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"So..." Dwalin gave him a firm shove, which made Thorin shift his attention from Bofur, who was singing to the rhythm of the others' applause. He gave Dwalin a questioning look, taking a long swig of the ale the Master of Lake-town had offered them during the celebration and feast for their deal to share the treasure of Erebor "When will you and the hobbit start courting? It's painful to see you two hovering around each other."
Thorin choked on his ale, cursing under his breath as he tried to maintain his dignity, or what was left of it, while Dwalin watched him, amused by his reaction.
Thorin wasn't one to be easily embarrassed. Years of working as a wandering smith in the forges of men's villages had given him the ability to hold his head high in any situation. But one glance and the confused smile Bilbo gave him from across the room was enough to send a shiver down his spine and make his ears burn.
"This is what I'm talking about. Thorin, if you're hesitating, I don't think the hobbit will turn you down..."
"Oh, for Mahal, stop it," he snarled through gritted teeth, nodding in Bilbo's direction as a sign that everything was alright before turning back to Dwalin. "...And using the term Hobbit would be appropriate, lest Bilbo stab you to make it clear that he's 'no half of anything.'"
Dwalin snorted, a twinkle of amusement in his eye. "He handles a sword worse than a little rock who has just been born. He could use more lessons in using that letter opener he calls a sword."
Thorin knew perfectly well that Dwalin cared deeply for their Hobbit who had saved them time and time again along the way. Suggesting training was the closest thing to a declaration of respect and appreciation they would get from the head of the guard. Thorin looked at his cousin with a raised eyebrow, letting him know he understood perfectly what he meant.
The bald dwarf grunted and downed his ale in one gulp. “Now, there’s a lot of gold at stake among the whole company. Even young Ori placed a bet. Dori nearly went to Mahal’s halls from the shock.”
Thorin sighed, a faint smile playing on his lips, and suddenly felt the weight of the journey in his bones. He took another sip as he thought, the bustle of the room seeming distant as he pictured a bead he had made himself, woven into Bilbo’s beautiful curly hair.
“…I couldn’t offer him anything better than a silver bead ” he finished bitterly.
Dwalin remained silent, fully understanding what Thorin meant. The weight of years and scarcity were something both dwarves knew firsthand. A silver bead wasn't a bad courtship gift, of course, but for a king, for Thorin, who as Prince of Erebor had seen his father adorn his mother's hair with mithril jewels so delicate they seemed like star kisses, his grandfather giving gifts his grandmother before madness consumed him, for Thorin, whose heart burned like Mahal's forge for that hobbit, what he had to offer wasn't enough.
"I don't think the hobbit "Dwalin emphasized Bilbo's race to remind him that their cultures differed in matters of courtship and romance "...cares so much for jewels. His people are quite simple."
"I don't think they're that simple, cousin. Look at the opulence and peace with which they live. They have prosperity... And all I have to offer him is a suicide mission and a dying mountain" Thorin felt heavy-handed voicing his doubts aloud. Part of him had felt guilty from the start for tearing Bilbo away from the peace of his home, even though it had been Tharkun's doing. The peace of Hobbiton, which he had initially envied and more recently admired, wishing something similar for his own people.
"You're more dramatic than an elf," Dwalin complained, but at the same time, he gripped Thorin's shoulder as a sign of support. They both stared ahead for a while, watching the rest of the company dancing and drinking. Bombur was eating everything in sight, and Nori was stuffing trinkets into his pockets when no one was looking. It made Dwalin frown; that damned thief would never change.
What seemed like an eternity passed in silence as they drank their ale. Thorin occasionally allowed himself to lose himself watching Bilbo, who laughed as he talked with Thorin's nephews. He indulged in fantasies of putting his smithing skills to use, creating a bead with an acorn seal. It would be fitting for a Hobbit, perhaps mithril blossoms in a consort's wreath... But that would only be possible in one way, and slaying a dragon was the first step.
"...In the spring," Dwalin turned to face Thorin as he spoke. The King under the Mountain toyed with his ale, as if he weren't asking Mahal for strength to fulfill this new dream. "When there are flowers on the summit of Erebor, I will give Bilbo a courtship bead."