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When Dwalin had been a young lad, no more than 30 with whiskers little more than a hopeful wish, he had run away from home. He couldn’t remember now what had caused such offense, undoubtedly something his brother had said- he had far less patience as a lad. Armed with nothing more than his wooden ax and his mother’s fresh batch of biscuits he had made his way determinedly to the city of Dale. Looking back he wonders how he made it so far without being caught and thinks his father had probably been following him the whole time. It would certainly explain how he had appeared so suddenly once Dwalin started crying.
Of course Dwalin had left with no plan for what he’d do once he reached Dale. Perhaps work at the toy makers shop or be a taste tester for the bakery. The city however proved to be far different for the young dwarfling alone than the few times he had visited with his father and the other grown-ups. None of the big folk had noticed the rather small child at their feet. Dwalin had quickly grown scared of all the people towering over him and bumping into him. He quickly became lost and took refuge in a small gap between buildings. To make matters worse he was hungry and had eaten all his biscuits on the journey down. Dwalin had been certain he was going to die right there, all alone.
His father had found him soon after the tears had started. Had held him close and whispered comfort and praise and admonishments. Then he had raised Dwalin up on his shoulders, bought him a meat pie, and carried him home to the hugs and scolding of his mother. The journey had ended well and was followed by many happy memories before the dragon came but Dwalin never forgot what it felt like, the absolute terror of that small dwarfling alone in a world far too big for him.
Dwalin thought of that time as he watched the small hobbit sputter and fluster after the dwarrows in his house, eyes large and not able to fully hide his terror. It was with sympathy that Dwalin watched him faint at the thought of dragons and death and a quest that was far too big for this little creature. He knew how the hobbit felt. Had felt that way too and knew, as his father had told him all those years ago, that there was no shame in it. He was glad when the hobbit turned them down, impressing Dwalin by staring down both Thorin and the wizard. The quest was no place for small Bilbo Baggins.
Of course the next morning the hobbit proved there was more to him than the dwarrows had first expected by chasing after them and signing the contract to be their burglar. As they traveled along Dwalin took it upon himself to keep an eye on the hobbit. He felt an affinity for their burglar, almost a kinship, which manifested as protectiveness. He tried to be subtle about it, knowing he frightened the small thing but subtleties had never been his strong suit and sometimes to keep a person from falling over a cliff you just had to grab them by the back of the shirt.
As the quest continued, Dwalin found himself needing to protect the burglar less and less until their burglar was saving them. By the time they made it to Laketown Dwalin could not help but admire his bravery and quick thinking. It was obvious the burglar was more than any of them had expected, just as the wizard had said.
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Dwalin, and even Thorin himself led several rounds of toast in their burglar’s honor. The lad’s face was bright red but he smiled and laughed with them and offered many of his own toast in return. Dwalin was smug to note he had been toasted more by the pretty little burglar than anyone else. When he said as much to Thorin his king had just laughed and slapped him on the back hard enough to spill his 7th (or was it 8th?) cup of ale. It would be the last day of true cheer they would have for a long time.
Things seemed to landslide at an alarming rate once the secret door opened. Looking back all of Dwalin’s memories of that time were hazy and unclear and he realizes now it was the gold sickness. His first clear memory is of Bilbo’s terrified eyes as Thorin raged and held him over the wall. Suddenly Dwalin is 30 again and too small for the world around him, too frightened to move from his hiding place. Thorin is his best friend and what’s more, he’s Dwalin’s king whom he is to follow and obey no matter what but then there’s Bilbo. Sweet, gentle, brave Bilbo to whom they all owe their lives several times over. Bilbo, who, Dwalin suddenly realizes, was the only one to keep his head in the face of all that gold and was once again trying to save them even if it was the worst way possible. Never before had Dwalin’s loyalties been so torn and his indecision has him frozen.
Gandalf interceding saves Bilbo’s life. The shame of that moment, watching Bilbo walk away, takes a long time to fade.
The less said about the next few hours the better. It is not a proud time to be a dwarf and Dwalin can only hope history looks down on them kindly. Or better yet, skips that part entirely. Once out on the battlefield they all fight with the fire of Mahal himself. It is not just about protecting their home anymore and it certainly isn’t about gold; it is about redemption and restoring honor.
He really shouldn’t have been surprised when Bilbo appears on Ravenhill. Shouldn’t but is. Bilbo is so much bigger than anyone could have ever guessed and Dwalin takes a moment to admire him as he takes out several orcs with nothing more than rocks before returning to the fighting. He loses track of Bilbo soon after with the arrival of Azog and his foul spawn. Watching Fili fall from the tower sends Dwalin into berserker. For the next several hours there is nothing but the red haze of rage, the black spray of orc blood, and his own battle cries in his ears.
When it is all over Dwalin feels too small for his body. It is like when he would put on his father’s armor as a dwarfling. His limbs feel large and clumsy and everything is muffled in his ears. It is Balin who finds him stumbling across the battlefield and updates him on everyone’s conditions. All alive but for how long is anyone’s guess. The Durins are the worst off and no one knows yet if they’ll make it through the night. Dwalin follows blindly along as Balin leads him to the makeshift camp.
“Bilbo?” Dwalin finally asks, realizing there is one name his brother left out.
Balin shakes his head. “Missing. He’s not been seen since before the eagles came.”
Dwalin settles himself in front of the Durins’ tent. It is his place to guard the royal family- his family and he will do so, even if it is only to ensure a peaceful passing. He stays there, ensuring only healers come and go until his brother comes and physically removes him. When he finally manages to fall asleep, Dwalin sleeps like the dead. It only stands to reason, with his luck, that Bilbo is found and brought before an awaken Thorin while Dwalin is away.
It is only by chance Dwalin hears someone crying. It is quiet and smothered, obviously not wanting to be noticed and he follows it to Bilbo tucked tightly between two large crates. Dwalin doesn’t even think about it; just bends down and pulls the hobbit out. Pulls Bilbo into his arms. He struggles half-heartedly before curling up into Dwalin’s embrace and sobbing. He doesn’t bother to ask Bilbo what’s wrong. He knows what’s wrong. So he just holds the hobbit and gives what comfort he can and maybe takes some comfort of his own.
“I can’t do this.” Bilbo finally says. “I am just a little hobbit and this is such a big world.”
Dwalin knows. He knows exactly what Bilbo is feeling right now because he is feeling it too. “There is no shame in that.” Dwalin remembers the words of his father. “No shame in being little.”
There’s more Dwalin wants to say. Bilbo has saved them so many times, has proven his worth over and over again, he’s the biggest one of them all. He’s never been good with words though and now isn’t the time for confessions.
Soon though.
When things are settled and outcomes are realized and everyone’s had a chance to just breathe Dwalin will tell him. Bilbo is the biggest person the dwarf has ever met. Big enough to consume his entire heart.