Far over to the West, the Hobbits of the Shire still went on about their daily business as if nothing had changed in the world since last spring, and to their knowledge, it had not. They liked the world not changing further beyond the natural turning of the seasons, from the cold, dark barren days of winter to the bright, fruitful sun-filled hour of summer. That was the sort of change they knew what to do with.

One thing about the coming of spring that they could never quite grow used to, however, was the occasional appearance of travellers through their corner of Middle Earth. Perhaps it was on account of the considerable lessening of travel during the winter months – tucked away in their warm holes under the snow-covered earth, Hobbits seemed to forget altogether that other people inhabited Middle Earth. When strangers started to turn up on their roads and in their inns with the coming of spring, it always seemed to take them by surprise.

Certainly, surprise was the least that could be said about the look on the hobbits' faces when two dwarves traveling along the East Road entered Hobbiton on a mild afternoon in late March of the year 2942. One could have described their reaction better as suspicious, and even a bit hostile, especially since the two dwarves did not seem very hesitant about where they were going. Not that they seemed in a hurry. In fact, their ponies rode at a steady pace, as if they were heading to a place where they could rest soon, and the riders did not seem to lend much attention to being looked on with suspicion. One of the dwarves, a rather noble-looking fellow with the kind of luxuriant red beard that only Dwarves were known to grow, even took time to give little nods of greeting to some of the less hostile-looking hobbits along the way. The other one, who rode in front, seemed more full of himself, as he held himself very straight on his pony and did not care to offer in greeting anything more than sharp looks, matched only by the sharpness of the two axes he carried on his back.

Surely to the alarm of the entire village, the two dwarves rode on through Hobbiton only to dismount with an air of confidence at the gate of Bag End, the seemingly abandoned home of Bilbo Baggins, the most peculiar of Hobbits this side of the Brandywine river.

"I'm sure Bilbo would appreciate this warm welcome of his kin if he were here," said Gloin, the red-bearded dwarf, issuing a cloud of smoke from his large pipe as he looked around the valley.

Dwalin only answered with a grumble as he dug in his pocket and finally produced a ring of keys. He opened the gate with one of them and allowed Gloin and the two ponies in before shutting the gate again and locking it behind him. The ponies were set loose to graze on the short grass that was already springing forth from the dirt. Then, Gloin and Dwalin disappeared behind the door of Bag End, leaving the whole of Hobbiton in fretful disgruntlement that would no doubt last until they were gone.

"Alright then," said Gloin, "here we are at last. Why don't you have a look around, make sure everything's where it should be, and I'll start a fire in the meantime?"

"Right," agreed Dwalin.

Even though the house had been uninhabited for almost a year, Gloin felt a wave of warmth taking over him just from standing there in the hallway of Bilbo's home. That was where their almost hopeless quest had started. He had known then it was not altogether hopeless, but they would have needed considerable luck on their side to succeed, in addition to courage and resilience. And yet, they had succeeded. The Lonely Mountain was theirs again, and here they were, back to where it had all begun, back on their way to the Blue Mountains, to take the happy news to Lady Dis and prepare the great journey of the Dwarves of Erebor back to their ancient home.

"You said you would be starting a fire," said Dwalin, appearing again from one of the many rooms of Bag End.

"Oh," said Gloin, obviously startled. "Yes, I'm sorry, I must have lost track of time thinking. I'll get to it right away."

"No rush," said Dwalin. "I found a barrel of ale still good in Bilbo's pantry. And some cheese."

"Not bad," said Gloin, as he knelt over the hearth in the sitting room, setting up the wood for the fire. "Found anything out of place, then?"

"No, no, it appears Bilbo had no reason to worry."

"Not yet, at least," said Gloin, rising to his feet, his red beard made redder still by the fire starting to kick up in the hearth. "Now, what was that about some ale you found?"

"Here it is." Dwalin handed him a pint, and they both sat down in the dusty armchairs they had occupied a year before.

"I've got to say," opined Gloin, "this is much better than spending the night at the Prancing Pony."

"Huh, I suppose."

"And it'll be even better to be back in our halls in the Blue Mountains tomorrow."

"For sure."

"I think Thorin would have liked to see them once more before taking the throne of Erebor."

Dwalin winced almost, as if woken abruptly from the state of half-sleep that was starting to take over him after so many days of walking through the wind and the snow. He sat up a little straighter in his armchair and took another gulp of ale from his pint. "He can still visit later. We'll leave a garrison in place. No point in willingly giving up a good home."

"Certainly," replied Gloin, and then took time to relish a new sip of his own ale. He cradled the pint in his hands and then rested it on his knee. "I'm sure Bilbo will want to come back and see his old home at some point, too."

Dwalin shot him a look of affront from under his bushy eyebrows that few others could have mastered. "At some point."

Gloin knew enough to quickly turn the conversation to their plans for the next few days in the Blue Mountains. They had quite enough to discuss in that regard, and there were no aggravating notes to that particular topic which could have soured their evening and troubled their sleep. And surely enough, after dinner and a few more pints of ale, they both found themselves more than ready to retire for the night, and make use of real beds with nice, soft covers for a change.

***

A few days later, they had left the Shire behind them and the shimmering stone walls of the Blue Mountains had drawn closer and closer. It was almost dusk and a cool breeze travelled through the sprouting firs as Gloin stopped his pony in its tracks, pointing at something in the distance.

"Look, Dwalin!"

Dwalin, who had been sulking for most of the trip, and who almost passed by him, stopped with a jolt and just as abruptly let out a rush of laughter that seemed to have been lodged in his chest for months.

The blue and silver banners of the great Dwarven House of Durin were flying proudly from the towers of Thorin's Halls nestled in the side of the Mountain.

"We're home!" clamoured Dwalin, giving his travelling companion a firm pat on the back, then started his pony back on the road, at an elevated pace.

Gloin followed him with equal enthusiasm and they were soon riding into the wide, paved square called Frerin's Court that welcomed any visitor to this proud settlement of the Longbeards.

Not at all to their surprise, Lady Dis stood waiting for them at top of the stairs leading up to Thorin's Gate, the entrance to the city. She had not lost any of her magnificence in the year that she had spent as the steward of Thorin's Halls in her brother's absence, no doubt clouded by worry and kindled by hope in equal measure. In fact, she looked even more resplendent than they remembered her, wrapped in her dark blue cloak lined with rich grey fur and golden jewels. Dwalin was quite glad he had thought to bring a gift from Erebor. It would certainly become her.

"Dwalin! Gloin!" she called, as they climbed the stairs towards her. "Am I glad to see you!"

They held hands and laughed as if part of them had not expected this moment to come ever again. But it was there. They were there, reunited once more, on the steps of the home they had known for most of their lives.

"As are we, My Lady, as are we," said Dwalin and Gloin together.

"You must be famished and tired from the road, but don't expect to get to bed tonight until you tell me everything!"

"We would not dream of it, My Lady," said Gloin. "I think we are up for it. We had a good night's sleep a few nights back."

"Oh?"

"We stopped in Hobbiton. Our Hobbit burglar, Bilbo Baggins, gave us the keys to his hobbit hole. It is quite comfortable and well-stocked for the weary traveller."

"I see," said Dis, raising an eyebrow, as expected. "Well, you must tell me about that, too. Come inside, now, it's getting dark."

Darkness was not what lived inside Thorin's Halls. There were great burning torches and candelabra lighting up the hall and the fine carvings on its walls and pillars. There were also dwarves coming and going on their way to closing their errands for the day. It looked much more like a comfortable, livable place than Erebor had looked when Dwalin and Gloin had left it.

***

Late in the night, long after Gloin had broken his word and fallen to sleep, Lady Dis still sat conversing with Dwalin around a mild fire and two pints of red ale. The white and blue sapphire necklace that Dwalin had brought for her from Erebor twinkled splendidly around her neck. She had been exceptionally moved when she had seen it and had taken a moment to look at it before accepting it as her own. It had once belonged to her mother, and it was one of the many precious things she had left behind when they had been driven out of the Lonely Mountain.

"How strange," she mused, looking into the fire.

"What is?" asked Dwalin.

"That we should sit here again after all this time and all we have endured, all we have built here, preparing for the journey back to Erebor. It is hard to imagine after we had put it out of our thoughts. I had, at least."

Dwalin smiled and took another sip of ale. "You did not want Thorin to go. I remember hearing something about it."

"I did not want him to risk his life for a dream of the past."

"And your sons' lives."

She smiled back, with no effort to hide her pain. "They had a right to go with him. The Mountain belongs to them as much as it belongs to us. They are my sons, but they are not children anymore, and all of us in the Line of Durin have strong minds of our own. Have they behaved well, then?"

"Exemplary, My Lady."

"I'm sure that having their uncle around helped put them in the appropriate mood for conducting themselves at their best."

"It has helped," said Dwalin, and they both laughed.

"Are they well, Dwalin?" asked Dis eventually, extending a hand to Dwalin's hand.

"They are. They have recovered quite well."

"And Thorin?"

"He is on the mend, though we were not quite sure for a long time. I think we might find him back to his duties by the time we arrive," said Dwalin, allowing back the clouding of his brow as he lowered his gaze to his pint, peering into the liquid as if he had expected to see something there.

There was a pause, though not a heavy one. As old friends, they were comfortable spending some time in silence, each to their thoughts.

"You haven't told me much about this Hobbit burglar," said Dis, suddenly remembering this less explored part of Dwalin's account of the Quest.

Dwalin sat up as if his seat had grown spikes out of the blue. "He stole the Arkenstone, what is there more to tell?"

"But you have it back, do you not?"

"Yes."

"Good. That is indeed strange: a hobbit that likes to go on quests. I thought they stayed away from such things."

"This one did not".

"Where did you find him?"

"It was Gandalf's idea."

"Ah, Gandalf certainly knows a thing or two. And he did not make the journey back with you? The hobbit, I mean."

"No. He is still in Erebor."

"Oh?"

"He took care of Thorin while he recovered from his wounds."

"I see. It sounds like we owe him more than the Arkenstone, then," said Dis.

"We do," said Dwalin, his voice lowering to a rumble that seemed to come from the deep of the earth.

"Dwalin, I know you quite well, you know. Are you going to tell me why you have a raincloud hanging over your head, or shall I pry it out of you?

Dwalin puffed, looking annoyed with himself, and set his pint on the table between them. "It's the hobbit."

"What about him?"

Dwalin scowled masterfully. "He and Thorin are... close."

Dis sat up straight in her armchair, almost dropping her pint to the floor. "What did you say?"

"You heard what I said," replied Dwalin, obviously not keen on repeating his words.

A trailing "oh" was all that Dis could say in return as she sat back slowly, looking into the fire at her side, and knowing that there was nothing she could do to stop a smile from forming on her lips.

"I can see it doesn't upset you," said Dwalin, his voice carrying a very clear note of displeasure.

"Well, it is unexpected..."

"But you're not angry."

"No, not... not quite."

"How can you approve of such nonsense?" Dwalin almost roared.

"I can see that you're angry about it."

"Of course I am," said Dwalin, slamming his fist on the table and standing up. "He is a king! Such behaviour is dishonourable!"

"Dwalin, you have always looked up to Thorin. I'm not surprised you were never willing to see it, but do you remember the Battle of Azanulbizar?"

"How could I forget?" said Dwalin, now standing with his hands clasped at his back, looking away from Dis, at the fire.

"Do you also remember Nyrath?"

Dwalin looked back to her. "Of course. He was one of our best warriors. A grave loss."

"Indeed," said Dis, her voice trailing with a note of sorrow. "He and Thorin were... close, too," she said as low as she could.

Dwalin stared at her in disbelief and she could see the entire mountain collapsing around him.

"I know it is hard for you to accept, but that's how it is," said Dis.

"It is easy for you to accept, then?" asked Dwalin, with molten fire in his eyes.

"He is my brother, Dwalin. We've had a hard life. I can only hope that he finds something worth living for beyond duty."

"But surely, now that he is King under the Mountain, he will have to-"

"Take a consort and continue the line of Durin, yes, that's what's expected of him. I'm sure there are many noble Dwarves in Middle Earth who would welcome the honour to have their daughters wed into the House of Durin."

"And you would not encourage him to choose one of them?"

"I would encourage him to choose with his heart."

Dwalin turned his back again, rasping with anger, "Madness!"

Dis stood up and approached him slowly, lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. "He's given everything to us, Dwalin. He's built us a new home, here in the Blue Mountains, he's helped me raise my sons, and now he has won back our kingdom for us, with all the riches that lie there. He barely got out of it alive. I will not ask him to sacrifice the one thing he still keeps for himself. It would not make him a good king, Dwalin, don't you see?"

Dwalin's shoulders heaved with a deep breath that seemed hotter than the fire burning in the hearth at his feet. "I suppose not."

"I am sure that he would do as we ask, if we ask him that," continued Dis. "But we would lose him, Dwalin, without hope of getting him back. I do not want that. Do you?"

"No... of course not." He turned to her, the fire in his eyes and voice having subsided. "Why did you never tell me? About Nyrath."

"It was not my story to tell."

"How did I not see it?"

"You couldn't have, especially if you did not want to see such a thing."

Dwalin went back to his armchair and sat down, looking dishevelled. "I never saw the grief in him."

"A king does not show grief, or fear," said Dis, crossing her arms in a look that spoke more than her words.

Dwalin set his head in his hands. This was certainly not the way he had hoped his first evening back in the Blue Mountains would unravel. He had in fact hoped that he would find an understanding ear in Dis, and that she would help put Thorin's mind back where it belonged. He had found something completely different. He had to admit, however, that it was comforting to have Dis there by his side.

"It has grown late, Dwalin," she said, with an affectionate squeezing of his shoulder. "There are few things that a good night's sleep cannot mend. We shall talk more in the morning."

***

Lady Dis retired to her rooms that night with thoughts that she had not expected to find herself thinking either. She had heard that the Mountain had been taken back at great cost, but that her brother and two sons had survived, and her hopes for news of their healing had been indeed satisfied by Dwalin's arrival. And, of course, it was good to see Dwalin again, and chatter away with him late into the night. He had brought something more with him, however, than the joy of finding herself again in the company of an old friend. He had brought the warmth of a new spring sun into her heart, and although he did not understand yet, she hoped that he would in time.

She had seen Thorin's grief. He had not hidden it from her. She had seen how it had hollowed him out, how it had taken the light from his eyes, how it had turned his heart barren, how he had lived only for them, for her, for Fili and Kili, for their people, and for the distant dream of taking back Erebor from the fire of the dragon - the only ember burning dim in his heart. To know that a fire could be rekindled there after an age of darkness was more precious to her than any jewel, and she could not wait to see her brother again, to look into his eyes and see the sun rise.