Work Text:
As soon as Thorin's arms came up to encircle the hobbit, Dwalin forced himself to look anywhere but at him.
That hurt too much.
He tried as much as he could to push any underlying motivations to the back of his mind. To kid himself that the embrace was meaningless.
But there was no mistake to the look Thorin gave the burglar. As his king turned back to the company, Dwalin saw his eyes softer than they had been in a long while, the emotion there plain as daylight. Not even when he and Dwalin had sat together on evenings dreaming of this moment- when they finally saw home again- did such happiness, such contentment, seep through to his exterior.
Thorin smiled- though his face was battered and bruised, he smiled.
And that was too much for Dwalin to take. He busied himself with leaning on his war hammer, his eyes averted under the guise of giving the king some privacy.
Reality though, hit him. Thorin would never look at him in the way he did the hobbit. That burglar- he thought, hiding a venomous look.
But as quickly as the thought had come, he pushed it down into the pit of his stomach. He could not blame the hobbit for having his king's love. Nor could he blame Thorin for his heart's choice.
Dwalin's smile when he finally looked up was strained, his eyes stinging in the crisp autumn wind which blew hardest in the top of the blasted rock. He would not get away with weeping in front of the others- but perhaps, if he managed to get some privacy, behind a tree or rock- he would allow himself to break.
His steady hands shook. Thorin said nought, but stood tall beside Bilbo, his back, for the first time in his life, turned against Dwalin- and it was no longer he who stood at his right hand side.
Perhaps Dwalin would learn again to love Thorin as a friend, and perhaps he would forget that he ever loved the dwarf as more than a brother.