Chapter Text
The walk from the river to the large cottage in the dip of the valley was lined with trees and fields of flowers, creating a very peaceful atmosphere for the company if not for the occasional roars of a monstrous bear at their backs.
Bilbo walked gingerly behind Thorin and Gandalf, trying to hold back a wince whenever they had to step over an unruly tree root or if he stumbled upon a stone. The washing and new dressing of his wounds, while inspiring some relief, had also made the wounds feel raw and burn unpleasantly, though the hobbit struggled not to let his discomfort show. Nearly everyone in the company was injured and continuing on admirably; Thorin and Dwalin were even leading the charge to this funny Beorn character’s house, not a single hiccup in their step. It wouldn’t do for Bilbo to complain, not after the recent respect he had received from the rest of the company and Thorin especially.
Despite the mothering from both dwarves, he could see the new look in their eyes when they turned to him, as if he were finally a true member of the group, rather than a fussy nuisance. Well, Dwalin had stopped looking at him like that several days before, but still. The rest of the company seemed to change their tunes as well, asking him the occasional question and watching him with concern and a little admiration, to Bilbo’s surprise.
“Ah, here we are,” Gandalf announced with a smile.
Bilbo sighed in relief and leaned against a nearby tree carefully; it was a bit difficult to find a part of him that was not bruised at this point. He was incredibly thankful that Bofur had been so willing to help him with his pack once more, as he would have struggled to hold it against his back where he’d landed a bit painfully earlier. The hobbit looked up past Gandalf and was able to see the top of a thatched roof and a thin trail of smoke issuing from the chimney in the distance. Bilbo frowned.
“What do you mean, Gandalf?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, feeling admittedly quite exhausted. “The house is at least half a league away.”
“Yes, but I think it would be best if we were to approach in pairs, rather than all at once,” the wizard replied carefully, pretending not to notice the way the dwarves stiffened.
“And why would we need to do that? It’s much safer to travel together, in case we are attacked,” Thorin argued back, giving Gandalf a suspicious glare.
“I do not believe we are going to be attacked in the scant distance from here to the cabin,” Gandalf replied, leaning against his staff and fixing the dwarf with an exasperated look. The wizard was probably the least injured out of them all, though he and Glamdring had been in the thick of the fighting. “If anything, approaching in a large, armed group would not be a good idea at all. Beorn is a very cautious man, suspicious of those who travel unknown through his lands. With the amount of orcs already crawling through the mountains behind, he’s bound to be rather…on edge.”
“Fantastic,” Bilbo muttered quietly, closing his eyes and asking the Green Mother for patience and mercy.
“Are you sure this is the wisest idea, Gandalf?” Balin asked from his seat on a nearby stump. He was watching the wizard and the peaceful countryside with shrewd eyes.
“Have you got any better ones? Orcs and goblins strain at our backs, the Mirkwood lies in our path. No other towns are between, and we have several wounded and in need of rest, ” he replied sharply. When none of the company spoke, he huffed with irritation. “Now, then, we shall travel in pairs, by my signal. Bilbo and I shall go first, and then—“
“What?” Bilbo and the dwarves chorused, giving the wizard varying levels of incredulity.
“The hobbit’s the most injured among us,” Oin protested, stepping around the stiff mountain that was Dwalin standing in front of him. “He should be in the middle pairs, if we’re really going to do this. That way, he’s protected on both sides!”
“Ye’re clearly not too sure of how this fellow’s going to react to our entrance, so one of us warriors should go in his stead, just in case!” Ori piped up, his right hand clutching his beloved book nervously. Bilbo would have rolled his eyes at the bravado and at the implication that he needed all of this protection, but he couldn’t bring himself to outright disagree; he wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to walk, let along fight. Especially not a gigantic murderous bear.
Dori stepped forward, his large hand resting on his sword. “Aye, I’ll go. I’m the best warrior that we’ve got whose uninjured.”
Bilbo could see Dwalin about to fire up in outrage at that, his fists tightening in readiness, when Gandalf interrupted with a muted yell.
“Silence! We’ll never get anything done with your foolish bickering,” the wizard sighed resignedly, before facing the dwarves. “It is precisely because Bilbo is not a warrior and injured that he should be one of the first introduced. We are already interlopers into his lands—Beorn would not take kindly to a burly, grim faced warrior knocking at his front door. As well…he’s not overly fond of dwarves.”
“For the love of Mahal…” Thorin grunted, one large hand coming up to rub at his temples roughly. He gave Gandalf such a frosty glare that Bilbo was surprised the man did not whither like a flower in winter. “As comforting as that notion is, “the dwarf began sarcastically, turning to face his company, “ he’s unfortunately right: our options at the moment are limited.” He eyed Bilbo’s slumped form against the tree with obvious concern. “Master Baggins, are you comfortable with this plan?”
Bilbo snorted in amused skepticism but straightened up from his slouch, gritting his teeth against the pained screaming of the muscles in his back and arms. “I’m fine with whatever gets me to a cup of tea and a bed at this point, to be honest.”
A few of the dwarves grunted in agreement. They could all do with a good night’s sleep for once.
The hobbit walked slowly up to stand next to the wizard, giving him a searching glance. Gandalf only smiled reassuringly, which Bilbo returned with a chagrined grimace. If the man ended up leading him into a ferocious bear-shaped trap, he was going to leave him to fend for himself; the wizard would at least have a chance at winning.
Dwalin strode forward to stand next to him, placing one large hand gently on the hobbit’s shoulder. “I’ll be right behind ye, Bilbo.” Gandalf looked about to protest but was silenced by the viciously stubborn glare the dwarf sent him. Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief and gave him a small smile. The wound on the dwarf’s head still looked rather painful, purpled in bruises and scabbed over, but it had stopped bleeding on the walk over, and the dwarf now looked as ready as ever to waltz into a fight.
“Thank you, Dwalin,” Bilbo murmured, placing a hand on his arm as he walked past to join Gandalf at the edge of the forest. A few of the other dwarves raised curious eyebrows at the affectionate gesture before hastily looking elsewhere at Dwalin’s challenging stare.
With one last worried look back at the crowd of dwarves at the tree line, Bilbo followed Gandalf through the tall grass and out into the open sunlight of the field, the cabin ahead growing steadily larger.
“So, Gandalf, what’s this Beorn like? Apart from disliking dwarves and turning into a large bear, I mean,” Bilbo asked curiously, his eyes surveying the land around. It was certainly a gorgeous spot to build a cabin, the hobbit mused. Like a small, secret paradise in the protective enclave of the Misty Mountains, the amber valley stretching off into the distance where a dark forest loomed. It was much different from the rolling green hills and winding rivers of the Shire, and yet the trees and grass burgeoning in the radiant sun colors of autumn were a beauty of their own. He would not mind spending a good amount of time there, to be sure.
“I’ve told you most of what I know, Bilbo,” the wizard replied shortly.
“Well, you’ve said he’s a bit unfriendly and suspicious, but surely that’s not all, yes? What’s his favorite meal? Does he prefer biscuits or scones with his tea? For that matter, is he partial to tea?” Bilbo questioned, giving Gandalf an expectant look.
“I’ve no idea what he has for dinner or what his afternoon tea preferences are, nor do I care,” the wizard growled, clearly a bit fed up with every member of the company today, dwarf and hobbit alike.
Bilbo was beginning to feel even more alarmed than before. They were close enough now that he could see the cabin and small farm surrounding it, surprisingly large when viewed at a much closer distance. The height of the cabin alone was at least four times Gandalf’s, which made Bilbo wonder at the owner of the cabin himself. Surely a man whose other form is that of a giant bear would be rather tall….
“These are rather obvious questions, Gandalf,” Bilbo chided quietly, his injured body growing tenser the closer they grew to the farmstead. “I could gather that much from a simple conversation with someone.”
“Well, then, perhaps you will be able to answer your own questions by the time our journey carries us onward,” he replied with a grunt, his hand tightening on his staff.
“Gandalf…” Bilbo began, dreading the answer before he’d even asked the question. “You have met this fellow before, yes?”
The wizard was silent for a moment, his eyes trained up ahead. “I have never met him before in my life.”
They had reached the edge of the farm and passed through a gated fence, horses grazing in the pasture nearby and dogs running about barking merrily. At their entrance, the dogs and sheep lazily roaming the area around the cabin froze before shuffling away warily. The hobbit gave them a curious look before startling at the loud crack of splintering wood echoing through the air.
A large, hulking figure was chopping wood off to the side of the house, his thick arms, easily the size of small tree trunks, hefting a large axe with a blade as long as Bilbo’s arm. Tufts of gray and brown fur created a dark line along his broad back, a fine layer of dirt and sweat covering the corded muscles. At their approach, he turned and fixed wide dark eyes upon them. Bilbo felt a cold wash of fear at the sheer power of this being, and he stepped a little behind the wizard, his hand grasping his cloak tightly.
Gandalf halted several yards away from the man, his face carefully blank. “Greetings, Master Beorn,” he called warmly.
Beorn replaced the wood on the chopping block, his eyes never leaving them. When he straightened up to his full height, Bilbo had to hold back a gasp. He was at least twice Gandalf’s height, and the wizard was a tall man.
“Who are you?” Beorn growled lowly, his hands, the size of frying pans, grasping the handle of the axe tightly.
“I am Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey,” the wizard replied, sounding rather arrogant despite the precarious situation. Bilbo wanted to pinch him.
The skinchanger’s eyes narrowed, his bushy grey eyebrows lowering in irritation. “I do not know this name. Who are you?”
Gandalf tensed warily and took off his hat, giving the man a slight bow. “I am a friend of Radagast the Brown, who is one of my kind. A wizard and a wanderer.”
“What do you want?” Beorn questioned warily, perhaps taking note of the name but giving no reaction to it.
“Simply to ask for your help and hospitality, if you would be so generous to grant it,” the wizard replied, his grey eyes measuring the man.
Bilbo shifted to get a better look at Beorn, only to recoil when the skinchanger’s eyes latched onto the movement.
“What is that with you? Is it a dwarf?” He growled, fury simmering in his guttural voice.
“Ah! No, no, Master Beorn. This is Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit of the Shire.” The wizard’s hand reached behind him to grasp Bilbo’s shoulder and tug him forward, remaining there as a small comforting gesture.
“You lie,” Beorn hissed menacingly, his knuckles going white from their tight grip on the axe.
Gandalf then lifted his hand in a placating gesture. “I do not! He’s a bit of an oddity, as most hobbits do not grow beards or ride off on adventures, but he’s a hobbit indeed. Comes from a very good family, too!”
Beorn’s head tilted to the side, his large eyes sharpening on the hobbit’s small form suspiciously. “A halfling, I do smell. But the scent of dwarf lingers upon him as well. Iron and blood, too.”
“Well, we have just come from the Misty Mountains, having escaped the Goblin tunnels very narrowly. Master Baggins, here, was injured in the scuffle….We have many in our party in need of rest and aid. We would be very appreciative if you would permit us lodging for a few nights.” Gandalf watched the man nearly as cautiously as he was being watched in return, though he was careful to be polite and congenial in tone.
Beorn gave no reply for a moment until he said, “And the scent of dwarf? Where does that come from?”
“Well, we have a few dwarves in our party…” the wizard replied rather sheepishly.
The skinchanger’s jaw tightened. “How many?”
Gandalf seemed to consider the best way to phrase his reply before deciding that the blunt truth would be the best bet. “Thirteen, to be precise.”
Beorn’s expression became stormy, and he turned his back on Bilbo and Gandalf to stare out onto the fields and the edge of the forest, without speaking. Bilbo worried for a moment that this meant he was refusing to help them, that they would have no respite from the orcs and goblins at their backs, but then the man’s head turned to give the hobbit an unreadable look over his shoulder.
“Tell me your story,” Beorn replied lowly. “Then I will decide if I shall grant your request or not.”
Bilbo drank from his goblet of steaming tea with utter relief, his body warming as the honey in the drink soothed his aching throat sweetly. The dwarves sat around him, eagerly feasting on the food spread about the table and gulping from large goblets of milk. A fire blazed in the hearth nearby the table, where Beorn and Gandalf sat in large chairs pillowed by sacks of wheat and wool.
After Gandalf had spun the great tale of their adventure up to that point (greatly edited to play up their injuries and their flight from the goblins and orcs), Beorn had reluctantly agreed to give them shelter, despite his dislike of dwarves and his apparent distrust of the wizard (not that Bilbo could blame him for that one). The only member of the company that Beorn did not seem inherently suspicious of was Bilbo himself.
Indeed, Beorn’s behavior toward the hobbit could even be called quite affectionate, after he’d spent some time observing him and having a conversation. Bilbo suspected his comparatively more careful and well-mannered nature to that of the dwarves were what appealed to the skinchanger, though Beorn’s own personality was very boisterous and large: even sitting down, his presence seemed to fill the room. Of course, his friendliness toward Bilbo could also have something to do with his apparent resemblance to a rabbit.
Bilbo found it utterly absurd. They’d had now been within Beorn’s little farm for several hours, and within those first couple interactions with the large man, he had taken to calling Bilbo “Bunny,” much to the dwarves’ amusement and the hobbit’s mortification. Certainly the rabbits around the farmstead were quite large, even reaching to Bilbo’s hip in some cases, but he was quite tall for a hobbit and wore very respectable clothing (well, maybe not after being chased through goblin tunnels and orcs and wargs and all manner of things) and had good manners and breeding and opposable thumbs, for goodness’ sakes! To make matters worse, Kíli and Fíli had already begun to call Bilbo that in passing. If they continued for much longer, Bilbo was going to box their ears off.
Even now, the two dwarves were giving him sly looks and snickering in his direction. Bilbo sighed, wincing at the movement tugged on his poor ribs, and looked around the room. It was certainly no hobbit hole, but the room had its own charm that Bilbo could appreciate: very tall ceiling with wood posts and a thatched roof, open space with picnic tables and a large fireplace with comfy chairs. The small heads of two deer and a sheep peeked around the corner of the kitchen door cautiously, almost immediately drawing back when Bofur, Nori, and Gloin burst into loud laughter at the end of the table.
It all served to remind Bilbo that they were intruding into Beorn’s home. The skinchanger had let them in, albeit the dwarves a bit begrudgingly, and had fed them this great dinner and was preparing beds for them later, none of which he was obligated to do for a rough-seeming group of strangers. Bilbo would have to keep on the dwarves about their manners; they always meant well, but their exuberance often got the better of them.
“So about how long will we be staying here, Thorin?” Dori asked lowly, his eyes darting quickly over to their host.
“With the help of the eagles, we’re a bit ahead of schedule,” Balin said, giving his leader a pointed look. “Plenty of time to take a rest, go over plans, check injuries….”
Bilbo could tell by the constipated look on Thorin’s face that the dwarf did not like the direction this conversation was headed and opened his mouth to argue, only to give a low grunt when Dwalin gave him a firm slap on the back.
“Sounds like a good idea, brother.” Dwalin leaned over to whisper something in his leader’s ear. Thorin then glanced in Bilbo’s direction, causing a flush to work its way up the hobbit’s neck at the implication, before he sighed in reluctant acceptance.
“Three days, then,” Thorin conceded lowly. “We can afford no more, if we’re going to reach the Mountain in time. That accursed forest still lies in our path.”
The dwarves nearby grimaced at the reminder. Bilbo wondered at that: surely traveling through another forest would be more preferable to traveling through the goblin infested mountains.
“Aye,” Balin sighed tiredly. “We’ll need to assess our packs and food supply as well. Hopefully Master Beorn will be willing to trade or barter with us for some—“
Said man erupted into laughter next to the fireplace, much to the bewilderment of Gandalf seated across from him. His large arms wrapped around his waist as he gave large belly laughs, knocking the goblet of milk next to him splashing and clattering to the floor.
“Oh, dear,” Bilbo muttered as he rose from his seat, grabbing a couple rags that they’d been using as napkins from the end of the table.
At that same moment, one of the small sheep that had been creeping under the table to steal a potato or a roll shot out from under the table and sprinted toward the safety of the kitchen door, spooked by Beorn’s loud shouts of laughter. Too fast for Bilbo to avoid, the sheep collided with the hobbit’s shins, sending him crashing toward the floor.
“Bunny!”
Before he reached the floor and perhaps further injure himself, two large hands swept the hobbit into the air, fingers gripping his ribs just a hair too tightly. Bilbo looked down into Beorn’s concerned face and felt a wave of nausea from how far he was from the floor. Certainly higher than any hobbit should be!
“Are you all right?” The skinchanger asked in his gravelly voice.
“Ah, well, thank you, Master Beorn, but if you could please--“
“You’re very light, Bunny. Have you had enough to eat? There’s plenty here, if you are still hungry.” Beorn gave him an encouraging smile, which was a little bit terrifying due to his large and very sharp looking teeth. His big brown eyes were very earnest, though, which prompted Bilbo to give him a small tired small in return.
“I’m quite well. Thank you for your concern and your—your quick thinking, I suppose. Now, I would appreciate if you would—“
But Beorn was no longer paying attention to the hobbit. Dwalin had moved to stand protectively under Bilbo’s suspended body and was glaring up into the skinchanger’s suddenly darkening face. The other dwarves had tensed at the table and were watching with sharp eyes, with the exception of Bombur, who by that point had already begun snoring with his head on the table next to his empty plate.
“Put the hobbit down,” Dwalin growled, his hand twitching toward the hilt of his axe. He’d refused to put them away in their temporary rooms for their stay at Beorn’s, despite his brother’s censuring look.
“You do not command me, dwarf.” Beorn straightened to his full height, Bilbo still clutched in his hands, and the tension in the room became thicker than cold butter.
“Of course not,” Gandalf said soothingly as he rose, giving Dwalin an exasperated look. “We’re all just a bit on edge, with this orc business! We are all quite grateful for your hospitality, Master Beorn.”
Neither Dwalin nor Beorn backed down from their stiff stances, despite the wizard’s attempt at alleviating the atmosphere. Gandalf sent the hobbit a prompting look. Bilbo supposed he’d better try his hand at it, if for no other reason than to be placed on the floor again.
“Right! Dwalin was simply expressing his concerns, you see. My ribs are rather tender at the moment, so—oh!”
Bilbo gave a small start as he was gently lowered to the ground, the skinchanger giving him a sheepish, apologetic look. Dwalin shifted to stand next to the hobbit, even slightly in front of him.
“I remember this. I hope I’ve not hurt you, little Bunny,” Beorn murmured lowly, patting the hobbit very gingerly on the head.
“Are ye all right, Bilbo?” He asked quietly, his sharp eyes watching the hobbit’s expression carefully.
“Yes, thank you, Dwalin, Master Beorn. I’m quite well,” Bilbo said with a smile, placing a hand on the dwarf’s arm. He hesitated for a moment, before saying, “I’d like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind. On the porch?”
Dwalin nodded, still looking rather concerned. He began walking toward the door, and Bilbo nearly followed him before stopping as he remembered.
“Oh! Hold on just a moment, Dwalin,” Bilbo said quickly, looking around the room again. The small lamb that had unintentionally tripped the hobbit was peering around the corner of the kitchen door with its friends, looking frightened. Bilbo walked over slowly, before stopping a couple feet away and kneeling down. “Are you all right too, little fellow?”
“Bilbo, what are you—“ But Bilbo shushed Kíli.
The hobbit waited for a couple moments, watching the small lamb carefully. It didn’t look injured, which relieved Bilbo. It was such a cute little creature, with downy fluffs of wool and large dark eyes. The lamb looked up at the older sheep standing above it before letting out a small bleat, melting the hobbit’s heart like a pot of butter near the oven.
“I’ll take a look at him, little Bunny.” Beorn gave him a fond look before shuffling toward the kitchen.
Bilbo nodded gratefully before following after Dwalin, his hands twisting nervously in front of him. The moon was beginning its arc across the starry sky, the night bringing with it the brisk cold air of late autumn. Beorn’s farm seemed to have retired for the night: all the animals had retreated into their homes or burrows, no bees buzzed from flower to flower, and the fields were still except for the occasional stir of the wind. Dwalin had taken a seat upon the porch stair, his broad shoulders slightly hunched against the chilly air.
He plopped himself down next to Dwalin, wincing as his ribs protested, and sat a bit close to perhaps help share some warmth. Giving the dwarf a small look from the corner of his eye, Bilbo prepared himself for what could be an awkward conversation. He’d made a promise on that burning hilltop that he intended to keep, if the dwarf was amenable. He’d never considered seriously courting anyone before, let alone a dwarf. He wasn’t precisely sure how to go about it, if his own hobbit rituals would be acceptable or if he needed to follow dwarven courting rituals. He wasn’t even sure if Dwalin would want to court him at all, but…Bilbo wanted to try, at the very least.
“We’ve had quite the day, haven’t we?” Bilbo gave a small laugh.
“Aye, that we have,” Dwalin said ruefully. “Are ye sure ye’re all right? He was holding ye pretty tight in his huge mitts.”
“Oh yes, I’m fine. Much better than I might have been if I’d fallen to the ground,” Bilbo replied dismissively, rubbing his hands along his arms. He was glad he’d kept his coat on during dinner. “It was quite a lovely dinner too. I feel like I haven’t had a good cup of tea in a long time.”
Dwalin only grunted at that. The hobbit suspected he was still too suspicious and angry with their host to compliment the food.
Bilbo let the silence carry for a moment before clearing his throat. “Dwalin, I—I know that we’ve only known each other for a few weeks and only begun talking for a few days, really, but I was wondering if—well, if you wouldn’t mind if I were to—“ He huffed. “I’d like to court you, Dwalin, if that’s…acceptable to you.”
“Court me?” Dwalin turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes,” Bilbo struggled not to stutter, his face flushing hotly. He opened his mouth to say more, intending to talk of how brave and strong and handsome, in a rough way, he found him and that he was very much interested in learning more about Dwalin in a romantic sense, when Dwalin gave a low laugh.
“Aye, that’s ‘acceptable’,” the dwarf rumbled lowly, his eyes showing fond amusement.
“Oh, oh, well,” Bilbo sighed in relief. He’d been afraid for a moment there that the dwarf was laughing at his wish to court him. “Thank you for the chance, Dwalin. I’m not sure how dwarves go about these things, but hobbits usually exchange gifts and share meals together over a few months before anything further happens. This quest is not really the ideal environment for a courtship, but perhaps here and there we could share a few—“
“Bilbo.”
Bilbo stopped talking as Dwalin turned to face him, smirking slightly. The dwarf leaned closer, until his nose nearly brushed against Bilbo’s.
“Is there anything in yer proper hobbit courting that ye shouldn’t do?”
“Ah, well,” Bilbo said quietly, his eyes transfixed on the warmth in the dwarf’s. A rough, battle-worn hand brushed against Bilbo’s cheek, before curling around the length of golden curls on his chin and tugging his face closer to Dwalin’s. His heart seemed to want to beat out of his chest.
“Is this…acceptable?” Dwalin whispered against the hobbit’s lips, his breath warm against chilled, blushing cheeks.
Bilbo gave a small instinctual nod that he would not remember later before the dwarf closed the distance between him and pressed slightly chapped lips against his own. He sighed against the sweet press of the kiss, the gentle pressure becoming firmer for a moment before withdrawing smoothly. Dwalin gave him another small, quick kiss, nuzzling their nose together for a heartbeat, before he leaned back and gave him a grin that stunned the hobbit almost as much as the gentle kisses.
“I’d like to court ye as well, Bilbo.”
Dwalin shifted on his bundle of hay and shoved the blankets from his chest, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. Balin, Gloin, and Oin occupied the other corners of the room, thankfully quiet in the silence of the night. He could hear Bombur’s loud snores from several rooms over and thanked his luck that he’d been placed far away from the redheaded dwarf. He’d always been a light sleeper, and Bombur’s snores were enough to keep him awake for hours on end until the exhaustion of the day finally pulled him under.
Kíli, Fíli, and Thorin were in the room next to theirs, which Dwalin appreciated. If he couldn’t be in the room to guard his king, the next room over would have to be sufficient. Bilbo, Nori, Ori, and Dori were in the room across the hall, perhaps strategically placed to prevent Nori from sneaking out of the room on three fronts.
Dwalin shifted onto his side, smiling into the anonymity of the darkness. Bilbo wanted to court him. Bilbo wanted to court him. Even the thought made him burn with pleasure and caused a melting sensation in his chest that he’d take with him to the Halls of his Father’s before he’d ever admit it out loud. He’d decided to pursue a relationship with Bilbo, if the hobbit welcomed it, but the hobbit had certainly caught him by surprise.
Dwalin had wondered about hobbit courting once or twice, in between beating the piss out of orcs and riding eagles. Had wondered if hobbits courted regardless of gender or age. Dwarves, because of the lack of dwarrowdams, tended to reserve more romantic gestures for the other sex. Relationships amongst dwarves were common, accepted. However, the gestures between them were different.
Dwalin was an older dwarf. He’d seen more battles in his lifetime than perhaps the entire history of the hobbit race. Certainly more than Bilbo had, though he was earning a few on this quest. That his hobbit wanted to court him, as though he were a much younger, less jaded dwarf that needed to be romanced…well, it was a bit embarrassing but appreciated for the care that it was.
He could only imagine what hobbit courting would entail. The dwarf hoped it involved good food, like the cooking he’d had in Bag End. This would be a pretty short courting if Bilbo’s cooking was involved. He suspected flowers might be used as well. Dwalin would have to make sure the rest of the company didn’t give Bilbo to much teasing.
He needed to think about his own first gift. Perhaps a small knife, to keep as a back up. Or maybe…..
Bilbo puttered about the kitchen, fixing the teapot closer to the fire and checking the small piles of dough he’d placed in the oven. Or the equivalent of a kitchen for this farmstead in the valley. All of the cooking utensils, pots, pans, and the oven, were vaguely different from those the hobbit was used to at home, but he seemed to be managing just fine. The small animals that had hid in the kitchen the night before were now peaking around the back door, though every now and then one brave sheep or dog would venture in and nudge Bilbo’s hip in greeting. He would give them a blueberry or two just to see their excitement.
He’d awoken rather early that morning, having had trouble sleeping the night before due to happy thoughts of his new courtship with Dwalin. He was actually making his first gift for the dwarf that morning, though it was perhaps a bit eager of him. Usually it was best to wait a day or two for propriety’s sake, but with this quest being what it is, Bilbo was betting he would not have access to a kitchen for quite some time, so he needed to make the best of it. Beorn had been must helpful and accommodating, even leading him out to the blueberry bushes along the back fence of the farm before returning to chop wood while the hobbit picked berries.
His injuries had not given him too much trouble once he had fallen asleep, but now he felts aches from his feet to his neck, as if his body was one big bruise. He was glad to be making blueberry scones this morning, as he did not imagine climbing any trees for apples or pears would be pleasant at all.
Despite that, Bilbo felt lighter than he had for quite some time on this quest. Dwalin had certainly surprised him last night with that kiss. Even the thought of it caused the hobbit’s face to heat and his chest to flutter as if he were a young hobbit with his first crush again. It was much gentler than he’d expected of the battle-worn dwarf, but he’d adored it all the same. And Dwalin wanted to court him in return! That was—well, very sweet of the dwarf as well. Bilbo couldn’t wait to see what dwarf courting was like and to spend more time with this dwarf that seems to be full of soft, hidden gems of depth. Like his blueberry scones.
Oh, his scones!
Bilbo hopped up from his seat next to the doorway and flew to the oven, chiding himself for getting lost in thoughts of Dwalin and forgetting about his scones. Luckily they had not burnt yet, so Bilbo carefully pulled out the small metal pan holding them and placed it on the counter, sighing at the sweet, full scent of baked goods filling the air. Now, to get a nice pot of tea going…he doubted Beorn had any teacups, so he supposed he’d have to make do again with the goblets…
“Master Baggins?”
“Bilbo, please,” the hobbit replied automatically, before turning around.
Thorin stood in the doorway leading to the large dining room of the night before, his hair and beard freshly brushed and without the furred armor he wore. He stood awkwardly on the threshold, clearly unsure of his welcome, which was a first for the dwarf that Bilbo had seen. The hobbit gave him a smile, which seemed to relax him a bit.
“Good morning, Thorin,” he greeted sunnily, crossing the kitchen and pulling out three goblets. “Would you like cup of tea? Or a pint of it, really.”
“Yes, that—that would be appreciated.” He took a couple more steps into the room and fixed the hobbit bustling here and there with the goblets and teapot with a measuring stare. “How are your injuries this morning…Bilbo?”
Bilbo startled a bit at that, having never expected to hear his first name come from Thorin Oakenshield’s mouth without some form of derision, but the dwarf seemed quite genuine. “All right, I suppose. A bit sore, but nothing that I can’t handle or a cup of tea won’t soothe. And yours? I hope you’ve been to see Oin this morning or he’ll be quite cross with you.”
Thorin grimaced, not meeting the hobbit’s amused look. “I’m fine. My injuries were not very severe—“ He ignored Bilbo’s raised eyebrow—“…but a couple days rest should cure them completely. Are you helping make breakfast?” The dwarf had slowly inched forward before the hobbit had noticed, looking rather hungrily at the pan of scones, which were slowly cooling.
“Ah, well, you see,” Bilbo began excitedly, “There actually for—“ But he froze in the middle of his sentence as a thought occurred to him. Did Dwalin want the company to know they were courting?
They’d not really talked any further about it the night before, after the kiss. Bilbo certainly didn’t care to hide it, but Dwalin was quite a reserved dwarf, not one to tell many stories about himself. He wasn’t sure they’d even be able to hide it, as they would constantly be around the other dwarfs for at least another month or two, until they reached the mountain. A little modesty was understandable, but the hobbit hoped Dwalin did not want to keep them a secret. The worry dimmed his excitement.
Thorin had watched and waited for a few moments, but as the hobbit had not continued and he was quite hungry, he picked up a warm scone from the pan and bit into it. He seemed to struggle with it, his eyes closing tightly and his free hand fisting.
“Oh, are they not good?” Bilbo asked worriedly at the dwarf’s somewhat strained expression. That could not be good at all. But he’d followed the exact proportions of his recipe to the letter! Maybe Beorn’s farm had slightly different wares than that of the shire, so the taste was off…Oh, that wouldn’t do at all. “Here’s your tea; perhaps that will help wash it down. I’m so sorry, Thorin.”
Thorin grunted and took the tea into his free hand. Bilbo noticed the half-eaten scone that had been in his hand had disappeared. “No apologies necessary, Bilbo. They’re…very good, actually.”
Bilbo looked at him suspiciously, wondering if he was trying to protect the hobbit’s feelings by being kind, before another dwarf arrived in the doorway.
Dwalin entered the kitchen, looking fresh from a good night’s sleep and hungry for a spot of breakfast as well. He had evidently decided he trusted Beorn enough to remove his armor for the day, so he wore only the dark green shirt that separated the chain mail of his armor from his skin. Bilbo thought absently that he looked very nice in that color. Very nice, indeed.
“Good morning, Dwalin,” Bilbo said, beaming at the sleepy dwarf. “I made a batch of blueberry scones for you for breakfast. It’s one of my own recipes, actually. I’ve received quite a few compliments on them whenever I serve them with afternoon tea, but they’re quite good for breakfast as well.”
Dwalin blinked at the long string of words before giving the hobbit a gentle smile. “For me, ye said?”
“Well, cooking in the Shire is one of our best ways of showing appreciation and—and affection to one another,” Bilbo answered quietly, giving the dwarf a shy look. “I know we only just began—“ he shot a nervous look at Thorin, who was watching the scene with a confused frown—“ on our new footing last night, but I thought an early start might be best.”
Dwalin raised an eyebrow at the odd phrasing. “So this is yer first courting gift, then?”
Bilbo startled before smiling happily up at the dwarf, glad that Dwalin seemed to have no intention of hiding their relationship if he was being so blunt in front of Thorin. “Yes, the first small one. I made some tea as well.”
Dwalin reached down for a scone and bit into it hungrily. He stilled for a moment before a moan broke free from his chest before he could stop it. The dwarf quickly finished off that scone before reaching for another, his eyes closing in pleasure.
“So you like them, then?” Bilbo asked eagerly, his hand brushing nervously against his beard and unknowingly spreading flour in the curls.
“They’re very good, Bilbo. Are ye making any more?” He asked, looking hopeful.
Bilbo beamed once more, already moving to the counter littered with ingredients. He seemed to glow with happiness, relieved that his first gesture had been so appreciated. “Of course I can! I just need a bit of time to make another batch….”
As he began putting another round of ingredients into his mixing bowl, Bilbo heard Thorin rumble something in Khuzdul to Dwalin, who only gave him raised eyebrows in return. Thorin gestured toward the door to the yard with a demanding look and another guttural sounding phrase before stomping out there himself.
Bilbo looked after him a bit concerned and bewildered, but Dwalin dismissed it with a waved hand and stepped closer to the hobbit.
“It’s nothin’ for ye to worry about. Just Thorin bein’ as stubborn as a mule,” he murmured lowly. “Thank ye for the gift. I’ll go settle this and be back to finish them…ye’ve got a bit in yer beard, Bilbo.” He brushed the flour out of the hobbit’s beard, letting his fingers wrap around the curls and tugging lightly. Bilbo felt a shock of pleasure run up his spine, and his chin tingled. He nodded.
Dwalin gave him and the pan of scones a lingering look before exiting the kitchen, leaving Bilbo alone to make another batch of scones. Or at least he had thought he was alone.
“Mister Boggins!” Kíli called cheerily, bounding into the room and immediately catching sight of the scones. “Oh, breakfast!”
“No, no! Those are not for you!” Bilbo said, quickly darting in and rescuing the pan before the dark-haired dwarf could devour them.
“Was that Dwalin, just now?” Fíli asked from the doorway, giving the hobbit a curious look and ignoring the whining of his brother.
“Yes, it was,” Bilbo said from around Kíli, who kept attempting to reach around the hobbit and grab a pastry.
“Oh, come on, Bilbo, have a heart!” Kíli pouted, momentarily stopping. “I’m starving!”
“There’s a nice loaf of bread and jam just over there that you can sate yourself with,” Bilbo pointed out, staunchly protecting the scones. “I made these for Dwalin as a—as an early courting gift.” He blushed and turned away from the brothers, who were now looking at him with amused surprise.
“Courting, eh? Well, that’s a bit sooner than I’d thought, but Nori’ll be happy,” Kíli commented blithely, already cutting a large swath of bread from the loaf and slathering blueberry jam over it.
“What?” Bilbo frowned at the oddness of that statement.
Fíli coughed loudly and gave his brother a censuring look, before sighing. “Bofur’s going to be crushed.”
“Yeah, I bet even his hat will be drooping once he hears the news,” Kíli added, taking a too large bite from his bread and getting jam all over his cheeks.