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Dwalin wiped the sweat from his forehead and straightened his back, stretching it gingerly to find some relief. The angle at which he had been working was not forgiving, and he was once again reminded that his body was not eighty anymore. As if his temperamental knees were not proof enough, he thought irritably.
The first thing he noticed were several of the dwarves at the front part of the cavern bowing — not bending down to inspect the stone or shifting to change their centre of gravity. No, this was a deep, reverent bow reserved for those you admired. Dwalin frowned.
The second thing he noticed was the click clack of crutches, echoing loudly from behind the cave-in that was blocking his view of the entrance. He knew exactly who was going to hobble out from behind the rubble before he even laid his eyes on the stubborn features of their king.
Aware of the fact that they were in public, Dwalin bowed his head with one fist clutched over his heart before shooting Thorin a scathing look. “Your Majesty,” he said in a tone that suggested very little reverence and was usually reserved for when he called Thorin out for being an idiot.
“How goes the excavation?” he asked, ignoring Dwalin’s reprimand.
“Hasn’t Balin been giving you regular reports?” he retorted, lowering his voice when Thorin finally stood before him. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, and Dwalin could see the strain of pain in the tightness around his eyes. It probably took immeasurable effort for Thorin to get all the way here from his sick bed, yet he did it anyway. Dwalin smiled proudly despite his exasperation at his friend’s idiocy.
“We both know that Balin is a diplomat, and I wanted to see what exactly it was that he wasn’t willing to say.” One of his arms shook a little, and Dwalin almost made a move to catch him but then stopped himself. Thorin could not afford to show weakness now, not when morale was so low.
With winter setting in and their food supplies dwindling, the situation that both dwarves and men found themselves in after the battle was less than ideal. As the temperatures started to rapidly drop, the mountain began to cool without the central heating system on, so getting the large forges working quickly became a priority.
Dwalin looked around and caught Bofur’s eye, gesturing him over with the jerk of his head. The miner came quickly, greeting Thorin with a deep bow, for he too felt the eyes of Dáin’s men on him. “Yer Majesty,” he said in his usual cheerful tone. “It’s good to see ya up and about!”
Thorin gave him a nod, the arms supporting his weight giving another tremble as he shuffled a little, turning to face the dwarf. “You know just how temperamental stone can be,” he addressed Bofur. “Is this salvageable?”
The miner took off his hat, fiddling with it nervously as he glanced around. “It’s… it’s not looking mighty good, yer Majesty,” he said in a low voice. “But it isn’t a lost cause either. The walls will hold with some support if we work slowly.”
Thorin sighed, and Dwalin knew why. Time wasn’t on their side, and if the snow storms hit sooner than they expected, the king might have to start making the tough decisions between the lives of the many and the safety of a few.
“That’s… Thank you for your honesty, Bofur. I value your good judgement even if the news you bring are less fortunate than I hoped.”
Bofur nodded, looking relieved as he pulled his hat back on. “Thank you, yer Majesty. For what it’s worth, every single dwarf here is working as hard as they can.”
Thorin straightened up, a familiar mask slipping over his features as he addressed the room in general. “I am glad to hear! Each and every one of you will be rewarded handsomely for your hard work.”
A chorus of cheers filled the room as the workers started to clap each other on the back and make merry plans about what they’ll do with their gold. The loud noise gave the three dwarves a little bit of privacy, and Dwalin leaned closer, hissing into Thorin’s ear. “Óin is going to kill you when he finds out you sneaked out.”
Thorin grinned despite how pale his skin became, no doubt feeling the consequences of his little escapade now. The jovial smile was quickly wiped off his face though when a sharp voice rang over the general jubilation.
“Thorin Oakenshield!”
Both Dwalin and Bofur froze at the sound of a hobbit’s fury as Bilbo Baggins strode through an isle of dwarves that parted like the sea to let him pass. Despite his small size, he quickly gained a reputation of being fiercer than the dragon himself, and many felt uneasy at the idea of invoking the hobbit’s ire.
It only took one dwarf foolish enough to think that he can cross Bilbo without any consequences before every single person in the mountain found out that muscle and strength wasn’t everything. The whole dining hall roared with laughter as Beddok coughed and spluttered, weeping openly like a little babe after he took a bite of the stew that Bilbo brought him. Nobody dared to cross the hobbit after that.
Thorin shuffled on his crutches, wincing slightly as he turned toward the incoming storm.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he scolded the king, unbothered by the fact that there were at least forty of Thorin’s subjects watching.
“Bilbo,” Thorin said, his eyes darting quickly to the side as if trying to come up with an excuse.
Dwalin looked down to hide his grin. Seeing Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór and the rightful king under the mountain fidget like a little dwarfling in trouble never ceased to amuse him.
“Óin said you need to stay in bed and not put any pressure on those wounds,” he chided, looking fierce as he finally reached the group of three. “Do you wish to loose the foot, or are you just so stubborn that you don’t care about what your stupidity might cost you?”
A few of the onlooking dwarves quickly took a few steps back, clearly keen to not be caught in the middle.
“Oh, yer in trouble,” Bofur muttered under his breath which was a mistake.
“And you,” Bilbo barked, turning his attention to the miner and Dwalin. “You just let him? Some loyal friends you are if you can’t even tell him that he’s being a great old fool.”
Bofur cowered a little, his head dropping in shame, and Dwalin pursed his lips, trying to hold back a laugh. He could almost see why their king fancied the hobbit when he got all fiery like that.
At that moment, Bilbo seemed to notice the tremble in Thorin’s arms too, and he quickly stepped closer, hauling one of Thorin’s arms around his shoulders and wrapping both hands around his waist to support his weight.
“I don’t need help,” Thorin muttered stubbornly, but the hobbit just tutted at him irritably.
“Sneaking away like a little fauntling, honestly!” he muttered under his breath as he started dragging the king back towards the entrance. “Would you be so kind, Thrum, and bring this along? That’s a good lad,” Bilbo addressed the young dwarf standing nearby. He sprang forward and took a hold of one of the crutches, looking relieved at the mild tone Bilbo took with him.
“I needed to get an accurate estimation of the progress,” Thorin said defensively.
“Of course you have some stupid, noble reason,” Bilbo grumbled as he supported most of the king's weight, but his expression softened at the clear signs of pain on Thorin’s face. “Slow down, now. We don’t want to ruin all of Óin’s hard work, do we?”
Everyone watched as the trio slowly disappeared around the corner, Bilbo’s soft encouragements and Thorin’s laboured breathing being drowned by the sound of tools being handled with new enthusiasm.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad to show a little bit of weakness, Dwalin thought as he noticed the soft expressions on many a dwarf’s faces. The king's determination to take care of his people and the hobbit’s loving fussing clearly struck a chord with many who witnessed it.
“Are the two of them…?” Bofur asked, still looking at the doorway through which Thorin and Bilbo disappeared with a curious smile on his face.
“Beats me,” Dwalin said, shrugging. He thought back to the soft expression in Thorin’s eyes when his fever finally broke, and he awoke to Bilbo sponging his forehead as he sat next to his cot. “But if they aren’t yet, they will be soon.”
Bofur cackled and nodded in agreement. “Aye, that I would bet on!” he exclaimed cheerfully.
“Not even Nori would take these odds,” Dwalin snorted, and they both went back to work.