Chapter Text
It began, as most things did in those early days of Erebor’s reclamation, as an idle question.
“Is it just me, or would Dwalin and Nori make a great couple?”
Bilbo spat out his tea.
“A- what?” Reaching into his pocket to hurriedly find a handkerchief, he gawped in disbelief at the only person insane enough to suggest such a ridiculous thing.
Naturally, the person in question was Bofur... who carried on sipping from his little tin mug as if nothing was amiss whatsoever. He’d always had a penchant for outlandish statements, but this...
“What on Arda do you mean by that?” Bilbo huffed, dabbing his mouth with the cotton square in an attempt to regain some dignity. “Dwalin and Nori? Of all the ridiculous-”
Bofur cut him off with a wave of his hand. “No, hear me out on this one. They’d suit each other down to the ground, I reckon.”
“Meaning?”
“Well...” He shrugged, gesturing over to the other side of the canteen where Nori was sat with his brothers – too far to hear, but close enough to see clearly. “I think it’d all come down to a question of security.”
That was an odd statement. Fixing him with a curious stare, Bilbo raised a brow. “Continue.”
“Alright, I don’t know how to explain this simply, but I suppose Nori’s a bit of a stray cat.”
“A cat.”
“Scruffy one. Ginger tomcat that needs a good brush, y’know the type. Seen more than a fair few of ‘em lurking around Mannish settlements over the years. The kind that always strike out on their own and don’t rely on anyone to keep them fed.”
It sounded like Nori so far. So much so that a very unfortunate image of the Spymaster’s face immediately bloomed in Bilbo’s mind, complete with whiskers and little white-tipped ears. He shoved it down as quick as it appeared, the laugh at such a ridiculous notion only held back by the seriousness of Bofur’s face.
“Alright, so Nori’s a rough-and-ready alley cat. What’s that got to do with-”
“I’m getting there!” Bofur scolded, wagging his finger in reprimand. “No patience, you. Nori’s a cat. He’s been alone for a long time; keeps to himself more often than not, excepting around his family. Which, again, alley cat behaviour. They’re his safety net. That’s not to say he doesn’t hiss and claw at ‘em from time to time, but mostly they get on alright. And then there’s Dwalin.”
“Don’t tell me he’s a cat too?” Bilbo groaned, mildly terrified of the mental image that was sure to follow.
“No, no. Dwalin’s a dog.”
“... a dog.”
“Big one,” Bofur confirmed with a nod. “War dog with scars all over his muzzle. Loyal to a fault and somehow still alive after pottering around behind his master for a bit too long.”
That made an unfortunate amount of sense... not that Bilbo would ever let Dwalin hear him agree with it.
“I see your point,” Bilbo murmured, taking a sip of his tea. “But cats and dogs aren’t exactly famed for being close.”
Bofur nodded. “Aye, they’re not. And these two are prime examples. Arguing at the drop of a hat, Nori taunting and prodding Dwalin until he ends up lashing out in response. Naturally, by that point the cat is sitting smugly on top of a wardrobe watching as the dog goes ballistic below, and we all end up suffering the consequences. But-” he gestured down at the carved table, “what happens when the alley cat finds himself indoors? And what happens when the war dog doesn’t have a battle to fight anymore? Chances are, the pair of ‘em might benefit from curling up together in a nice little patch of sun and having a nap under the window.”
“And your point is...?”
The miner groaned. “You really don’t see it? There’s no war anymore, Bilbo. We’ve found our way back to our home, and there’s nothing to be on the lookout for now. No alleys. No fighting. You strip back all those nasty little defence mechanisms the pair of ‘em have, and what are you left with? A tired dog and a lost cat. And when you get underneath that – when you find yourself at the centre of what makes up Dwalin and Nori – you might just find that they’re not that different after all. They’ve both got family they’d do just about anything for. They both take pride in their work. If you put them in a sparring match, I genuinely have no idea who’d come out on top because they’re so even in everything they do.”
“That doesn’t guarantee that they’d be well-suited,” Bilbo murmured, his eyes flicking over to Nori’s back as he laughed at something Ori had said. “They still infuriate each other.”
“And you and Thorin don’t?”
Ah. Perhaps that had been the wrong time to attempt another sip of tea. Dabbing his mouth yet again, Bilbo shot Bofur the vilest glare he could muster. “We are not discussing that right now.”
“Oh?” the miner chuckled. “Awfully quick to tell me to back off there, Bilbo. Anything you’d like to tell me about what’s going on between you and the Great and Glorious King Under the Mountain?”
“Nothing whatsoever,” Bilbo replied tersely, his fingers gripping the edge of his handkerchief firmly enough that he heard the pop of stitches. “Besides, don’t you think that’s a little off topic?”
There was nothing going on, after all. Not one single thing.
Bofur sighed. “You’re no fun. Fine, my point is that if you take away what the pair of them are sayin’ to each other, what do you get?”
“Two obstinate fools intent on running into each other?”
“Mm, you could call it that…” Bofur said softly. “Or you could call it two people yearnin’ for a connection.”
Now, normally Bilbo would have ignored such idle speculation. Normally, he would have laughed it off as the passing wanderings of someone with more time than sense and left it at that.
But the issue with that lay in the simple fact that Bilbo was bored.
He was desperate for something to do, something that didn’t relate to his imminent departure from the mountain, and his mind had sat stagnant for too long.
All it really took was one suggestion.
Dwalin and Nori.
Heated glances and murmured comments.
“I think…” Bilbo murmured softly, “that you may be onto something there.”
*
Thorin Oakenshield’s chambers were the subject of much debate within the stone walls of Erebor and beyond. Since none but the invited ever entered, there was speculation abound over the grandeur that surely lay within. Would the furnishings be studded with diamonds? Would the Arkenstone be mounted above the fireplace? Would the coffee table be held up by a solid gold imitation of the magnanimous monarch’s rear?
Unfortunately, the truth was rather plain, although Bilbo did think the velvet throw pillows were a little much.
“-and then Kíli toppled right over and into the lake! Whoever told him he could stand on the back of a horse whilst shooting leaves from the trees clearly knew exactly what was going to happen – although I do have a sneaking suspicion I know the dwarf responsible.”
Thorin snorted into his tea, the action completely at odds with the crown lying haphazardly on the very normal, very plain wooden coffee table.
“Am I to guess that Fíli was involved in some capacity?”
“I am afraid you would be correct to assume such. I believe he and Ori had decided to take a boat out to view the wreckage of Laketown, and tormenting poor Kíli proved a far better use of their time.”
“Ori was involved?” Thorin pulled a face. “My nephew is proving terrible for him, as predicted.”
“I don’t know about that. Ori was the one who bet he couldn’t do it on one leg.”
The sigh that left Thorin was equal parts amused and horrified. “At least tell me that he left the lake in a dignified manner?”
“If you call flopping onto the shore like a fish dignified, although I do seem to remember a certain occasion where every single one of us had to drag ourselves out of a river in a similar manner-”
“Then I will say that he removed himself from the lake with all the majesty afforded to an Ereborian prince, and leave it at that,” Thorin smoothly interrupted, taking a sip of his tea.
Bilbo chuckled. “And that is how I know you are still a tad sore about the whole sorry affair.”
As Thorin shot him a rather disgruntled glance, Bilbo relaxed back into the loveseat with a contented sigh.
He was happy here. These informal meetings held in Thorin’s private quarters and far away from the curious gazes of nosy dwarves were a luxury he relished in whenever they were granted, and as spring turned into summer, the appointments had become more and more frequent. Thorin sought him out; asking after him and demanding baked goods as if Bombur’s offerings were too far and few between. Bilbo could never say no, and their meetings had become a regular occurrence where he would recount the matters of the kingdom’s day-to-day for the one person unable to experience them for himself.
It was rather sad that Thorin’s position kept him so far from the people he lived to serve, but Bilbo would help bridge that gap wherever he could. It was a terrible shame that he would not be able to do so for long.
“How are your preparations for your departure progressing?”
Bilbo fought to keep his fingers from clutching the teacup’s handle any tighter.
Of course he’d bring that up now.
“Well, I think. I have managed to get in contact with a caravan travelling back to Ered Luin next month, and they have assured my passage until Bree. Once there, I can make it to Hobbiton alone.”
“Good. That is… that is good.”
Silence.
Bilbo sipped his tea.
“And how are the arrangements for your sister’s arrival going? I was glad to hear that I will actually get the chance to meet her before I leave.”
Thorin relaxed a little, seemingly relieved at the change in topic. “Well. Her old quarters have been sufficiently restored and brought back within liveable conditions. I believe she will be satisfied with them.”
Now that was a silly statement indeed! Letting out an amused huff, Bilbo placed his teacup back onto its saucer before laying it down on the table. “Really, Thorin! Of all the ridiculous things- of course she’ll be satisfied; you took back the mountain from a creature that razed half of the surrounding lands to ash and killed Azog. Miraculously, none of you were seriously hurt, although I don’t think she’d be too pleased to find out about your behaviour on Ravenhill.”
When he’d faced down the Defiler alone. Fíli and Kíli had rushed to his aid, but Thorin’s own foolhardy heroism had nearly resulted in tragedy. As it stood, all three had walked away with only the most minor of scrapes, and Azog had been slain on the ice.
He needed reminding of those terrible events – and regularly at that. Bilbo had once thought Thorin simply foolish, but it seemed that even idiocy paled in comparison to the truth, for there was nothing more dangerous than the curse of nobleness.
At least his king got away with it most of the time. Thorin was remarkably adept where blades were concerned, and now that he was settled in Erebor with advisors and council members to assist in the day-to-day running of the kingdom, his true aptitude for ruling was on full display. He was a good king – although sometimes a tad rash.
Thorin sighed, breaking him out of his reverie. “Dís already knows of my follies on the quest. If I had not told her, the boys certainly would have been quick to inform their mother of just how brave they were to face off against Azog. And when that came into question, I am almost certain the events that led to it would have been revealed. It was for the best.”
With an absent-minded hum, Bilbo snagged one of the little biscuits he’d baked for the occasion from its plate and took a small bite. They were rather good.
“And how did she react to that?”
“Would you care for more tea?”
Ah. Avoiding the question was never a positive sign, and Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek to hold his lips at the slightest curl.
“My cup is still full.”
“So it is.”
“Am I to assume that the pride of the great and mighty Thorin Oakenshield has been so gravely wounded that he cannot bring himself to answer a simple question?” Bilbo sighed dramatically. “I did not take you for one so soft-hearted.”
“Whereas I have always known you as an incorrigible wretch,” Thorin snorted. “I fear that will never change.”
“You’d be long in the tooth indeed if it ever did.”
“Long in the beard.”
Bilbo frowned slightly. “I’m sorry?”
With a tiny smile, Thorin placed his own teacup onto the table. “The expression amongst dwarrow is ‘long in the beard’.”
“Fascinating,” Bilbo mused. “Although I do feel you are using my love of linguistics and idioms to distract me from the fact you are yet to answer my question. Would you like me to rephrase it, O’ Great Evader of the Truth?”
The groan that left Thorin at his words was deafening. He flopped back into his chair, fur collar puffing up around his neck like a great disgruntled cat.
“Why must you torment me?” he muttered weakly. “Is it not enough that Dís herself had many things to say on the subject of goldsickness? Must I recount them all for your pleasure?”
“Well, I would enjoy that a great deal.”
“I will have you exiled.”
“You’ve already tried that one. It didn’t really stick.”
It was good that they could joke about these matters now. There had been a time when Bilbo had remained uncertain over whether his and Thorin’s friendship would ever return to how it had been before the gold, but after some weeks of tentative words and hasty exits, they’d recovered sufficiently for this easy chatter to become the new normal. They could never go back, but this was enough.
Yes, Thorin no longer touched him as casually as he once had, but it was enough.
Yes, Thorin almost never held his gaze anymore, but it was enough.
And in those odd moments of madness where Thorin actually looked at him, Bilbo allowed himself to pretend that all was as it once was. He let himself sink into the fantasy that the King Under the Mountain would mourn his departure from the very halls he had helped recover. He let himself pretend that Thorin wanted him to stay.
But at the end of the day, Thorin was king, and Bilbo did not belong in Erebor.
That didn’t mean his heart wasn’t breaking further with every passing day.
It didn’t matter. It really didn’t. He was going to shove every last one of those terrible little emotions down into the smallest corner and completely ignore them until the door of Bag End shut on Bilbo the Burglar. Bilbo the Fairly Respectable Hobbit would pick up the pieces.
Disregarding the tiny tremble of his hands, Bilbo picked up his tea once more and took a sip. It was a little on the cold side now, but he’d drink it down anyway.
Besides, there were other things to talk about.
“You know…” He paused, taking a moment to relish in the relaxed smile that had taken residence on Thorin’s face. “I did have an ulterior motive for the biscuits.”
“Oh? And what was that, pray tell?”
“I wish to know your opinion on something.”
Thorin huffed, the smile turning slightly cheeky. “And I would give it, should you deign to tell me what it is that you wish my judgement on.”
His sigh was only a touch exasperated. “Oh, do be serious. It is on the subject of matters of the heart.”
That got Thorin’s attention. He straightened up in his seat, brow immediately furrowed and hands folded in his lap. “I am listening.”
“Good! Now, ah… being as you and he are so close, I would presume you know Dwalin’s current relationship status?”
The change in his demeanour was immediate. Thorin’s face darkened, the set of his jaw tightening until Bilbo very nearly cringed for the sake of his teeth. He looked like a dwarf on the edge… but on the edge of what, exactly, he did not know.
“Are you quite alright, Thorin?” Bilbo inquired cautiously. “I simply meant to ask if Dwalin had any current suitors-”
“You-you wish to court him?”
It was almost laughable. “No, no, you silly dwarf! Goodness me, the very thought! No, I am simply asking because a mutual friend of ours has brought the… shall we say volatile nature of his and Nori’s current situation to my attention, and I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the matter.”
It seemed Thorin was still working through the fact he didn’t want to court Dwalin. His brow had relaxed a little, but that dark look was still prevalent on his features. As to why was a mystery. “Thoughts on what, exactly?”
Bilbo sighed. “Dwalin. And Nori. Together.”
“Oh.”
And to Bilbo’s great confusion, the King Under the Mountain blushed.
It was not a dignified flushing. His cheeks were poppy-red within seconds.
“Do you need some water?”
“N-no,” Thorin stuttered, turning his gaze down to his upturned palms and squeezing his hands shut. “I was simply… Dwalin and Nori, you say?”
It seemed that was all he was getting out of him on the matter. “Yes, Dwalin and Nori. As in the head of your guard and the Royal Spymaster. With no involvement from me whatsoever.”
“You mean they are not already…”
That was enough to drag a surprised laugh from Bilbo. “Apparently not. At least, Bofur didn’t think they were, and he would know.”
Thorin hummed. “Bofur has keen eyes, although given the way the pair of them tend to seek each other out, I had suspected they were engaging in something.”
And Bilbo was absolutely not going to think about what that something could entail. The tips of his ears were already burning.
“The chat I had with Bofur was enlightening, to say the least. I’ve been watching them ever since. The tension between them is unbearable.”
“And that is why I had thought… are they really not-”
“Please focus, Thorin. We’ve already established that Dwalin and Nori are not engaging in any liaisons – clandestine or otherwise. I do, however, believe they should be.”
Thorin raised a brow. “And just what is it that you would suggest?”
“We should help them.”
“We should meddle is what you mean to say.”
Bilbo flushed. “Well, yes, but I was being tactful about it. We absolutely should meddle.”
A quiet hum, thoughtful and soft. “For once, I agree with you.”
“Agree, or would prefer not to lose a debate?”
“Silence, pest,” Thorin chuckled quietly. “I do think that they would make for a good match… and it just may ease the passage of peace in these halls. The less theatre we see played out in the early days of my rule, the better. I think we have had quite enough of that.”
Bilbo hadn’t really expected that Thorin would be so positive towards such a ludicrous scheme… ah, but he was right. The arguments that flared between Dwalin and Nori were well known through the mountain, and surely their tempers would cool if they had somewhere else to focus their attentions.
At least Bilbo hoped that would be the case.
“Then it’s settled,” he announced happily. “I should like to see the pair of them at least come to an understanding before I leave.”
“And I shall endeavour to make it so. But I must ask, why are you so concerned in their affairs?”
It wasn’t a difficult question to answer. The reason had been on the tip of Bilbo’s tongue for months.
“I suppose we all deserve a chance for love.”
And he’d passed his by. There was no getting it back now, not whilst Thorin still felt such obvious resentment towards him for the whole sorry Arkenstone business.
They’d made strides. They really had… but it just wasn’t enough.
The green door in his mind slammed shut. It would wait. It had to.
Thankfully, Thorin chose that moment to rise from his seat and cross to the little bureau at the corner of the room, sliding his hand across the stone surface until it met parchment.
“I may have an idea,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the edge of the thick slip. “And, if all goes to plan, it may just work.”
*
Considering the state the town had lain in not even a year prior, Dale’s marketplace was a flourishing epicentre. Most of the buildings were still in varying shades of construction, but space had been made for stalls and carts; their brightly coloured canopies propped up between sawdust-scattered timber piles and mounds of yet to be used stone.
The Men of Laketown had been rather resourceful when faced with the arduous task of rebuilding the lost civilisation. After much deliberation, they’d come to an agreement with the King Under the Mountain (once the whole… issue with the gold had passed), and it wasn’t uncommon to see dwarves strolling through the town to either help with the construction efforts or to purchase goods from the vibrant stalls.
Unfortunately – as Dwalin was rather rapidly finding out – that meant he was more likely to see someone he knew when out on an errand for Thorin.
Even more unfortunately, that meant his chances of running into Spymaster Nori were more than zero.
Substantially more than zero, because the sudden flare of red hair from his left had Dwalin spinning with a snarl already painted over his lips… and yes, there he was.
Smirking. As usual.
That Nori had seen him before he’d seen Nori was unfortunately par for the course. The Spymaster had an unerring ability to spot what he referred to as ‘objects of interest’, and the years had proved that he saw Dwalin as just that. An object. Something in his way that he could prod and poke, searching for weakness and fault lines. He’d never found one, although his presence certainly brought an odd aching sensation with it.
Ignoring that feeling much the same as he had every time before, Dwalin scowled as he wandered over; his heavy footfalls kicking up little clouds of sawdust with each step.
Nori really was an unfortunately pretty bastard. His ginger hair was this awful soft shade that brought out his freckles – especially in the summer. And especially now, whilst he stood propped up against the timber frame of a stall, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and the juice of a pear running down the side of his hand.
Noticing the stickiness, the bastard tossed the core of the fruit away and licked it clean, his eyes never moving from where they were locked on Dwalin’s.
A muscle twitched in his forehead.
“Wasn’t expectin’ to see you here,” Nori murmured, his awful, shitty mouth curving into an even sharper smile as Dwalin sidled up next to him. “Thorin run out of milk or something?”
He could have ignored the barb.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” he muttered, that familiar heavy feeling in his chest that made an appearance whenever he traded words with Nori settling in behind his ribs. “Casing the joint?”
The Spymaster snorted, sending a pulse of irrational frustration through Dwalin. “I need permission to visit the market now?”
“When you’re clearly up to something, yes.”
“Oh, that’s really nice. Just fantastic.” He sighed hard, although the sound was slightly too dramatic for it to be the truth in any form. “You know just as well as anyone that my record is clean. Squeaky, even.”
“Only because Thorin expunged it.”
Nori shrugged. “Semantics. I prefer to say that my numerous convictions were simply an administrative error.”
“They were not.”
“Where’s your proof, then?” he said sardonically. “There’s not even one measly little arrest warrant left.”
It was infuriatingly true, although Dwalin’s rage at the statement could not be suppressed. And he couldn’t hold back the literal snarl when Nori leant in close enough that only he could hear, his breath hot against his cheek.
“But you’ll never know if I bought that pear,” he murmured. “And the thought is going to keep you up all night.”
And the worst part was that it would.
Dwalin scowled, taking a measured step away so his pulse would calm enough to allow him to think of anything other than the terrible dwarf. Nori knew just how to get under his skin, and this was no exception. The heat that set deep inside his chest every time they spoke was burning away in the background; scalding and blistering him from the inside, and Dwalin wanted nothing more than to pour water on the fire.
Unfortunately, he did actually have work to do, and Nori’s presence in the marketplace was suspicious at best.
“Enough,” Dwalin snarled, his fists clenching into tight balls by his sides. “Tell me why you’re here or I’ll ask Thorin when I get back; either way, I have things to do, and you’re disruptin’ them.”
“Well, if you must know,” Nori drawled, rolling his eyes at Dwalin’s obvious ire, “Thorin sent me to see some merchant about a shipment of dodgy copper. He missed check-in, and I’m startin’ to get worried.”
Dwalin’s brain screeched to a halt. “Thorin sent you to meet a merchant?”
“That’s what I said, innit?”
Oh. Oh dear. “Manfred Manson?”
One of Nori’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Otherwise known as the most obvious fake identity I’ve ever heard. Either he doesn’t think dwarves know what constitutes Mannish namin’ conventions, or Thorin made that one up. Anyway, how come you know him?”
Dwalin huffed. “I don’t. Thorin sent me here to meet him too.”
The change in atmosphere was palpable. It was as if the air itself had suddenly sharpened; dragging itself on a whetstone and turning the quiet between them cutting and harsh.
“Funny,” Nori muttered, plonking one hand on his cocked hip. “He didn’t say a single thing about this bein’ cooperative.”
“No, he didn’t. How do I know you’re not just here to piss me off?”
Nori’s scowl was starting to show off his teeth a little, and Dwalin had to clench his own jaw against the wave of revulsion that accompanied the sight of a sharp canine digging into the reddened flesh of his lip. “I’m hardly that stupid, stonebrain. Give me some bloody credit. I’d much rather be relaxin’ at home where I don’t have to look at your ugly mug than trudging around in Dale.”
“And yet here you are.”
“And yet here I am,” Nori snarled. “On Thorin’s behest.”
“As am I.”
“I wonder how much that story of yours’ll change when Thorin asks what you were doin’ here.”
“Not at all, considering that he sent me.”
Realistically, Dwalin should have ignored the bait. He should have shoved Nori’s barbs and jabs to the back of his mind and done his job, but as their argument spun out of control and escalated into something that drew a crowd, he couldn’t help but continue to poke back. He was compelled to answer.
And he didn’t know why.
*
Often, in the period of unsettled confusion following Smaug’s demise and the Battle of the Five Armies, Ori was relegated to being simply Dori and Nori’s younger brother. Rumour had it that he was a scribe, not a great warrior. Rumour had it that he was peaceful and quiet, mostly keeping to himself.
Rumour was wrong.
Ori was very much his own dwarf. He may have been a scribe, but the trials of seeing war and adventure had left immovable marks on his very being. He was quiet, but there was more to him than met the eye.
Ori was just as strong as Dori. Ori was just as perceptive as Nori.
And that was why, when Thorin summoned the Company to a small storage room deep within the library, Ori immediately noticed the absence of two of their number.
“Where are Nori and Dwalin?” he murmured to Bilbo as he passed, quill already in hand and a sheaf of papers out to take minutes.
Bilbo sighed. “I’d put your notes away, if I were you. This meeting is strictly off the record.”
Ah. So it was about Nori and Dwalin, then.
He was wondering how long it would take for everyone else to notice.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fíli grumbled as he took a seat next to him. “And since when has Bilbo been privy to things we’re not?”
Probably since Thorin started dancing around him like a newborn lamb unsure of his footing, but Ori was going to keep that little thought to himself for now. He simply shrugged, leaning into Fíli’s side as the room began to settle.
Ori had spent a lot of time in the library over the last seven months, but he’d only stuck his head in this particular section once. The moment he’d realised no tomes lay within the dusty stone walls, he’d elected to leave any further exploration to the various teams in charge of cleaning and restoration. It appeared they hadn’t quite got around to it yet… either that, or it had gone totally forgotten. Regardless, right now it was quiet and secure; the perfect place for a conversation of such import to take place.
“Why’ve you called us here, Thorin?” Óin complained, glaring at the cobwebs hanging from the rafters in distaste. “It’s not exactly… sanitary.”
Ah. So they hadn’t counted.
A pity.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Ori sighed, pulling his half-finished knitting from his satchel. “We’re about to cause the most ill-advised romance this mountain has ever seen.”
The room was silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Actually, he did, although Glóin’s pipe falling from his mouth was an awful lot louder than a pin.
“Wh-where are Nori and Dwalin?” Dori stuttered, his face turning ever so slightly ruddy as he apparently realised just what this was.
Thorin huffed, folding his arms over his chest. “Hopefully fighting. I sent them to Dale to meet with a merchant who does not exist. They should be gone for long enough that we can discuss this… most convoluted course of action.”
“It is not convoluted!” Bilbo cried. There was a great creaking of leather and cloth as every head spun to look at him, although their hobbit did not balk under the attention. “You agreed with me – and this is your bloody plan! You’ve seen how they look at each other.”
“With unbridled hatred?” Glóin asked nervously.
“With passion!”
“I don’t know. Looks an awful lot like hatred to me.”
Ori hummed absentmindedly, his needles clacking softly in the odd quiet. “You’d be surprised how close the two concepts are.”
There was a clatter from the corner, and shooting a little glance over, Ori wasn’t altogether too surprised to see Bofur jumping to his feet.
“I bloody said so!” He crowed. “Look, the pair of ‘em can be a bit much at times, but don’t you all see what they could be?”
“A diplomatic incident waiting to happen!”
“The greatest calamity since Smaug!”
“They’d tear the mountain apart!”
Ori tsked quietly. “That’s only if we let them continue on how they’ve been going.”
It seemed Glóin was finding this all a bit hard to comprehend. He grumbled under his breath, and Ori just sighed before beginning the frustrating process of switching the colour of the wool he was working with as the room erupted into chatter. It wasn’t worth stepping in properly at this juncture. Not whilst the lot of them had some arguing to go through still.
It had been difficult enough when he and Fíli had announced their intentions to court following the Battle of the Five Armies. Everyone had something to say about it, and Ori had spent most of his days deflecting questions and dodging enquires as to his intentions with the Crown Prince. Never mind the fact he and Fíli had been making eyes at each other for years.
Surprisingly enough, it had been Thorin who’d put his foot down in the end… although Ori had some notion as to why he’d been so insistent that love should flourish in the aftermath of all that had occurred. He also had some idea as to why Bilbo had been his strongest supporter in that regard.
That the pair of them were still dancing around their obvious feelings wasn’t really a surprise. Thorin’s goldsickness and his immediate ascension to the throne had complicated matters to a ridiculous degree, and although it was a well-known fact that Bilbo took tea in his quarters three times a week, it seemed the pair were determined to leave everything unsaid until the final hour.
Idiots, the lot of them. And that included a certain dark-haired prince who thought no one knew where he snuck off to on a nightly basis. Tauriel’s relocation to Dale hadn’t exactly been subtle.
But he digressed. This conversation was not about any of the other fools in the Company denying what was right in front of their noses.
It was about Dwalin and Nori. And Ori had more information than most where that particular dilemma was involved.
“I don’t see it,” Bombur announced, plonking his hands on his hips. “They can’t stand each other!”
Bofur shook his head. “That’s because you’re lookin’ at the actions rather than the overall picture. The pair of them need someone to lean on. They need each other. I mean, can you imagine how terrible they’d be with anyone else whilst this rivalry exists between them? The way they go at each other almost makes me blush!”
“Listening to Nori talk for longer than thirty seconds makes me blush,” Glóin muttered.
“And yet Dwalin has no trouble handling him. As far as I’m concerned, he likes the fighting!” Óin added.
From beside him, Fíli sighed. “I wouldn’t describe it as ‘like’, but I have to agree. I don’t see the pair of them with anyone else. Especially given how Nori always seems to appear out of thin air when Dwalin’s around.”
“And yet he’s never had anything but awful words for him!” Dori snapped. “The pair of them would find the very concept of setting them up ludicrous-”
“You’re telling me you haven’t noticed?”
Silence once again. Ori was starting to find his ability to shut up the entirety of the company rather amusing.
“Ah. Noticed what?” Bilbo said cautiously.
Ori sighed. Lying his knitting over his knees, he fixed their hobbit with a stern glare.
“They already have feelings for each other,” he intoned slowly.
Naturally, the entire room erupted in chaos at that. Picking up his needles once more, Ori continued to work at the piece, carefully crafting each row with as much deliberate caution as he would in any other situation. It would not do to be called sloppy.
In fact, he continued in this manner for ten minutes, every so often lifting his gaze to survey the reddened faces and straining neck muscles of his compatriots.
There had been a time when he would have been willing to throw his voice in the ring too, but Ori had matured a fair bit since first meeting the Company. More than dwarves that had decades on him, certainly. He simply let them tire themselves out as he waited.
Thankfully, it took less time than he’d anticipated for them all to shut up… and curiously enough, it was a quick glance from Bilbo that had Thorin shouting for silence. Ori was going to save that thought for later, but he had other relationships to assist right now.
“Thank you,” he murmured, placing his knitting back on his knees. “Now, I know this might come to a shock for many of you-”
“More like all of bloody Middle Earth,” Kíli grumbled. He ignored him.
“-but I challenge you to find anyone who knows Nori better than me. Excepting Dwalin.”
And no one refuted it. How could they?
“And speaking of Dwalin… Nori pokes him relentlessly. Prods him in insignificant ways, but can any of you honestly say you’ve seen him cross a line? Has he ever said something that has pissed Dwalin off so much that he’s simply stopped engaging with him or caused an all-out fight? He knows where the line is because, at the end of the day, Nori cares about him! It’s not even subtle!”
And it was the truth. Irrefutable and conclusive.
“You mean to tell me-” Kíli began.
“-that those two idiots have feelings for each other-” Fíli continued.
“And neither of them have realised,” Ori finished. “It’s quite simple, really.”
It did not seem like the rest of the Company agreed on his definition of ‘simple’, but his words were enough to cease the bickering and drag many of the assembled faces into what looked like hard contemplation. Ori half thought Glóin was about to burst a blood vessel from the rigid furrow of his brow.
And then something happened that irrevocably changed the flow of the clandestine council for good.
“Aye…” Balin murmured, speaking up for the first time since the meeting had been called to order. “Aye, I think you’re right. To be completely honest, Dwalin doesn’t have much to say at the best of times, but lately every word that has come out of his mouth is about Nori. He infuriates him… but I think a fair bit of that can be attributed to him being a permanent presence with no label. Nori is Nori. I reckon they would both benefit from establishing some form of relationship that isn’t just centred around how much they can irritate each other.”
From the very brother of the dwarf in question, no less! Ori shot him a little smile – one of agreement and encouragement – and was surprised when he received one in return.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult after all. Now he had Balin’s support…
Ah. But there was another brother in the room. And that brother had Nori’s stubborn streak.
It was a good thing Ori did too.
“But Nori hates him!” Dori cried, wringing his hands uselessly. “I would have known by now if he had any feelings for Dwalin!”
Fixing him with the most incredulous look he could manage, Ori raised a brow. “Would you? I seem to remember you being rather surprised when he told us about that thing with the apple carts and the Ered Luin guards. Especially the bit about the goats.”
“And you weren’t?”
Ori simply shrugged. “He’s not the only one good at sneaking in our family. Besides, who do you think released the goats?”
Dori flushed red – either from embarrassment or the sudden realisation that his baby brother was far less innocent than he’d assumed, Ori didn’t know. Frankly, he didn’t care either; the eldest ‘Ri was just going to have to deal with the fact that he was not the sole authority on what his siblings got up to in their spare time. He’d already had to come to terms with that when Ori and Fíli had made their announcement.
“S-so.” He swallowed. “You’ve noticed this… regard they hold each other in. Why haven’t you said anything about it before?”
“It wasn’t my business.”
“And it is now? What’s changed?”
“Well, for one thing, we’ve got the mountain back. Our heritage. As much as I couldn’t care less-”
“Prince Consort!” Kíli coughed. Ori ignored him.
“-Nori does care. Unfortunately, that’s something he’s learnt from you. Nasty little habit, that is; the station of one’s birth does not determine their deeds. That is a fact the lot of you would do well to remember. Regardless, Nori cares. There’s not a lot that we could do about that when Erebor was a distant dream, but now he’s got status. Now he’s going to let himself believe that something like this – something like Dwalin – isn’t that far a stretch.”
Thorin shuffled from his spot in the corner. “I had not thought of it as such. That Nori was tied by constraints and a lack of title.”
With a light sigh, Bilbo elbowed him. “You wouldn’t. You’re the King Under the Mountain.”
Who was probably also in a similar position, but the inverse of Nori’s predicament. Again, Ori banked that for later. “He may regard social hierarchies with disdain, but Nori does recognise them to some extent. And now he’s free to move how he wishes, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.”
“So he carries on as he’s always known. He keeps poking the one constant in his life, besides his family.” Dori chewed his lip in thought. “Perhaps I had not considered… this with as much seriousness as I should have. Very well. You have my support for as long as this harebrained scheme of yours lasts. But if everything ends in tears, I will be the first to say I told you so.”
He didn’t see it yet, but he would. As would everyone else, and it seemed like Balin was ready to throw a little more information out, if the pinched set of his brow was anything to go by.
“As far as my own brother goes, he’s never really been one to talk about affairs of the heart. It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen him partake in even a dalliance, but I know he’s had offers.”
“Both of them have,” Kíli announced. “Have you seen the sheer number of callers the pair of them have turned down since the mountain started filling up again? I swear, half of the new arrivals seem to think that just because they’re both single dwarves in possession of enormous bloody fortunes, it must mean they’re on the lookout for marriage.”
From his perch in the corner, Bifur snorted. He’d not contributed to any of the proceedings, nor did Ori expect him to. The toymaker was somewhat of a recluse in terms of romance, and most of the Company had assumed him craftbound. Either way, the personal affairs of those around him did not seem to interest him in the slightest, and Ori could hardly blame him. It was a tiresome thing, although that hardly meant he’d stop listening. Especially where Nori’s happiness was concerned.
“I’d just like Dwalin to find something to spend his time on that isn’t related to his duties to the Crown,” Balin huffed, “and if that’s a relationship, then so be it.”
Actually, now that he was really thinking about it, Ori couldn’t bring to mind any hobbies Dwalin engaged in.
Not a single one.
There was sparring… but that was all to keep himself in fighting form. They all visited the training rooms at least once a week, but Dwalin put time in there like he was clocking in to work.
Dori had his tea. Ori had his knitting. Fíli and Kíli were general menaces, and it was easier to find something they weren’t interested in than a hobby they hadn’t yet attempted.
They all had something.
All but one.
“Dwalin… doesn’t really have anything but work, does he?”
Balin shook his head. “No, laddie. That dwarf has sworn his entire life to serving Thorin, and from what I’ve noticed, he’s at a loss when there’s no command to be had. He just… waits.”
“Oh.” Bofur murmured. “That’s… that’s not right, that.”
“No, it isn’t. I’ve been trying to persuade him to play the viol a little more, but it only ever comes out when the lot of us are together. Which isn’t often.” Balin sighed. “He used to dance at every ball – not that we threw many in Ered Luin, but something in him changed a few decades back. Now he just skirts the dancefloor and scowls. He needs fun.”
Ori smiled kindly. “And I think I know the perfect dwarf to bring that side of him out again.”
“He doesn’t know how to relax, does he?” Kíli muttered.
“Not in the slightest. And he doesn’t know how to ask for help.” Fíli sighed.
Dori huffed. “Nori’s selfish. He doesn’t know how to ask for help either.”
“And that is exactly why we are going to assist them,” Thorin announced with a sense of finality. “I would not have one of my kin suffer as such alone. And if what Ori claims is true, then we owe it to them to guide them in the realisation of their feelings.”
“This could either ruin them… or be the start of something truly beautiful,” Bombur whispered.
“Aye…” Glóin mumbled, stroking his beard lightly. He sat there in silence for a few more seconds, simply staring into space, before finally…
“Fine. You’ve won me over. At worst, it’ll force the pair of them to talk, which can’t really be a bad thing.”
“Very well,” Thorin declared firmly. “Then let it be known that we, the Company, have elected to-”
“Meddle?” Kíli drawled, chuckling as Thorin shot him a stern glance.
“-hold a ball.”
And that particular nugget of information had the room interrupting into chaos immediately.