Summary: Dwalin was so busy making sure Thorin understood the gifts Bilbo graced the king with that he did not give much time to think over the items Ori gave him. It took the scribe giving Dawlin a punch to get him to notice.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit.

One Hit

A Dwalin/Ori one-shot about farces and fancies.

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It started with a pair of knitted gloves. In hindsight, it was actually two pairs of gloves.

After the Battle of Five Armies, Dwalin thought he could take a moment to breathe and not worry for his life every waking moment. First it had been the stress of tramping across nearly an entire world, and then watching his best friend succumb to madness. Then the idiot had to get stabbed in the stomach and nearly die, along with those two idiot sister-sons of his. Dwalin would rather deal with an entire hundred of goblin mercenaries again over Lady Dis when one of her sons were hurt.

Thorin eventually did heal, and Dwalin thought he might be able to stop loosing his hair from stress. Some days he ran a hand along his head, sighed, and wished he still had his magnificent mohawk. It was bad enough to see Dain walking around with his own.

Dwalin had thought nothing of it when a dwarf messenger had given him an invitation from Bilbo for afternoon tea. The veteran supposed he had been slacking a bit on seeing the burglar. But he was not like Dori or Oin who were seemingly as obsessed with tea as the hobbit.

When Dwalin walked in to the cozy, warm room of Bilbo, he blinked in shock to find that he was alone. Unlike when he had first come to Bilbo's home before, Dwalin felt a bit out of sorts for being the only dwarf around. (He would never admit it, but those doilies Bofur was always poking fun at creeped Dwalin out like no enemy or beast had done before.)

Bilbo puttered about getting tea, and Dwalin hungrily ate up the cookies and scones piled high on a large plate. At least this way he could keep his mouth full in excuse for not engaging in any small talk the hobbit might try and wrangle from him.

"I have a great favor to ask of you, Master Dwalin," Bilbo said over the crackling of the fire.

Dwalin paused in grabbing another cookie, instead using his battle-sharp eyes to study his smallest friend. Bilbo was twitching, and he had yet to touch his tea. He favored instead to wring his fingers about, red from their abuse like the hobbit's tinted his cheeks.

Forgoing any finesse, as Balin was the Fundin son who was good with words, Dwalin grunted for him to continue. It shook off a bit of crumbs from his beard, but he just ignored that in favor for stuffing more sweets in to his mouth.

"As Thorin's closest comrad, you must know him best, and so would know – well, that is – I would like to know how, that is what manner I should – oh, what I'm trying to say," Bilbo took a moment to take a deep breath. "How do I go about courting Thorin?"

For the first time, as he began choking, Dwalin wished his mouth was not stuffed with cookies.

.

Dwalin eyed Thorin beside him on the bench. His cousin did not seem weighed down like he had in the past, even with some hair loose and a few new cuts in his clothes and skin. As much as Dwalin loved Thorin like a brother, he would never go easy on him.

"Dori told me that Bilbo had to turn him away from tea yesterday, as he was expecting you," Thorin spoke suddenly.

Dwalin frowned, and wondered why Thorin's tone was tense, when he realized the king was actually jealous. Just like when Fili had been young and angry for Kili always taking his favorite practice swords to use. Dwalin thought those bickering were much easier to deal with than their uncle's temperment.

"To help with a wee problem, yes, nothing more," Dwalin said gruffly.

When he saw Thorin's shoulders sag in relief, Dwalin resisted the urge to scoff. Dwalin had seen many a ridiculous emotions and actions done for love (be it for a partner, family, or kingdom) but it was a sight to see someone as steadfast as his cousin be so hapless.

Maybe it was Thorin who should have come to ask for help, not the hobbit.

.

After Dwalin had lodged the cookies from his throat, and had quieted any apologizes from a frenzied Bilbo, the dwarf asked what Bilbo was good at making with his hands.

The hobbit had furrowed his brow in thought, before saying he was good at writing prose, and some embroidery, and some knit work if he felt like it. But it all fell short to his baking, and the vegetables he could grow.

Seeing as it was winter and what areas Bilbo might transform in to gardens were frozen, Dwalin advised that he create something that Thorin could hold and keep. The first courting gift was always seen as something to be held and treasured, to be given as heirlooms once the couple had passed.

"So something lasting, I suppose," Bilbo said with a frown.

Dwalin had grunted, and hesitantly chewed on a cookie. But only one, so as to avoid the disaster from earlier.

"Maybe I should go find Ori, to ask if he has any designs that might be easy to teach," Bilbo said with a brilliant smile that even Dwalin could admit was adorable. "I suppose he would be apprenticing with your brother at this hour."

Dwalin nodded in affirmation and stood, and waited a moment until Bilbo stood up and got his jacket. With the hobbit distracted, Dwalin easily emptied the plate of sweets in to one of his many pockets for another time.

They found Ori quickly enough in the library, his nose nearly pressed against the page he was writing. Dwalin though to wait, and Bilbo understood as well. So the tall dwarf and small hobbit waited a minute, and watched Ori until he moved to refill his quill with ink.

Dwalin cleared his throat at that moment of reprieve, and Ori jumped in his seat (Bilbo beside him winced at the crack of knees under a wooden table), before turning his large eyes up to Dwalin. The guard raised an eyebrow at the rising red in the scribe's cheeks, but the hobbit did have a pressing matter.

"Thank you for coming this far, you can go now," Bilbo said with a fond pat on one of Dwalin's armored bicepts.

Looking away from the slight dwarf, Dwalin gave another nod down to Bilbo before he was walking off. As he rounded the corner, he heard Ori's soft voice give a warm greeting that the hobbit easily answered back.

.

Dwalin could admit he was a tad nervous, when he followed Thorin to dinner. While he would not dine with the royal family every night, like the rest of the company, Dwalin at times decided to join. If only to watch Dis run circles around her brother and sons.

Bilbo had asked him to be there for dinner, so he would have at least one ally in his first declaration of intent. For how cunning the hobbit could be, Dwalin thought Bilbo could be oddly dense like dwarves at times. It was painfully obvious just how much Fili and Kili adored their burglar, and Dis had instantly warmed to him after learning how valiantly he had tried to get Thorin to become himself again. He would be completely surrounded by support, and truly did not need a scared guard.

And if Thorin was getting jealous over Dwalin getting invited over to afternoon tea, it took no wizard of great wisdom to see through as to why.

Dwalin was a little surprised to see Ori sitting aside of Bilbo, but then again the scribe was quite close to the hobbit. Even without their shared interests in writing, books and knitting, Dwalin was sure they would have been close from their personalities alone. Bilbo could be quite talkative and brash, while Ori was quieter and kind. They worked off each other brightly, and Dwalin though it nice that a hobbit just coming to live in a mountain and a dwarf just coming in to himself would strike up a friendship.

Dinner went by fine, even if Dwalin had to threaten Fili with ax practice tomorrow if he kept catapulting potatoes at Kili, but missing and instead hitting little Ori. The blonde had lowered his spoon and grumbled, but the shy smile Ori had given Dwalin was more than enough payment.

After desert had gone (and Bilbo was still somehow standing and not exploded despite all the food he had eaten), they all went to gather around the fire and bring out their pipes. Dwalin nearly dropped his, though, when he noted Thorin had two and was offering one to Bilbo.

It was out of a deep colored wood, and Dwalin thought that it must be oak. It would make sense, by the acorn design that made up the bowl and where the pipeweed would burn.

Dwalin busied himself with packing his own pipe, but kept his eyes drifting back to friends every few moments. They were talking softly to each other, Kili and Fili too busy with themselves to notice and Dis too distracted by talking with Ori. The warrior watched as Bilbo gave a watery smile to Thorin, and accepted the pipe.

The hobbit laughed a moment, and Thorin was clearly confused, before he reached in his jacket's pocket and pulled out a pair of half-fingered blue gloves. They seemed large, and a tad too bulky to correctly hold a sword, but Thorin could easily wear them on hunting trips where arrows were their main weapons.

When Thorin leaned down to knock his forehead against Bilbo's, Dwalin had enough sense to turn away. He busied about his pipe for a moment, wondering just how long it would take for the others of Durin's line to notice, and turned to look at the fire.

Only something else rusty red caught his eye, and he looked up just in time to see Ori look away. It seemed that Dis had moved to finish the wrestling match Fili and Kili had gotten in by simply pinning them herself.

"Bilbo was good at picking up the patterns," Ori said politely to the fire, but clearly addressing the taller dwarf.

Dwalin, having never picked up a knitting needle, could only nod.

"It was fun, to teach someone who was actually interested. Everyone else in the mountain is too busy to try and make their own clothes. They like to leave it to the men."

Dwalin exhaled a cloud of smoke, and changed a glance at Ori. The young lad was pressing his lips together, and had his clear eyes still focused on the fire. It was odd to hear him say so much, as he was usually as quiet as Dwalin. Although Dwalin did it in a stoic nature, and Ori did it in a manner akin to a rabbit wishing to go unnoticed.

"Actually, I did a pair along with him, to keep him company and give him confidence," Ori continued to say quietly. "But with my brothers having enough knits to fill up a tub and swim about in, I thought that you might appreciate them."

Dwalin blinked, and thought he had misheard, until he saw Ori bustled about and pulled out a pair of dark burgundy gloves. They looked to be made of soft wool, and Dwalin's hand that was not holding his pipe twitched at his side.

Knowing it would be rude, and Dwalin did not want to be that to the kindest member of their company, Dwalin reached one of his paws forward and took the gloves. Dwalin's hand were large, but these gloves seemed like they would easily fit. He wondered if Ori had intentionally thought of that when he began, or if the gloves had simply gotten too large to give to anyone else.

He could already see the laughter in Thorin's eyes from Dwalin trading in his knuckle-dusters for soft half-fingered gloves, but they would come in handy when winter truly set in.

Dwalin nodded once, and Ori gave him such a brilliant smile Dwalin almost looked away from its intensity. Truly, it was nothing much to accept a gift from a friend. And of course it did not help at all that Dori would probably kick him back to the Blue Mountains if Dwalin unecessarily slighted his youngest brother.

Wondering if he should actually voice his thanks for once, there were sudden squawking noises that had Dwalin looking away from Ori's bright face. By the way Fili and Kili were bustling about Thorin and Bilbo, trying to pull off gloves and a pipe from them, it was clear Dwalin had to save the king once again.

.

When Dwalin was invited over again for tea, he expected to be alone again. So when he saw Ori give a meek wave and smile, he nearly jumped in fright from the shock.

"I thought it only right to include both of you today, in thanks," Bilbo said with a warm grin. "I made your favorite cookies, Dwalin, and your favorite tea, Ori."

Dwalin snorted; he did not have a favorite cookie. He adored them all the same.

So that was how Dwalin found himself sitting with only Ori, as Bilbo went in his kitchen for a moment to get the goods he had just promised. Dwalin wondered if he should ask about Ori's work, but he got enough speeches from Balin about his work. While he had no qualms about pretending to listen to his brother, Dwalin thought it would be rude to such a gentle soul.

"Bilbo has thought to write Thorin a book, about our adventures," Ori said with a giggle. "I thought it a good idea, and he'll be coming to the library more to use the desks and inks."

"Will you be doing illustrations?" Dwalin asked as he tried to relax more in the chair he had chosen. It was hard, as it was a little too comfy in the bottom cushion, and much too small around the shoulders. It caused him to hunch over, and rest his elbows on his knees like he knew nothing of good posture.

"Oh, it's not proper to directly put my hand on another's courting gift," Ori reminded.

Dwalin hummed, thinking it a little odd how strict Ori was to tradition despite his young age. It was refreshing, after years worrying that their lives and cultures would die far away from their homeland. Dwalin wanted to ask if Ori had any memory of the Lonely Mountain, but was too afraid to ask. Both if it brought up bad memories, or to find that he had been born out of the mountain. Because that would make him quite young indeed.

"But I have been doing some illustrations of my own," Ori said, distracting Dwalin from his musing and un-asked questions.

"Ori is quite masterful. I adore my portrait very much," Bilbo said as he entered with a tray of tea on one had and a plate of cookies on his other.

"Aye, Balin has your sketches around our home," Dwalin said with a nod.

It was no secret really, as Balin adored his best apprentice, but the way Ori squeaked and blushed made Dwalin wonder. He was sure Balin always gave heavy praise, so Ori should not be so shocked that their home had his sketches about. Dwalin thought them odd at first, but had come to appreciate them. He especially liked the winding, interlocking patterns Ori made for the smiths to use in armor designs.

Dwalin though the subject of drawing dropped, as Ori asked Bilbo how the book was going. Bilbo's chest puffed out in pride, and he boasted about how well it was going. Dwalin was a bit afraid Bilbo would do something sassy, like kill of Thorin in jest. It was more expected of Fili and Kili, as they would truly despair over dying in Bilbo's accounts.

Soon an hour had passed, and Dwalin stood to leave. As nice as it was to eat cookies and listen to friends talk and giggle about memories of the adventure, he had axes to sharpen and dwarves to train. Or pummel in to the ground when they decided to be stupid.

Ori stood as well, and he said a warm farewell to Bilbo while Dwalin just gave another slight bow as they took their leave. Dwalin watched Ori squirm for a moment as he followed behind in the long shadow of Dwalin.

When it was clear they would be parting ways, as one direction lead to the library and the opposite of it to the training fields, Dwalin gave another deep nod before turning. He did not expect to feel the soft pressure of worn gloves against his wrist. Dwalin turned and saw Ori staring up at him with his mouth agape.

As if just realizing what he had done, Ori retracted his hand and muttered an apology before braving another look back up at Dwalin.

"I have a portrait of you, if you'd like," Ori said with a slight smile.

Dwalin felt his shoulders straighten in shock, and gave a gruff affirmative that made Ori once again burrow in to his layers. Yet this time it was not a pair of knitted gloves (they did keep his fingers quite warm and comfortable after a long day of punching) but a slip of paper.

It was a tad surreal, to see his face flash before him when Dwalin was not in front of a mirror. He stared for a long moment, taking in the side gaze and the near profile that he had been drawn in. Ori had emphasized his tattoos and scars in dark graphite, and Dwalin thought he made him look more noble and handsome than he truly was.

"Thank you," Dwalin said, a little lost for words at such a sign of kindness.

"You're welcome," Ori beamed, his bright smile returning.

Ori swung a bit from his heels to his toes, braids swinging, and Dwalin wondered if he was expecting anything past a thank you. But Dwalin was indeed no artist, and knew better than to promise a portrait in return when he could not do such feat.

And if Ori gave one to Bilbo, it was clear that he was doing it for the rest of the company. Ori was obviously not picking out Dwalin, and this was probably just something to cement the camaraderie between fourteen lost souls trying to make the impossible reality.

"Good day," Dwalin said with another nod before turning. He held the paper delicately in his hand, and thought that he would need to stop off at home first to drop it off. It would only get wrinkles and bloodstains of others if he took it to training.

Dwalin though the heard a sigh of disappointment as he left, but that could have easily just been a gust of wind through the mountain.

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Dwalin found Thorin later that day puffing away at his pipe happily in front of a fire, the dark blue pair of gloves Bilbo had given him slipped comfortably over his fingers.

"I see you're enjoying your first courtship gift," Dwalin muttered as he sat down himself.

Winter was now fully upon them, and Dwalin wished that he had brought along his own handmade gloves. But he did not want to get them dirty or torn from the metal on his fingers. Dwalin supposed he could suffer a bit more until he could enjoy them without worry.

Dwalin was so busy pulling out his own pipe and leaves that it took him a moment to realize Thorin was wheezing. The warrior looked over, slightly alarmed, to see Thorin doubled over and thumping his chest with a gloved hand.

"Courting?" Thorin somehow managed to get out.

Dwalin sighed, and took his time packing and lighting his pipe. He had assumed that Thorin remembered their ways of old, but it seemed the exiled king might have forgotten some details in his concern over reclaiming his home and providing for his people.

Bilbo was definitely going to kill Thorin off in his book if the king continued being as dense as the dead.

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Realizing he might need some reinforcements in this fight, Dwalin searched out Ori a few days later. At first the dwarf only found Balin, who had furrowed his brow lightly at Dwalin's request of his best scribe. Then Balin's expression lightened and he directed Dwalin towards the southern part of the library where Ori should be taking a break from writing to shelve books.

Dwalin muttered, and thought that he had better things to do than chase around scribes. He must have had quite a cloud of aggression in his wake, for Dwalin found himself alone as he wandered between the high shelves in search of Ori.

The dwarf nearly missed Ori, being so concerned about walking throuh the bookshelves that he nearly had to literally walk in to one of the ladders to look up and see a amber colored hair and a pleasant smile. Dwalin took a moment to watch Ori in his element, happily shuffling along books.

But still Dwalin was not a very patient man, so he barked: "Ori!"

The one addressed jumped like he had before, and Dwalin realized with mounting dread, as Ori's arms pinwheeled, that the lad was going to fall. Quickly stepping up behind the latter, Dwalin was oddly proud that Ori did not scream out when he fell.

However, Ori did squeak a bit like a rusted door hinge when he landed in Dwalin's arms. The guard grunted under the weight, surprised at the heaviness. The boy seemed so slight despite the bulky layers of garb, but all dwarves Dwalin supposed were heavy as the rocks they had been crafted out of in one way or another.

"What can I help you with, Master Dwalin?" Ori asked, a tad breathless, as he continued to sit in Dwalin's arms.

Dwalin stared for a moment, wondering why this boy was smiling like mad when he had nearly fallen to crack his capable brains out, before lowering him to stand on his own. Ori grabbed his forearm for a moment as he steadied before retracting his grip.

"Thorin is being denser than basalt," Dwalin grumbled as his fingers at his sides gripped in to fists.

"Oh, poor Bilbo," Ori sighed in sadness.

Not knowing how to comfort the scribe as his shoulders visibly dropped, Dwalin huffed before punching the lad's shoulder. That shocked the auburn haired dwarf enough to look back up at him with wide eyes, mouth a bit agape.

Dwalin was worried for a moment that he had hurt the boy, but then Ori again was giving him a face splitting smile. It made Dwalin squirm like before, and he wondered if he was a coward from wanting to run away right now. He had no right to such open emotion, as Dwalin had done nothing to earn it.

"I need you to get Bilbo to agree to something more... forward," Dwalin grumbled.

"Like a private candle lit dinner on a balcony? And you can try and make Thorin come up with the idea that maybe making some gardens for Bilbo would be good?"

Dwalin had been thinking of simply a conversion, strictly saying what Bilbo wanted of their King, but Ori's idea sounded a bit softer and pleasant. Dwalin knew that Bilbo was not one for speeches, and Thorin always showed himself through his actions rather than words.

"That could be arranged," Dwalin mumbled.

"Bilbo can make the dinner and everything. I'll go talk to Bombur right away!" Ori said in excited clatter before he was sprinting off in a speed Dwalin was dully impressed with.

Dwalin had just finished sighing, and allowing himself to let his guard down, when he felt a hand at his arm. He jerked his head to look, and just caught the growl in his throat before Ori heard it. The scribe was smiling at him again, and his grip tightened like when Dwalin had lowered him back down.

"Until our next meeting, Master Dwalin."

Then the lad was truly scurrying away, and Dwalin did not have the heart to call after Ori for him to drop the honorific.

.

The dinner was simultaneously a success and failure.

For one, it was already a failure in the aspect that Dwalin had suddenly found himself acting as cupid instead of the highly capable warrior that he should he used for.

But beyond his pride getting hurt in the name of love, Dwalin, Ori, and the rest of the company at this point truly, had forgotten a small detail: it was still technically winter.

Yes, the snow was nearly thawed, and the days were warm enough without the threat of frostbite, but at night there was still a wind. Ori had demanded they do it at sunset, in remembrance to when Bilbo had waited in a dying day's light for Thorin to be saved and survive.

Dwalin supposed it sounded good enough at the time, but then the food got cold and then literally blew away. And of course the company could only watch from a distance in fear that if they showed themselves the two would get so embarrassed they would forget the other.

Thorin and Bilbo were stubborn souls, and so simply decided to stay outside a bit to at least share a smoke. Dwalin had nearly screamed out in thanks when Thorin tucked Bilbo in to his side and wrapped his cloak around the both of them.

Dwalin had left then, feeling quite content, only to wake up the next day with the manic face of Thorin above him. Dwalin managed to get over Thorin's mumblings and snaps to 'Get up Dwalin! It's an emergency!' that Bilbo had fallen ill.

The hobbit had caught small cold, one with only sniffles and the occasional sniffles. Dwalin had stared at Bilbo, who waved back with red in his cheeks (no doubt not all from the fever), before Dwalin sighed and turned to actually do something useful. It was painful enough as it was that Thorin was fretting like Dori over Ori when the boy braided his own hair.

Just when the scribe had passed in his mind as he left the room and walked down the hallway, Dwalin was nearly run through by the lad himself. Dwalin's arms darted out to grab Ori, who had rebounded off of his chest to no doubt fall to the hard ground.

Dwalin though it a little silly, to catch Ori twice before he fell in nearly as many days. But once again Ori did not seem angry at all, and seemed happy like a cat given yarn. Dwalin blinked then, realizing that was probably closer to reality than a metaphor.

"I was just looking for you!" Ori said with a smile.

The guard frowned at that, and then asked brusquely: "Not Bilbo and Thorin?"

Ori shook his head at that, braids swinging about for a moment. Dwalin frowned, thinking that Ori would be worried over his friend, even if it was a small cold.

"I'm very sure that Bilbo is well and sick, and Thorin is attending to him," Ori said with a smile that was sly in a way that made Dwalin twitch. It reminded him of Nori, and Dwalin reminded himself not to underestimate Ori ever again.

"You thought he would get sick?"

"I counted on it!" Ori chirped happily.

Yep, definitely not going to cross the scribe.

Dwalin did not have much time to think anything else of the matter, as an oblong package was thrust against his chest. Unlike when Ori had collided with it and bounced off, it was much easier for Dwalin to grasp the item. It felt impossibly light, and that what weight it did came from the wrapping.

"I suppose now that you visited I should as well," Ori sighed. "I hope you like them. Nori wanted me to shoot down the birds, but I thought it better just to go about gathering them."

Ori put his hand again on Dwalin's forearm, and it caused the dwarf to finally berathe at least a little easier since receiving the package. Dwalin supposed it was a nice enough gift, as he had saved Ori from a nasty fall earlier in the week. But a verbal thanks would have been enough.

Dwalin was tempted to return the smile, but worried that it would seem more a grimace from the odd twisting in his stomach.

Finally, Ori took away his hand and trotted down the hall and out of sight.

.

Dwalin stared down at the quills, and wondered if Ori was trying to poke fun at him.

Because what use did the captain of the King's Guard have with writing instruments? If he had to send a letter, he would bark the orders to Fili or another and they would write it down to get it sent along.

Picking up the quills, thinking that they contrasted to an almost comical level against his rough hands, Dwalin went to find Balin in the kitchen. He was puttering about, and stealing some of the cookies that Dwalin had in turn stolen from Bilbo. If Dwalin was not so concerned at the moment, he would have growled a warning at his older brother's actions.

"Balin, do you want these?"

Dwalin told himself he was being realistic. He would not use the quills, and it would be no use to let the feathers rot away. To never be used for their one purpose in life. It was akin to Dwalin giving his axes to Kili, who would forever favor a bow.

Balin hummed and looked up, then down to the quills, and then back up to Dwalin with a scowl forming.

"I know quite well exactly who favors owl feathers," Balin stated harshly.

Dwalin wanted to shrink his shoulders in and turn away, as he wondered just why Balin was suddenly so angry at him. Instead in defense Dwalin took a step forward, and straightened his spine to stand at his full, intimidating height.

"I have no use for them," Dwalin stated honestly.

Balin stared, and the anger on his face seemed to seep out in replacement for exasperation. He shook his white head once, and shot his younger brother one more glare, before walking off with his mug steaming behind him.

Dwalin felt like clenching his fists in anger, but the last thing he wanted was to break the quills. Instead the dwarf sighed and walked back to his rooms, thinking that it was Dwalin's thing to be the silent son of Fundin.

.

Dwalin stood guard along with everyone as Bilbo and Thorin frolicked through aged warrior wished there was another description of it, but there was none. Skipping might be pushing it, as that was what Kili and that elf were doing nearby. Fili stood next to Dwalin, looking more than a little pale and sickly at his family being so open with their hearts.

"I'm going to scout ahead," the blonde prince stated before he waved half the dozen dwarves with him to continue on ahead.

Dwalin cursed, and wished he had thought of that. Yet not half an hour later the two couples had decided on a place for their picnic in the crisp spring air. Bilbo gave Dwalin an apologetic frown when he handed him over a plate of scones, and not cookies. Dwalin knew it was the baked sweet Thorin preferred, and he wanted to mope. It was nearly all thanks to Dwalin that the hobbit and king were still not circling each other like hesitant squirrels.

Still, it was nice to be outside. After so many months of adventuring, it was refreshing to be outside the mountain. There was still much to do, and the mountain still stunk a bit of dragon, but this fresh air would do the kingdom well.

It was already making affections burn brighter, and the guards did not look stiff as they lounged about nearby. The handful of other company members who had come out for the small outing were about as well in the bright sun.

When Dwalin saw Bilbo had made Thorin a crown of flowers, and was now interweaving flowers in to the proud dwarf's beard, the guard decided it was time to make sure Fili had not gotten trampled by some rough chipmunks or another. Except that just before Dwalin made to sit up, a figure sat beside him.

"Good afternoon, Master Dwalin."

"Just Dwalin, lad," the one addressed grumbled.

Ori huffed lightly before he crossed his legs, and leaned his elbows upon bent knees. He offered up a small smile to Dwalin that the guard turned away from before his staring became rude.

"You do your post of protecting the King admirably," Ori commented lightly.

"Be it from orcs or his own stupidity, I will never rest," Dwalin muttered.

The laugh his half-hearted joke was met with was light, and nothing compared to Dwalin's own rumbling one. Ori also laughed without abandon unlike him, and the sun glimmered quite prettily in the ribbons tied in his braids.

"Not that Bilbo is much better. You know he killed of Thorin in that book of his? And Fili and Kili too, but that was because they had snuck a read at the book before it had been finished."

"But Bilbo did not kill off anyone else?" Dwalin asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Nope," Ori said with a laugh. "I told him he should for me, but he refused."

"Why would you want to be declared dead?!"

Dwalin realized in dread that he had practically yelled the statement, by the way Thorin and Bilbo were turning away form their stupid faces and flowers, and the guards had gone silent. Dori raised an eyebrow at them while Bofur looked to be holding in his laughter. Thankfully everyone only gave Dwalin a passing glance before starting up their conversations again.

Glad that he was not so easily embarrassed, Dwalin turned back to see Ori staring at him with wide eyes. He was akin to a deer caught in shock, the image only emphasized by his large ears and upturned nose.

"I thought it would ruffle Dori, and that's always funny," Ori said, eyes still impossibly wide.

"Oh," Dwalin said blankly.

Dwalin turned away, and huffed, and wondered if Balin would stop glaring at him anytime soon. But he was distracted from his older brother when he heard the scratch of a quill on paper. Dwalin turned, and watched as Ori began sketching.

Thinking that it was not so rude to watch Ori work, as many watched Dwalin with his weapons to learn, the guard did not feel guilty about continuing his gaze. It was daring, how Ori only used ink and did not even do any initial sketched outline in graphite.

Dwalin realized quickly on that he was drawing one of the open-faced flowers that were a sky blue.

He nearly lost himself in the rhythmic scratch of quill on paper, and watching this intimidation of a flower bloom with ink. Dwalin looked on for a some long minutes more before he decided to lie down, favoring to feel the hard stone against his back and the sun on his bare head and fingers.

Dwalin did not doze, so it was entirely unnecessary when Kili came and hollered directly in his good ear that everyone was getting up and it was time to leave. Grumbling, and swinging out a blind punch to the prince's voice (and unfortunately only meeting air), Dwalin got up and blinked his eyes open.

When he saw Thorin and Bilbo before him, the former's beard and face coated in flowers that he wore proudly, Dwalin wanted to close his eyes and lie back down. Thorin did not even seem embarrassed, the insufferable prick.

"Oh, an asper," Bilbo said with a smile, his gaze focused on the side of Dwalin's head. "Very fitting for you."

Frowning, and wondering if that was a polite way to say 'half your ear is missing if no one has bothered to tell you yet,' Dwalin shrugged and stood up. He heard Bilbo continue to say something about 'patience' and 'love' as to the meaning behind the flower, but Dwalin did not give much attention to the hobbit.

He saw that Ori was back with his brothers. As if feeling his eyes, Ori looked up to meet his gaze and gave a slight smile. Even from this slight distance, Dwalin could see that Ori had red in his cheeks. Dwalin wondered if it was because of the sun, as they were out in midday.

It was only when Dwalin was in front of his mirror at home did he realize that when Bilbo had pointed and stated that odd word, it had been to name the flower tucked behind Dwalin's ear. The dwarf was surprised he had not felt the tickling of the blue flower, but it was a small, gentle little thing.

Dwalin took it away from his ear, and allowed himself to smile. He recognized it as the flower Ori had drawn.

.

The fifth thing Ori gave Dwalin was a punch to the face that left him with a black-eye.

Dwalin had thought it was to be a regular day like any other. He had training with the princes for half the day, and had spent his entire breakfast bracing himself for the whining mood the younger one would surely be in. Truly, it was not like the lad would die if he was away from his lady-elf for half a day.

It was going along fine, although Fili was definitely defeating Kili with more ease than usual. Dwalin did not know if it was because Fili was taking such attention at his second in command at the guard, or if it was because Kili was truly slacking so much.

He saw the flash of amber and a bad haircut, and Dwalin turned in instinct thinking it was Ori. He was surprised to see it was the young scribe, who was ignoring the weapons clanging around him. Dwalin tensed, realizing that his eye and path were set directly to collide with him once again.

Dwalin lowered his ax, and turned to greet Ori. Instead words did not meet him, but a fist covered in knit wool. The soft article of clothing did nothing to dull the sudden, bright pain that danced before Dwalin's eyes.

Dwalin did not stumble, or fall, but it took him a moment to blink and remember just who had hit him with such a mean right-hook. It made sense, with Dori (the strongest dwarf he had ever come across), being his older brother. It was not ridiculous to think the youngest brother Ri had gained some ability through training and genes.

"Dwalin, son of Fundin, I have given you four gifts and you have seemingly rejected them all. So I give you some hurt as your fifth, to reflect what you have made me feel."

Ori seemed so striking when he was brave, and puffed up, that it took Dwalin a moment to think over the words he had snarled. But by that time the scribe had turned away, and all the warriors were giving him a wide path.

"Wow," Fili said with a whistle.

Dwalin pressed a hand to his cheek, and felt his face pulse from the abuse.

"Does this mean we get the rest of the day off?" Kili asked in excitement.

.

Dwalin found Ori huddled in a dark bookshelf corner of the library. To try and distract him from the inevitable, Dwalin glanced around and noted the titles were in elvish. How smart, for Ori to come here where Bilbo only ventured on the very off day.

Ori's back was turned away, and his shoulder so tucked in on himself that he looked more like a forgotten lump of laundry than a dwarf.

When Dwalin heard a soft whimper, and saw Ori was shaking, he took a step forward but got no further. With a sigh, Dwalin realized his shoulders were too wide to go through the thin space between the two bookshelves.

The action made enough noise for Ori to turn around, his large eyes too bright in the dark from what were obviously tears. Those eyes hardened soon enough, and Ori stood tall and stuck his shoulders back. It reminded Dwalin of when Ori had prepared himself to rush out with the rest against the oncoming army of evil.

"I might have gotten stuck."

"Are you talking about your person between these shelves, or the situation you find yourself in with me?" Ori asked, head still high.

"Both," Dwalin admitted, eyes shying away from Ori's steadfast ones. "And with both I wish to be freed."

He glanced up at Ori again, and winced as he saw the tears were beginning anew again.

"You truly do not see me in any special regard," Ori said, voice surprisingly steady for the tears flowing freely down his face. "I have made myself a fool, thinking your gazes held anything past courtesy."

Dwalin sighed, and then decided enough was enough. Twisting his shoulders sharply, the two shelves loosed from their position on the floor and moved to tip against the other two shelves framing them. Thankfully the other shelves held, even as the books fell out in a messy river of paper. Dwalin did not want to explain to Thorin or anyone else how he had managed to destroy a library. Yet Thorin had allowed flowers in his beard for another, so it was not like his cousin had much hold over Dwalin.

Dwalin took a step forward, and frowned bitterly when Ori took two back to press flat against the wall. Ori's shaking increased a bit as his hands clenched tightly against his chest. Dwalin noticed that even the knitted glove could not hide how red and swollen his fingers had gotten.

"You have done a very silly thing," Dwalin said as he reached forward.

"I know, alright?" Ori snapped, voice high and clearly pained. "I understand that you've rejected me quietly, I don't need to hear it out loud!"

Dwalin almost did step back, and allow the dwarf to escape. Yet Dwalin thought he had already gotten this far, and the scribe had not clawed his eyes out. None of their older brothers had come around the corner demanding Dwalin's beard. He still had time to save this.

"Ori, I'm sorry."

This made the scribe turn away from his corner, and look up at Dwalin with eyes still wide with hurt.

"I had no idea of your intentions. I thought you were just being kind to a comrad," Dwalin continued on, hoping that words which usually failed him would not this time. "I do not wear your gloves, for fear of tearing them from my knuckle-dusters, and getting idiot prince blood on them."

Ori had finally come out from the corner fully, and was waiting patiently.

"I did not think the portrait held such significance, as you made one for Bilbo," Dwalin continued on, taking a tentative step forward. "I did not know what to do with the quills, as I have no need for them, and you may have just given them to me for Balin."

Swallowing, and hoping he was not being too bullheaded for his own good, Dwalin lifted a hand and rested it on Ori's shoulder.

"I did not notice the flower until the end of the day, and did not have the nerve to bring it up as you had so secretly given it to me."

"I thought you would understand, what with you giving the idea of our oldest courtship practice of gift-giving to Bilbo," Ori voiced quietly.

Dwalin frowned, and wondered if his enemies above were all laughing at him. He had been so caught up in making sure his cousin was happy with his burglar that he had not even realized the small scribe's intent right in front of his weathered face.

"And when I said you did a silly thing, I meant hurting yourself on someone as rough and undeserving as me."

Dwalin moved the hand he had at Ori's shoulder to detangle his right hand from his left. He took the hand, and first carefully slid off the glove. Dwalin saw the full redness of Ori's hand, and felt yet another pang of guilt.

"You've hurt the hand of all your crafts," Dwalin whispered sadly.

He heard the gasp Ori sucked in as he lowered his head, but Dwalin was dedicated to see this through. Even if it was just a kiss against knuckles, when Dwalin looked back up Ori was blushing like the guard had just proposed.

"Just promise me that when people ask what took so long, I was hesitant, not oblivious," Dwalin pleaded.

Ori giggled, and the tears started up again, but this time Dwalin was relieved to see them.

.

Dwalin stared down at the ax in his hand. It was lighter, and shorter than his own. It would perfectly reflect the person it was made for, as despite its slight appearance, it held strength.

When Dwalin entered the library, he tried to keep out of sight from his brother. Yet like all older siblings, Balin had that horrid ability of being wherever Dwalin did not want him to be. Balin had glanced between Dwalin, the ax, and had sighed and thrown up his hands before stomping off. Dwalin heard something about finally having something good to tell Dori.

Deciding his brother could wait and this could not, Dwalin continued on in to the library and found Ori to be up on another ladder. This time he called Ori's name softly, so the lad would not start and fall.

The scribe looked down and gave Dwalin another one of his beaming smiles before he willingly pushed himself off from the ladder and began falling. Cursing loudly, Dwalin dropped the ax and rushed forward to catch Ori. Like the first time, his weight was surprising but not impossible to catch.

"Oh, Master Dwalin," Ori said loudly, and put a hand to his forehead in seeming exhaustion. "I seem to have fallen for you. Yet again!"

"You've been around that hobbit too much lately," Dwalin sighed. "That, or working with romance novels."

"And what's so wrong about being a romantic?" Ori asked with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not the one who came in here with an ax."

Dwalin had the grace to blush at that, but his nerves were quickly calmed as Ori moved one of the hands grasped around his neck to press against the last remnants of the black eye Ori had given him. It had taken a full week to not look black and yellow, and Dwalin had never been happier to boast an injury.

"Just don't ask me to write poetry," Dwalin mumbled.

Ori gave a light laugh again at this before smiling in clear affection. Dwalin moved his face towards his little srcibe, and Ori leaned up to place a kiss against his nearly healed eye.

.

FIN