Where she is right - The story of Dís, daughter of kings.

13

"Only Mahal knows. If the child can not or does not want to stay there is nothing we can do, Dwalin. Dwin came to me a few weeks ago. She sometimes had abdominal pain but I could not find any irregularities. And she asked me not to tell you about it. Dwin was strong and healthy and I only worried about her low spirits. I should have talked to you earlier. I am terribly sorry, Dwalin", Oin replied emphatically.

"Dwalin, she really wanted to tell you yesterday! She...", Dís interfered now, but Dwalin interrupted.

"You knew about it too? She told you both and not me?", he asked aghast and his heart tightened painfully in his chest.

He shot a quick glance to Balin who shook his head and shrugged. He had not known about it either.

"It was a mistake. The whole bond with her was a mistake. Nothing but misery I get her. And I don't even know how! Just what the hell did I think I was doing", he muttered bitterly.

And with these words he turned around and walked away. After all the decades of composure and self-confidence the last months had been an almost unbearable up and down of emotions. Overflowing joy when she smiled at him, burning desire for her, her touch and her desire for him. There was pride, the rift with Balin, shame and remorse about his behaviour in Mirkwood and nagging jealousy. And today the utter helplessness about her behaviour, the horrible fear for her life and the great disappointment at her lack of trust in him. And his child... His son... Piercing pain was eating its way caustically into his innermost. He loved her. That was indisputable. His sweet, sweet Dwin. But there had always been doubt. Gnawing doubt about whether this could last. Whether he would be able to make her happy on the long run.

He had failed. She had turned to Oin and to Dís with her sorrows. Had avoided, fled him literally. It had almost killed her. This would have to end now. She had to return to her family and he would return to his small room in the barracks. The mere thought about hearing the door there close behind him and to be alone again was so agonizing that he moaned aloud. He walked quickly, almost ran, until he stood in front of a closed door.

His feet had carried him here without him really realizing where he went. Behind those doors the hallway let down to the big source. For him an almost magical place he had loved from childhood on. In former times he always had to sneak in here but today he owned a master key that allowed him access to almost all doors in Erebor. Only Thorin himself had even more far-reaching authorities. Dwalin unlocked the door and went inside. Very warm, moist air hit him. The way was lit and a familiar, gurgling noise filled his ears. A slight breeze was evident because the heat of the air was used by the ventilation system to warm up the fresh winter air. The huge hot spring in the northern quarter of Erebor, the largest of several in the mountain, was taken in in a large, six-sided stone basin. The water was so hot that one could not hold the hand in it. On three slightly lower sides of the beautiful basin the water flowed constantly in full gushes over the edges from where it was distributed through an intricate systems of gutters, pipes and pumps throughout the mountain. In the middle of the basin the water's surface arched, wafting and steaming, where it welled up with might from below. On and on, unceasingly. As a child he had always considered it the true heart of the mountain and not that cold gem on Thrór's throne. This heart was warm and pulsing as alive. You could feel the mountain's heartbeat at many places in the floors when you stood still on the warm spots with your bare feet.

Along the walls of the wide source hall ran stone benches, wet from mist and steam. With a sigh he sat down, closed his eyes and finally stretched out on it at full length, feeling burned out and empty. He listened to the sound of the water and thought of the little boy. His son. How he would come down here with him to show him his secret haunt. And how he told him to never come down here alone because accidentally falling in the almost boiling water would be a terrible death of course. Maybe he should not take him here after all, he thought then. Because the same thing his father had preached him at least a hundred times, too and still he had kept coming down here alone. He smiled in silence until he remembered that his son was dead and this question would never arise. His drowsy mind had played him a nasty trick. He would never hold an own child in his arms. He wrung his hands and roared angry and desperate. Why hadn't she told him about the child? He would have fulfilled her every wish. Not a basket she would have carried any more, no more standing at the stove and certainly no more breaking stones at that damn construction site! With horror he suddenly remembered their vigorous lovemaking yesterday afternoon. It seemed to lie years back. He should never have taken her that hard. That had to be the reason for his son's death after all. No matter what Oin said. It was his fault. He groaned and turned to the side, pressing his forehead onto the cool wall.