Chapter Text
Ori was sure that he would have been able to withstand the grey morning, the slightly-too-cold dampness in the air, and even the fact that his backpack seemed to gain weight with each mile that they walked, if it weren’t for the stupid rock in his left boot.
Of course, each time he’d asked Dori to stop so that he could check, he never found the thing. He upended the boot at least twice, and still no joy.
It didn’t help that his stomach was churning from a disastrous combination of too little food that morning, too little sleep from the night before, and the uncomfortable feeling that he was forgetting something. He hadn’t been able to figure out what it possibly could be when he and Dori had left at daybreak. Ori knew how silly it was to keep worrying about it well after they’d lost sight of the mountain, but he still hadn’t been able to shake off the feeling.
All in all, it wasn’t a very promising start to this quest.
“How much further is the inn?” Ori asked, shifting his backpack to try to ease the load a little. He’d been used to carrying heavy tomes to and from the library for Balin when he was an apprentice, but he’d carried that weight in his arms, not on both shoulders for hours on end.
“Not too much more,” Dori said, sounding irritatingly cheerful, even though he was carrying more than Ori was. Ori was sure he was speeding up as he spoke, the annoying git. “We should be getting there close to noon or sundown, I should think.”
It was evidence of how tired Ori was that it took a moment for what his brother said to register. “Noon or sundown?”
“Either or, yes,” Dori replied. “Which is why we should have more walking, less talking. Come on, then. Keep up!”
Ori stared at his eldest brother, and groaned loudly before hiking his backpack up a little further on his back, and hurrying after him.
***
Against the brilliant reds and oranges of sunset, Ori could see a signpost some distance away, with a shadow leaning against it.
It must have been a dwarf, because as soon as it moved, there was the silhouette of a nose in profile, along with the bumps of a braided beard. Ori wondered if it was one of the others who’d be joining them -- and then there was a flash of a guilder, flipping end over end until a dark hand swiped it out of the air.
Ori’s heart leaped into his throat, memories of when he was a dwarfling suddenly as clear as if they’d happened yesterday. There was only one dwarf who used sleight of hand with a tarnished guilder in order to keep him occupied for more than five minutes while Dori was busy making dinner. At least, only one dwarf that Dori trusted to mind him while he was trying to find all the paper and ink he could lay his hands on.
Ori started to walk faster, before common sense reined him in, forcing him to slow down. Any dwarf could flip a coin between his fingers -- it was possible that it was one of the dwarves who was going to join their company. Fili and Kili had said that there were bound to be volunteers coming with them who Ori had never met before.
As he got closer, the dwarf turned towards him, revealing a very distinctive starburst hairstyle.
The pack Ori’d been carrying in his hands to give his shoulders a rest fell from nerveless fingers.
“Nori!”
It felt like the name was ripped from his throat as Ori ran, stumbling over rocks and the muddy track that served as a road. When he finally reached his brother, he launched himself into Nori’s arms, earning a surprised ‘oof’ and a grin that flashed in the growing darkness.
Nori let out a small huff of laughter, unlike his usual sly mirth, and hugged Ori back just as tightly. “Hey, hey. S’all right,” he murmured, patting his back like he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do.
From such a close range, Ori could see that Nori hadn’t changed during the past few years. Smirking and cocky, even his painstaking braidwork in his hair seemed to have survived in the wild well enough. The dozens of small braids in his beard were tiny and neat; his eyebrows were still braided carefully into his hair. When he seemed to have recovered from Ori’s greeting, the smirk wavered into something warmer. “Wotcher, Ori?”
“Well,” Dori huffed, standing not too far away with his arms folded across his chest, his gaze disapproving. “I’m sure that Nidi will be glad to hear you aren’t dead in a ditch somewhere.”
Nori grinned obnoxiously at their eldest brother, though he was hugging Ori as if he couldn’t bear to let go. “If you’d made book on whether I’d survive in the woods on my own cooking, we could’ve made out like bandits.”
Dori snorted loudly.
Ori pulled back and squeezed Nori’s shoulders. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
Nori looked startled for a moment before he shrugged and ruffled Ori’s hair. “I am too.” Turning back to Dori, Ori could see him pulling an artfully woebegone expression. “What, no big hug, Dori? I’m hurt, I am.”
Dori stomped over and huffed again. “And what makes you think I’d let you anywhere near my coin purse?”
Ori was close enough to see the flash of hurt on Nori’s face before he smirked again, waggling his braided eyebrows. “You’re just worried that I’ll pass it up because I know it’s empty.”
“What’re you doing here?” Ori asked quickly, trying to head off an argument that he could almost feel brewing like a thunderstorm.
Nori shrugged. “Got word about a certain quest.” At Ori’s startled look, he grinned. “And about a certain journeyman scribe who’s going along, ready to fight a dragon.” He poked Ori’s middle, like he did when Ori was a dwarfling.
Ori swatted at Nori’s hand, unable to hide the proud smile at the title. It had been seven years since he’d sailed through the examinations -- much to the astonished suspicion of the Ered Luin review board -- but it was still thrilling to hear himself referred to as such. “So, you’re going to take down the dragon with us?”
Dori grumbled, “More like he’ll stuff all the treasure hoard of Erebor down his trousers and make a run for it at the first sign of trouble.”
“Dori--” Ori objected, but stopped when Nori shook his head.
“Nah, Dori’s got the right of it,” Nori said with a brittle smile. “I read the terms of the contract that the old coot drew up. Not a bad bit of profit, assuming we all survive.”
Ori’s eyes widened, startled by the fact that Nori knew enough about the contract to give an opinion on it. In between his hesitation to join the quest, and his minor feud with Dori about it, he hadn’t had a chance to sign a contract to officially join the company. He’d been hoping to do so at the inn, since that was where the company was supposed to gather before setting out. “You’ve seen it?”
Nori raised an eyebrow at him, the braid quirking against his skin. “You haven’t?”
Ori opened his mouth to try to explain, but Dori shook his head. “As much as I’d love to continue discussing our private business out where anyone can pass by,” Dori said archly, “we really should get settled.”
“Settled?” Ori asked. He looked around, trying to see through the shadows that had enveloped everything, and then looked back at Dori. “Where?”
“Over there,” Nori said, pushing off from the signpost. Ori thought for a moment that Nori had picked a direction at random, but then a door opened about fifty or so yards away, revealing a dwarf carrying a lantern. With the ease of long practice, the dwarf hung it from a hook bolted into the side of a building next to a sign with a stylized red boar on it.
Ori hadn’t noticed it at first in the lengthening shadows of sunset, but as they made their way, he could see that what had been a large shadow sported windows, through which firelight could be seen.
Once upon a time, the Red Boar Inn had been a manor house for a nob who liked his privacy, Nori explained offhandedly. Nestled in a wilderness that had long since been beaten into a semi-flat plain with three dirt roads that were nearly mud, the inn seemed a convenient way station for travelers coming to and from the mountains. The stables were close to the front of the inn, boasting what looked like nearly a platoon of ponies of various sizes and colors.
When the explanation quickly devolved into an argument about Nori’s possible smuggling activities conducted outside of Ered Luin, Ori rolled his eyes and wandered back to the signpost until his brothers were finished griping at each other.
In the strong light of the lantern, Ori could see that the signpost that Nori had been leaning against at the crossroads was crude, but serviceable; three boards of varying degrees of decay were nailed to it, pointing haphazardly to “Ered Luin”, “Mithlond”, and “Hobbiton”.
“Ori!” Dori called from the doorway. “Come inside before you catch cold!”
“Are you two finished arguing?” Ori asked mildly.
“Never you mind,” Dori said firmly. “Inside with you, now. Come on!”
Rolling his eyes, Ori hurried to get inside.
When he reached the threshold, Ori’s stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. It had taken years to get over the surge of panic he’d felt whenever he tried to walk into a pub, but there were still times when he’d feel a bit sick, especially if he’d never been there before. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a few deep breaths as he tried to will down the panic.
Dori and Nori were here. They weren’t going to let anything happen to him. The rest of the company was there too, and if everyone was eating supper, then Ori could move his food around his plate and then scrape it onto Fili’s or Kili’s plate. As long as he kept his wits about him, he’d be just fine. Bolstered by the thought, Ori walked in.
The inside of the inn was packed with dwarf-filled tables, and the ruddy glow of firelight from numerous iron chandeliers and fireplaces. Columns were spaced throughout the room at regular intervals, holding up a ceiling that looked almost bowed under its own weight. The bar along the back wall was filled with liquor bottles and customers, and the noise was such that Ori wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hear himself think. Seeing the tables of dwarves laughing, talking, jeering, Ori felt his throat getting tight when he couldn’t spot Dori right away--
Ori squeezed his eyes shut, and forced himself to take slow, deep breaths.
When he opened his eyes again, Dori’s waving hand caught his attention from the far corner of the room. Ori made his way through the crowd, murmuring apologies as he went, and noticed that the company gathered together for their journey had taken up residence at a few round tables clustered near one of the fireplaces near a corner of the room. A knot of panic that he hadn’t realized was still present loosened in his chest as he made his way over to Dori.
“There you are,” Dori said, reaching out when Ori got into range and half-dragging him over to sit down. “Sit, sit. We’ve still some time yet.”
Ori sat down, belatedly discovering that Dori’s table hadn’t been unoccupied. He nodded quickly to Balin and Oin. “Good evening, Master Oin,” he said, making sure to raise his voice so that Oin could hear. “Master Balin.”
Balin smiled, nodding back graciously. “Hello, lad. Can’t say that I’m surprised to see you here, though I’d thought you were coming alone?”
Dori sat down, looking offended. “Absolutely not. I’m not about to let him face down a dragon on his own.”
Balin held up a hand. “Of course not. You’re a fine brother, and you’d never let the lad come to harm, if you can help it,” he said soothingly. “We’re glad to have all the hands we can get, really.”
Ori frowned. “Why? What’s wrong? I thought Fili and Kili said that there were going to be a lot of volunteers?”
Balin snorted. “Remember the source of your information. About the only volunteers we’ve had are the gentlemen there.” He turned to look over his shoulder at another table, closer to the corner.
There were three dwarves that Ori didn’t recognize -- a large dwarf with a ginger braided loop for a beard; one with an odd cap that looked more at home with the loggers that came through Ered Luin from the south; and one sporting the remnants of an axe embedded in one side of his forehead, along with black and white braids that made Ori think of a mottled pony that he had once seen some years back.
“Only three?” Ori turned back to Balin, still a bit disappointed by how few there were. “How many does that bring the company up to now?”
Dori squinted at their set of tables, counting under his breath before he grumbled, “Looks like nine so far. Ten, counting Thorin.” He glanced up to find a harried-looking dwarf with a large platter in their arms, offering him a tankard. “Ah, thank you-- That’s not comforting, Master Balin.”
Balin grunted. “We’ve got another three coming.” At Ori’s curious look, he added, “Fili and Kili aren’t here at the moment, but they should be arriving soon with--”
Ori felt a shiver run down his spine, and before he realized what he was doing, he was watching the door just in time to see three newcomers entering the common room. The trio were wearing hooded cloaks over armor, but the one bringing up the rear was noticeably taller. The two in the lead didn’t seem sure where to go, their hoods turning this way and that before they made a quick beeline for their corner. When they noticed Ori, they threw off their hoods and hurried over to him.
Fili and Kili swarmed Ori, yanking him out of his seat and giving him enthusiastic back-pats and shouted greetings. Given that the din hadn’t died down appreciably since Ori had come in, they weren’t out of place, though a few of the dwarves at the bar were glancing over at their group more often.
“Who’s that with you?” Ori managed when he got his breath back. His heart pounded in his chest for some reason, but not from the fond looks Fili and Kili were giving him, glad to see that he was safe and sound after only a few weeks apart.
“You remember our old weapons master, Mister--” Kili began, just as the dwarf approached their group of tables and peeled off his hood.
Blue eyes shone in the firelight, taking him in at a glance. A full, black beard lay against his armor. Sheathed in holsters on the dwarf’s back were two battle axes, the shadows lengthening on the names engraved on their blades.
Ori’s mouth went dry as Dwalin stared at him.
“I remember,” he said weakly. His heart sounded like a team of smiths, hammering away. His palms felt uncomfortably sweaty.
One moment, Ori could feel panic intermingled with a sick sort of despair in his stomach; and the next, Ori was just plain irritated.
I’ve spent seventeen years dealing with this, he scolded himself. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of thinking I give a damn what he thinks anymore.
Angry at himself for how quickly he’d turned into a nervous dwarfling in Dwalin’s presence, he ignored the looks he got from Fili, Kili, and the others sitting at the table, and headed straight for the bar.
Halfway there, he belatedly remembered that he was just going to be wasting his money buying himself something to drink, but he forced himself to keep going. He’d only brought enough pocket money with him to buy or trade for a pony (Fili had told him it was a necessity for the journey), and after all the lessons that Dori had drilled into him about not carrying more money than he needed, Ori didn’t have a lot left over for anything else.
Feeling silly for doing it, but less silly than he would have turning around and going back empty-handed, he bellied up to the bar, and ordered himself a tankard of mead for appearance’s sake. With a flash of inspiration, he hastily corrected himself, ordering two more tankards and slapped three guilders on the counter. It had been a stupid idea, getting drinks for himself and Fili and Kili that he was going to have some trouble carrying, but if he was too busy worrying about spilling drinks, he would be able to buy himself some time before having to deal with Dwalin.
It took a bit of juggling, but soon, he’d gotten a fairly solid hold on the tankards, hugging them to his chest much like some of the larger tomes that Balin had sent him to fetch and carry in years past. Weaving through the crowd as gingerly as he could, and remembering how he’d navigated the market while similarly encumbered, he heaved a sigh of relief when he found he could hug one wall in a straight enough path back to their tables.
Two large hands reached into his field of vision and easily scooped two tankards out of his hands.
Ori squawked, unbalanced by the sudden “assistance” and equally offended that some stranger was going to try to steal mead that someone in their company could enjoy. He started to say something, only to see that the hands in question sported thick, tattooed fingers, and were adorned with knuckle-dusters that were heavily scarred from use.
Ori’s gaze traveled from the hands, up the strong, wide chest, past the ruff of fur over battered armor, and up to blue eyes, which stared at him intently.
Ori wanted to shout or sneer -- anything that he could think of to wipe the beginnings of a smile off that lower lip that looked fuller and softer than it had any right to look. It hadn’t been five bloody minutes, and his soulmate was already standing right in front of him, smiling at him as if he were some animal in a cage, put there for his amusement.
Well, if Captain Dwalin of the Watch was going to be a complete bastard to him, Ori was going to give him a piece of his mind. He would have to apologize later to Balin, of course, but the quest already promised to last for months, if not a full year, and he was going to be damned if he had to suffer through--
“Your eyes are brown,” Dwalin murmured, his voice smooth and dark.
Ori felt like a candle that had been snuffed unexpectedly. The only thing that registered was that he had an uncomfortable feeling that he should recognize that sentence.
A moment later, he did.
He’d said the same thing to Dwalin when he spoke to Dwalin for the first time, when he first realized who Dwalin was instead of speaking to him without ever seeing his face, or understanding his importance in Ori’s life.
Dwalin smiled at him, looking absolutely pleased with himself.
It would have felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on top of him, if Ori’s cheeks hadn’t been burning with anger and embarrassment. His soulmate was right in front of him, talking to him openly for the first time in seventeen years in front of an inn full of dwarves, and Dwalin was mocking him.
“I’m aware of that, Captain, thank you,” Ori gritted out between clenched teeth. “If you would hand those back, I’ll take them to the table myself.” He nodded towards the tankards in Dwalin’s hands.
The smile dropped away suddenly, leaving behind a startled frown. It was possible that Dwalin hadn’t thought that he’d fight back, but given their previous interactions, the idea was ludicrous.
In a flicker of candlelight, Dwalin drew himself up, looking perfectly reasonable when he said, “You looked like you were having trouble.”
Ori almost wondered if he could break his own teeth with how hard he was clenching his jaw. Years of aggravation with Fili’s and Kili’s ‘brilliant ideas’ didn’t seem to have prepared him for meeting up with his soulmate again, apparently. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying three tankards of mead across a room, thank you.”
“If what you mean by ‘carrying’ is ‘dropping’ them, then aye, you looked like you were going to manage just fine,” Dwalin countered lightly, his tone almost teasing.
The thought that Dwalin assumed he was an uncoordinated dwarfling who was too proud to accept help carrying three measly tankards of mead had Ori biting back the foulest curses he’d ever heard Nori use. He’d carried things three times as unwieldy when he was an apprentice, and while he’d been a bit out of practice since he no longer had to fetch and carry for his master, it hadn’t meant that he was a complete butterfingers--
Ori forced himself to close his eyes, and breathe for a moment to keep a civil tongue in his head. Dori had raised him not to make a scene in public, especially not somewhere where drawing attention would cause more trouble than it was worth. And he was going to be damned if he was going to start screaming at his soulmate like a dwarfling throwing a tantrum. He wasn’t going to fall into that trap, no matter how tempting Dwalin made it for him.
When he opened them again, he saw Dwalin frowning at him.
“Since you’re so concerned with how clumsy I am, then you can give those to Fili and Kili yourself,” he snapped, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the din of the common room, but not loud enough to be considered a shout. “I think I hear Dori calling me.”
He turned on his heel away from Dwalin, knowing that if he looked at his soulmate for another moment, he was going to try to punch him in the face with his newly-freed hand, and Ori didn’t fancy hurting himself.
When he returned to the table while pointedly ignoring Dwalin’s presence, he carefully set the tankard in front of Balin, who looked pleasantly surprised at the gift, and then sat down in his chair as calmly as he could manage.
Dori stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment before he turned to Balin with a smile. “Mister Balin, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back. There’s something I want to discuss with Ori.”
Before Ori could protest that, no, he didn’t want to discuss anything, he was sitting in perfect (if infuriated) silence and hadn’t been disturbing anyone else at the table, Dori had hoisted him up out of his chair with one strong hand, dragging him through the crowd to another corner of the room that gave the illusion of privacy better than their tables had, muttering ‘excuse mes’ and apologies to the dwarves he bumped along the way.
“All right, what happened?” Dori asked, not unkindly.
“Nothing,” Ori half-mumbled.
Dori snorted. “You look angry enough to stab someone in the eyes with dull quills, and then strangle them with bookbinding thread.”
Through the anger, Ori nearly smiled at the mental image, but as silly as it sounded, he wanted to stay angry, so he shot Dori a sour look. “Bookbinding thread’s not that strong.”
“Still got you to smile, though.” Dori’s own smile slipped into a concerned frown. “Now, really, what’s wrong?”
Ori gritted his teeth, exhaling slowly through his nose. “Dwalin’s here.”
Dori’s expression darkened immediately. “What happened? Did he say anything to you?” His gaze swiveled from Ori back towards their group. He zeroed in on Dwalin, who had set the tankards of mead in front of Fili and Kili, and appeared to be fielding questions from them. If looks could kill, Ori fancied Dori’s would have.
“Yes,” Ori managed, gusting a sigh. “He brought up something from a long time ago that’s a bit embarrassing.”
Dori turned back to Ori, still glaring. “So, he’s mocking you now? Has he any sense of--”
“Wotcher, Dori?”
Ori jumped at the voice behind his shoulder, turning his head to see that Nori, with his hood up, had joined them in their quiet corner.
“Stop that,” Dori snapped. “It’s impolite to scare Ori out of his wits.”
Ori gave Dori a sour look, but Nori only snorted.
“It’s fine, though you’re starting to get some looks,” Nori said, waving a hand dismissively. “What’s going on?”
Dori opened his mouth, but then stopped himself and looked at Ori expectantly. “Do you want to tell him, or should I?”
Ori blinked at him, glancing at Nori and then back to Dori, not understanding.
Dori heaved a put-upon sigh. “Dwalin is Ori’s soulmate, and Dwalin’s been treating him poorly ever since Ori found out who he was.”
Nori stilled to the point where he could’ve been mistaken for a statue. After a long, uncomfortable moment, his expression thawed with a careless shrug. “Never would’ve figured Dwalin to go for the barely legal ones,” he tossed out. “When did they meet up? A week or two ago?”
Dori glared at Nori, looking ready to throw punches. “Try twenty years ago.”
“Seventeen,” Ori corrected with an embarrassed mumble.
Nori’s hazel eyes slid over to Ori, reminding him of a snake contemplating whether to strike. “He ever touch you?” he asked in a deceptively mild tone.
Ori frowned, trying to remember. He remembered how Dwalin had touched him during the rescue, and how Dwalin had held his wrists when Ori had been in the middle of a nightmare, but those hadn’t counted. Not the sinister way that Nori meant it, at least.
But other than those times...
“No.” Ori slowly shook his head in wonder, surprised that he’d never noticed before. “He just glared at me like I was something to be scraped off his shoe.”
Nori’s gaze slid over to Dwalin, watching the hulking dwarf without blinking. “It’s a bad idea to do it now,” he said, just as mildly as before. “We need him for muscle on this quest, yeah?”
“What are you talking about?” Ori frowned, looking at Dwalin as if watching him from across the room could explain what Nori was talking about.
“Something he shouldn’t even be thinking of doing,” Dori hissed, grabbing Nori’s arm and yanking him around to glare at him. “I didn’t come all this way to watch you do your dirty work in front of me. You’ll not get yourself in trouble over this, and you’ll definitely not harm anyone who’s part of this company. Do you understand me?”
Nori sneered, yanking his arm from Dori’s grip. “So, what do you propose we do, brother mine? If you’re right, and Ori’s soulmates with the good Captain, that means we’re going to have to deal with him until Ori wises up and kicks him to the roadside. I’m not going to see my little brother tied to somebody who don’t respect him.”
Ori watched this exchange with a growing sense of irritation intermingled with something warm and cozy unfurling in his chest. “Excuse me,” he said pointedly, pleased when both of his brothers deigned to look at him. “But maybe you should ask me what I want, seeing as how he’s my soulmate and all?”
Dori shot Nori a dark look before turning his disapproval on Ori. “Ori, you remember what he was like when he was in Ered Luin last. Orcs have better manners than he did, and you didn’t deserve a single bit of how he treated you.”
Ori sighed. “I know, Dori. But I’m not about to have you both threatening to make his legs bend the wrong way, or whatever else you have in mind for him.”
Nori snorted, folding his arms across his chest. “All right, then. What do you propose we do?”
When Ori couldn’t immediately think of a plan of attack, Dori and Nori traded a significant look.
Propping his fists on his hips in frustration, Ori snapped, “I want you to leave him alone. No threats, no sharpening knives threateningly, no aggressive knitting--” At Dori’s outraged squawk, Ori jabbed a finger at him. “I mean it! Leave him alone! Just-- let me handle it.”
Dori folded his arms across his chest now, looking unimpressed. “I’ve seen the way you’ve handled it, Ori. Dwarves like Dwalin don’t learn without a concrete lesson.”
Ori sighed heavily, feeling tired and annoyed. “Please? Just let me handle this? If it gets to be too much, I’ll come to you, I promise. I just want a chance to deal with him myself without hiding behind your sk--” He stopped himself in time before he finished that sentence. Instead, he lamely corrected himself. “Behind the two of you.”
Nori let out a snort that said he knew exactly what Ori had meant. “The second he tries something with you, he’s getting a knife in his hand.”
Ori gave him a weak smile. “I appreciate the thought, but I mean it.”
“That’s not a thought; it’s a promise,” Nori said. “Now, if you two don’t mind, I’ve gotta make myself scarce. I wasn’t kidding about recognizing a few faces in here.” With that, he readjusted his hood so that all that could be clearly seen was his rich, red beard, and melted into the shadows.
Ori turned to Dori, giving him a stern look. “Are you going to leave Dwalin alone?”
Dori gave him a look of his own. “What I don’t understand is why you’re leaving yourself open to this. He was absolutely abominable to you, and he doesn’t deserve another chance to hurt you.”
“He’s not going to get one,” Ori said firmly. “Just because we’re on this quest doesn’t mean that I have to talk to him. I’ll follow Thorin’s orders as the leader of our company, but Dwalin’s not my master, or my family.”
“He’s your soulmate,” Dori muttered. “Which could be far worse.”
“Dori--”
Dori shook his head. “From what Mister Gloin tells me, we’re to stay here for the night in the rooms upstairs, and wait for someone named Gandalf to meet us here.” At Ori’s puzzled look, he shook his head. “I don’t know who he is myself, but I’m told that he’s going with us at least part of the way. From the way Balin was talking about him, you’d think he was just as vital as the pack ponies to bring along.”
Ori frowned. “Who could possibly be that important?”
Dori shook his head, looking faintly irritated. “I don’t know, but whoever he is, I hope he’s tolerable enough.” He clapped his hands together, and turned his full attention on Ori. “All right, now. Since you’re not hungry, let’s turn in. We don’t know how early this Gandalf fellow is going to arrive, and we don’t want to keep him waiting.”
***
Of course, that night, Ori couldn’t sleep.
It wasn’t difficult to figure out why -- he hadn’t felt all that comfortable walking into the inn in the first place, and the thought of so many travelers quartering in other rooms meant that there were so many dwarves that Ori didn’t know nearby. He knew he’d been spoiled when he’d apprenticed with Balin -- the halls where Thorin and his family lived had been so empty compared to the rest of Ered Luin, and he’d gotten used to that emptiness.
Still, it wasn’t helping him now, and if he didn’t do something, he was going to be too tired to stand the next day, let alone make any notes in his journal.
Ori carefully unwrapped Dori’s arm from around him and slipped out of bed, pausing when Dori snorted in his sleep, but relaxing when he saw his brother wasn’t going to wake up from the disturbance. Sleeping with Dori had been a little embarrassing at first, but since they’d only had the one bed, and there were three of them, Nori had kipped on the floor. When Ori had still protested sharing a bed with Dori, both of his brothers had mentioned how they’d had to share a bed before their mother’s death, so really, it wasn’t as strange as Ori had thought.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
Ori jumped with a muffled cry, wheeling on the source of the voice. Nori was sitting on the ground, his back braced against the wall, aimed at the doorway, and appearing to be whittling something. Whatever it was still looked like a misshapen block, but Ori didn’t focus on that.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Ori whispered back.
Nori rolled his eyes. “I know that.” He nodded at Dori’s sleeping form. “You’re lucky he doesn’t sleep light.”
Ori glanced at Dori and sighed. “I think I’m going to go downstairs, clear my head a bit.”
“Get something to eat as well.” It sounded like Nori wasn’t sure whether to make it a question or an order.
Ori frowned. “I’m not hungry.” At that, his stomach protested.
Nori shot him an amused look. “Yeah, I hear that. Get something to eat while you’re down there. It’ll help you sleep.”
Ori wanted to protest that he was fine, but couldn't think of a way to do it without having to explain why he had trouble accepting food or drink from any tavern, let alone this one. He finally gave up with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll see if the owner has something left over.”
Nori nodded before settling back against the wall.
Ori frowned, confusion and suspicion creeping up on him. “You’re not coming with me?”
Nori snorted. “I’m not Dori. You’ll eat or you won’t.”
“Then why bother pestering me about it?” Ori asked, still confused.
Nori shrugged, keeping his eyes firmly on the misshapen block he was whittling. “S’what brothers’re supposed to do, isn’t it?”
The way that Nori’s accent slurred the word ‘isn’t’ reminded Ori of someone else with red hair and a haunted look in his eyes. “It’s what Dori does,” he murmured. “But you’re not that bad a brother yourself.”
Nori shot him a dark look. “Nice try. Go on down, if you’re getting something for yourself. Yell if you run into trouble.”
Ori nodded, stung by the harshness in Nori’s voice. “All right. Back in a bit.”
With that, he opened the door to the room, and headed out, easing the door shut behind him.
The stairs were only a little creaky as Ori carefully descended. When he got to the common room, he was startled by how large and empty it was. The fire in the fireplaces had been banked, some of the coals glowing a muted orange. The candles on the chandeliers had long since been snuffed. Moonlight shone through the windows, leaving pale squares on the wood floor and glinting off a few bottles that rested on the shelves behind the bar.
Ori felt a bit bad for lying to Nori about trying to find something to eat, but it passed quickly enough when he sat at the table near one of the fireplaces. He took advantage of a patch of moonlight that shone on the tabletop to pull out his journal.
He’d been halfway through describing the interior of the Red Boar when a bottle appeared in his peripheral vision, a large hand setting it down on the table with a firm thump, the knuckledusters clinking against the glass.
Ori jerked his head up, staring dumbly first at the bottle, and then at the owner of the hand. The dwarf’s face was shadowed, but Ori was positive that if the light were better, he’d see a crooked nose, a soft lower lip, and ice-blue eyes.
Dwalin stared at him before pulling the cork out of the bottle with one hand and pouring the liquid into two tankards easily. When he was finished, he pushed one over in front of Ori, and took a sip from his own.
Ori stared at the tankard in front of him, wondering what was in it before carefully setting his quill aside. He thought about drying the fresh ink on the page before putting the journal away, but decided against it. Given Dwalin’s habits, he was most likely going to make whatever snide remarks he wanted, and then disappear back to his room.
The longer Dwalin watched him, the more Ori’s shoulders tightened in anticipation.
There were a number of things that Dwalin could bring up, not least of which was Ori’s inclusion on the journey when Thorin’s call for any able-bodied dwarves to come with him to reclaim Erebor required that any volunteers be able to defend themselves. Given the state Dwalin had seen him in the last time they spoke to each other -- blind, helpless, and in the grips of a nightmare that left him terrified -- Dwalin probably had a few choice things to say on the matter.
Ori stared back, and when it was obvious that Dwalin wasn’t going to say anything, he sighed, annoyance snapping him roughly out of his spiralling thoughts. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Dwalin’s habit of hiding behind any kind of mask he could lay his hands on whenever he felt the need to talk to Ori, coupled with his need for Ori to speak first so that he could cut him to the quick, seemed as strong as ever. Perhaps the incident with his being “helpful” with the mead had been some sort of fluke.
“Good evening to you too,” he said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.
Dwalin grunted, taking a sip of his drink. “Whiskey’s better drunk straight away.”
Ori scowled, very pointedly picking up the tankard Dwalin had poured him, and firmly set it back down in front of Dwalin. “Thank you, but I’m not thirsty.”
“You’ve not had anything to eat or drink all night,” Dwalin said.
There was a moment when Ori felt surprised at Dwalin’s perceptiveness, but irritation won out. He’d been aggressively mothered by a master growing up. Fili and Kili had certainly tried their best to be as inconveniently overprotective as possible as they’d grown older together, but nothing could have compared to Dori’s brand of parenting. Dwalin’s sudden interest in his well-being felt piss-poor and mocking in comparison.
“And I’m not going to,” Ori said firmly, his stomach churning at the idea of choking down whiskey. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I’ve finished my notes. Good night.”
With that, he eased his notebook closed, picked up his quill, and headed for the stairs without a backward glance.
It wasn’t until he stood in front of the door to the room he was sharing with his brothers that realization struck like a well-aimed mallet to his head.
He’d never lost the upper hand in that conversation.
Not once.
He hadn’t gotten angry, he hadn’t been scared. Oh, there had been waiting for Dwalin to make a move in the conversation, but when Dwalin didn’t go on the attack, Ori had been able to take control of the conversation to the end. He’d politely refused the drink instead of exploding. He’d got up without his legs shaking. His voice hadn’t even shaken once. There hadn’t been an ounce of fear in him from beginning to end.
With a small but triumphant smile, he opened the door to his room, and felt better about this journey already.