Chapter Text
The last piece of Thorin’s plan was ready to be completed. Luckily, Beorn was alone in his grazing field, which gave Thorin the smallest bit of confidence to talk more freely.
“Beorn,” Thorin greeted, pulling the skin-changer’s attention away from the large cow he was tending to.
Luckily, Beorn seemed to be in a decent mood, turning to Thorin with an only slightly threatening look.
“Yes?” Beorn asked, raising an eyebrow in question and leaning down to be closer to Thorin’s face.
“I… um…” Thorin trailed off, his words getting stuck.
“What is it?” Beorn asked again, a bit more forceful.
Finally, without putting much thought into it, Thorin pulled up his sleeve, presenting his soulmate’s tattoo to the skin-changer.
“This flower, do you have it?”
Beorn studied it for a moment before an odd smile grew on his face, and then he laughed heartily as he moved to stand up straight again.
“So, Thorin Oakenshield and the little bunny. How could I have missed that?” Beorn asked, clearly rhetorically, before mockingly adding, “How could you have missed that?”
“I’m glad you can find some humor in mine and Master Baggins’ situation.” Thorin was not glad, but he wasn’t going to anger the large skin-changer. “So, about the flower…? Cornflower, I believe, if you need the name.”
“I have it,” Beorn confirmed. “What do you want with it?”
Thorin took a deep breath, pulling his sleeve back down and looking Beorn in the eye. “I wish to give it to Bilbo.”
…
A sweet breeze blew through Beorn’s land, making the air smell of wildflowers and reminding Bilbo of home. A small smile graced his face as he sat out in the last sun rays of the evening, sewing up the ripped sleeve of his shirt. It wasn’t going to be the prettiest mending, the sleeve half shredded already and the only available tools offered to him being a shockingly large bone needle from Beorn and spare thread Dori had in his pack, but it was working decently well. As long as it covered his tattoos, it was acceptable.
“That looks to be coming along well,” Ori commented, Bilbo looking up in both shock and delight as the dwarf approached.
Bilbo laughed, studying his own handiwork. “Dori offered to mend it, and by the stories he’s told me, I’m sure he would do a much finer job even with these tools. I’m just trying my best.”
“My brother wouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t willing to help,” Ori replied as he sat in the grass next to Bilbo. “But you refused him?”
“All hobbits mend their own clothes. It is just the way of things,” Bilbo explained, still baffled that it wasn’t the same for dwarves. “I’m fairly skilled when given the correct tools.”
He fumbled around with the giant needle again, cursing as it fell from his hand and giving up for a moment, setting the shirt aside.
“Do all hobbits dress like you, too?”
Bilbo let out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know why you all are so fascinated with my clothes,” he replied before adding, “And to answer your question, no. I am rather unique in my dress. It is just how I am.”
“I’m sure there’s more to it than that,” Ori replied, raising his eyebrows in question.
Bilbo nodded, feeling a bit fed up. “You’re right, there is, but that is entirely my business. Now, if you came over here just to question me about my dressing habits, you can move on. I’ve discussed it enough.”
For a moment, Bilbo thought Ori was going to leave, the dwarf shifting a bit where he sat. Then he settled back down, slightly closer, and began picking at the grass nervously.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Ori apologized. “Actually, I was hoping to learn more about hobbits. You’re the first one I’ve met.”
Bilbo’s heart softened slightly at the admission, remembering back to when he had been desperate to learn about dwarven culture.
“I won’t lie and say you all are the first dwarves I have met, as you are not, but you are by far the kindest,” Bilbo replied before a thought sparked in his mind, and he smiled. “How about this: you can ask me about hobbits, and I can ask you about dwarves in return. Does that sound like a fair trade?”
He studied Ori for a moment, watching as the dwarf looked around as if checking for anyone lurking nearby, his face pinking slightly. Then, he gave a hesitant nod.
“Yes, that is fair, though there are some things I cannot tell you. It isn’t my place,” Ori said, and Bilbo nodded, understanding.
Ori, thus far, was being much more open than the random dwarves Bilbo had met in taverns on the outskirts of the Shire and in Bree. He was willing to compromise a bit.
“That is a fair deal,” he agreed. “So, Ori, what question do you have first?”
“You mentioned in Rivendell that hobbits get flowers tattooed on them to find their soulmates. What types of flowers?” Ori asked, shocking Bilbo that the dwarf would start off with another touchy subject, but he obliged, keeping his explanation very objective.
“Well, it depends on what family you are in. There are many great families in the Shire, and they each have a specific flower, and then the placement of the flower, or flowers, are dependent on which order you were born in, your gender expression, and a bit of personal preference,” Bilbo explained.
“Daisies for the Brandybucks, commonly around their ankles, the amount of daisies showing which in the line they are. Bracegirdles have large carnations on their forearms, though I know of a few who opted to put them on their shoulders instead, but that is rather uncommon. Of course, the Chubbs have beautiful forget me nots growing around their fingers and trailing up their arms—everyone is jealous of how stunning those are.”
Bilbo paused then, looking at Ori and laughing a bit sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble.”
“No, no, it is quite alright,” Ori assured. “This is all rather interesting. It is much different than how dwarves do it.”
“Speaking of which,” Bilbo began, trying to articulate the question he had been holding onto since Rivendell. “You all said that the rings give a hint to who you are. Could you give me an example?”
Ori blushed crimson then, glancing away from Bilbo.
“Well, I cannot tell you of what others’ say, as that is not my place, but I can show you mine.”
Ori rolled up his sleeves, each wrist only having one ring—his right ring held many words going all the way around. His left had a very small statement on the inside wrist, the rest of the design filled in with dwarven patterns.
“Fíli, Kíli, and I grew up together. While I am not from nobility, and neither are my brothers, Dori became the tailor for the nobles in the Blue Mountains, and of course, then Nori and Dwalin found each other, so the princes and I were rarely apart,” Ori explained, his blush still strong, though there was a bright smile accompanying it. “Fíli came of age first, proudly choosing the words for his ring and showing it off to anyone who would listen.”
Ori then held out his right wrist, and Bilbo’s eyes went wide.
“I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized–”
“Not many people do. Fíli and I are… rather private regarding our relationship.”
Bilbo nodded, understanding, before Ori began pointing to the words on his wrist, explaining it.
“It is common for the first ring to give descriptive information as well as something familial, if you are from a prominent lineage. For Fíli’s, he wrote, ‘A golden lion living beneath the stone shaped by the sea.’”
Bilbo giggled a bit at that. “Rather wordy for something that gives so little information, though I suppose I have nothing to compare it to.”
He thought back to his own rings, how each one had just about the same amount of words as Ori’s ring from Fíli, if not more. Except the last one, of course, which only held two words, though Bilbo could not read them.
“It was enough for me though,” Ori said wistfully. “Fíli had shown me his tattoo, of course, and I had actually helped him with the wording when he was still designing it. So, when I awoke on my birthday to find the words of my best friend etched on my skin, there was only one thing I could say in reply.”
Ori switched his arms, showing off the shorter phrase on his left.
“It says, ‘I knew it was you.’”
A sweet smile grew on Bilbo’s face as he studied the ring, thinking back to his own and wondering about what they could possibly say.
“That is so sweet, Ori. I am glad you were blessed with such an easy connection,” Bilbo replied, happy for the two young dwarfs.
“I may be smitten with the prince, but do not mistake that for a perfect pairing,” Ori corrected gently. “We have our differences, we fight. It is natural for couples to do so, even ones chosen by the Valar.”
Bilbo let out a light chuckle, shaking his head. “I have never been in a relationship, so I suppose that the only experience I have is from books or from my own family. One of which is a fantasy, and the other is more akin to a nightmare in many regards.”
He thought back to the very contentious relationship between Otho and Lobelia. It was to the point that some people argued they weren’t true soulmates. Now, Bilbo definitely thought they were made for each other, but he wasn’t going to say that to anybody but the couple in question.
“Speaking of family, could I, um…” Ori gulped. “And I don’t mean to offend you with this request… but could I see your flower? Your tattoo, I mean.”
Immediately, Bilbo put a protective hand over his arm, pressing his palm against the flower. He hadn’t shown it to anyone, really. Other hobbits wouldn’t think anything of it, but it was easier to keep it covered, and now, it felt like a very private piece of Bilbo. As much as any of his other tattoos.
“I’m… I’m not sure, I’m sorry. Other hobbits would gladly show you, and commonly, they are put in places that would be seen by everyone no matter the weather or attire, but I’m–”
“You aren’t like other hobbits,” Ori finished, and Bilbo nodded, a heat rising to his cheeks. “That is okay. I’m sorry I asked.”
“No, please, don’t be sorry. It is a fair request to make, especially since you were so kind as to not only show me your tattoos but explain them to me, as well,” Bilbo replied, a little bit of guilt bubbling up inside of him.
He paused for a moment, looking away from Ori and moving to start tracing his rings to calm himself, though he couldn’t even feel them through his bandage. Perhaps he should show them to Ori, or ask Óin to tell him what they meant. Bilbo was closer now to finding his soulmate than he had been for the past 20 years. It was worth a chance.
Before anything more could be said though, a distant voice interrupted Bilbo’s thoughts.
“Bilbo,” Nori called, startling both the hobbit and dwarf.
“What is it?” Bilbo asked, his voice raised in frustration.
“It’s Thorin. He wishes to speak with you in the garden.” Nori pointed, and Bilbo followed with his eyes to the direction of the garden’s entrance.
“He wishes to speak with me?” Bilbo clarified, unsure of what the dwarf could possibly need to say to him.
“Yes.” Nori took a few steps forward, lowering his voice as he added, “It is rather important. I would go now if I were you.”
Nori then nodded towards the gardens once more before walking off.
Well, that was definitely a bit ominous, but Bilbo wasn’t going to ignore an instruction from Thorin—if Nori was to be believed. Bilbo did not follow Thorin as a King, since he wasn’t a dwarf, but he did respect Thorin, so for that, he would listen.
He sent Ori a sorry look for cutting their conversation short, which Ori replied with a little shrug and smile, before Bilbo stood and wandered away.
The gardens were even sweeter and more beautiful up close than they had been distantly on the breeze. Bilbo had been meaning to explore them, but the sheer size of the towering blossoms had kept him away until now; until Thorin, for some reason, wished to meet there and discuss something. It wasn’t the most comfortable situation to be walking into, but Bilbo pushed on. If Thorin wanted to talk, he assumed it was important. Well, important to the dwarf, at least.
“Thorin?” Bilbo called once he had come to a place where the path split in two directions.
“I am over here, Master Baggins,” Thorin hollered back from the right, prompting Bilbo to follow the sound of his deep voice.
There was an edge to the dwarf’s tone that made nerves build in the pit of Bilbo’s stomach, but he willed it away. It was unbecoming of a hobbit to have an uneasy stomach.
When Bilbo got close enough, catching a glimpse of Thorin’s dark hair through the towering bushes, Bilbo began to speak, hoping that it would calm his nerves. It was a terrible habit of his—always blabbering on when put in an awkward situation.
“I will tell you now, Thorin, I haven’t a clue what this could be about. I had hoped we were on good terms after you– well, after the orcs and the eagles and such, but…”
As Bilbo turned into an open area within the garden, a large tree shading the area, all his words caught in his throat as his thoughts stilled. He could not utter a single syllable, too stunned by the sight before him.
Thorin was shirtless. The dwarf was standing in the middle of the clearing, a bouquet of cornflowers in hand and staring at Bilbo with the oddest expression on his face. A mix of fear, nerves, and something else. Bilbo stared for a moment in complete shock and disbelief, not able to truly comprehend what he was looking at.
Was Thorin coming onto him? Was that why he chose such a remote place to “talk”? Their hug atop the Carrock had been enjoyable, but Bilbo was not that type of hobbit, and he didn’t think Thorin was that type of dwarf. So then, why…?
Reality hit Bilbo with such force that the air left his lungs and he swore his heart refused to beat any longer. It was embarrassing that it had taken him a few moments to truly see what was right in front of him. Thorin, shirtless and standing before Bilbo, was wearing Bilbo’s tattoos—or rather, Thorin’s own tattoos. Either way, Bilbo had seen those same markings every day in the mirror for nearly two decades. He knew them as well as he knew his own heart. They were a part of him as much as they, apparently, were a part of Thorin.
As Bilbo’s mind reeled with revelation, his vision spun. He propped his hands on his knees to hold himself up as he tried to steady himself, breathing in through his nose and out his mouth in rapid succession.
“Are you okay?” He heard Thorin ask, the dwarf taking a step closer.
“A little faint, is all,” Bilbo muttered, trying not to heave as a small bout of nausea took hold. “I, um– Yavanna, this is just a lot to take in.”
“Yes, it was much the same for me when I found out,” Thorin replied, taking another few steps closer until Bilbo could make out the dwarf’s big boots right in front of him. “Perhaps I should have eased you into this a bit more.”
Bilbo laughed, the slightest sheen of tears brimming in his eyes. Whether from relief, heartache, sickness—he wasn’t sure—but they began to run down his face all the same. “Yes, perhaps you should have.”
…
It was silent in the garden, the only sound being the breeze rustling through the plants. The sun was truly setting now, night creeping in, but Bilbo was finally standing upright, his breathing even and gaze intense as he stared at Thorin. The pause between them was almost too long, Thorin wishing to say something, but Bilbo beat him to it.
“What do they mean?”
Thorin furrowed his brows in confusion, absolutely puzzled. “What?”
“My– Your– Our tattoos. What do they mean?” Bilbo demanded.
Thorin sucked in a breath, at a loss as to what to say. “It’s complicated. The rings, of course, you know. And the others are for battle or different notable–”
“What does this one mean?” Bilbo asked, taking a step forward to point at the seventh ring on Thorin’s arm. “At least tell me that much.”
“Master Baggins–”
“Bilbo.”
“What?” Thorin asked, baffled.
“If we are soulmates, you should call me by my first name. Everyone else already does,” Bilbo said with a straight face, though there was clear irritation in his tone. “Now, please, I have waited a long time to know what is written on me, and I refuse to wait any longer.”
Thorin steadied his breath, understanding Bilbo’s ire. Though it was neither of their faults how the Valar decided to separate them for such a long time, Thorin still felt responsible to some extent.
He hesitated before holding his arm out so Bilbo could see better, though it wasn’t like the hobbit wasn’t already well acquainted with the marks. “It says ‘Called Oakenshield’,” he finally admitted, his voice feeling raw.
Bilbo shook his head. “But that is just your name,” he replied, his tone rather incredulous. “I thought you weren’t meant to do that.”
“I–” Thorin sighed, hanging his head. “I was desperate. And technically speaking, Oakenshield is an epithet, so it hardly counts.”
Instead of replying with something snarky or clever, as the hobbit commonly did, Bilbo paused before looking down at the ground between them. He stood there for a moment, not speaking, not looking at Thorin. A new flood of worry ran through Thorin, but he kept still, waiting for Bilbo to say something, do something. Though Thorin had no clue as to what that would be.
Finally, Bilbo looked back up, and that time, he had a slight sheen of tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Thorin. I know it is not my fault that we ended up in this situation, as it isn’t yours either, but I am still sorry.” Bilbo sniffled. “Perhaps if I had travelled to the Blue Mountains, looked for you there–”
“There are many things that either of us could have done, and there are many reasons we didn’t. There is no use in looking at the past. We found each other, without the favor of the Valar, and that is what matters.” Thorin felt a small surge of confidence flow through him, and he took the smallest step closer to Bilbo, smiling the slightest bit.
Still, Bilbo looked unsure. Though he did not look vexed anymore, Thorin would not call his expression a smile. His lip was quirked, but it did not reach his eyes, which still seemed distant.
“Is something else the matter, Bilbo?” Thorin asked apprehensively.
Bilbo’s eyes focused on Thorin again, his gaze softening the slightest bit.
“I do not know you,” Bilbo admitted a bit hesitantly. “Yes, we have been on the road together for months. We have fought together, bled together, and I trust you with my life, but I do not know you.”
Thorin could not look at Bilbo any longer, could not watch the hobbit say such hurtful yet truthful things, so he turned his gaze to the soft grass at his feet. He did not regret finding his soulmate and speaking to Bilbo about it. He only wished it had gone better.
“But,” Bilbo continued, causing Thorin’s head to snap up again. The hobbit’s eyes were bright, the smallest of smiles playing on his face. “I am willing to get to know you better if you would give me the same courtesy. We have both been alone far too long. It is only right that we at least explore the blessing the Valar have given us.”
Bilbo’s smile broadened, and Thorin smiled in kind until he was beaming, scared his face might split open. When Bilbo stepped closer, however, Thorin faltered, suddenly feeling unsure. That was, until a soft hand reached down and clutched Thorin’s wrist where his rings were, rubbing there. That, and the glint in Bilbo’s eyes, eased his anxiety, though it did not settle his thoughts.
“Is it alright if I kiss you?” Bilbo asked, seeming just as unsure as Thorin. “It does not have to mean anything. Not yet. I just have been thinking of this fairytale moment for so long, it feels wrong to leave it without that simple gesture.”
Thorin did not know how to reply to that request. He didn’t know if he could actually form words even if he tried. So instead, he nodded, allowing Bilbo to lean in and set the pace.
The hobbit’s breath was shaky, and Thorin could tell his was much the same, if not worse, air filling and leaving his lungs in rapid succession. Still, he did not flee. He continued to stand there as Bilbo slowly crept towards him until their noses were almost touching, and they could no longer look each other in the eyes properly.
Instead, Thorin allowed his eyes to flutter closed just as Bilbo’s soft lips finally connected with his. As soon as they were touching, Thorin melted, his worries immediately silenced. It was a sweet kiss; a chaste kiss, but he loved it all the same, soaking up Bilbo’s touch like it was rain in Mordor.
When they finally split, Thorin had to hold himself back from leaning in for more. He had to remind himself that, if all went well, he would have plenty of future chances to kiss Bilbo for as long and as deeply as he wished.
Thorin smiled brightly, and Bilbo returned the gesture a bit shyly, his cheeks pink.
“Thank you for that,” Bilbo finally said, his gaze drifting to the ground again, but Thorin quickly stopped him, bringing a hand to Bilbo’s chin and lifting his head back up.
“It is I who should be thanking you.” Thorin let out a deep breath, still in the throes of relief. “Though since we have found each other, what shall we do now?”
Bilbo’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Do you wish to tell people? Óin already knows, as does Nori.”
Bilbo’s face scrunched in clear worry as he moved to cover his bandaged arm with a hand as if protecting it—a habit Thorin also had.
“I’m not sure, really. I’m relieved that I have found you, and the company is very kind to me, but will they judge? Will they be angry that I lied to them about not having a soulmate?” Bilbo asked, his voice a bit unsteady.
“If they are angry at you, they will be furious with me. I, too, lied to them. None from the company have seen the flower you bestowed upon me other than Dwalin,” Thorin reassured before continuing, “In truth, I was worried that my kin would judge me for having a non-dwarrow One, which I assume was why you covered your tattoos as well, back in the Shire. But the company will find out eventually, one way or another, and I trust them as I trust you. They will be happy for us, I am sure of it.”
Bilbo was silent, still looking unsure.
Hesitantly, Thorin added, “If you would rather not tell anyone though, I will respect that, and I will tell Nori and Óin to keep it to themselves. Having you in my life, knowing I have found my other half, is enough for me.”
Again, there was a long, quiet pause until slowly, Bilbo reached up and tugged at his cravat, loosening it and then completely taking it off. The hobbit then shoved it in his pocket and began unbuttoning his shirt the slightest bit. Thorin watched, unblinking and utterly enthralled as his own tattoo slowly became visible on Bilbo’s neck and chest.
He then moved on to rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, the cornflower on his arm becoming visible. His rings were on the other, of course, but they were covered by bandages. Which, for the moment, was probably best. Not just so Bilbo could heal but because Thorin’s messages were rather personal. Dwalin once described the later rings as “embarrassingly blunt” after he had too much ale, though Thorin doubted they were that bad.
“It is beautiful, by the way,” Thorin said.
“What is?”
“The flower you gave me. Of all my tattoos, it is my favorite. It is the one that gave me hope; told me I wasn’t alone in the world.”
“Well, um, I like the one on my shoulder a lot, though all of them are rather beautiful,” Bilbo replied. “I hope the others will agree.”
“I’m sure they will.”
Thorin held out a hand for Bilbo to take, the hobbit grasping it tightly. Together, they walked out of the garden, ready to finally show themselves to others, together.
…
While Dwalin did not enjoy the constant hostility of their host, the skin-changer at least made a pretty good ale. He poured himself another drink before pouring one for Nori as well, handing the full mug over to his love.
He didn’t offer one to Kíli across from him, the prince having been lost in thought for the past little bit, his first mug barely touched.
“What do you think he’s thinking about?” Nori asked, gesturing to Kíli.
Dwalin shrugged. “No clue.”
Right on cue, Kíli snapped back into the present, grabbing his mug to take an unsteady swig.
“Where is our burglar?” Kíli asked after gulping down a fair amount of his ale, looking around.
Dwalin sent his One a look, but Nori just shrugged in response. The spy definitely knew where Bilbo was, but Dwalin was not in the mood for another argument.
“I’m not sure,” he replied, turning back to Kíli. “Why do you ask?”
The prince then leaned in as if about to share an incredible secret, his eyes alight with mischief.
“I was thinking about Bilbo, and about him saying he doesn’t have a soulmate. But what if he does? What if he just doesn’t know it?”
Dwalin looked over at Gandalf as the wizard coughed out a plume of smoke, glancing over towards them, but he didn’t say anything.
“Okay, and?” Dwalin asked, wanting more information.
“Well, he said the flowers can be in different places. What if Bilbo’s One put their flower on their bum or something? How would he know?”
Dwalin rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his ale before replying, “Lad, the burglar is a grown hobbit. I’m sure he knows what his arse looks like.”
“But what if it’s around his bum hole? He isn’t looking there.”
“This is sweet… out of the box thinking on your part, and I’m sure Bilbo would appreciate the effort” Dwalin replied, trying hard not to laugh or call for Óin to get the prince checked out.
Beside him, Nori let out a laugh. “You could tell Bilbo to check behind his balls while you’re at it, but I don’t think it will help,” he joked, finally joining the conversation.
“And why is that?” Dwalin asked his love.
Nori chuckled, a huge smile on his face as he gestured to the open doors of Beorn’s home, Dwalin following to see Bilbo and Thorin walking up together. More shocking than that, the hobbit’s outer layers were gone, his cravat discarded and sleeves rolled up.
“Looks like those two finally figured it out,” Nori said.
“What do you mean–” Kíli began before he paused, and Dwalin saw the prince’s eyes go wide. “Mahal, they’re Ones!”
He said it loud enough that it drew the attention of the others. Everyone turned to look, as did Dwalin with a more discerning gaze. By the Valar, Kíli was right. In the low light of Beorn’s home, he could clearly see the little flower on Bilbo’s arm as well as the battle tattoo peeking out from his shirt collar.
As soon as the others noticed the same thing, the room erupted into a mix of shock, confusion, and congratulations. Though, while people were clapping Bilbo on the back, taking a look at his tattoos and sharing their opinions on them as if Thorin, the person who chose them, wasn’t even there, Dwalin turned to his shield brother.
He smiled as he approached, and Thorin smiled back. “I’m happy for you,” Dwalin said. “Finding your One is an incredible feeling, even if it is rather complicated in the beginning.”
“I’m glad I have you here to guide me through those struggles,” Thorin replied before leaning in to knock their heads together gently.
Of course, then the wizard stepped in, towering over everyone as he brought himself before Bilbo and Thorin. The rest of the room quieted.
“I’m glad you two finally figured it out,” Gandalf said loudly, congratulating the couple.
As Bilbo turned to look up at the wizard, his face morphed from a bright, happy smile to a look of pure hatred.
“You knew it! You knew it from the start, and you didn’t say a single thing, you old twat!” Bilbo yelled, berating the wizard.
“Now, now, Bilbo. I brought you on the quest for two reasons, and one of those is now complete,” Gandalf replied, a smug smile on his face. “Be grateful.”
Bilbo sputtered, and for a moment, Dwalin was worried the hobbit would climb up Gandalf like a tree just for the chance to slap him in the face. Instead, Bilbo shook his head, muttering something under his breath, and turned to Thorin.
“However it happened, I’m glad we found each other,” Bilbo said to his One, and Dwalin could tell the hobbit meant it.
It was clear to Dwalin, as he was sure it was to everyone, that the road forward was going to be treacherous and full of hard choices. Bilbo was a hobbit, and his One was the rightful ruler of Erebor—which still sat beneath a sleeping dragon. Dwalin had thought his and Nori’s relationship was rocky, but it was nothing compared to what he was sure was the most complicated connection made by the Valar in the Third Age.
However, he trusted his kin, he trusted his king, and with the way Bilbo and Thorin continued to look at each other, lean on one another, Dwalin was sure they would do just fine. They had both waited for too long; they would not refuse the gift the Valar gave them.
The End?