A/N: The challenge was to do a two-part Dwori fic where they each had their own chapter. The trick was to include as many allusions to their occupations as possible, without turning it into crack. I was shooting for 5k words. It got a little out of hand. ;)
Warnings: Smut. Which I don't normally write. Nothing crazy, but certainly explicit.
...
Ori's love for Dwalin was greater than any tale.
It didn't start out that way, of course, because love at first sight was a child's fable. Instead, it started with a tense meeting in Ered Luin- the Blue Mountains - between a wizard, a crown-less king, and the oddest assortment of dwarrows ever to forge a company. Miners, toy-makes, too few warriors, and Ori- the scribe. The Company of Thorin Oakenshield.
The quest was meant to take back Erebor – their ancestral homeland – from the great and terrible dragon Smaug. It would be a tale for the annals of history and Ori would make his name by seeing it written.
He sat in a corner while the wizard talked, taking quite notes and observing the other dwarrows with thinly veiled curiosity. There seemed to be a trend of brothers interested in the quest- his own included. Nori, the middle brother, sat to his left and deftly rolled a gold join across his knuckles. Dori, the eldest, sat to his right and piled leafy greens onto Ori's plate, which he promptly passed on to Nori. He knew his brothers' stories and how they interwove with his own... it was the other dwarrows he was interested in.
Oin was a healer and probably had dozens of interesting tales to tell of those he had helped and healed during the many years of his long life. Unfortunately, he appeared to be deaf as a stump, which would make questioning him difficult, even with the aid of his ear trumpet. His brother Gloin talked incessantly about his wife and son, leaving Ori to make a note to only talk to him if he wished stories of domestic life or child rearing. Which he couldn't imagine every wanting to hear.
Bombur was next, a dwarf who did more eating than talking. It was easily decided that he would be chief cook for their expedition and Ori wondered if perhaps he should plan to include some travel recipes in his manuscript. It might prove useful should some future generation wish to recreate moments of their journey. Bombur's brother Bofur was jovial and kind, a miner by trade, and Ori readily looked forward to hearing his tales around the campfire at night. Especially the more bawdy stories that Dori would probably think him too young to hear. The two brothers were joined by their cousin Bifur, who had frightened Ori at first with his crazed demeanor and the ax blade that was permanently lodged into his skull. He was a toy-maker and only spoke Khuzdul, which secretly thrilled the scribe, who had very little chance to actually speak the language he had so eagerly studied. Not to mention the fact that the ax blade must tell a fascinating narrative.
Next came Thorin, the future king himself, and Ori could only write the worlds majestic! and sad? onto the pages of his journal. He was only a scribe and felt out of place even guessing at the stories locked away behind the king's steely gaze. Thorin was joined by his sister-sons Fíli and Kíli. One brother was golden, the other sable, and Ori could not tell which was which. He could, however, tell by their smirks and giggles that they would be tricksters and make the journey amusing indeed.
The final set of brothers was Balin and Dwalin. Balin had smiled kindly at Ori when they first arrived then sat himself next to Thorin in the role of adviser. Dwalin had grown up as Thorin's trusted friend and was the fiercest warrior among them. Tattoos and scars covered every inch of exposed flesh, mapping over the strong muscles of his arms and the smooth dome of his head. Ori was mesmerized. His fingers itched to trace the deeds of each scar, to learn Dwalin's story and devour it whole. It was attraction, raw and unbidden, and it struck Ori speechless. The warrior met his eyes across the table and nodded, a brief smile tugging up the corners of his lips.
Then the wizard stood and Ori remembered himself. They were going on a dangerous quest- it was neither the time nor the place for childish fantasies.
...
Before they left on the journey Ori went to the library with his thoughts, trying to reason out his attraction to Dwalin. There was desire, that much was certain, but he was inexperienced and didn't know how to sort out his feelings. Dwarrows were known to have brief dalliances should the mood strike, but they had only one great love in their lives and bound themselves together wholly. Surely Dwalin was not his one- there was no common ground. But no book in the libraries of Ered Luin could tell him the difference between love and lust. And no text could teach him what lips would taste like, nor how hands would feel on his body. These things could only be understood by experience and for the first time, books let Ori down.
In the darkness of the mountain, he dreamed of Dwalin explaining everything his books could not, until Ori sealed their mouths together and sucked the words off his tongue.
…
The Company of Thorin Oakenshield convened in the Shire and took a hobbit into their number. Bilbo Baggins was not a warrior, not a dwarf, and most likely not the burglar the wizard claimed he was. Still, he was kind and opened his home and his pantry to them. It took a little convincing, but Bilbo joined their ranks and they set off east.
At first there was nothing but endless travel and rain and Ori looked longingly at his journal, aching for something to write about. By the campfire at night he began sketching the other dwarrows - and even the hobbit – deciding the illustrations would be a grand addition to the epic tale their journey would surely be. He slowly worked his way through the company, carefully tucking his drawings away only when the embers of the fire burned low. At length only Dwalin's sketch was unfinished and Ori cursed the clumsiness of his fingers for being unable to capture the warrior's true likeness. Every time he tried to round out the carved muscle or properly shade the strong jawline a blush would creep over his cheeks and Ori was certain the entire company would notice his unfortunate crush- or at least his brothers.
Their tedious journey finally became something worthy of a heroic tale when trolls came down from the mountain and made off with their ponies. Suddenly, a fight was upon them and Ori strove to help with others and keep himself out of trouble, all the while taking mental notes to add to his journal later on. He did not stop for a moment to think that they might not survive until the trolls had them all bagged and spitted, and Dwalin was tied to the roasting spit between his legs. Ori knew he should be worried about dying, but in truth his thoughts were taken over by the warrior's proximity. Alone in his bedroll Ori had often thought that he would die happy were Dwalin's head between his thighs, and now it seemed that life would make a mockery of those very dreams. Dwalin must have mistook his small whimper for fear, as he shifted enough to wrap a thick hand around the scribe's ankle and squeezed reassuringly. The touch may have been meant to calm, but all it served to do was fuel the heat churning within Ori's stomach and cause his body to tremble.
Then the wizard arrived and dawn turned the trolls to stone and they were saved.
They took the morning to rest and right themselves before traveling onward. Ori tried to make notes in his journal about the fight, but words were lost to him. Instead, he let himself sleep, and in his dream he wrote dark bruises into Dwalin's flesh with his lips and read them back with his tongue.
…
Warg riders dogged their steps and Ori had no time to think until Rivendell. The elves welcomed them, though skeptically, and the dwarrows thanked them with equal mistrust. Still, it was nice to be relatively well-fed and safe for once, though there was entirely too much green rabbit food for his liking. After they ate, the scribe sat alone in the corner of their appointed room and filled pages of his journal with observations about the elves.
A shadow obscured the paper as Dwalin sat down beside him. "How're ya faring, lad?"
The rough burr of the warrior's voice surprised Ori and he let out a startled squeak. "I'm doing well, Mister Dwalin. Thank you for asking."
"Ya seemed mighty frightened of the trolls," Dwalin pressed, peering over at the scribe with concern.
"I wasn't afraid of the trolls!" He snapped before he could stop himself.
"Then what?" Dwalin seemed genuinely interested. "Was it death ya feared?"
"I'm not afraid of dying." Ori hedged, his voice sounding much calmer than he felt.
Dwalin reached over and placed a hand on the scribe's arm. "There is no shame in fear, lad."
"The only thing I fear is to die without having first lived. To never have the things I yearn for." He dared a look up at Dwalin and silently prayed that the warrior would see the truth written so plainly on his face.
Dwalin's fingers twitched slightly on Ori's arm. "Aye, well, I'm sure ya'll find whatever ya wish for once we retake Erebor."
"But what if the thing I long for is already within reach?" Ori asked with all the bravery he had, knowing full-well the other man must be able feel the way his body trembled with nervous energy.
"I... uh..." Dwalin stood suddenly and made to leave. "It appears yer brother is looking for ya. I should go..."
As the warrior hurried away Ori cursed himself for being too forward. It was silly to think that someone like Dwalin would be interested in a nobody like him. Dwalin deserved someone as strong and magnificent as he was- not a mousy little scribe with a slingshot. Now he had gone and made Dwalin uncomfortable, which would not make the remainder of the quest pleasant.
As Dori sat down beside him Ori plastered on his best smile and forced himself to chat with his oldest brother. Across the room he could feel Dwalin's eyes on him, but he didn't dare look, afraid of what he might see.
That night Ori dreamed that his story and Dwalin's were intertwined. And in the dream he traced his tongue over the mountainous ridges of Dwalin's spine and sucked the words from his marrow. When morning came, Ori awoke tense and aching and bit hard at the blankets to keep from crying out a name that was not his to claim.
…
The scribe was glad when they left Rivendell, for the arduous road through the mountains left little time to think or talk. A storm raged around them and the very rocks themselves rose to do battle. Again Ori knew he should be afraid, but there was no room for fear when his mind was busy taking in every detail of the stone monsters. If they had been tucked safely away he would gladly have spent hours sketching the giants, but their path gave way and suddenly they were moving. The stone ledge was slick, causing Ori's grip to falter and he found himself being pull back from the brink by strong arms. Dwalin was steadier than the mountain itself and Ori clung desperately to him. The warrior kept one hand on the cliff-side, the other wrapped tightly around Ori's waist, keeping him close. Only when they reached the safety of a cave did Dwalin let go, leaving Ori to think that he would throw himself off every mountain they crossed if it meant Dwalin would hold him again.
He could feel the warrior watching him as he set out his bedroll. Looking up their eyes met for a long moment and Ori read the fear in the other man's face. Confused, he turned towards the wall and worried himself to sleep. In his dreams he was falling into the rune-drenched scars of Dwalin's flesh. He was falling and falling and it was more than lust. When Ori awoke he was falling still.
…
The Goblin King said "Start with the youngest" and Ori bit his lip. He wasn't the youngest – Kíli was, then Fíli – though he was only older by a scant number of years. But they were Thorin's heirs and he was only a scribe, so he held his tongue and remained silent.
A body pressed itself against his back, the low growl telling him it was Dwalin. Ori leaned back slightly, feeling the warrior's muscular chest against his shoulder blades.
"Don't worry, lad. I won't let them hurt ya." Dwalin's voice was barely a whisper against the shell of Ori's ear.
Having no way to answer, Ori reached a hand back until his fingers found Dwalin's. If this was to be where his story ended, he would die fighting beside the warrior.
Dwalin squeezed his hand reassuringly and then there was a flash of light and they were fighting.
It was quickly apparent to Ori that his slingshot would be no use the the close quarters of the goblin caves. There was no time to reload or aim, and it was almost impossible to use while running. Dwalin was beside him, his dual axes flashing in the torchlight as he took down foe after foe. Ori forgot himself in the poetry of Dwalin's fighting and was startled when the warrior pressed a war-hammer into his hands.
"Come on, lad! Move!"
They ran and Ori put the war-hammer to use, smashing goblins with an awkward ferocity. He never had reason to learn to wield heavy weaponry, but thought absently that perhaps he should.
The company ran and fought and ran some more, until they were out of the caves and down the mountainside.
"We made it!" Ori grinned, carefully checking to make sure his journal was still intact and his brothers safe. He couldn't wait to turn their battle into text- happier still that his own role would not be reduced to scribe, but also fighter.
"Here's your war-hammer back, Mister Dwalin," Ori said, holding the weapon out clumsily. "I hope I didn't damage it any."
"You did well with it, lad. And it kept you safe." Dwalin's lips pursed slightly as he reached out to take back his weapon, his hand closing around the handle next to Ori's own.
The air felt charged and the moment seemed to stretch forever as the scribe wondered if Dwalin would notice his want- if he would feel its verse on his skin where their hands were touching.
"Please." Ori didn't realize he had spoken out loud until the warrior started and pulled his hand away.
Dwalin's eyes darkened and he exhaled very slowly before speaking. "Lad... We're different as ink and steel. It can't work. Ya don't know what yer asking."
"But I do," Ori tried to translate, but the orcs came and once again they were forced to run.
…
It wasn't until they were safe on the Carrock, with Erebor in the distance, that Dwalin sought the scribe out. Blood soaked the side of his tunic where an orc blade had broken through his guard and glanced off the flesh, leaving a shallow trench of broken skin behind.
"There's a steam at the base of the rocks. I was hoping ya might be willing to help see to my wound..." Dwalin paused, as if steeling his resolve. "And we could talk...?"
Ori nodded and followed him down, his mind racing to decipher the warrior's meaning. There was a good chance that Dwalin would use the privacy of the stream to spare the scribe from being turned away in front of the other dwarrows. Ori hoped this was not the case, because he knew his heart would have no one but Dwalin.
The water from the stream was cold, but it was clean and Ori used it to wash the dirt from his hands while Dwalin removed his blood-stained tunic.
"You wanted to talk, Mister Dwalin?" Ori jumped straight to the point, impatient to hear how the story would go.
"Aye, lad." He regarded the ground with interest. "But first ya've got to stop calling me Mister."
"Then you need to stop calling me lad." Ori managed a small smirk and dried his hands on the cleanest part of his breeches. "I'm past my majority, you know."
"Oh, I know. Trust me, I know." There was an unusual breathlessness in the warrior's voice that made Ori long to reach out to him.
"You said before that I didn't know what I was asking." He knelt beside Dwalin and regarded the wound with a critical eye. "I know exactly what I'm asking."
"Yer still young. There will be more options for ya once Erebor is ours. Ya can find someone who is fit for ya." Dwalin frowned, "I'm an old warrior. I don't know how to be anything else."
"I don't want you to be anything else." Looking again at the wound, Ori lost himself to the urge to touch. Using his finger, he traced his own name into the blood on Dwalin's side, meeting the warrior's eyes for a heated moment before washing the skin clean.
"I... Ya..." Dwalin stuttered, his eyes growing dark. "Dwarrows mate for life, ya have to be sure of yer choice..."
"I choose you, Dwalin." He placed a hand hesitantly against the other man's jaw. "If you'll have me..."
"Ori." Dwalin's hand reached up as if to cover the scribe's, then fell back into his lap. "Maybe some day, once we retake the mountain... But we can't. Not now."
Blinking quickly, Ori dropped his hand from the warrior's face and nodded brusquely. "I think your wound is clean. I'd have Oin give you a poultice before you wrap it." With that he stood and walked back to camp, trying to ignore the footnotes that were telling his heart The End.
Dwalin didn't come back to camp until long after Ori was asleep. For once the scribe's dreams were vacant and the same emptiness was there when he woke.
...
Tucked safely in Beorn's halls, Ori sat beside the fire and tried to work on the sketch that had long alluded him. Dwalin's face gazed out at him from the paper and he stared at it so intently that he jumped in surprise when the man himself sat down beside him.
"Yer avoiding me." It was more of a statement than a question.
"Yes," Ori felt no need to hide the obvious truth.
Dwalin sighed, "Ya have to understand, lad... This is complicated..."
"Complicated?" Ori snorted. "There are only three choices. Either you don't want me, you want me for good, or you want me for the night."
"Never just for a night. Not you. I will not ruin you!" Dwalin growled, his eyes flashing fiercely.
"But you do want me...?" Ori pressed, a small note of hope writing itself in his chest.
"We have nothing in common, ya have to realize that!"
"Ink and steel, I know, but that doesn't answer my question." The scribe grinned, "It's all right. I can wait however long it takes you to admit it."
Dwalin grumbled a wordless response, but didn't move from Ori's side. Taking it at a good sign, the younger man went back to work on his sketch.
They were not alone in the room, but the drawing gave Ori an excuse to touch. Hesitantly, his fingers traced over the dark lines of ink spelling out the story of their race on Dwalin's flesh. With each brush of skin
he memorized the runes and transferred them onto the page, creating an accurate likeness of Dwalin on the parchment.
"Tell me about this one." He trailed a fingertip over the tattoos on Dwalin's right knuckles, pleased when the warrior didn't brush him away.
"It's our battle cry- Baruk Khazâd. Axes of the Dwarves." He replied with a slight shiver.
"And these?" Ori ran a feather-light touch over the left knuckles.
"Khazâd ai-mênu. The dwarves are upon ya." Dwalin raised a brow. "But ya already know that, don't ya? Ya read runes better than anyone I know."
"I like hearing your story. It's different from reading it, though I like that too." Ori blushed, looking down at his journal.
The warrior grunted his assertion. "I don't mind yer asking."
"Really?" Ori brightened instantly. "In that case, tell me about these..." He boldly reached up and traced the designs on the crown of Dwalin's head.
Dwalin rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but replied, "Those tell the history of our people. The laws and rules we followed in Erebor that fell by the wayside when we lost the mountain."
Ori tilted his head in thought. "Why?"
"Why did the laws fade away, or why did I have them inked on my skin?"
"I assume the laws were difficult to enforce when the population was scattered to the winds. But why are they so important to you?"
"As a reminder of what we lost. Our culture, our home, our friends and family." Dwalin's eyes clouded and Ori couldn't help but reach out and take his hand. "I don't ever want to forget."
"That's why I became a scribe. Because there are so many stories that would be forgotten if no one bothered to write them down," Ori admitted softly.
Dwalin rewarded him with a thoughtful smile. "Maybe we do have something in common after all."
…
The forest of Mirkwood stretched before them in an endless gloom of muddy green, thickly overhanging branches, and cloying air. For the first time in their journey Ori had no desire to write notes in his journal or to sketch out what he was seeing. In fact, he was certain that once they left the cursed forest, he would never wish to think about it again. There was something dark and sinister that crept just out of eyesight on either side of the path- things that looked like will'o'wisps and insect eyes.
Ori walked between his brothers, for once grateful of their overprotective tendencies. Their presence was steadying, even though he could read the worry on their faces through the vert gloom. Dwalin walked ahead with Thorin, but often glanced back at the scribe. It was one more tiny comfort for Ori in the growing darkness.
No one talked and the forest was strangely silent except for the branches snapping under their feet and the occasional buzz of a far-away insect. They had run out of food days ago and each step seemed to bring them closer to their ends. When the darkness closed in on them Ori reached out for his brothers, but his hand clamped down on empty air. In the distance he heard voices calling out for him and he yelled back, but they never found him. Hungry, exhausted, and despondent, Ori sat down against a tree and cried himself to sleep.
His dreaming took him back to the Shire- to a warm fire, good food, and Dwalin's face melting into a smile like watercolor ink. Something sticky and firm wrapped around his body, but Ori was too far gone to care.
…
When Ori awoke he was groggy and disoriented, but noticed soon enough that he was wrapped in an unnatural darkness and could not move. Wiggling about he felt both the sharp spine of his journal pressing into his ribs and the gummy fibers which cocooned him. Panic set in and for the first time Ori truly realized he was not ready to die. It was one thing to fall in the heart of battle, but another entirely to be eaten by spiders in a far away forest where no one would remember your story as you fade from memory. The spiders venom made his brain foggy and the stale air in the webbing made it difficult to breathe. Ori's whole body shook with fear until suddenly his prison was sliced open and he fell into Dwalin's arms.
"I've got ya, lad." The warrior was unsteady on his feet, but clutched Ori to his chest like a treasured jewel.
"Dwalin?" He blinked up in confusion, unable to translate what was going on.
"Aye, lad. Spiders got us, but the hobbit managed to chase them away." Dwalin managed a grin. "I'm sure he'll tell ya the story later on, if ya ask nicely."
"Spiders." Ori swore he felt Dwalin press a kiss to the top of his head, but chose not to comment on it. "My brothers?"
"Both fine, though I think Nori is trying to figure out how to collect some of the spider venom to dip his knives in."
Ori grinned and snuggled against Dwalin's chest. "That sounds about right. I'm sure Dori is having a fit about it too!"
"Aye, that he is." A soft laugh rumbled in the warrior's chest, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a sigh. "Ya should let them know yer all right."
The scribe frowned at being set down and wobbled for a moment before finding his feet. "Thank you for rescuing me, Dwalin."
"Always," Dwalin replied fiercely and Ori found he had no words with which to respond.
The company stayed the night not far from the spider's nest and recited their hopelessness to the starless sky. They were without food or water and many of their weapons and packs were lost to the spider webs. As they sucked dew from blades of grass Ori found that he didn't feel despairing at all. As the night pressed on he could still feel Dwalin's arms around him. The memory was made vivid when the warrior stretched out on the ground beside him to sleep. No words were exchanged, but Ori could feel a change in the air between them. He fell asleep to the deep even sounds of Dwalin's breathing, which turned to poetry in his dreams.
…
They woke to capture and though the elves were no friends, the dwarrows went willingly. The woodland elves would see them fed and alive, which was more than they had in the forest. Their few remaining weapons were taken away, but Ori was allowed to keep his journal and pen-box. Each dwarf was put into a separate cell and given fresh water and green rabbit food. The cells were near each other, but the only way to communicate was by yelling. It wasn't convenient but, the dwarrows called out until they were sure each member of their company was accounted for. The hobbit had managed to evade capture and appeared from time to time to ferry messages between the dwarrows. Ori sent him to assure his brothers that he was doing well, and thought to send a message to Dwalin, but had no idea what he might say.
The scribe spent his time in captivity catching up on his notes about their quest. Now that they were out of the forest proper he described the oppressive gloom of Mirkwood and how much happier he was under a mountain than under a canopy of trees. Ori wrote as best he could about the spiders, filling in everything Bilbo had told him about their capture and escape. He left out the part about the magic golden ring, because he was worried the elves might take his journal and decode his writing.
By the time all the stories were told Ori's fingers were stained with ink and Bilbo had devised an escape. One by one the cell doors were unlocked and the captured dwarrows spilled into the hallway. Ori hugged both his brothers gladly, but his eyes were locked on Dwalin. The warrior stared back at him with a look of utter relief.
"Ori." The word was soft, but the scribe had no trouble understanding its meaning.
"I'm all right, Dwalin. We're all alive."
"They kept ya from me," Dwalin's voice was gruff.
Ori glanced to be sure his brothers weren't watching, then leaned in to hug the other man. "I'm here now."
Dwalin's arms were tight around the scribe, holding him close. "I would have you at my side always."
Ori looked up and saw the flush creeping over the larger man's neck. "You didn't mean to say that out loud, did you?"
"No, but that doesn't make it any less true." Their eyes met and a wordless exchange passed between them. "We'll talk once we're safe."
"We'll talk," Ori agreed softly as he climbed into an empty tea barrel. As the lid slid closed above him, his last sight was Dwalin's unexpectedly gentle smile.
The ride out of the Elf King's hall was unpleasant, but Ori found himself being lulled to sleep by the rocking waves and the lingering smell of tea. By the time they came ashore he was wet and hungry and battered, but even as he lay shaking on the bank of the river he couldn't stop smiling. Their quest to retake Erebor might be the stuff of legends, but his own personal story was turning out to be the stuff of dreams.
...
It didn't take long for the citizens of Lake Town to discover the dwarrows and learn of their quest. To the company's surprise many of the men were supportive of the idea that they might rid the land of the dragon Smaug. The dwarrows were quickly given a large house to stay in and plenty of good food and clothes. Songs were sung loudly in the streets; old songs of Erebor past and new songs about the hopeful defeat of the dragon. Ori ate with one hand while scribbling lyrics into his journal with the other, not wanting to forget the songs of men.
The house was large enough that each member of the company had been given his own room and Ori excused himself from the table early claiming sleepiness to his brothers. Instead he slipped out the back door and walked down to the lake, knowing Dwalin had observed his exit.
"Ya shouldn't be out here alone," Dwalin's voice broke the stillness of the night.
"I'm not alone," Ori smiled shyly. "I'm with you."
Dwalin growled softly under his breath, "And ya think yer safe with me?"
"I know I am. You would never let anything hurt me if you could help it." Ori shrugged absently. "Though I do a fair job taking care of myself, you know."
"That ya do, lad." Dwalin frowned and led the scribe to a spot closer to the waters edge. "I'm more worried that I will hurt ya."
Ori blinked in confusion, "Why would you hurt me?"
"Because I don't know how to do this." He waved a hand between them as if to explain. "I've lived my whole life by the sword, I'm not sure I can do anything else."
"I told you before, I'm not asking you to give up anything. So long as you don't plan on bringing your sword to bed, I'm sure we'll be fine." Ori flushed, "Well, at least not thatsword."
Dwalin choked on the air and looked at Ori who was blushing furiously, but met his eyes. "Ya have given this a lot of though, haven't ya?"
Ori laughed dryly and nodded. "Dwalin, my heart chose you, it's already been written. I've just been waiting for you to catch up."
"I figured what ya felt was infatuation, hero worship. That it would fade over time and once we reached Erebor ya would realize ya only wanted me because it was convenient."
"The more time I spend with you, the more sure I am." Ori folded his hands in front of him and stared down at them. "I'm not entirely sure how you feel about me though..."
Dwalin sighed, "I thought it would be better not to have ya at all, rather than have ya saddled with me for the rest of our lives or change yer mind later on."
"I'm not going to change my mind. I told you, my heart is made up." Ori said plainly, with a hint of irritation at the warrior's stubbornness.
"There's not much in this world I'm afraid of, but the thought of loosing ya..." Dwalin growled, his eyes fierce. "The spiders made me realize that I'm wasting time we might not have. We could very well die on this quest and I would not squander one more minute for all the gold in Erebor."
"If we're set to die than we'd best make the most of the time we have." Ori's lips parted slightly and he wet them with the tip of his tongue.
"There is so much bravery in ya. So much fire." Slowly, as if he were afraid the scribe might change his mind, or goblins attack, or the very world might end, Dwalin reached for Ori.
The kiss was wet and needy and it took a moment for their mouths to slot together perfectly. Dwalin's tongue begged entrance against Ori's lips and the scribe welcomed him gladly. What Ori lacked in experience, he more than made up for in enthusiasm. No book could have prepared him for the languid slide of Dwalin's lips on his, or the feel of the warrior's rough hands scratching over his arms like quills to parchment.
"You're mine," he whispered and heard the words echo in the deep caverns of Dwalin's mouth.
The warrior groaned in response and kissed him once more before pulling away. "Mahal made dwarrows passionate- about our crafts, our race, our mates. When we love it's with everything we are."
Ori nodded his agreement, too breathless to respond.
"No one will keep ya from me. Not now, not ever. I will fight to the death to stay by yer side," Dwalin's voice was deeper than usual.
This time it was Ori who reached out and pulled Dwalin against him for a kiss. Their hips slotted together naturally and Ori startled over the fierce heat as he tasted the letters of Dwalin's moan. The warrior moved to pull away, but Ori was insistent, his hands writing a path down Dwalin's body and settling on his hips.
"Ori, lad..." The words caught in his throat as the scribe's kisses stole his voice. "The others will come looking if we're not back soon."
"Let them," Ori replied, tightening his grip on Dwalin's hips.
"Ya would have yer brothers discover us like this?"
A blush burned high on the scribe's cheeks. "They think I'm in bed asleep."
Dwalin growled deep in his chest, his hands tightening on the back of Ori's tunic. "Ya deserve to be courted properly. I won't debauch ya like this."
Ori ignored the halfhearted protest and kissed his way down the warrior's throat, reading the scars under his tongue and teeth. "Not asking you to debauch me. Just sully me a little." He licked along a particularly jagged scar on Dwalin's neck and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath.
"Yer going to be the death of me, lad." He pressed their hips together, coaxing a sinful noise from the scribe.
"Please!" Ori begged, rocking frantically against the delicious friction and the heat that burned through layers of clothing.
"Let go." Dwalin breathed, watching Ori's face with lust-darkened eyes. "Let yerself go."
Ori ground their hips together once, twice more, quaking at the heady surge of desire that welled up in his stomach. The sensation blurred the edges of his vision and he came with a string of broken vowels falling from his lips.
Dwalin wrapped his arms around the scribe to steady him while he caught his breath. "Mahal. What did I do to deserve ya, lad?"
Blinking up rather sheepishly, Ori blushed. "I was just thinking that I didn't deserve you. Or rather, trying to think..." He bit back a giggle, "Goodness."
"Enjoyed that, did ya?" Dwalin smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Yes! Of course!" Ori grinned widely, then noticed the still-present tent in Dwalin's breeches. "Oh! You're still... Should I...?"
The warrior laughed softly, "I'm fine, lad. There will be time for that later." He pulled the younger man to him, holding him close.
Ori beamed, "This is real. You're truly mine."
Dwalin smiled at his scribe. "All yers."
…
There was a great deal of planning and provisioning to do before the company could leave Lake Town. Unfortunately, Thorin had need of Dwalin's assistance and countless days passed before Ori had a chance to get the warrior alone. Finally, a night came where most of the dwarrows decided to spend the evening drinking at a local pub, but Ori feinted disinterest, telling his brothers he would rather work on his research.
The scribe felt bad at deceiving his brothers, though it wasn't an outright lie. The research he had planned was not for his book, but for learning the lines of Dwalin's body. Ori knew that practice would become the manual for taking Dwalin apart and piecing him back together again; for leaving him shattered and needy and speechless. He had thought long and hard about their evening by the lake- reciting it in his mind with flushed cheeks and breathless moans. Now that they finally had time alone he planned to read the words of Dwalin's body and make sure they both left satisfied.
The other dwarrows were hardly gone when Dwalin knocked softly on the door to Ori's room.
"Well, hello there, Mister Dwalin." The scribe smiled innocently, but the look in his eyes was anything but.
"Hello yerself, lad." He caught Ori's hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing the palm gently.
Ori leaned heavily against Dwalin's chest, wrapping his arms around the other man, and breathing him in. "Alone at last."
"We have to tell yer brothers soon, ya know." Dwalin laughed softly at Ori's frown, "I want to do this right, which means I need to declare my intent to court ya properly once we reclaim Erebor."
"That conversation should be fun," Ori sighed. "They won't be pleased, but they'll allow it."
"Good. Because I have no intentions of giving ya up. Not now that I have ya."
"As if I'd let you go." Ori leaned up and stole a soft kiss. "Once they know we won't be left alone again."
"That might be for the best, lad." Dwalin smirked at the scribe. "Yer awfully difficult to resist."
Ori flushed brightly, "No one says you have to resist anything."
Dwalin's face shifted to something more predatory. "Ya have no idea how badly I want to claim ya right now. But there are rules and I won't break them until we're properly bonded."
The smile Ori gave him was warm and dazzling. "You truly wish to be bonded with me?"
"I thought that much was obvious."
He beamed up at Dwalin, his eyes bright. "It's one thing to know it, but another thing entirely to hear you say the words."
"You and no other." Dwalin said fiercely, tangling his hand in Ori's hair and pulling him in for a kiss.
Grinning into the kiss Ori reached out and slowly unhooked the warrior's belt, letting it fall to the floor before tugging at the hem of his shirt. Dwalin raised a brow in question, but silently raised his arms to let the scribe pull the tunic off over his head.
"Mahal..." Ori's breath caught in his throat as he slid his hands over the scarred and inked flesh of Dwalin's chest. One finger brushed over the tight bud of a nipple, causing the warrior to shudder and gasp. Spurred on the by sound Ori ducked his head and laved his tongue over the spot, earning another deep moan.
"Shirt off. Now." Dwalin's voice was rough as he helped the scribe shed layers of knitwear. "Let me see ya."
Ori flushed, embarrassed at his pale nakedness, but any thoughts were lost as Dwalin sunk a possessive bite onto his exposed collarbone. Stars danced in front of his eyes and he clutched desperately at the warrior's shoulders. "Oh!" Dwalin kissed the scribe again, devouring his mouth with a hungry groan. His hands moved over the smooth contours of Ori's chest, causing the younger man to shiver.
One of Ori's hands trailed down Dwalin's ribcage, following the curve of his body until it rested on the waist of his breeches. "May I?" Dwalin could only nod in response.
Ori took a deep breath and undid the ties on the warrior's breeches, pushing the offending fabric down his body. Dwalin kicked the clothing loose, then stood still and waited. "Whatever ya want, lad. Short of us claiming each other, that is."
"Want you." Ori ground out as he pressed their bodies together. Dwalin was impossibly hard against his hip, the heat of his body burning through the thin layers of cloth separating them.
Dwalin's moan collapsed into a broken curse and he quickly pulled back for long enough to rid Ori of his boots and trousers. "Mahal... Yer perfect!"
Ori's nail wrote deep trenches into the warrior's shoulders as he pulled them back together. "Please."
"Please what?" Dwalin's voice sounded breathless and raw. "We're not doing anything unless I'm sure ya want it."
"Want you." Ori repeated, trying to focus on giving a coherent reply. He shifted his hips, their erections brushing together, and all thoughts of words were erased from his mind. "More."
Taking a few steps back, Dwalin drug the scribe with him until they tumbled together onto the bed. They lay side by side, facing each other, and he leaned forward and claimed a kiss. Ori made an impatient noise in his throat, then grabbed Dwalin's hips, pulling their bodies flush again. He buried his face in the crease of Dwalin's neck and voiced his want. The skin was damp and Ori couldn't stop his tongue from darting out to taste the salt pooling there.
Dwalin snarled, capturing Ori's hand and dragging it downward until he pressed the scribe's palm against the turgid length of his cock. "This is what ya do to me, lad." Gasping, Ori instinctively wrapped his fingers around Dwalin's phallus and stoked it firmly, earning a distinctive groan for his efforts. Dwalin's head fell back against the mattress as he drew in a panting breath. "Mahal... So good..."
Ori whimpered and thrust his own cock against the warrior's thigh, desperate for relief. "Dwalin... Please..." He tried to duck his head to hide the flush of color in his cheeks, but Dwalin pressed his fingers between the scribe's lips and distracted him. Reaching between their bodies Dwalin pushed Ori's hand away, aligning their cocks, and wrapping his own split-slicked fingers around them both. Ori moaned and arched into the touch, his hips rutting in short, frantic jerks. "Dwalin..."
Dwalin's fist picked up speed until they found the right tempo to work off each other. The heat between their bodies was hotter than any forge and the sounds Ori made proved to be too much for the warrior, who thrust forward and spilled over his fist with a strangled groan. The sight was enough to send Ori over the edge and he cried out until the only letters he knew spelled Dwalin's name into the silence.
It took a few minutes for both of them to come down and their heartbeats to slow to a reasonable pace. Dwalin leaned back and searched Ori's face for any sign of regret. "All right, lad?"
Ori's lips curved into a slight smile. "Yes. Mahal yes! That was..." He trailed off, lost for words.
"Is my scribe speechless?" Dwalin teased lightly.
"Yes. No." Ori laughed softly. "Can we just stay here forever? I don't need any of Erebor's treasure so long as I have you."
Dwalin kissed him gently. "I wish we could, but my sworn duty is to Thorin. Ya know that."
"I know." Ori snuggled in closer. "Will you at least stay the night? I know it's not proper, but I doubt anyone will notice."
For a moment Dwalin looked like he was going to refuse, but then he smiled and nodded. "If we get caught yer the one who will be explaining it to yer brothers.
The scribe murmured his agreement as Dwalin pulled the blankets up over them both. As Ori drifted off to sleep he marveled that real life was a much better story than his dreams.
…
The following morning they were woken by a loud knock on the bedroom door. Ori let out a terrified shriek thinking it was his brothers, but the door opened instead to reveal Thorin. The future king regarded them with a raised brow, but chose not to comment on their state of undress. Instead, he requested their presence for a company meeting.
The dwarrows left Lake Town that afternoon with fresh supplies and eyes set on the Lonely Mountain. Ori dutifully took notes in his journal, but his heart was elsewhere.
…
Smaug the terrible left the mountain by their doing, but was destroyed at the hands of the men of Lake Town. Ori found himself both relieved and irritated by the dragons sudden demise. Relieved because the beast was dead and all the dwarrows were safe, but irritated because the heroes of his story would now be men. Men slayed the dragon while the dwarrows were trapped deep within the mountain, playing with gold and jewels and forgetting the danger they released back into the world.
When Smaug had flown out the front gates of Erebor and looped around to destroy them, the dwarrows fled into the secret door for safety. As they were sealed inside, the stone melted by dragon-fire, Ori found himself pulled tightly into Dwalin's arms. The embrace only lasted a moment, but there was no chance the rest of the company hadn't noticed it.
Ori sat on one of the upper parapets overlooking the front gate of Erebor. The other dwarrows were in the nearby treasure rooms searching through the mountains of gold and gems, but he wanted no part in that pursuit. Thorin would be king, but it had come at the price of his sanity- all thoughts seemed to be lost from his head save for the Arkenstone. Already he had thrown the hobbit out for trying to use the cursed gem to make peace with their purposed enemies. Thorin had gold sickness and dragon or not it could still cost them everything.
Across the plains Ori could make out the smokey crater where Smaug had fallen. He used it as inspiration and sketched the dragon as best he could while the terrifying images were still fresh in his head. If nothing else, he was one of the few dwarrows who had faced a dragon and lived to tell the tale. And even if his book wouldn't end in as epic a manner as he had hoped, he had gotten Dwalin out of the quest and that made the whole journey worth it.
"Ori? Are you up here?" A voice carried through the gathering dusk.
"Yes, I'm here. Near the front of the breastwork." He tucked his drawing away and waited a few minutes before both brothers came into view.
"We were worried about you. It's cold up here and you forgot your mittens." Dori held out the knitwear in question.
Ori nodded his thanks and pulled on the mittens, even though his hands weren't cold. "Thank you."
The three brothers sat in awkward silence for several minutes before Dori clucked his tongue softly. "Is there something you'd like to tell us?"
"No?" The scribe said hopefully. Catching sight of his brothers faces he sighed. "You noticed me hugging Dwalin."
"That was more than a hug!" Nori snorted, flipping a coin into the air and catching it deftly. "It looked like he was about to get too friendly with our baby brother!"
"I'm not a baby, Nori!" Ori felt himself starting to pout and took a deep breath to stop himself. "And you make it sound like he was taking advantage of me! It was just a hug!"
Dori tutted gently. "Don't cause a fuss now, little one. We confronted Dwalin and he expressed interest in a proper courting."
"He did?" Ori's eyes widened and he bit back a smile. "Truly?"
"He did, all right," Nori snorted. "I threatened to remove his bollocks with my knife for even thinking about my little brother in such a lewd way!"
"Nori!" The scribe all by shrieked. "Don't you dare!"
Both brothers raised their eyebrows in question, but only Dori spoke. "Mahal help me. You're interested in him?"
"More than interested." Ori steeled himself and pressed on, "Dwalin is my happy ending. One way or another we're going to be together... It would mean the world to me if you'd accept us."
"If he so much as hurts a single hair..." Nori started, curling his fingers into a fist.
"He would never hurt me. Nor I him."
Dori sighed in resignation. "So that's your choice than, brother?"
Ori nodded and boldly met his eldest brother's eyes. "Yes. Dwalin is my choice."
"Than we'll allow the courting," Dori consented. "If it's going to happen, I'd rather you be proper about it. Congratulations, brother."
"But if he tries anything, you just let me know..." Nori added helpfully.
"Thank you!" Ori squealed, jumping up to drag both of his brothers into a family hug. "Oh, thank you!"
Dori and Nori simply smiled. Neither overly approved of Dwalin, but they would never deny their baby brother his happiness.
Ori grinned widely and turned to grab his sketchbook so they could go back inside. Instead the smile slipped from his face as he way a dark wave on the horizon. "What's that?"
Off in the distance an army of orcs marched on Erebor. There would be no escape without a fight. The others had to be warned.
The brothers took off running, Ori to find Dwalin and the king, Nori and Dori to round up the other dwarrows.
Spinning around a corner, Ori ran straight in to the warrior. "Dwalin!"
"Is something wrong? Did ya talk to yer brothers?" Dwalin held the scribe's shoulders to steady him.
"What? Yes. They're fine with us." Ori grabbed for the warrior's hand and pulled him down the hall. "We've got to find Thorin! There's an orc army coming!"
They raced down the hallway, hand-in-hand, to find the king and protect their kingdom.
…
The battle was soon upon them and the dwarrows prepared themselves for war. Ori hurriedly wrote a series of notes in his journal detailing their last days and hid it safely inside the mountain. He didn't want to lose the precious book on the battlefield and if he didn't make it out alive at least it would be able to tell someone their story.
"I want ya to stay in the mountain," Dwalin said softly, his hands clenching tightly on the scribe's arms. "I want ya to be safe."
"You want me to hide while everyone else is out there fighting? You, my brothers, the rest of the company?" Ori raised a brow and regarded Dwalin levelly. "I can't do that. We started this journey together, we'll finish it the same way. This is my story too."
Dwalin's eyes were dark and fierce as he pulled Ori in for a desperate kiss. "Ya may not be a fighter, but ya are the bravest among us. Don't let anyone tell ya differently."
Blushing, Ori tucked himself into Dwalin's side for a long moment before pulling away and adjusting his armor.
"Thorin is giving the signal, it's time to move." The warrior hefted his axes and drew a steadying breath. "Stay by my side?"
Ori nodded and turned toward the front gate. "I will always be at your side. We'll face this together."
The gates of Erebor pushed open and the Company of Thorin Oakenshield rushed into the fray.
...