It is said that she-dwarves look and act so much like their male counterparts that it is believed by outsiders that there are no females and that dwarves spring fully grown from the very rocks they mine. This notion is caused in part by their secretive nature and the ignorance of outsiders. Coupled with the fact that, due to bitter and devastating wars, only a third of the population remaining is female the stories are almost believable. Truth be told, many dwarves never seek a mate because they are content to delve into their craft and have little time for anything else. What woman wants to come in second? Furthermore, as with their male counter parts, many she-dwarves are so focused on their own craft and trade that the need for a mate lies dormant. That is a residual flaw of their creation.
Aulë, created the Dwarf race on his own with his own music and knowledge. He gave them great skill with all things mined from the earth: iron, gold, gems, rock. He made them strong and loyal, brave and good. He gave them all manner of things he himself understood. However, in the area of love, the Vala understood it from the practical sense only, a need to procreate for survival of the race and basic companionship. That was the 'love' he and his wife, Yavanna, shared, for only Eru understood and designed emotional love—the love between two beings that transcended all other needs and wants. So, unfortunately, that inherent desire was not initially placed in the hearts and minds of Aulë's children.
However, Eru is ever compassionate. When at last the Dwarves were allowed to awaken, the Master of the Music took them as His adoptive children. He also breathed into them a fire that would remain dormant in most-- but for few, the quest for riches and treasure would lead them beyond stone or gem. Every once in a while, there comes a dwarf whose spirit is restless; who cannot find peace with their craft alone. Those dwarves often wander searching for what, they know not. This is the story of one such dwarf…
Dwalin grumbled as he again chiseled at the stone. He was displeased in his latest creation. The statue just would not come to life. In disgust he threw down his tools, startling those around him. The very tall dwarf stalked from the room. It was happening again; he was restless. This feeling that he needed to find something was growing worse with each decade. The last time he left the safety of their new home, Dwalin wandered Arda for some 10 years. He searched and fought in the wild lands hoping to find…what? Thorin Oakenshield said it was his longing to return to the Erebor, that the warrior was anxious for a fight, and that the time would come; he only need be patient. Although Dwalin loved to decimate orcs, he doubted that was the cause. Anyway, he was restless in Erebor as well. However, there he had so much to do, to protect, that he had little time to be still and it was in the stillness that his spirit stirred. He often went on patrols just to get away and quell the restlessness. Often he would head into Dale for games of skill and a good keg. There he found some measure of enjoyment and even a wench or two. The folks of Dale did not mind the company of Dwarves. At any rate, it had nothing to do with the sack of Erebor or a desire to return there, of that he was sure.
Dwalin searched out his older brother; Balin was his sense of reason. The elder dwarf was wise and saw things beyond the blade of an ax. Dwalin needed guidance. His loyalty and service lay in the Blue Mountains with Thorin, however he felt the tension building in him and his mood darken dangerously. He felt like a penned animal more than a warrior chief. The dwarf sighed and knocked on his brother's door.
As expected, Balin encouraged him to embrace his restlessness and follow where it might lead. Although, Dwalin got the feeling that his 'little' big brother knew more than he let on. Balin was like that. He often knew more but let individuals work things out for themselves. That's what made him such a valuable councilor. The white haired dwarf reached up and patted his brother's shoulder.
"Thorin is too focused on his own intent," Balin said quietly. "Often he cannot see that some things do not stem from our loss."
"If he commands me to stay…"
Balin crossed his arms and smirked. "He won't laddie. Though he will be reluctant to let you leave, he will not refuse you. Just promise me you'll not do anything foolhardy. Keep your wits about you and your temper in check."
Dwalin scowled and gave a rather non committal grunt as he left his brother's room. It was a good time in the year to set out. Therefore, once again, the battle-scarred dwarf packed his things, strapped on his axes, bid his kin good bye and left the safety of the Blue Mountains. This time he swore he would not return until his spirit found what it sought.
Thorin watched one of his most trusted friends leave their sanctuary. It troubled him greatly, not because Dwalin was needed in Ered Luin but rather because he feared he would never return. Thorin had lost so much in his life; the thought of loosing someone he thought of as a brother tore at his heart. Still, he could not bring himself to demand the warrior stay.
Balin stole next to the exiled king. "Don't worry laddie. If you need him he will come, but he must find what he is searching for or he will never be able to call any place home."
"Do you know for what he searches?" Thorin asked, never taking his eyes off the retreating figure.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.