Work Text:
Dwalin had never been so obviously courted before and, quite simply, he was at a loss for how to respond to Bilbo’s blatant disregard for subtlety in letting both Thorin and Bofur see his affections. Dwalin was almost tempted to go ahead and ask his brother how he should proceed. But, as it turned out, he was nowhere near as brave about being obvious as Bilbo and so he was left trying to decide how to respond to Bilbo’s offer of courtship all on his own.
Of course the next morning, as Dwalin was pulling on his boots, his left foot made unexpected contact with a thorn. He let out an almost silent hiss, narrowing his eyes at the sign of jealousy no doubt left by either Bofur or Thorin after the previous day’s courtship offer from the hobbit. While he was uncertain about how to go about accepting or rejecting Bilbo’s advance, he could not let this sign that one of them thought he was unworthy of the hobbit go unchallenged. As he was deciding which one was behaving like a jealous shrew so he could retaliate, he continued to gather his things… Only to see a smudge on Keeper’s handle!
That was it! Thorin and Bofur were both jealous brats and he wasn’t going to take this disrespect lying down!
Later that evening, as the Company was setting up camp, Thorin paused to take a drink from his water skin. He’d only taken a gulp before he had to pause, almost coughing at the feel of something against his tongue and he discretely reached up to his mouth to pluck the offending object from his tongue. A moment’s perusal revealed it to be a single scale from a river trout. Thorin narrowed his eyes and growled, turning a spiteful look indirectly toward Dwalin’s back as the muscular dwarf polished his axes.
That day Bofur had flip flopped between several emotions. He was mostly pining for Bilbo, debating if he should make another attempt at courting to try and steal the hobbit’s affections away from Dwalin. Another part was heart broken, unable to fathom what would happen should he be forced to once again witness Bilbo’s bold and brave declarations… toward someone else. And a large part of him was also dreading what would happen when Dwalin retaliated for Bofur’s impulsive, jealous attack on his person. Dwalin’s retaliation was soon discovered when Bofur pulled his comb from his pack before bed that night and found the tip of one of the tines had been broken off the comb. The nerve of Dwalin!
During his watch that night, Dwalin very carefully placed a single white pebble on the buckle of Bilbo’s pack before moving back over to the night watch boulder, a faint blush staining his cheeks.
A couple of days later found Dwalin once more the victim of vicious jealousy. There had been half a blade of grass in his stew at dinner! And on top of that, when he went to bed, there had been a tear in the corner of his bedroll! He could understand such blatant brutality from Bofur, he wasn’t trained in courtly manners, but for such disregard from Thorin who had been trained to become a king… Dwalin was so speechless by the act that he could almost forget that Bilbo had yet to respond to his white pebble. Surely that hadn’t been so bold, considering the hobbit had all but made his declaration of intent in public…
Dwalin was always quick to retaliate against attacks, so Thorin was unsurprised when the very next day after he managed to tear Dwalin’s bedroll he found a tiny bald patch on the fur trim of his coat. He had almost missed it at first, they had been traveling through some dense brush that day, but this particular missing patch was right over where Thorin’s heart would be. Thus, it was definitely a sign that Dwalin was stepping up his responses. Thorin debated between sending an apology to Dwalin and giving up his longing for the hobbit or showing both Dwalin and Bilbo that he would not back down from a goal once he had his heart set.
Bofur carefully inspected the faint scratch on the outermost rim of his hat with resigned eyes while he was supposed to be out gathering wood. Surely if Dwalin were willing to be that aggressive it was time to give up any chance of proving his own bravery to the handsome hobbit. He bit his lip, eyes watering. Bilbo was just so courageous, so smart, so beautiful, and kind… How could Bofur give up so easily? But Bilbo had never responded, had made his intentions toward Dwalin scandalously obvious… Maybe he should wish his friend luck. That was surely it; he’d bow out gracefully, wish Bilbo all the luck in the world. After all, his mam had once told him that if he truly loved something, he had to let it go. Bofur wiped his eyes with one of his sleeves and went about gathering wood for the fire.
Bilbo hummed happily to himself as he combed his hair. The days had just been so lovely lately that he felt joy around every corner. Since he’d become accustomed to traveling, he’d taken more time to enjoy the scenery and beauty of Middle-Earth as they made their way toward Erebor. He paused in his humming to bring out his journal and write down a few lines to a song that was starting to form in his mind. Once he finished, he went to toss the stray hairs he pulled from his comb into the fire. A commotion to one side as Gloín and Nori brought in a freshly killed deer diverted his attention and he didn’t notice as a breeze picked up one of his hairs before it could reach the flames and blew it across the camp where it landed on one of the bedrolls on the other side of camp. Putting his comb in his pocket, Bilbo moved over to help prepare the deer for dinner.
That night, Kíli paused in disbelief as he went to get ready for bed. With a trembling hand he plucked the hair from his bedroll. As he pulled it away from the bedroll, the strand of hair sprang from where the wind had blown it straight into a glaringly obvious and distinct curl. Kíli’s other hand flew to cover his mouth, stifling the gasp as his eyes nearly rolled out of his head with shock and quickly, before anyone else could see, he stuffed the curled strand of hair into his pocket. Swiftly unrolling his bedroll, Kíli dove under the blanket until he could just barely see out at the camp where the hobbit was giving his foot hair one last comb before tucking away into his own bedroll. Kíli felt his face turn red, hand once more moving to his mouth to muffle the soft giggle he felt building in his heart. No one had ever dared offer to court him before and he knew exactly how he wanted to respond…