Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dori couldn’t move. Air was stuttering in and out of his lungs, but he didn’t feel like he would ever have enough air. He couldn’t make his eyes focus. And all his limbs felt weak, limp—not that he could feel his limbs, per se. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even raise an arm to shove away the dead weight lying on his chest. This should have scared him—he was Dori, firstborn of the house of Ri, the strength of his arms was legendary, as was the strength of his will. This weakness suffusing him should have scared him, but he found he could not muster the strength even for that. So, he just lay where he was. Eventually, with a loud groan, the weight on his chest rolled off, and the air flowed more easily into Dori’s lungs.

Gradually, Dori’s heart returned to a more normal tempo. His breathing evened out, and the feeling returned to his extremities. He became aware of two things: one, he really needed some water. And two, there was a smile stretched out across his face. All things considered, it was most likely an all fucked out smile. Probably with a good dash of finally in the mix, too. Dori considered himself a patient dwarf, but this thing between Hundir and him had been drawn out for years, and that was more than enough for Dori.

It had all started, as so many things in Dori’s life did, with a pot of tea. Oh, he knew that other rougher, warrior types scoffed at his love for tea. Real dwarves quaff ale—hah. Real dwarves knew that teas, like life, could surprise you. So when a huge, muscle-bound dwarf with a gorgeous golden beard sauntered into Dori’s teashop one afternoon, his first thought was oh, my, followed swiftly by a craving for a cup of toasted vanilla darjeeling. Eventually, though, good sense intervened, and Dori wended his way over to where the large dwarf had sat down and was divesting himself of the large knife and axe he wore.

Oh my, indeed.

“How may I serve you today, good sir?” Oh dear. Did that sound too suggestive? Although you did forget to wish him good day, maybe it sounded more curt and less suggestive.

Oh shut up.

 Thankfully, the dwarf did not seem to have thought there was anything out of the ordinary with what Dori had said. He looked up from where he was settling his axe down on the wooden bench and smiled, his eyes crinkling adorably—stop it!

“Well, I’m not sure, really. ‘m not much of a tea-drinker, usually, but it’s right nippy out, and I could use some warmin’ up.” Even as he fought a blush—could use some warming up, now, could he?—Dori’s mind had already landed on a perfect brew for this golden behemoth.

“If I may recommend something, we have a very nice spiced saffron honeybush. Which is not technically tea, but very delicious. Or if you don’t like honeybush, then perhaps the chocolate chai, or maybe even the berry black tea, that’s a popular one…” Abruptly realising that he was rambling, Dori shut his mouth and attempted what he hoped was a professional expression of expectant politeness: ready to take your order, kind patron.

The dwarf smiled again, wider this time, and Dori could see that his teeth were even and white beneath his beard. His beautifully golden and intricately braided beard.

Stop it.

“Spiced saffron sounds good. Not sure I know what honeybush is, but if that’s your recommendation, I’ll take it.” Dori nodded, and with a murmured “That’ll just take a minute,” beat a hasty retreat before he could embarrass himself by staring or swallowing loudly or saying something foolish.

Over the next few weeks, the burly blond dwarf returned to the teashop every few days, each time asking for Dori’s recommendation. Dori was surprised and delighted to find that the dwarf—who had, on his third visit, introduced himself as Hundir, son of Hrondir—seemed to enjoy talking about tea as much as drinking them. Dori got in the habit of dropping by Hundir’s table for a chat every time he had a free moment—which was less often than he would have liked; the teashop was popular with many dwarrowdams, as well as scholarly dwarves who liked to bring their scrolls and books in and needed frequent refills. Dori soon came to look forward to Hundir’s visits and their little chats, even if it meant he had to hustle a little more when serving other customers, or stay a little later to wash up the accumulated pots and cups he would otherwise have washed whenever he had a lull during the day.

Still, when Hundir told him, some three weeks after he’d come in for that first pot of spiced saffron honeybush, that he had taken on a job as a guard on a caravan and would be gone for at least a year, the depth of Dori’s dismay took him quite by surprise. While he was still processing the information that he wouldn’t see Hundir for a year, the blond reached into his jerkin and took out a small package wrapped in paper, and offered it to Dori wordlessly. The other dwarf had arrived near to closing time, and had stayed while Dori cleaned up the shop and put away the teapots, and in the silence of the teashop, the crinkle of the brown paper seemed inordinately loud. Slowly, Dori unwrapped the package, letting out a soft gasp when the layers of paper revealed a delicate silver tea strainer.

“Hundir, it’s beautiful!” he breathed, turning the strainer in his hands as he examined it. It was wrought of thin, delicate strands of metal, sinuously meshed together to form a basket, and hinged on one end so that the strainer could sit over a solid base without getting tea all over the table. The workmanship was exquisite, and Dori looked up at Hundir with wonder in his eyes.

“I didn't make it,” the dwarf hastily said, looking awkward in the face of Dori’s admiration of his gift. “There’s a dwarf on Sandstone Way who does custom work, she’s the one who made it.” Despite his words, there was a pleased smile on his face, and also a strangely expectant look that Dori wasn’t sure what to make of.

“It’s lovely,” Dori said, rubbing a thumb on the smooth curves of the strainer’s handle, and the words elicited a gleam in Hundir’s eyes that he could not precisely identify. Silence fell between them then, and Dori found himself abruptly breathless. Hundir’s gaze never wavered from his, and Dori felt a low tingle begin at the base of his belly. Flustered, he gave a little cough, and began to wrap the strainer back up in its paper.

“It’s getting late, I need to get home. Ori will be wondering why I’m so late today.” He bustled around, fetching his coat and bag, and completely missed the satisfied smile that broke out across Hundir’s face. 

The next day, Hundir was gone, and Dori’s life went back to the staid pattern it had been before he’d met the large blond warrior. Most days, Dori was too busy to think of Hundir much, but every so often, he would turn to the corner Hundir always sat in, half expecting to see the other dwarf there. And every so often, he would think of the strange gleam in Hundir’s eyes on the eve of his departure.

Months passed in this fashion, and soon enough, the chill of winter eased into the freshness of spring, and then the heat of summer. Autumn was well on its way when one evening after work, Dori found himself sitting at the kitchen table at home, running his fingers over Hundir’s gift. When Nori came in—his ne’er-do-well brother was back in town, although for how long Dori couldn’t say—he sat down beside Dori and propped his boots up on the table. The two brothers sat like that for a while before Nori broke the silence.

“Alright, what's that then, that's got you so preoccupied you didn't even notice I had my dirty boots up on your table?"  his ne'er-do-well brother--who was in town for Mahal knew how long this time--asked, reaching for the strainer. Dori's fingers tightened reflexively around the delicate object before he consciously relaxed his grip and offered the strainer to Nori with a shrug. The leaner dwarf reached over and took it, turning it lightly over in his fingers. Then, with a sudden thump, he swung his booted feet back on to the ground and leaned forward as he examined the strainer more closely, a sudden tension filling his frame. 

"Who gave you this?" Nori asked. The amused drawl of a few moments ago was gone, his words now terse and almost curt. Dori blinked. It was rare for his brother to display anything but his patented relaxed nonchalance—laughter in the face of danger, tension, fear, whether genuine or feigned, was Nori’s trademark. Well, one of them, anyway. 

"It was a gift from a friend, not that it's any of your business," Dori replied haughtily in a purely automatic response.

"Oh, don't give me that," Nori shot back as he continued to examine the strainer he turned around in his fingers, "that snooty 'keep your sticky fingers out of my business, I know what I'm doing and I never get into any trouble, ever because I'm the respectable one, unlike some dwarves I could mention' tone. It hasn't worked since I was about 20, and it isn't going to work now." Thus saying, Nori looked up and pinned his brother with his steely gray gaze, one braided eyebrow cocked. Dori was disconcerted. This was certainly an unexpected turn of events. Still, Dori had had decades more experience doling out steely, disapproving glares, and this attempt from Nori wasn't going work, for all it had taken him by surprise.

"I told you, it was a gift, from a friend. I don't know all your friends, so don't expect to know all of mine. What's more, you've more than once told me to keep my nose out of your business, so as long as we're dragging up things from your twenties, I'll thank you to mind your own business." Rising, he leaned over to smoothly pluck the strainer out of his brother's hands, and instead of placing it on the shelf in the kitchen as he'd originally intended, brought it with him into his bedroom.

Dori knew, of course, that bringing it into his room wouldn't stop Nori from going in and examining the strainer more closely if he so wished, but it was the principle of the thing. Some things just weren't Nori's business. His brother never mentioned the strainer again, nor did he make any mention of Dori's friends, and Dori soon forgot about the incident entirely.

In hindsight, that was probably a mistake. 

Time passed, as it was wont to do, unremarkable days bleeding into weeks, which turned into months. Nori drifted on and out of Ered Luin, and Dori continued not to ask what he did with his time—although he did privately note that his middle brother was never away for more than a week, and when he was back, he seldom had Dwalin son of Fundin, captain of the Day Watch, chasing him down the streets and locking him up. Ori continued to pester Dori to let him go on adventures with Nori, and Dori continued to say no. In that, at least, the two older Ri brothers were united. Ori was to stay in Ered Luin, far away from whatever trouble Nori courted when Dori wasn’t around to see it. It wasn't long before the days turned cold once again, and one blustery day, quite out of the blue, the shop door swung open to reveal a very blond, very tanned Hundir. 

Oh, my.

After the initial breathless shock of seeing Hundir, of seeing that familiar face done up in strange braids and beads, Dori’s shopkeeper instincts took over, and it wasn’t long before the burly dwarf was cosily ensconced in his old table by the corner window with a pot of spiced saffron honeybush—requested with a twinkle in Hundir’s eye—and a plate of biscuits. Hundir stayed in his seat the whole afternoon, although the shop was much too busy for Dori to do more than replenish the biscuits on Hundir’s plate and the hot water in his teapot. Dori was so busy that it was only when Hundir lingered until closing time that he realised the larger dwarf was intending to stay as he closed up the shop. As the last customer left, casting a curious look at Hundir, Dori went around the tables with his tray, collecting the used cups, dishes and teapots, and tried very hard not to think of the delicate tea strainer sitting on his dresser, a souvenir of the last time Hundir had stayed past closing. So intent was he on his task that he completely missed the fact that Hundir had stood up and was helping him collect the used crockery until he walked straight into the taller dwarf. The dishes clattered loudly, and would have crashed to the ground were it not for Hundir’s quick reflexes. He somehow managed to juggle the stack of plates he carried, Dori’s tray full of pots and cups, as well as Dori himself, without so much as a chipped dish. With one hard arm around Dori’s hip, Hundir braced the tray between them and placed his stack of plates in before placing it gently on an adjacent table before turning back to face Dori. Dori’s breath caught in his throat as he realised he was pressed flush against Hundir, who now had a hand on his shoulder in addition to the arm around his hip. Slowly, he looked up—up, up—into Hundir’s eyes. That indefinable gleam was back in Hundir’s eyes, and the air between them felt charged with tension and electricity. Dori swallowed. This was it. Hundir was going to kiss him. Finally.

Finally?

Yes. Dori realised this was what he’d been waiting for, all those weeks Hundir had come to the shop, all those times he’d thought of the blond over the past year. And now, this was it. Dori wondered foggily if Hundir could hear his heart beating like a drum.

But then—

Hundir released Dori, and smiled his eye-crinkling smile.

“All right there? Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that. Here, sit down. I’ll clear the rest of these up, you’ve been on your feet all day.” Hundir dragged out a chair and Dori practically folded into it, dazed. What just happened? Why didn’t he kiss you? Maybe you imagined it, a look in his eyes, really?

Thoughts still scrambling about his brain, Dori watched Hundir. For a muscle-bound sellsword, Hundir was strangely at ease tidying up a teashop. Before he knew it, the crockery was washed and dried and everything placed back neatly in its place on the shelves. Hundir moved about his shop with such a quiet capability and surety that for a moment, Dori felt lightheaded. It was not often that he was made to feel delicate or dainty—most of the dwarves in Ered Luin knew of his strength and respected it, and Dori had long been acting as patriarch of the Ri family, taking care of Ori, getting Nori out of the scrapes he couldn't wiggle out of himself, and it had been decades since anyone had made him feel taken care of. 

Stop it. You're far too old to be swooning like a maid from some warrior having his arms around you. 

His large, muscular arms. And his big, calloused, capable hands. Which are clearly both strong and dextrous.

Look at him handling that teacup. Finest bone china in the West. Wonder what else he handles that delicately.

Stop it!

As Dori watched, tracking Hundir with his eyes, the large dwarf finished with the dishes and went over to his pack, and was rummaging through it. Removing a series of flat packages tied together with twine, he walked over to Dori and sat across from him.

“These are for you,” Hundir told him, his deep voice quiet and almost shy. Dori found his heart beating wildly as he leaned forward in his chair

Dori reached slowly for the package, his eyes catching on Hundir's slightly crooked smile. Taking it, he examined the packages. The string, knotted at regular intervals in what looked to be a sort of decorative pattern, was merely for holding the stack of packages together, not for holding them closed. There was a larger, looser knot at the top, and Dori undid it, putting the knotted string on the table and examining the packages. The stiff brown paper that enclosed each small, flat packet was pleated in a series of intricate folds that held the package closed, a maze of flaps and folds that tucked neatly into one another,

“Eastern paper gathers?” Dori  breathed, looking up in wonder. He’d seen sketches of the Eastern art form in a book once before, but the secrets of its techniques and meanings were known to few outside the Eastern tribes who practised it.  Hundir’s smile broadened into a huge, pleased grin.

“You know it! I wasn’t sure if you’d’ve seen it before. Well go on then, open them up!”

“No!” Dori exclaimed. “They’re too beautiful. How on earth are they put together? Is it all a single piece of paper?” he wondered aloud as he examined the topmost packet, gently lifting folds here and there to peek beneath. “I wouldn’t even know how to open them, even if I could bear to…” He trailed off as Hundir’s hands—gorgeous, capable hands—entered his field of vision and turned the packet around, showing him a nearly-invisible seam where two corners of the paper tucked cunningly into each other.

“See, just flip that out, and it just pops open like…so. There. And you can tuck them back in together after you take out what’s inside.” Dori swallowed. What had gotten into him? Dwarves with large, calloused hands were as common as iron shavings here in Ered Luin, and not once had any other pair made him feel all…tingly. With a little huff, Dori shoved his distracted—and distracting—thoughts to a corner of his mind and focused on what Hundir was showing him. The wrapping around the packet had loosened, and a spicy scent, familiar yet foreign, wafted out. Dori felt a foolish smile spread across his face.

"You bought me tea?" Hundir ducked his head slightly, running a hand over his head. 

"Aye. I thought you might like trying some of these Eastern teas..." Dori realised, with a little thrill of amused delight, that under his beard, a faint red flush was rising along Hundir's jaw.

Dori laughed aloud, pleasure a warm ember in his chest, and did not notice a flash of red-brown hair as a certain thief turned away from the shop window and strode away purposefully. 

Which was, quite certainly, another mistake. But one Dori wouldn’t realise until knives started making about appearance, some months later.

As they packed up their things and got ready to leave the shop, a sudden thought occurred to Dori. “Oh!” He looked over to where Hundir was standing, and felt suddenly, and rather ridiculously, shy. “Do they…say anything? The folds?”

Hundir laughed and tapped the side of his nose, winked, and swung the shop door open, gesturing to Dori with a sweep of his arm.

Hundir settled back into Dori's life like he'd never left. He came to the teashop almost daily, settling back into his old seat by the corner window, drinking a different tea on Dori’s recommendation on almost every visit. For a week, Dori’s days took on a lovely, peaceful rhythm, and all was just about perfect.

Then Nori came back into town.

As always, Dori didn’t find out that Nori had dropped back into Ered Luin because his brother came by to say hello.

No. He discovered that his middle brother was in the neighbourhood when he went into the back alley after closing to put the day’s refuse out, and found his brother—his ridiculous, infuriating, git of a brother—standing in front of Hundir. Nori was casually flicking a knife in and out of one sleeve, while the other hand was braced on the wall, hemming the larger dwarf in. He was smiling, toothily, even cheerfully, but his eyes remained flat and cold, locked onto Hundir’s stony gaze. As Dori watched, his brother—plagues of pestilence upon his head—quirked one braided eyebrow and levelled an expectant gaze at Hundir. When the other dwarf said nothing, Nori tapped the flat of his blade on Hundir’s cheek, and leaned up to whisper in the brawny dwarf’s ear.

What on earth? Dori didn’t know what was going on, but he was outraged. How dare Nori hold a knife against Hundir?

“NORI! Just what do you think you are doing?” he bellowed, flinging the bag of used tea leaves, loaf ends and, regrettably, one broken teacup, against the wall with a soggy whump as he advanced upon the pair, moving laterally to prevent his brother from escaping down the alley. Unfortunately, Dori had failed to take into account the fact that Nori, more often than not, chose escape routes that were…unconventional. In lieu of an answer, his infuriating middle brother vaulted up the wall and danced away over the top, flashing a cheeky grin, and Dori could do nothing but stand with his mouth agape.

A rustle behind him drew Dori’s attention back from where he was still staring in the direction his brother had disappeared in. He turned to see Hundir re-settling one of his axes on his hip. 

“So…I see you’ve met my brother. D’you want to tell me what that was about?” Dori asked. Hundir shrugged and smiled a little, shaking his head slightly.

“Just a friendly conversation between two dwarves,” he said nonchalantly, checking his belt-purse and breaking eye-contact with Dori. That was all he would say, no matter how Dori hounded, yelled, cajoled, or threatened. Dori finally gave up when it became clear Hundir was made of far stronger stuff than the average dwarf, and would not be likely to reveal what Nori had said to him.

That left Dori with one other dwarf to interrogate.

That night, when Nori came silently through the kitchen window, landing cat-quiet in the dark house, Dori was waiting for him. Dori waited until Nori had padded past him soundlessly, the scent of cheap ale and pipe smoke wafting along in his wake, before he spoke.

“I’ll ask you again brother, nicely. What were you doing with Hundir this afternoon?” Dori was careful to keep his voice low in the midnight stillness of the house, but did nothing to soften the steel his tone. He felt Nori freeze on the foot of the steps and allowed himself one satisfied smile. His thief of a brother was not the only one who knew how to be stealthy and quiet. Nori stepped away from the steps and turned around, and Dori waited for his brother to make his way to the table where he was sitting before he struck a match and lit the candle on the table. The flame cast an even, golden glow on his brother’s angular face, and the three peaks of Nori’s hair threw spiky shadows around the room as he sat down across from Dori. Nori let out a sound that was half sigh, half laugh.

“It was just a little chat, Dori, nothing to get your bloomers in a twist over.” Dori knew, he knew that the insouciance in Nori’s voice was designed to aggravate him, but that didn’t stop it from working.

“Don’t give me that. It was not just a little chat, not with you holding a knife on him. Hundir is…” Dori faltered for a moment, unable to say exactly what Hundir was to him, but he refused to cede the momentum to Nori, and so he forged on, “…a friend. He’s important to me, Nori, and you are not to threaten or harm him. I’ll have the truth from you now, if you please. What exactly was going on this afternoon?” There was a beat of silence, and Dori could feel his brother’s eyes on him, calculating, assessing. Finally, Nori spoke.

“I know he’s important to you, you great lump. That’s why I was, you know. Giving him the talk.” At Dori’s blank stare Nori sighed, exasperated. “The Talk? The hurt-him-and-you-die, they’ll-never-find-the-body, I’ll-break-every-last-bone-in-your-body Talk? Look, I know I’ve not been around much, and that you’re the eldest, but you’re still my brother, and I’ll always look out for you. I know, I know, you’re perfectly capable of looking after yourself, you’ve more than proved that, but I’ve seen how you look at him, and I don’t want you getting your heart tromped on by some feckless muscle-man.” Dori only distantly registered the awkward look on Nori’s face as his brother fell silent once again. His mind was far more preoccupied with processing what Nori was saying.

“What…I don’t. My heart? No, Nori, we’re friends, he comes to the tea shop, we chat, that’s all.” Nori levelled him with a look, and Dori let out a little sigh.

“Fine. I will admit that I’ve…thought about Hundir as…more than a friend, but he, well, he’s never. He’s just a friend, Nori. Much as I might wish differently,” he added this last with another sigh, and pushed his chair back. He was suddenly exhausted. Before he could stand up, though, Nori laughed softly.

“Funny, he didn’t mention that he just wanted to be your friend when I was showing him my favourite knives.” Dori looked sharply at his brother. What? 

“Dori, you dolt. He’s been courting you. You think he comes into your shop every day for the tea? And that strainer? With the courtship knots on the handles? And those packages with the gathers? Come on, Dori, surely you can’t think those held no meaning at all?” Dori was stunned, rendered speechless by what Nori was saying, as well as the look of gently amused sympathy in his brother’s eyes.

“He…I asked him if they meant anything but he didn’t say anything. And he never mentioned that the strainer meant anything.”

“And you never did bother to find out if they did, did you? Ori told me he left a book on knot meanings lying on the table for weeks, you never touched it, did you? Mayhap you should ask yourself why, Dori.” So saying, Nori stood up and headed towards the stairs once again. As he passed Dori, he took a slim book out of one of the myriad pockets he had in his clothes, and handed it to Dori, one braided eyebrow raised. Dori took the book silently, and with one last firm squeeze on his shoulder, Nori climbed silently up the stairs, leaving Dori sitting in the candlelight with a book on Eastern paper gathers, and a whirling mess of thoughts to sort through.

By the time dawn broke over the Blue Mountains, Dori had flipped through Nori’s paper gathers book, and Ori’s book on knots, and ascertained that, yes, Nori was right. The strainer handles did indeed have courting knots, and as for the packages of tea, well. One said beautiful, another said cherished, a third said peace, a fourth said hopeful anticipation and the last one said simply, love. 

Between his conversation with Nori and discovering the meanings hidden in Hundir’s gifts, Dori hadn’t been able to sleep a wink. Instead, he went into the kitchen, put a kettle on, and began preparing a hearty breakfast for his two brothers—who had been silently looking out for him, it seemed. With a gently steaming pot of spicy tea—cherished—and the peaceful stillness of the early morning hush for company, Dori began measuring out flour for scones.

By the time the warmth of the sun had stolen in and seeped into the stone tiles of the house, the scones were warming in the oven, and Dori had cooked up a platter of skillet cakes, fried up a pile of sausages and bacon, brewed another pot of strong hot tea, and decided what he was going to about Hundir. Before long, the scent of breakfast drew Ori clattering down the stairs, and Nori wasn’t long behind, and for the first time in a long time, the brothers Ri sat down at their scarred wooden kitchen table and had breakfast together. There wasn’t much conversation, but this silence was companionable and easy rather than fraught with tension, punctuated by the domestic sounds of forks scraping against plateware and contented grunts. Dori settled back in his chair, mug of tea in hand, a contented smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and watched his brothers plough through a mountain of food, feeling, as he so rarely did, completely and utterly at peace.

And so, of course, that was the moment everything went straight to hell.

Dori had just started on his third scone when there was a loud knock on the door. Nori tensed up immediately, instinct taking over; he looked ready to spring out the nearest window, but after a second, relaxed back in his chair, although his eyes remained alert as ever. Ori, on the other hand, had bolted upright mid-chew, his head snapping towards the door, eyes wide and shinning with a feverish excitement that had, after a moment, become tinged with…guilt? In any case, the thunderous knocks came again, and when it became evident that neither Nori nor Ori was intending to do anything more than stare at it, Dori got up to open to door.

As he swung the heavy wooden door open, Dori was aware that the silence behind him was a very different one from a few minutes ago. When the door opened to reveal the wide bulk of Dwalin son of Fundin, Dori felt his heart sink. What had Nori gotten himself into this time? He heard the scrape of the chair over the stone floor and knew that Nori must have stood up. Before he could decide whether he was going to move out of the way to let Dwalin arrest Nori, or get in his way long enough to give his brother a head start, the burly guardsman was placing a hand over his heart and bowing, never breaking eye contact.

“Good day, Dori.” Dori was flabbergasted, and it was only sheer ingrained reflexes that had him returning the bow and greeting.

“My apologies if this is a bad time, but I would speak with your brother,” Dwalin went on, his face and voice grave, and Dori was back between get out of the way and let Nori answer for whatever he’s done this time and just one small step to the left and forward should put you in his way nicely enough. The conflict must have shown in his face, or perhaps Dwalin could see Nori getting ready to leg it out the window, because he quickly added, “Ori, I need to speak with Ori.”

Well. Apparently when Dori had thought earlier that he was flabbergasted, he had been wrong. Now he was truly flabbergasted. His jaw hung slack for a moment before Ori’s voice piped out from behind him.

“Won’t you come in, Mister Dwalin? There’s still plenty of food.”

What. On. Earth?

Dori turned around slowly from shutting the door, only to find that Dwalin was standing, somewhat unsurely, between the door and the table, where Nori and Ori were. He stifled a tickle of hysterical laughter. This was probably the closest the guardsman had been to Nori without someone ending up behind bars, bleeding, or chased halfway across town. Because Nori still looked like he was deciding which window to jump out of, and Dwalin was prickling with a kind of alertness that said that if Nori ran, he would chase, even if had no notion that Nori had done anything to be arrested for, Dori moved quickly towards the table.

“Guardsman, won’t you have a seat.” It was his calmest tone, and also his most immovable. Dwalin responded, as Dori had known he would, jumping forward to pull out a chair and sitting down almost docilely. Nori smirked and lifted one knowing eyebrow at Dori, until an even stare levelled at his miscreant of a middle brother had Nori sitting down as well. Ori had gone over to the kitchen to fetch Dwalin a plate and a set of cutlery, and once he’d laid the setting out before Dwalin, he sat, leaning forward in his chair, all but squirming with excitement.

Dwalin sighed, picking up one of the scones Dori had placed on his plate, and breaking it into halves.

“Lad, I know you said you’d thought this through, but we leave in three days, and I can’t in good conscience not try to talk you out of it. And I couldn’t do it in front of Thorin, he kept cutting me off. ‘Sides, I wanted to hear what your brother had to say about the whole thing,” Dwalin said, nodding towards Dori.

“Why, Guardsman, I’m hurt. You didn’t want to hear what I have to say?” From his perch across the table, Nori drawled out lazily. Dwalin growled a little under his breath, and Nori’s nostrils flared and his eyes crinkled as his smirk grew into a shark-like smile.

Oh for the love of the Stone, could Nori be any more inappropriate?

“What I have to say about what, precisely, Dwalin?” The gnarled dwarf looked over sharply from where he’d been glaring at Nori, surprise writ in every one of his scarred features. His eyes searched Dori’s face for a few moments before he swung a thunderous frown in Ori’s direction.

“You didn’t tell them, lad? You didn't say anything to them before you pledged yourself to Thorin’s service?” he demanded, voice getting progressively louder. Ori seemed to shrink under Dwalin’s glare, and gave an infinitesimal shake of his head. At that, Dwalin let out another low growl. There was a beat of silence before Nori’s was saying, in a voice full of disbelief, “No…! Ori, you didn’t! You ninny!”

By this time, though, Dori had had quite enough.

“That’s enough, Nori. What is going on? Pledged yourself to Thorin’s service, Ori? What service? Explain yourself now.”

And so, in fits and starts, with Dwalin adding bits in, and Nori swearing in the background, Ori told the tale of how he had heard from Balin that Thorin Oakenshield was planning a quest to retake Erebor, and how he had pledged himself into service as the Company’s scribe, and how it was the chance of a lifetime, and how he had thought it through, and he wasn’t a child, and it was—

“EREBOR? It’s Erebor, Ori, and a gods cursed dragon!Are you insane? What were you thinking, Ori? How could you possibly have signed up for this, this suicide mission, and without telling me!” Dori exploded.  “No. No! Absolutely not! No! I forbid it!”         

There was a loud screech of wood against stone as Ori stood up violently.

“This is why I didn’t tell you! Because I knew you would react like this! I…I don’t care! I’m going! I’ve already sworn myself into Thorin’s service, and you can’t take that back, I’m going, Dori!” He thumped one wildly shaking fist onto the table to punctuate his declaration, and then jerkily crossed his arms, a look of mulish, uncertain, and yet wholly unshakeable stubbornness etched into his face.

Dori knew that face.

He had seen that face when he’d discovered Ori’s stash of beautiful exotically-feathered quills that had to have come from Nori. He’d tried to throw them out, but Ori had clutched the box to his chest and made that face.

He’d seen that face when he’d tried to tell Ori that parchment was quite well enough for writing on, and there was no need to spend extra money on vellum.

And most recently, he’d seen that face when Ori had asked for toast, scones, cake, and fried new potatoes for breakfast.

Dori sighed and looked over at Nori. His middle brother’s face was a curious mix of exasperation, resignation, and the smallest of admiring smiles. Their eyes met and Nori gave a tiny shrug. Dori nodded. Looked over at Dwalin.

“Well then, Dwalin, you’d best take us all to Thorin. We’re coming with you.”

By the end of the day, the other two brothers Ri had also been sworn into the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, en route to death by dragonfire. The day went by in a blur of preparations—three days to prepare for a bloody quest!—and by the time Dori had a moment to breathe, it was already late into the night. He had packed Ori off to bed an hour ago, and Nori had, as usual, slunk out the window to gods-knew-where, to do gods-knew-what, and finally, Dori was afforded a little peace and quiet. Sitting at the wooden table, he thought bemusedly on how much had changed since that morning. And how much more was going to change before it was all over. Exhaustion hit him like a pile of rocks, and Dori distantly realised he hadn’t slept the night before.

Hundir. He was going to have to explain all of this to Hundir. Mahal only knew if he would ever see Hundir again. Considering that the odds were very good that they would all be dying in a blast of dragonfire, Dori guessed not. With another sigh he hauled himself to his feet and climbed up the stairs to bed, feeling every single one of his 146 years.

The next day, Dori woke early, started a pot of porridge and placed it over banked coals so that it would be ready by the time Ori and Nori woke up, and headed down to the tea shop. He had asked Nimr, his longtime friend and assistant, to meet him there early. Since it seemed unlikely that he would be returning to Ered Luin any time soon—even if they did not die facing down the dragon, he would most likely settle down in Erebor with his brothers—it seemed the time had come to hand the business over into Nimr’s capable hands. Then, hopefully, Hundir would be by later in the day, and they could…well, try to figure something out.

So, heading out into the early morning chill on the eve of their doomed expedition, Dori felt cautiously optimistic. That all changed when he unlocked and pushed open the door to the tea shop and found a folded piece of parchment with his name on it lying on the floor.

Dori, I’ve joined a caravan heading to the Iron Hills. I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye to you in person, but they needed to leave yesterday, and the shop wasn’t open when I came by. I should be back in 9 months, a year at most. Take care, and I’ll see you soon.

Well. That was that, then. He didn’t suppose he would ever see Hundir again. Dori tucked the note into a pocket in his outer jacket, and got to work stoking the fires and heating the water.

As far as Quests went, Dori supposed this one had gone pretty much as well as could be expected. Trolls, orcs, goblins, warg chases, huge spiders, bloody elves, men, even a giant skinchanger, not to mention a meddling wizard who came and went as he pleased. But still, they’d made it to Erebor, all of them alive and intact.

After the dragon had soared away—and hadn’t that been terrifying—and the Raven had come to inform them that the men of Esgaroth had killed it, Dori had actually thought that the worst was indeed behind them, and that against every likelihood, he, Nori, and Ori had actually survived this bloody suicide mission.

But then he’d noticed that Nori was still twitchy and on his guard, keeping Ori—and to a lesser extent, Dori—in his sight at all times, watching Thorin almost ceaselessly. And he started to worry again. Dori didn’t trust his middle brother much, but he did trust Nori’s instincts.

And then everything fell apart. Thorin refused to even consider giving the men and elves a single coin, and suddenly they were preparing for war. For another bloody suicide mission, led by the same bloody dwarf. 13 dwarves against a host of men and elves was more than insane, it was ridiculous. But Dori didn’t say what he was thinking—what they were all thinking, not with Thorin stalking around looking like he might snap the head off anyone who dared say a word against him, eyes holding a glint that made Dori twitch. Instead, he checked his armour, oiled his flail, and sharpened his sword, and spent his time with Nori and Ori. And in the nights, when everyone was asleep, he took out the tea strainer and rubbed his thumb over the whorls of the courting knots, took out the packages of tea and breathed their scents in, running his fingers over the now slightly-flattened folds of the paper, and tried to make his peace with everything that he and Hundir had not had the time for.

Nori tried almost daily to convince him and Ori to make a run for it—the Iron Hills aren’t that far, we can make it there, easy. Thorin isn’t going to waste time or resources sending anyone after us. But the house of Ri still had some honour left to it, and Dori wasn’t going to throw that all away. Luck, or skill, or the Maker’s blessings, had seen them this far, and Dori just hoped it would see the brothers Ri through just a little more.

As he girded himself for battle, and helped Ori into his armour, Dori prayed that he wasn’t dressing his baby brother for death. With the last of his flickering optimism, he hoped that this would somehow all work out.

And then, of course, everything turned to utter shit. The burglar handing the Arkenstone over to the men, Thorin going absolutely crazy, dangling Bilbo over the wall, and then Gandalf was booming that Goblins were descending on them, and Dori found himself battling alongside men and elves rather than against them, and all he knew was the mechanical slash-hack-chop dance-dodge-duck of battle, the stench of black goblin blood, and the clash of metal on metal. At one point he saw Ori wielding the giant spike-headed hammer he’d he claimed in one of the many treasure piles Erebor held, and a hot surge of pride filled him with renewed vigour. Later, he saw Nori and Dwalin fighting back to back, one all brute strength and blunt force, flinging goblins and wargs away with great sweeps of his hammer, the other all vicious speed and sly agility, slices to throats and neat strikes to the heart, and for once he was glad—fiercely, unyieldingly glad that whatever dark paths Nori had wandered down in his life, they had equipped him with skills such as this.

When it was all over, the Eagles having swooped in to fling the goblins and wargs into limp and broken bags of bones, the battlefield stinking of fire and gore and death but quiet and still, Dori went looking for his brothers. Fear gripped him now as it hadn’t even in the nightmare of battle, a cold band tight around his chest, a metallic taste in his mouth.

When he found Nori and Ori getting their hurts bandaged up in the healing tents, the relief that swamped him weakened his knees, and after ascertaining that they were not going to die, not any time soon at least, Dori stumbled out, ignoring the healer elf who was yelling that he had wounds that needed seeing to, too. Safely outside the tent, away from Ori’s worried gaze and Nori’s piercing one, Dori let his knees weaken, and he collapsed onto the ground, suddenly lightheaded. They were alive. They had survived. Dori breathed, in and out, slowly, methodically, but instead of fading away, the sense of vertigo only increased. Dori’s focus narrowed to not falling on his face, on keeping the dark dots at the corners of his vision at bay. Distantly, he heard a loud bellow, but in his current state he couldn’t tell if it was a direct danger to him. Under his knees, he felt the ground tremble under pounding footsteps, and he knew.

This was it. After everything he’d survived, he was going to get taken down by a stray goblin or warg or Mahal knew what, here, outside the healing tents, too weak to stand much less defend himself. Dori closed his eyes, trying to muster the strength for one last swing of his flail.

Then he heard it.

A voice calling his name.

That voice…it couldn’t be. Hundir was in Ered Luin. Clearly he was hallucinating. It seemed to fit with the weakness, dark spots, and yes, right on schedule—tunnel vision. As the ground rose up to meet him, Dori sent a silent apology to Ori and Nori for dying on them at this least likely point. Darkness encroached, but now Dori embraced it. If he could die before whatever it was reached him, he would count that as a victory.

When Dori opened his eyes, it took a few seconds for him to make sense of the pale swathe that greeted him. it was the roof of a tent—and given the quiet murmurs and smells of clean woodsmoke and herbs, most likely a healing tent.

He made to sit up, and was rewarded with pain. Lots of pain. Pain everywhere. Oh gods. With a pathetic wheeze, Dori closed his eyes and focused on breathing through the pain. If he was in this much pain, he was probably alive, then. That was something.

Gradually, the pain dulled, and Dori opened his eyes again. The sight that greeted them this time had him wheezing again, although this time not in pain, but in utter, flatfooted shock. Sitting in front of him, bloodied and dishevelled, smears of goblin blood encrusted on his dented armour and streaking his hair, was—

“Hundir?”

“Hullo, Dori.”  The burly blond smiled crookedly and ducked his head in a move that was so familiar and endearing Dori could only gape at him.

And then Hundir explained that the caravan he’d been guarding had reached the Iron Hills just days before Roäc the raven had arrived with word that Thorin Oakenshield had reclaimed Erebor and was calling for dwarves to defend the Mountain against a host of men and elves. Everyone had been abuzz with gossip about what was going on in Erebor, and while Hundir had dismissed it at first, Thorin’s Company was small enough that each of the dwarves who had joined him were known to the Iron Hills dwarves by name and lineage. So when Hundir had heard that three of the thirteen dwarves were Dori, Nori and Ori of Ri, he had charged up to Dain and demanded to be part of the host. Dain had accepted the brawny dwarf with barely any hesitation—Hundir’s reputation as a ferocious fighter and reliable caravan guard preceded him, and Dain was many things, but a fool was not one of them.

By the time Hundir had finished, Dori was aware of a growing warmth in his chest and a wide smile splitting his face in two.

“You came here for me?  You joined a battle for me?” Dori was half laughing as he spoke, incredulous and amused beyond belief.

“I would do anything for you, Dori.” Hundir’s voice was quiet and fervent, and Dori felt himself melt. His laughter faded away into a wide beam, and Hundir’s answering smile was the sweetest thing Dori had ever seen, his eyes crinkling in the corners, his teeth white against his matted beard, and his eyes tender and oh-so warm.

It was another five days before the healers let Dori out of bed, even though he protested that he was perfectly fine, and that passing out post-battle from blood loss and an adrenaline crash was nothing to fuss over. Hundir came to sit by his bed on every one of those days though, so that was something. The second day, he arrived shortly after Ori, and after Dori had made the introductions, the three of them sat in awkward silence before Ori started asking Hundir questions about caravan guarding. After Hundir left, Dori found his baby brother watching him with a knowing glint in his eyes. Unbelievably, under Ori’s gaze, Dori found his cheeks heating up, and he turned on his side and closed his eyes. Ori was silent for so long that Dori started to think he’d left, but then Ori asked softly,

“So, a courting knot wrought into a tea strainer eh? You wouldn’t think it, looking at him.” Dori’s eyes snapped open. What? Ori laughed softly. “I’d say he better be good enough for my big brother, but apparently, he singlehandedly took out a third of the enemy’s left flank, so…” Dori looked up as Ori stood, adjusting the sling his fractured left arm was sitting in. “Nori and I agreed, I’m to leave the ‘he better not hurt our big brother’ speech to him.” With one last pat to Dori’s arm, and a murmured ‘I’ll be back after dinner”, Ori left.

Dori watched as his baby brother—not so much a baby anymore, really—left. He hardly needed his brothers to go getting all overprotective on him, but it was still nice to have people who looked out for him.

Rebuilding Erebor would take years of hard labour. Dori was only glad his two statuses of ‘one of the heroes who reclaimed the mountain’ and ‘injured war hero’ meant he was exempt from clearing out dragon dung. He’d been spending the past three weeks cleaning up the suite of rooms Nori had picked for them, cleaning out decades of dust from the furniture that remained, scrubbing the stone floors and walls, and hammering in new shelves. He wouldn’t admit it if asked, but the tasks took longer than he was used to, since he tired much more easily now. Bombur and Bilbo spent their days cooking up restorative soups for all the Company, and slowly but surely, all fourteen of them were well on the road to recovery. Dori still marvelled that inconceivable as it seemed, all of them had survived.

His right leg would always feel the change in the weather, thanks to a blow from a goblin’s spike-headed mace, and Nori would always have a long scar stretching from his left shoulder to his right hip. Ori had fractured an arm, but he was young enough that his bones would in time knit together with no lasting ill-effect. The rest of the Company had sustained enough injuries that Dori couldn’t quite keep them straight, but all in all, they had survived, whole and more or less intact. Of course, it would take a long time before everything went back to normal; Dori could not forget the crazed rage in Thorin’s eyes as he’d raved about thieves stealing the legacy of the line of Durin, and he didn’t think the rest would either, especially not Bilbo.

Still, Thorin had made a formal apology to their burglar, and another private one to the Company, and proclaimed Bilbo an invaluable part of their successful quest, formally naming him Friend to Durin’s Folk and all dwarves, and offering him his due portion of the reclaimed treasure. Bilbo had declined to take a fourteenth of what was left after Thorin had finally agreed to repay the men and elves for their aid in the Battle, pointing out wisely that Erebor needed to be rebuilt, and if every one of the Company took a fourteenth share, there would be no gold with which to rebuild the kingdom, much less feed the dwarves living in it.

Yes, there was much to be thankful for, although at the moment, chiefest among the things Dori was glad for was to finally be done with the cleaning. He’d swept the last of the dust out, and changed the sheets in his, Nori and Ori’s beds, and was contemplating heading down to the baths when a knock came from the main door.

Hurrying out as best he could—he was tired, loath as he was to admit it—he opened the little shutter built into the door and a pleasant thrill ran down his spine when Hundir’s face smiled at him through the grate. Opening the door to the dusty and dishevelled dwarf, Dori smiled warmly. Hundir had become a much sought-after fixture on the orc patrol rosters and Dori hadn’t seen him in almost a week. Seeing Hundir now, all scruffy and messy, the last thing Dori should have felt was a tingle of lust, but there it was. For a few moments, they smiled at each other across the threshold of the doorway, before Dori remembered his manners and invited him in. Hundir’s eyes travelled slowly down Dori’s body, eyes warm and concerned, and Dori felt the little tingle of lust begin to grow into a ball of heat in his belly.

Yet he knew, for all that he was big and brawny and fearless in battle, Hundir would not make the first move. He knew because he’d spent the past two weeks dropping increasingly unsubtle hints, and still Hundir kept to bringing him flowers and tea and even a pipe he’d carved himself, but never going any further than holding Dori’s hand. Dori had complained about it one night, exasperated at being delivered completely unmolested to his door by Hundir, even after he’d flirted outrageously and even pressed his body fully up the length of Hundir’s side. When Nori had commented, looking begrudgingly impressed, that Hundir certainly knew how to properly court a dwarf, Dori had realised that if he wanted things to progress further—and faster—he would have to take matters into his own hands.

And he very much wanted.

Stepping close to Hundir now, close enough that he could smell the chilly mountain air still clinging to the other dwarf, close enough that he could feel the heat emanating from Hundir’s body, Dori smiled and sent Hundir a coy smile from under his lashes. Dori placed an arm on Hundir’s muscled bicep, and the other dwarf went perfectly still, except for the tiniest quiver right under his hand. Dori let his smile widen as he trailed his hand up Hundir’s arm and behind his neck. Tangling his fingers in the hair at Hundir’s nape, he leaned up, bringing his other hand up to cup Hundir’s jaw, and tugging gently on his beard, brought their lips together.

As first kisses went, it was almost perfect—sweet, tender, almost reverent, but Dori wanted more, and so with a quiet moan, he angled his head and nipped gently at Hundir’s lip before drawing back.

“I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?” he breathed. Hundir blinked.

“I want to do right by you, Dori. You deserve, you deserve more than just…you deserve romance, and proper courtship, not a quick grope by dusty dwarf just come in from patrol.” Hundir shifted, looking uncomfortable to be saying this, but his face held a look of mulish resolution that told Dori he wasn’t going to budge without some convincing.

“Hundir, I think between the courting knots on the strainer and the hidden meanings in those paper folds, and the flowers and fruit and holding my hand and delivering me to my door, you’ve given me more than enough romance and proper courtship. Even Nori would be hard-pressed to say you’ve been anything less than a perfect gentledwarf.” He stepped closer, laying a hand on Hundir’s leather chestplate, eyes serious now. The hefty blond’s eyes were surprised.

“You knew about all that? The knots and the paper folds? Y’never said, I thought, thought you maybe didn’t welcome my suit,” he mumbled this last, eyes shifting away.

“I only knew a few days before we left Ered Luin—the same day I found Nori holding his knives against you in the alley, remember? He had to spell it out for me, I’m afraid. Handed me a book on Eastern paper gathers. And Ori had apparently noticed that courtship knot long before I had, and left a book on knot language lying about the table. Things might have gone better if you had just thrown me down over a table one night.” Dori laughed a little and looked down, suddenly embarrassed by his obtuseness then, and his brazenness now.

A gentle hand came up to nudge his chin up, and then he was staring into Hundir’s blue eyes.

“I just wanted to…do things proper. You deserve the best, Dori.” Hundir’s voice was gentle, but the look in his eyes was anything but, and Dori felt like he might swoon. Choosing instead to twine his hands behind Hundir’s neck and urge him downwards, he reached up once again to meet Hundir’s lips with his own, and this time, the kiss was all searing heat.

With a low growl, Hundir picked him up, and Dori curled his legs around the larger dwarf’s waist, relishing the feel of being treated like he weighed nothing at all. Strong arms cradled him gently and Hundir pulled away to ask, breathlessly, “Which way, pet?”

With a low laugh, Dori pointed Hundir in the direction of his bedroom, feeling like he could burst from happiness.

It was much later—much, much later—before Dori could find the strength to walk (slightly weak-kneed, but he certainly wasn’t complaining) to the kitchen to refill the jug of water he and Hundir had drained.

He found Nori sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea. At Dori’s raised eyebrow—Nori never drank tea, not unless Dori had made it—his scamp of a middle brother raised one braided eyebrow of his own at Dori’s dishevelled appearance, a knowing smirk quirking his lips.

“Never would’ve pegged you for a screamer, brother. Ori’s hiding in the library. If you’re all done for the night I’ll go call him back.” Dori considered this for a moment, then,

“I think not, Nori. In fact, you might want to spend tonight at Dwalin’s.” Flashing a smirk of his own at his thunderstruck brother, Dori filled the jug, grabbed a few hand pies, and sauntered back to his room, where a very naked, very sexy, very sweet dwarf was waiting for him.

Oh yes, this had definitely been worth the wait.