the whole truth of your Amad."