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It started in Mirkwood.
The once-great, overly-green forest that was a vague memory of his youth was now a festering, corrupt pit of almost malevolent decay. There were times that Dwalin would blink and not remember how long they had been walking, or even if they had been walking the right way at all. Maliciousness oozed from the creatures unseen amongst the thick, mouldering underbrush, and the sky was lost to the gnarled and twisted growth that seemed to last for miles. Of all the places that Dwalin expected nice things, this place was not one. The very air stank of wrongness.
The burglar was a mess.
Now, Dwalin would admit to anyone, that he was not a perfect dwarf. Noble born his father may have been, and raised Dwalin and Balin both as Lords of Durin, but Dwarves were 'earthy' sort of fellows as a whole, and Dwalin had never been under the mistaken belief that noble lineage meant for a pure sort of person. He was male as male could be, and that meant he was partial to the occasional indecent thought or seven.
Or not so occasional.
They were a company of fine looking Dwarrows to the last, right down to sweet little Ori, and Dwalin would not be adverse to a tumble with any member of the Company that decided they'd like the same. And he was not above letting a familiar face and flight of fancy fill his thoughts while polishing his axe handle. Though he might object to admitting that there were certain faces that starred in his thoughts more often than others. The most irritating among them, of course, being their little Hobbit.
The lass that was their burglar was adorably stubborn, fascinatingly vibrant, and endearingly fussy, and so innocently brave at times it made his head hurt.
She was also in possession of a fine, rounded rump, beautifully curved hips, and a bounce to her bust that made him go a little cross-eyed to see it. He'd never been picky about looks when choosing bed mates: dark or light, short or tall, slender or plump, he liked it all, but there was something about the Hobbit's smallness, and her plump, lush, ripeness, that alternatively made him want to wrap her very gently in his arms to keep her warm, or fuck her roughly until she screamed. He wanted to tug on those unruly curls while he bit at those delightful ears, or bury his nose in the wild golden mess while he fucked into her from behind. The very sight of her was enough for his thoughts to turn to the lewd, and more and more often, the ridiculously mushy. She made his cock twitch, no two ways about it, and made his heart thump in his chest in a way that he had not anticipated when they'd set out of the peaceful Shire with her.
It's just, like certain other of his more serious crushes, he'd never intended to do anything about it.
Later, he'd blame Thorin.
Because his greatest friend, trusted shieldbrother, revered king, and long-time pain in his arse, had surely noticed the Hobbit. And despite how rational and sensible his break stops and rest periods seemed, only Dwalin seemed to notice that they seemed more often to stop when the Hobbit looked to be weary, than not.
On this particular occasion, they had come across a great hollow in the base of a tree, almost a series of caves, leading off into the base of it, and despite the warnings of both Gandalf and Beorn to stay on the path, Thorin had decided that the cave in the base of the tree was safe enough, being that it faced onto the path, and despite there being a few more hours for them to walk, he had looked at their Hobbit, weary and leaning against a limb, and had called an early halt.
And that, right there, is where the problem started.
Thorin, in true brooding style, took the first of the night watches, and Dwalin resigned himself to a few hours staring out into the dark and seeing only the glow of eyes of unnatural creatures, and then a few hours’ sleep, the end.
Except, except, when their shift had passed, and Bifur and Glóin had been roused, Dwalin and Thorin had returned to where they'd placed their bedrolls to find the little hollow tucked behind a root, they had found the little cosy spot rather... occupied. By a hobbit.
Now, as much as Dwalin would freely admit that anywhere up to half the thinking done in a standard day was likely to be done with his dick, and as fine a looking Dwarrow as Thorin was (one of the finest, Dwalin would attest), he'd not pushed to have himself and Thorin placed in this little part of their tree cave for anything other than a noble purpose. It was towards the back, slightly away from the others -Thorin was King, after all-, easily defendable even if the entrance to the tree fell, and he could perhaps -if Thorin was somehow struck mute and paralysed- conceal his king from danger while he fought on, if worst came to worst.
He'd had no nefarious thoughts in mind at all.
Except now he did, because there was a gorgeous, warm little Hobbit all curled in the middle of the spot he had picked. He could nudge them elsewhere, but there was precious little space in this hollow. Bifur had been sleeping on top of one of the knotted branches, Glóin would murder him if he took his spot -next to his brother- and Dwalin would rather not sleep at all then wedge himself in next to Thorin's nephews and their propensity towards flailing limbs.
Nothing for it, and Thorin knew it too, casting a glance around the cramped little temporary rest stop, and coming back to the narrow spaces either side of their burglar. Dwalin shrugged when Thorin turned to him, and made his way over to the right of the Hobbit, nestling one axe against the 'wall' of their spot, and contemplated exactly how to slither down into the gap beside that gorgeous bust.
Doing so turned out to be quite pleasant. He politely pretended not to see Thorin's blush as he wriggled in behind that nicely rounded rump.
Now, that should have been the end to it. It was a bit of alright being wedged in beside such a lovely lass, and the pleasure of seeing Thorin uncertain and adorable was well worth any minor inconvenience of the situation. Dwalin was prepared to sleep for a bit, and rise before Ms Baggins happened to wake and realise the predicament she had unwittingly caused.
But.
But.
Really, Dwalin should have learnt by now not to assume anything with the Hobbit.
He was pretty sure he drifted off for a bit, and if he was entirely honest, he initially thought he was dreaming or hallucinating at first. What else was he to think when a lush little golden-haired beauty throws a possessive arm and a hot little leg over his body? Especially when accompanied by a sigh like that one.
There was no mistaking the first undulation of those hips, though. Or the little cooing moan that came with it.
The second undulation was firmer than the first, and joined with a breathy sound of appreciation, and Dwalin gulped.
Slowly, he raised his head, and met Thorin's wide eyes across from him.
Bilba undulated again, and Thorin's blush deepened. Even in the almost-complete darkness of this horrible place, Dwalin's dwarf eyes could see the dark red spreading across cheeks and nose and up to his King's ears. And he was not so fool that he did not note the quickening breath, either.
Dwalin's gaze dropped to Thorin's crotch, about the same time as Bilba's body gave a swivel and hump forward and back, and Thorin bit his bottom lip.
Mahal's hairy hammer, Thorin was hard.
If Dwalin hadn't already been ready to burst out the placket of his leathers -and he completely was; he did have a beautiful, busty burglar humping his thigh- he would certainly be ready to romp now.
Over the years, as much as Dwalin had decided that he might have certain.... feelings about his King, there was really nothing to be done about it. Honest to the bones, yes, Dwalin loved him in ways too complex to put name to, and far too fiercely to be completely set aside, but part of that sort of depth of feeling came with a devotion to the happiness and needs of the individual that awoke it. Dwalin would travel half way across Middle Earth to confront a sodding dragon for Thorin; but he would also not burden his friend with the weight of an affection that he could not return. He wasn't that selfish as to muddy their relationship with that sort of pressure.
There was also the vague certainty on Dwalin's part that Thorin had no room in his life for any sort of attachment of that sort. He had been focused on the survival of their people for so long, so steadfast and sure as their leader, that he appeared almost sexless at times, an entity of the people, rather than a Dwarrow. Dwalin had just sort of assumed...
Well. Thorin was definitely not immune, then, to the charms of a little Halfling with a head full of golden ringlets and an arse that was worth physical adoration. An arse that was rubbing back and forth across Thorin's hip, by the look of it.
Bilba moaned again in her sleep. Quietly, breathily, a gasping sort of thing, with a hitch at the end that made Dwalin's heart stutter.
Maker help him.
Dwalin let his head fall back with a thunk, and he took a breath, trying very hard not to thrust his hips in time to Bilba's flexing. This was, quite honestly, very much along the lines of his best, most secret fantasy. Things were just a little different when it actually came to the fantasy playing out, and he didn't think anybody would appreciate it if he followed his daydreams here.
A tentative hand brushed his crotch, and Dwalin's eyes shot open, and he turned wide-eyed back to take in a very shame-faced Thorin- moving to press his body fully against the back of the Hobbit.
The way she gasped.
Flaming tits on a bull, how was he supposed to ignore that?
This stupid forest was most definitely compromising his judgement. Was he thinking of participating in this?
He was.
He rolled a little, like Thorin, pressing a little more to Bilba's front, eyes locked to Thorin's.
The Hobbit's breath hitched, and her hips jittered between them.
Thorin gasped, sweat breaking out across his forehead, and he licked at his own lip, a quick flick of his tongue across his top lip that had Dwalin's hips jerking in time with Bilba's before he caught himself and stilled. What Dwalin would not give to be biting gently at that lip- preferably with all parties awake and consenting.
This was so wrong.
But Thorin's hand was sneaking across to tentatively grasp his hip, and tug him in a bit more firmly against Bilba's front, and rolling his own hips against her gently, and the Hobbit tossed her head, eyes still clamped shut, breath heavy, gasping moans that sounded as if they were torn from deep in her chest erupting every other thrust, and Dwalin hoped the noise was not enough to wake any of the others- and that Bifur and Glóin did not hear, but then, Mahal, Thorin gasped, and his head dropped back for a second, and his neck...
Dwalin cursed softly, hand jerking out almost against his will to grip Thorin's hip and squeeze. Why must it be so damnably dark in these woods? The sight of these two, what he would not give to be able to appreciate it properly. And with all parties awake.
Surely Bilba was awake. Surely?
This was so wrong.
But he wasn't pulling away. Oh no, Dwalin might loathe himself for this later, but Thorin was looking at him again, his eyes so full of heat, and intent in a way that Dwalin had never seen him, ever before, and how was he to look away from that? They should not be doing this, they shouldn't, the Hobbit was sleeping, and had not asked this of them, but-
Bilba shivered, and then stiffened, leg tightening around Dwalin -now hiked up around his hip, the warmth of her pelvis jerking against his cock- and then arched, breath hitching, and well, that was that, wasn't it?
She cooed when she was done, a satisfied sound, which accompanied by a softening of her warmth, and a contented nuzzle, was almost enough to do Dwalin in completely.
He was doomed.
Doomed, but still hard and aching, and there was Thorin, with his eyes, and his own trousers straining at the waist.
What was he supposed to do with all of that?
As appealing as it was to remain lying in his spot with a satisfied and pliant Hobbit draped across him, apparently what he really wanted to do, was carefully ease out from under said pretty little Hobbit, and crawl over her to sprawl himself over Thorin, and curse himself for how shit he was going to feel about all of this later.
Thorin felt wonderful underneath him, though. And he let Dwalin hitch a leg up and nestle their pelvises together nicely.
It was... odd. Even a little awkward. Yes, Dwalin had been having this particular fantasy since he had been old enough to polish his own hammer, but this was most definitely the most bizarre take on any fantasy he could possibly imagine. This was Thorin.
And so, even though they were both hard, and Dwalin wanted nothing more than to rut himself to completion against one of the dearest and hot-as-shit persons he knew, instead he waited, panting like an idiot, for some sort of sign that what they were doing was alright.
But then Thorin was reaching for him, tentatively cupping one, warm hand against Dwalin's cheek, his thumb tentatively passing over Dwalin's bottom lip, his gaze questioning, inviting, pleading, and that was it, Dwalin was beyond restraint.
It was awkward, and it was clumsy, and it was cramped, but it was amazing, lowering himself down to let Thorin take his weight, hands gripping and twisting in hair, hips jerking and straining against each other in an infrequent rhythm that was both unsatisfying and yet primally pleasurable. Dwalin's mouth hit Thorin's with a lot more force than he intended, but the lips under his parted eagerly, and he was far too busy then, attempting to taste every tiny bit of that mouth than worry overly much about the occasional clink of their teeth and the uncoordinated rutting of their lower halves in cramped and uncomfortable quarters.
They were still pressed fairly tightly to Bilba's side, and they really should be worried about that, especially when she murmured and shifted at the jostling movement, but then she gave a little half-moaned trill that sounded pleased and sleepy and so utterly her, and Dwalin's hips jerked in response, about the same moment that Thorin's did also.
"What the fuck is this?" Dwalin hissed as quietly as he could manage while panting like a boar hound on hunt, and Thorin scowled at him half-heartedly a moment, before he buried his hand in Dwalin's beard, and yanked him back down into another violently scorching hot kiss.
He was kissing Thorin. Dwalin was actually kissing Thorin. And rutting against him as if it were to be his last orgasm before the Halls.
(Knowing this fucking forest, it might very well be.)
Thorin grunted, and his legs squeezed Dwalin's, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his face turned intent, eyes burning into Dwalin's. And then he tossed his head back, and the movement of his hips turned frantic, bottom lip held harshly between his teeth.
That gorgeous neck, all on display again for him.
Biting at it produced the most wonderful effect, it seemed, Thorin shivering all over, his hands jerking and tugging at Dwalin, and then he heaved and grunted again, and hissed, the last of his breath a mere whisper of sound that was shaped particularly like Dwalin's name, and by Mahal's swinging rocks, that was the hottest fucking thing he had ever heard, short of the Hobbit and her gasping little noise she had made when she'd come and-
Keeping in his howl was the hardest thing Dwalin had ever done in his life.
It was quite possibly the best damn completion Dwalin had ever experienced in his life, so he could not be blamed for struggling so badly with keeping his vocal satisfaction from becoming known to anything within a twelve mile radius.
(Alright, so there had been that one time with the Iron Fist delegate last decade. That had been pretty spectacular. And that time with the lass of Men in that town to the south- the widow, with the mouth. Not a lot to look at, really, but a seductive voice and tits like you would not believe, and he quite honestly might have married her for her mouth alone, had she not been more interested in cutting a healthy swath through the entire male population -and a fair amount of the female- of middle earth. This, though, as tired and delirious -and not entirely sure this was not some bizarre hallucination- as he was, this was close to being the best damn sticky time he'd ever had.
Dammit.)
The aftermath... was, alright, it wasn't entirely awkward. This was Thorin; even his brother did not know him as well as Thorin did. He would always love this this Dwarf, no matter what happened between them, and there was comfort and familiarity in that. But, well...
It was Thorin.
And oh fuck, what had he done?
"What the shit?" he whispered fiercely, as loud as he dared. "What the shit, Thorin?"
Thorin didn't say anything to that, but then, Dwalin hadn't really expected him to.
Oh look. There was the shittiness he knew would come afterwards.
The wretchedly innocent Hobbit was still sleeping pressed against them.
Mahal, what a mess.
Still, he couldn't help himself from leaning in to claim one last, gentle kiss. And he couldn't help but feel startled when Thorin not only let him, but leaned in gratefully, just as eager for that small bit of comfort from him as Dwalin was for it.
They both sighed, when they parted, though, and Thorin gently, hesitantly touched Dwalin's cheek, eyes roving over his face.
"I'll tell her in the morning, before we leave," Thorin said, gaze cutting guiltily to the side. "I am... sorry, Dwalin. I don't know why I..."
"Oh, stop," Dwalin sighed in exasperation. "I'll talk to her with you. This whole stinkin' forest is making us mad, you know that, don't you?"
Thorin shrugged, and Dwalin shouldn't, he really shouldn't, because it was true, this whole forest was making them crazy, but if there were even the slightest possibility of being able to love Thorin just a little more...
He didn't push Dwalin away, though, when he leaned for another kiss, and then slowly and gently, raised himself carefully off of Thorin and over Bilba's still sleeping form, sighing in exasperation at how ridiculously adorable she was in sleep, curls tumbling every which way around her face. Judging by the rueful expression of Thorin, when Dwalin caught him eyeing the burglar as well, he thought the same.
"Get some sleep," Thorin said, and while it was the same authoritative tone as always, the tentative smile was new, and Dwalin sighed and shut his eyes, contemplating what the Maker was happening to him. The likelihood of being shorn bare as a babe for the sullying of a lady's honour in the morn. And cold, sticky draws, as well, with no chance of a bath anytime soon. Yuck.
Damnable forest.
***
Dwalin never did get a chance to talk to Bilba, and he was sure as stone Thorin hadn't either. They'd been all but run from the tree by gaunt, wild looking wolves sometime near what was probably dawn, and had to slaughter a dozen of them to get free of the place. And then there was a river, and a too-small boat, and Bombur had fallen into what they now knew to be enchanted water.
The next few days had been vague and really, he only remembered it in strange flashes, pretty certain he had spent the last week growling under his breath at anything and anyone stupid enough to come before his gaze.
(And some truly spectacular gropin' and kissing as if their lives depended on it with Thorin, tucked away behind trees from the sight of the Company. But Dwalin really wasn't sure if that weren't some sort of hallucinated wishful thinking, with how this forest had his head all twisted up.)
And then to really make this trip through magical elf-land as pleasant as could be, well, there'd been giant blasted spiders, fighting his way from web wound around his helpless, weakened body, straining to protect his brother, and then the overwhelming agony of discovering that Thorin and Bilba were not with them.
A cage. All this way, and he was stuck in a Mahal-forsaken cage, with Elves coming by to sneer down at him at frequent intervals. Balin had at least been shoved in a cell before him, so he knew where he was, and most of the others, but Bilba and Thorin were still a weight in the bottom of his gut, churning and worrying at him, driving him to thump at the door of his cage with rhythmic punches that were most likely what had the elves coming to glare at him so frequently.
He'd get free of this place, though. He'd find Thorin, and he would find Bilba, and he would take them away from this curs'd wood.
The thought that perhaps he was too late, and that they were already dinner for one of those blasted spiders, lent a particular viciousness to his punches aimed at the elegantly twisted bars of his prison, and he felt the skin on one of his knuckles split with a certain sort of satisfaction, laced with regret.
"Stop that, right now!"
The voice, hissing out of the dark with as much indignation as could be managed in a whisper, almost made Dwalin fall down, a dizzying wave of relief stealing through him. Their burglar was alright. She was alright. Alive and free! He almost wept from the joy of it.
And then the panic hit.
"Bilba!" he hissed back, flapping his bleeding hand at her frantically. "Get out of here right now! Don't let them traitorous Elves find you!"
"Hush," she scolded, stealing closer out of the shadow across from his cell, and catching the bruised and swollen hand with her own, petting it softly. "I can take care of myself, Mister Dwalin, and don't you forget it!"
Stubborn hussy.
"You'll be caught, my lass," Dwalin warned, tugging her in closer to him, and petting at her arms. It felt almost like a dream, finding her here before him like this. "The bastard king will not be any more lenient on a little hobbit than he will on us dwarves, ‘specially if you're stealing 'bout his dank fortress without his divine invitation."
"Your lass?" Bilba asked quietly, and Dwalin flushed, but she was already shaking her head and tugging on his hands. "I can take care of myself," she repeated firmly, and gave him a grin.
A smile should not make him weak in the knees. He was a warrior, a steadfast force of Dwarrow honour. A smile had no business makin' him wobble like this.
As a warrior he had lost those fighting under his command. Lost more than he cared to remember. Whilst not completely hardened to loss in battle, Dwalin had dealt with the deaths. He had faced armies of Orcs and not given a shudder – well, not until battle was won. And yet one Hobbit burglar could turn the whole world wrong-side up with one little grin -a grin that was for Dwalin and Dwalin alone.
"I'm glad you're safe," he said, after a moment of struggling to find something to say. It earned him another free smile, though, and her thumbs smoothed gently over his swollen knuckles.
"Well, you can stop causing yourself needless harm, then, and let me work on getting you all out of here," she said, resting her head on the bars between them, and he abruptly noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the exhaustion in every line of her body.
"You need to leave," he insisted again, worry causing his stomach to clench. "Find someplace safe. Steal some food and follow the path back to the Bear's lands. The wizard will find you there, he'll take you home."
"If you think I am going anywhere, you don't know me at all," she said calmly, fishing in her pocket for a strip of cloth obviously torn from one of the lovely linen shirts in which she left home. "I've found all the Company, by the way. I'm working on exit strategies now."
"I do know you," Dwalin felt the urge to protest, while she wrapped his hands with her fabric strips, knotting them off on his palms, touch gentle. "Stubborn little thing, you are, loyal too. Don't mean I shouldn't prefer you safe some place."
She huffed at him, but his attention narrowed to what she had just said.
"You found all the Company? Thorin?"
"Thorin's down that way a bit," she gestured vaguely. "Had to wrap his stubborn hands as well." She huffed again, but grinned up through her curls at him all the same. "It's how I knew to have strips ready for when I found you, as well."
"You found him." Dwalin felt his knees go a little weak, and Bilba grabbed at him when he swayed. "Thought I'd lost the arse for good this time."
The stupid git that was his king had been causing him worry for a century and a half, really, he should be used to the weak-kneed relief of knowing he was just fine, grumpin' and fussin' as he was wont to, and making that bastard of a leaf-eater real sorry he'd bothered with rounding them all up.
"Well, 'the arse' is mostly fine. He's acting a little... odd, but seems in good health, apart from the knuckles, of course."
Dwalin said nothing for a moment, letting her wrap his hands carefully with the strips she'd brought with her. He had an awful feeling he knew what behaving 'odd' was all about.
Really, he thought they'd have been able to do this sooner. And together.
Bugger and balls it.
"Acting odd?" he asked with a sigh.
Bilba looked up at him through thick curls a moment, an eyebrow raised in thoughtful query, before she shrugged and returned to wrapping his hands.
"Odd..." she said slowly. "I don't really know how to describe it. Solicitous? Maybe? Borderline nice, which is just strange. And he kept saying he owed me a great apology. It was very strange."
Dwalin sighed, a great heaving huff of suffering, and slouched against the bars.
"Bugger."
"What?" she asked, tucking the ends of the shirting in under the firm wrap she'd made about his hands. "What is it?"
"He's hopeless with words when it comes to proper people," Dwalin told her wearily. "He's got that majestic charisma that he whips out in formal settings, and he can preach birds from the bushes and into fighting by his side for the good of our people, but he's shit when it's personal."
"I... alright. What?"
"We were goin' to tell you together. I swear, we weren't trying to keep it from you; we just haven't had a chance, since."
"Uh huh..." she said slowly, and he sighed again, taking her hands in his own wrapped ones for a moment. After this, she may never let him near her again. He'd be a cad and sneak a touch just for a moment.
He opened his mouth, and then shut it again, thinking hard. Honestly, how was he supposed to explain this? Dwalin had sort of been counting on Thorin and his occasional eloquence to put it in some sort of delicate wording.
Dwalin didn't really do delicate.
Well bugger it. Plain speaking it was.
"When we laid next to ya in that tree cave the other night, you were havin' a bit of an alright dream, and you decided to hump my leg. We sorta let you. And mighta helped you along a bit. Pushed back from both sides a bit, till you were done."
Bilba stared at him for a long long moment, tapping at the back of his knuckles with her fingertip absently, staring at a point somewhere over his shoulder, brow creased in a thoughtful frown that Dwalin absolutely did not find adorable. Her nose crinkled unhappily, and she sighed, and slumped opposite him on the bars.
"Bugger it, I thought that was a dream," she said, sighing heavily again, frown deepening to almost a pout. "If King Fussy-pants back there is looking for an apology, he shan't be getting it."
"It ain't you that's gotta be apologising," Dwalin said with a fair amount of exasperation. These two would be the death of him. "We're to be apologising to you."
Bilba waved a hand about in impatient dismissal.
"Don't want it," she said decisively.
"Well you're getting it," Dwalin said, equally as impatient now. "We've defiled a lady's honour, and stomped all over our own besides, and an apology is the least we owe to try and make this stain on our souls right."
He'd have said more, but Bilba made a disgusted noise that seemed to come right from her belly, and aimed a kick between the bars at his shin and by all-blessed tits that hurt. Trainin' her with that little sword was a waste of time when she could wield her great clod-hoppers to greater effect.
"Do you remember Ori finding out he had a child, and carrying the bairn all over the forest for the last four or so weeks?" she asked abruptly, and he frowned.
"I... vaguely. Did that happen?"
"Sort of," Bilba confirmed with an odd shrug. "We certainly all believed it at the time, but I am pretty sure the bundle he's been carrying about was not a babe in swaddling clothes. I'm fairly certain it was a rotted stump of something, infested with hallucinogenic fungus. I still cooed at it plenty while 'minding the babe' for him on several occasions in the evenings. Do you remember the rather awkward event of taking tea with my Aunt Belsa?"
Dwalin stared at her a moment, and then nodded. Unfortunately, he did.
"Yes, I'm quite sure now, that Belsa was a bush of some sort, and we all suffered through terribly stilted conversation with a thorny bunch of miserable twigs. My actual Aunt Belsa passed on some seasons back, but we still sat and drank tea with her. You complemented her on the biscuits. Goodness knows what you actually ate. I'm not entirely sure what the tea was, since I am pretty sure we've not had leaves since the second week in the forest. Now, do you remember Óin having a terrible argument with Bifur that devolved into fisticuffs and three days of Thorin mediating the dispute?"
He groaned, long and loud, forehead thumping against the bars. He'd loudly and enthusiastically cheered that fight on. And helped with the mediation.
"Ah, I see you are remembering that we actually came across Bifur some days later when we finally moved on, him actually having been separated from the rest of us for some time, and that the fist fight we all witnessed was between Óin and a tree. We had to sit through three days of mediation between Óin and a tree, and not once did any of us think anything odd of the situation. I believe I even argued passionately on Bifur-tree's behalf when it came down to what could have motivated him to call Óin's mother a 'Warg bitch in heat'. Three days, Dwalin, for a fight with a tree. And all of that was before we found that tree-cave to sleep in."
Dwalin sighed, deep and mournful.
"Point being, I am not holding any of us accountable for anything we may have said or done, or even believed we might have said or done. Half of it was probably imagined, in any case."
"I didn't imagine this, lass, I can assure you."
Bilba hrmphed, but she still coloured a little when he could not help but leer a little at the memory of it.
"Well, I shan't apologise, and I will not expect an apology from anybody involved."
"There really is just no reasoning with you, is there," Dwalin sighed. Hobbits. They were infuriating.
"Why are you grinning like that?" Bilba asked him suspiciously.
"So you thought you were dreaming?" Dwalin asked, ignoring her question in favour of his own.
Bilba's eyes narrowed even more, leaning close in the gloom of the dungeons to peer at him, her nose almost pressed to a bar.
"Why?"
"Dreamin' of us, were you?"
The sudden bloom of red across her forehead and across the tops of her cheeks should not have been adorable. It absolutely was, though.
Dwalin hummed happily at her flustered stuttering, and yanked her a little closer to the bars of the cell.
"If you ain't going to leave this place, you better work on that escape plan then, my lass. We have some chattin' to do when we have the Boof to be awkward beside, eh?"
She backed away with a babbled "Why I- this... Well!" and scurried off up the tunnel towards where Dwalin last saw Balin being shoved into another cell, and could not help how wide his delighted grin was stretching across his face, despite his current accommodation. He may be in a cell right now, but these thrice damned Elves could not hold them forever, and when he got free, well.
This forest might not have turned out to be so bad after all.
***
"So," Thorin said, and Dwalin very manfully resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Thorin had plonked himself down next to Dwalin a good half hour ago, silent and looking like he'd been made to suck something unpleasant, and Dwalin had been waiting for him to work his way up to whatever was worrying him since.
"I was... I believe that we must, perhaps, speak with Miss Baggins?" Thorin finally managed, and Dwalin grunted.
Just because he adored the boof, didn't mean he ever made anything easy on him. Pained discomfort was a good look on him.
"Whysat?" he couldn't resist asking, keeping his tone bored and even, and his gaze firmly on the lake stretching off before them. At least the hovel the Master had put them up in had a clear swim out of here. Dwalin was pretty damn sure he could swim good enough to carry Bilba too, if it came down to it.
"What do you mean, 'why'? At the time you looked as though you were facing a shaming shave for what we had done. You don't care now?" Thorin hissed, low and leaning in, as though someone was listening.
They sure as fuck weren't, being that they were up in the room Dwalin had laid claim on for Thorin, with the door shut.
"I told her already. She said, that if 'King Fussy-pants is wanting an apology, he ain't getting one', or, well, something like that, in any case. Definitely King Fussy-pants, but."
"What version of events did you relay that made her think I might want an apology?" Thorin asked, brow wrinkling. "Fussy-pants?"
"I think it suits you. Very apt description of your charming personality," Dwalin told him, kicking his legs out in front of him to cross at the ankle, specifically so he could sprawl back and grin smugly at his King.
"You're one to be mocking about my 'charming personality'," Thorin said, glaring fiercely. "Let's not forget the incident with that old woman in Bree, with the goats-"
"Oi, that's enough of that!" Dwalin interrupted, aiming a pout across at his oldest friend. There was no call to be bringing up unpleasantness like that after all this time.
"If you'd just apologised..." Thorin teased, one of his ever-so-rare grins flashing for a moment, and Dwalin guffawed at the sight, shoving at Thorin until his friend settled into chuckles himself.
It was good to see the git smile and laugh. It was rare, these days.
And all too brief.
"The burglar is infuriating," Thorin sighed, long moments later.
Dwalin hummed an agreement.
"And she's- There's- It's so-"
"Torn between fuckin' her raw and cuddlin' her gentle-like, eh?"
Thorin grunted, shifting slightly in his slouch.
"I hear ya," Dwalin sighed, and slumped a bit closer to Thorin.
"Are you... would you like me to-" Thorin cut himself off with a frustrated sigh, a despondent sort of twist of his lips.
"I don't understand it at all," Dwalin complained, subtly sliding a little closer. "I once saw you disarm a Firebeard uprising by talkin' them all down and into negotiations on mining rights, not a lick o' blood spilt the whole debacle. You talked a whole half a percent off the merchant taxes for our caravan in that Rohan town that one time, from that tight fisted official. You've persuaded foreign Lords into deals far more favourable to us that to them, and Nobles of Men into taking our people to their tables in the leanest of times. As soon as shite gets personal, though, you suddenly suffer a severe case of verbal constipation."
Thorin sputtered, but Dwalin nudged him hard. Poor sot hadn't even noticed Dwalin moving into his personal space at all.
"You're asking if I'll be courtin' the lass, after we've taken the mountain back? Offerin' to step aside so I can make my play, even though Miss Baggins makes your soul sing, you ridiculous boof of a git?"
Thorin said nothing, turning his face away and staring broodingly across the water.
Dwalin sighed.
"Oh, I'll be going a-courtin', no doubt about it," he said, shuffling a little closer to Thorin while the silly bugger had his head turned away.
Thorin nodded once in acknowledgement.
"Ain't just the burglar I'll be courtin', though," Dwalin said, sliding his hand along the conveniently placed thigh all but pressed to his own, now.
Thorin's head whipped around to stare at him in wide-eyed astonishment, and Dwalin grinned.
"I seem to recall several very nice occasions in that forest, where you and I had some hot and heavy. You didn't seem to mind much."
"I..." Thorin trailed off, and then gulped. Loudly. Dwalin's grin widened.
"Oh, I am having you," he murmured, squeezing the lovely firm thigh he had a hold of.
"I am not a thing to be had," Thorin protested, but it was a weak and breathy objection, eyes firmly fixed on the hand kneading his thigh.
"Don't fuss, love," Dwalin said, nosing at Thorin's cheek. The blush was adorable. "All goes to plan, you'll be having a lovely little Hobbit for your own."
"And you," Thorin said lowly, and his tongue flicked out ever so slightly to wet his lips.
Dwalin's grin could surely not grow any larger, nor his heart beat any faster with happiness.
"Aye, love," he agreed, tugging Thorin up and over into his lap. "You'll have me."
This was going to go so well.
***