Disclaimer: I don't own The Hobbit or any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: This is my second time dipping my toes into Tolkien's universe and my first time trying the 'soul bond' trope in the Hobbit fandom. So, I greatly appreciate any and all feedback/constructive criticism you have to offer. The main pairing in this fic is Dwori (Dwalin/Ori) with a hint of Bagginshield if you squint.

Warnings: Contains spoilers for 'The Hobbit' and 'The Desolation of Smaug' if you squint. This is set in an 'everyone lives' style AU. This is also a 'soul-bond' fic. Expect canon appropriate violence, mature language, age difference, follows the general plot line of the first two movies and my take on the beginning of the third. Dwarvish courting rituals/traditions/culture, slash and smut.

Mahal's Script

Chapter Seventeen

Sometime later, amidst a sea of broken furniture and shreds of clothing torn and stretched beyond repair, he couldn't help but laugh. "Valar save us, we have been so stupid."

Dwalin snorted into the jut of his collarbone, nosing one of the bites he'd made a few hours previous. Content to let the silence speak for him as thick fingers tangled in the scruff of his beard, scratching through downy-red until he felt as boneless as when Dwalin had used his tongue to-

He strangled a laugh into the man's armpit as a whisper of a thought registered. "Oh gods, Nori, I thought you and him were-"

"Ech! What a mess. I was barely paying attention to what he was saying then, bleck!" Dwalin grunted, moving around until he was flat on his back once more, mindless of the chill as he pulled him up – arranging him so he was now splayed across his chest with barely a ripple of protest.

"You can believe I'll be having a talk with him later," Dwalin added, tangling their fingers together before he paused - tone noticeably lacking in its usual heat as he distracted the older man with a kiss.

He hummed, pleased, as warm skin met warm skin, wriggling against the older dwarf almost languidly as their shared amusement aired out into the hush.

"You might want to buy him a drink while you're at it. He's probably going to need one of Oin's draughts if he ever wants to sleep soundly again," he giggled, stretching, toe hooking on a bit of tattered knitting – one of his fingerless gloves – idly.

He reached out, shin gliding across one of Dwalin's furs, enjoying the smoothness of the tanned leather and the silky feel of the wolf-hair before the implication of the feeling actually registered.

His cheeks heated when he realized they were surrounded by the evidence of their coupling. A few rickety old chairs and a dresser that had survived Smaug were now in various pieces, strewn around the room in a way he knew they'd hear about later. Their clothing however, was another matter entirely. He didn't see a single article that hadn't been made indecent in their haste to see each other. He blinked a bit when bleary eyes took in the cracked set of drawers on the other side of the room.

Huh, he didn't quite remember how they'd managed that…

"Oy, look at you go on," Dwalin rasped, good humor evident as he stroked a generous hand down his flank, soothing and sure. "I seem to remember a certain hobbit practically climbing up the length of you to plaster one on 'yer cheek."

He started as he remembered, touching the curve of his jaw reflectively. "Goodness how strange that was," he piped up.

"Too smooth! It was like getting a kiss from a babe," he remarked with a shudder. Bilbo was a dear friend, but he had not even a hint of stubble on him. It had probably been the most disconcerting thing of the lot, if he were being honest. Even a day old dwarfling had more hair on their cheeks!

"Then don't think on it," Dwalin grunted, not without a small measure of jealousy as he grabbed a handful of hip and pinched.

"And what? You're a completely unbiased third party?" he teased, enjoying the slow grind as their hips slotted together almost leisurely - lazy and slow like honey drizzling off a wooden spoon. The air around their heads was warm, almost humid, as they breathed in time.

"Whatever you like, so long as meddlesome Hobbits and thieving older brothers stay out of it," Dwalin insisted, nipping at his bottom lip, inadvertently catching on a split and causing a small zing of pain to shiver through him. He licked at the fresh blood unrepentantly, taking it as his due when Dwalin's gaze darkened, unable to stop the grin as an interested rumble issued from the elder's throat.

Still, he just hummed, stretching, the moment luxurious and keen, feeling the throb of the man's prick stirring against his belly as Dwalin's tongue darted out to soothe the sting. He wiggled around a bit, just to hear him moan, huffing a breath across the curve of a ruined ear as Dwalin's hand dipped down between them.

But before it could go any further, they were interrupted by a loud rustling from just outside the door. He cocked his head, listening, keen hearing able to pick up the individual sounds of whispered conversation. Even the muted click-click-click of gaming dice could be heard a little further up the hall.

Oh, for Mahal's sake!

He groaned, letting his head thump across Dwalin's chest as a voice that sounded suspiciously like Bofur's remarked on something to do with: 'dwarvish stamina' and 'refreshing the bed linens.'

He buried his face deep into the man's beard, trying to block out the sound. Their concern would have been warming if it hadn't been so gods damned annoying!

"How long do you think they've been out there?" he asked, half afraid of the answer as embarrassment flushed down the curve of his spine.

"Pretty sure they've been taking shifts," Dwalin returned, sounding remarkably unaffected until Oin rumbled something about sneaking another jar of oil under the door – just in case.

"…Busybodies," Dwalin snorted, looking vaguely horrified as they realized the oh-so- convenient scattering of oils and heating salves they'd stumbled across in the hours previous had been anything but random.

"They planned this," he remarked belatedly, words plaintive as he rubbed his face into Dwalin's chest, a stubby finger-tip tracing across the runes etched in ink across the man's stomach before dipping back up to palm his mark. He sighed happily as a burble of warmth surged up from the bond, the act in itself calming.

"Wanna give 'em something to really gossip about?" Dwalin asked, brow wriggling suggestively as he smothered a laugh in the tuft of hair that crowned the warrior's chest. He let out a strangled hiccup when the laugh quickly turned into a gasp as Dwalin flicked his nipples, tugging on the sore little nubs as the sounds from the other side of the door cut-off in mid-word.

"We'll have to think of some way to get back at them for this," Dwalin added, arching a bit as he scratched his nails down the man's chest, enjoying the sounds as the older dwarf practically purred.

"Their meddling was for the greater good," he reminded, yawning, happy and sated as the rise and fall of Dwalin's chest him lulled him into that delightful place that existed somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

"It's more about pride than anything else, azyungel," Dwalin answered, looking thoughtful despite heavy lids and the heady glow of the marks he'd scratched deep into his lover's skin just a few hours earlier.

He ran his hand along the edge of a particularly painful looking furrow, grinning to himself as he inspected his handy work. Perhaps they would have use for some of Oin's healing poultices after all.

For a long time, they simply enjoyed the silence, dozing quietly. He let his hand curl in the man's beard, tugging him down for a kiss that tasted far sweeter than it should have considering where both their mouths had been the last few hours.

He considered the matter with some seriousness when the unmistakable sound of Kili whining, something about ear muffs and mental scarring floated in through the crack in the door. Perhaps Dwalin was right after all. What was a little revenge if it was for the greater good?

"Thorin still has his arm in that sling, right?"

"Aye, and will for some time if Oin has anything to say about it. He broke it in at least six places trying to strangle that-"

He pressed a finger to his lover's lips, smirking as he shifted, moving so he was sitting astride the taller man before he continued.

"So, personal grooming, things like washing his hair and doing his braids might be…ah, difficult?" he asked slyly, the entire plan coming together in his mind's eye in delightfully crisp vision.

Bilbo wasn't going to know what hit him when Thorin got through with him. No one had been blind to the looks that had been exchanged between the two since the Carrock. The others wouldn't need much convincing. Not with things between him and Dwalin having finally been settled.

Dwalin raised a brow, hands running up and down his thighs, rubbing spirals across the bruises. "What are you scheming, mizimel?

He leaned down, whispering.

"You want Bilbo to do what!?"

"Shh! Don't spoil it!" he hissed. "Just think about…" he continued, nosing a temple sweetly and murmuring in his one's ear until Dwalin's confused expression gradually morphed into a disturbingly toothy grin.

"Aye, I think that can be arranged."

And if Bilbo found himself with a tray of combs and courting beads, knocking hesitantly on the door to Thorin's chambers three nights later, they had it on good authority (from the Royal Spymaster, who not so coincidentally owed them both a favor) that Thorin had taken one look at the hobbit and had seized him by the collar. Pulling him in for a heated, if not completely unkingly kiss that sent the tray flying and them staggering back into the dwarf's rooms and out of sight.

Life, as it was, only got sweeter after that.

Bilbo left Thorin's chambers with beads of intent braided into his curly hair and Thorin strutted around the mountain with a braid of his own – looking for all the world like a peacock with brand new feathers, mithril beads click-clacking every other step.

He and Dwalin tied their marriage braids amongst the stones, blushing as the cheers of both family and friends echoed through the very mountain itself. Filling the great halls with the sounds of light and laughter as their wedding feast lasted a full day and night – with toasts to the happy couple continuing long after Dwalin had thrown him over his shoulder and carried him off to their chambers. Taking it as their due to start their union on a high note.

Thorin courted Bilbo for, well, not as long as the silver-beards would have deemed proper, before he tossed tradition to the wind and named Bilbo "Consort under the Mountain" – marrying in a ceremony that ended up being attended by thousands – dwarves, men, and yes, even elves. Thranduil had made an appearance, sporting a new crown and a surprisingly indulgent look as he watched his son get glared at by Gimli for close to half the ceremony.

And while no one was entirely sure what that was all about, the gossip was that Gimli, young as he was, had taken issue with the Prince's insult of his mother's portrait and – with all the cheek of a dwarfling not yet grown - demanded a full apology. Legolas had been quick to give it and soon found himself invited over for dinner that very evening. Gloin had been less than impressed about having an elf as a house guest but eventually caved for the sake of his son who seemed rather taken with one of Mirkwood's finest.

A few months after the royal ceremony, half the original company, himself and Dwalin included, found themselves on the road again. Only this time, they were traveling to the Shire – helping Bilbo pack up his belongings and settle his accounts in Hobbiton before returning to the Lonely Mountain.

It was decided, (not without some argument) that every third year the royal couple would spend spring to fall in the Shire, leaving Fili and Kili to handle the affairs of state with Balin as their chief advisor. Bilbo was quick to appoint the Gamgee's as caretakers of his estate, gifting them with a handsome sum for their troubles and assurances that if Bilbo were to ever give up Bag End, there was already a stipulation in place that they would be forever employed in its upkeep and holdings, should they wish it.

It'd taken some convincing, but eventually Thorin had decided such a tri-yearly venture would be good practice for his nephews when they ruled. Bilbo, for his part, just wanted time in his beloved Shire, surround by the green. And to his credit, the hobbit eventually taught Thorin the joys of casting off his kingly titles and relaxing for a spell. In time, the dwarf even grew to crave the time they spent away from Erebor, alone in each other's company, with an enthusiasm that matched his hobbit whenever spring inevitably made its appearance.

And while Thorin may have killed more plants than he'd saved helping his husband weed the gardens, Bilbo was sure to say nothing.

Privately, he had his suspicions it was more the fact that helping Bilbo muck through the dirt during high summer was one of the few times Thorin actually shed his layers. Known to strip down to just a thin tunic and bare skin (much to the delight of his husband), rather than endless patience Bilbo seemed to possess when it came to the dwarf who was happily massacring his mother's prized marigolds and petunias.

He and Dwalin continued on as they ever did, happy and blissful until the day – in the far, far distant future - when Mahal called them home. They entered the Halls of Durin hand in hand, greeting both old friends and new, feasting in honor of those that would follow them. Content to wait until the entire company found their way to the halls of their forefathers before they considered their last great adventure complete.

Apparently the Valar knew what they were doing after all.

Imagine that.

A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This story is now complete. I have two or three ideas for future fics regarding this pair so expect more dwori and wingman!bagginsheild sooner rather than later! I adore this fandom!

Reference #1: (translations come from google, the small amount of dwarvish vocabulary that exists, the movies, and books.)

*"Azyungel" – "love" "love of loves"

*"Mizimel" – "the jewel of all jewels"