Disclaimer: The Hobbit, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J. R. R. Tolkien's estate, and Warner Brothers, New Line Cinema, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, and WingNut Films.

This is My Idea

Arranged Marriage

If Mama could see me now, Bilbo thinks as her gaze wanders slowly over the assembled dwarves. About to go off on an adventure, needing to marry one of them so everything is considered proper; she would roll over in her grave—

–In peals of delighted laugher, a Tookish-sounding voice cuts in.

Straightening to her full height, eyes brightening, the lass looks around with a sense of new interest. Too young, too old, too haughty, too rude, too dishonest, unavailable… She gazes into intense brown eyes.

"I, Bilbo Baggins, would be honored to be your wife," she says solemnly, bowing her head.

Without hesitation she places her hand in the large one extended to her, discovering that while his grasp is firm, it is also gentle, secure, as though holding a precious treasure. Glancing back up, the hobbit thinks she glimpses hints of a smile behind Dwalin's beard.

Friends to Lovers

It somehow becomes a habit for Dwalin to sit Bilbo down each evening and work out the tangles in her hair, remove the bits of tree bark and leaves with an unexpected gentleness and patience; a demonstration of friendship and acceptance. One evening, during the company's stay at Beorn's, the tattooed dwarf plaints a small braid in her curls, ignoring the amazed and bemused looks from his companions. A week passes before Balin's nagging, the princes' jabs at Bilbo, and the lass's obliviousness pushes Dwalin over the edge. His explanation is brief and to the point. He is not quite sure what reaction he is expecting from the pretty lass, but having her throw her arms around his neck is not it.

"Yes, of course I accept your offer of courtship."

Separation

He thought the loss of the hobbit in the goblin tunnels had been torture. Images of her lost, hurt, dead flashed in his mind and he had been about to march straight back in the mountain when she appeared. Mirkwood was beyond ridiculous. The dwarf had snarled at every elf, frantic over the missing lass. Unashamedly he'd wept when she materialized outside his cell, and held her to him as best he could. Whispering her name like a prayer, he silently vowed never to let her out of his sight again.

None of that compared to the fierce pain, anger, hopelessness ripping him apart as Bilbo disappeared with Gandalf. Banished, branded a traitor, never to show her face in Erebor again. And Dwalin had made his choice when he did not speak up, did nothing: his king and his mountain over his One. Now neither of those things seemed as valuable, as important to him. Bale rose in his throat. He did not yell at Thorin, but he did punch him before he fled to find a private place and roared his shame and loss. This third separation from Bilbo would not end.

Protective

The company's burglar was in fact not a burglar, not a fighter, nor a survivor, or even a dwarf. Innocent, little, soft, accustomed to peace and comforts of home, this quest was not for the likes of her, Miss Bilbo Baggins.

That was the only reason Dwalin acted as her self-appointed bodyguard, protecting her from all potential and real dangers, and keeping a watchful eye on how the others treated her. (Especially where the young princes and Bofur were concerned; such times called for his most scary expression and intense stare. So far eleven times he successfully got them to back off from the Halfling without uttering a word.)

Now if only his brother would crease laughing at him whenever he explained why he was doing all this to Balin.

Injury

"You're bleeding!"

"'Tis only a paper cut! Nothing of consequence."

"You winced! You're hurt!" Dwalin thundered, and scrambled to find ointment and bandages.

Bilbo sighed. After all this time her husband still seemed to believe the slightest injury to her person was life-threatening. But his worry and fussing was endearing. And the way her heart skipped a beat when he pressed a lingering kiss to the freshly bandaged finger…she had not the heart to protest.

Surprise

While the company managed as best they could with their now child-burglar, none were expecting the shine she took to Dwalin of all people. It was him she would walk hand in hand with before suddenly rushing ahead in excitement and giving the group near heart attacks. It was him she loved to climb over (even more than the princes who were excellent sports about it). It was him who made her squeal as he carried her on his shoulder, and in turn flushed a bright pink when she kissed the top of his bald head. It was him who she happily claimed to be "My Dwalin."

The ending was surprising as well: later the hobbit, finally restored to her proper self, asked in a quiet, almost dejected tone, "My Dwalin?" And the warrior immediately responded, "Aye, lass."

Comfort

For a long moment they face each other outside Thorin's tent. Dwalin's gaze remains on his boots after he first saw her. Bilbo can gain no hint from his blank expression, the faint trembling of his body. Thorin's degree still stands, and obviously Dwalin has never wavered in his loyalty to his friend. She does blame him for it, for any of this.

Swiftly she steps forward and quickly hugs him. I'm sorry. I did it for all of you. Perhaps someday you will be able to forgive me. As the hobbit pulls away there's a broken noise above her, and she is crushed in a tight embrace. Burying her face in the dwarf's chest, Bilbo clings to him. They cry long and hard, not letting go, here safe amidst the all destruction and death.

THE END