Work Text:
———————————————
Reclaiming Erebor under the line of Durin had never been something Nori saw himself doing a year ago. Even then, as he slid the heavy regal armor over his frame, Nori couldn't believe he was taking the first few steps to become somewhat of an honest dwarf.
In the short time they had spent in the ruins of the kingdom, Nori and Dwalin had already picked where they wanted to reside. Running from the dragon Smaug had proven not to be a total bust, but instead allowed them to briefly see parts of the mountain they would have never thought to regard. The place they had chosen was not big, nor was it small. It fit the two of them just fine, the place, although still devastated from the years of abandonment, already felt like home with the two of them in it like this.
But now the company stood in the great halls of Erebor’s armory, passing each other chest pieces and shields, weapons, helmets, and chainmail. Each with a grim expression on their faces as they thought it foolish Thorin would challenge an army of elves and men when all together, they stood at only thirteen.
Nori sat for a long time, flicking a long bladed knife with one hand, deep in thought. When Dwalin found him, he slid a careful hand on the thief’s shoulder and settled beside him.
“Is there much on your mind, uzfakuh?” Dwalin asked, brushing his nose against Nori’s. The smaller dwarf shook his head and smiled. He had always liked that nickname, uzfakuh, ‘my greatest joy’. He would always remember the first time Dwalin had called him that — years ago, back in the Blue Mountains, after they had swum in the lake together and collapsed by the shore.
“No, mudùmel.” Nori chuckled and brought a hand up to stroke Dwalin's cheek. “But I’ve got something for you.”
“A gift?”
“It’s not much,” Nori sat back to retrieve a sheathed blade from inside his coat, presenting it to Dwalin so he could open it himself.
He weighed the knife in his hand, the leather case around it worn and questionably stained, but if Dwalin noticed it, he didn't ask. It was a little heavier than a kitchen blade but would cut on first contact, that much was a given concerning any of Nori’s blades. It’s serrations looked like the mountain lines themselves, but not randomly arranged like on those less thoughtfully crafted knives one would find for outrageous prices. They would slide in smoothly and do maximum damage on the way out, like the barbs of a fishing hook. It had been murderous, even in it’s making.
Dwalin looked back to Nori, half confused as to why he would give him such a beautiful blade when he knew the dwarf would have better liked to use it himself. Nori shrugged, gently pushing the blade toward Dwalin so he wouldn’t try to give it back.
“Keep it,” he mumbled, wringing his hands in the space between them. “I had it made before we left Ered Luin.”
It was something a younger version of himself had drawn, back then, with only old scraps of loose paper and the tip of a charred branch. Nori could easily call it his most prized possession, having saved up enough money over the years to finally have it carefully crafted and smithed right before they had gone on the journey.
Dwalin’s expression softened as he watched Nori's usual grin fall. Nori even looked at the blade fondly, he’d seen it before, in Laketown, the star-headed dwarf attentively cleaning and shining it so it wouldn’t rust or run dull. “Nori, I can’t take this.” He said,
“Yeah you can, here.” Nori took the blade from Dwalin’s gentle grasp, sliding it back in its sheath, and then offering it to him again. Dwalin handed it back, and Nori pressed it into the guard’s chest. “We can make a deal, a bet even.”
“And what might that be?” Dwalin squinted with mock suspicion, a smile already curving his lips.
“If we…” Nori’s voice quivered in the slightest, most subtle way as he paused. “If we both come out of this alive, you can give it back. And um, if that doesn’t work out... “
Dwalin thought for a moment, disregarding the way Nori thought either of them would ever be able to fall in battle. They had made it this far, endured so much more than mere elves and men, and Dwalin would never let any harm even touch Nori.
“Aye, I can agree on that.” The burly dwarf leaned forward and cupped the back of Nori’s neck, pulling him close enough to kiss his lips and then bump foreheads. “You’ll get it back soon enough, uzfakuh.” He promised, putting the knife where a sword’s sheath should have been. He liked axes and maces better anyway. “Come, Thorin calls for us, and we must ready for an attack.”
—
The dirt had finally settled, the stench of orcs and blood sat heavily on the land, and Dwalin couldn’t find Nori anywhere. As he searched, he pleaded to Mahal that Nori was safe, that the maker would allow him this life with his lover, and if he did, Dwalin would never ask for anything more. He looked to the darkening sky, and at the mud, and his hands in the mud, and his dead friends in the mud.
In the end, it didn’t take long at all to find Nori with his beautiful head of hair, how could Dwalin ever have missed it? Even with the dirt and blood all around him, Nori looked as beautiful as ever.
So when Dwalin looked upon the list of names in the rock and found the one he had forbidden to ever be on such a list, he wept. And when he finally conjured enough strength to stand, he went to the great tombs of the recognized and remembered to see where his dwarf had been laid to rest.
He clutched it — the blade, the last thing Nori had ever given him — and cursed his maker for not heeding a single one of his requests in his time of need. Yet, most of all, he cursed himself, for failing to protect him, and for now not being able to even utter his name.
But let it be known to all that would listen: Dwalin, Son of Fundin, loved Nori, Son of Kori to the end of his days and on longer.
———————————————