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.
She's My What?!
Looking back, the moment was laugh-out-loud hilarious. Focused on reaching the wizard's meeting place and obtaining a burglar for the quest, then being blindsided by a certain smell surrounding the little creature that opened the door...Dwalin's scent. Ta da! Here was his mate.
Usually the finding of a wolf-dwarf's mate was a moment filled with joy and relief, the exchange of loving words and kisses, the waiting and searching finally over. For Dwalin there had been nothing of the sort. He had been so stunned, hurt, confused, furious. What had he done for Mahal to play such a cruel joke on him? His mate, a Halfling?!
No doubt he'd cut an amusing figure, sulking and steadfastly ignoring their fussy, nervous hostess throughout the evening. Just because he knew who his mate was did not mean he had to accept it – hence the extra scowling and gruffness. Thankfully, none commented on his behavior and there was no laughter at his expense. (Though Balin, just seconds after arriving, had looked twice between his brother and Miss Baggins before bestowing Dwalin with a fond knowing smile; how on earth he figured it out was a complete mystery!)
Never was the warrior so grateful for Erebor and Smaug the Great and Terrible to call for his complete focus. He was going to forget about this mess regarding his mate, squash the ache in him proclaiming they belonged together. Bilbo Baggins would be nothing more than another member of the company, easily forgotten and ignorable.
Dwalin may well have kept his resolution if Mahal had not yet again cackled and threw him another curve ball, this time courtesy of Thorin Oakenshield himself. The tattooed dwarf had agreed wholeheartedly with his cousin that the hobbit did not seem much of a burglar, was something of a nuance. So Thorin's belittling comments towards the lass should not have bothered Dwalin.
But as the dwarven lord's disdain grew, his put-downs sharper, and the Halfling seemed incapable of doing anything without drawing comment, the tall dwarf found his protective instincts roaring loudly inside him. He reasoned it was because Thorin's broodiness was getting old fast (to deal with it for months would undoubtedly try even Bofur's never-ending cheer). Plus, the way Bilbo's expression turned sad and she ducked her head in embarrassment tugged on the heartstrings. Thus Dwalin found himself secretly stepping into the role of self-appointed bodyguard, drawing Thorin's attention from her, keeping an eye out for dangers to the lass, making sure she did not fall behind.
The other reason the dwarf failed in ignoring the hobbit was due to her cooking. The fourth day of the company's journey Bilbo had prepared supper. The food had smelled so good that Dwalin tried to sneak a taste. He'd received a stern scolding from the smaller creature, her face lacking the uneasiness she usually displayed when near him. The dwarf had stared in silence, never suspecting this feisty side of the burglar. She even whacked his hand away with the ladle! (The meal, and future ones, turned out to be delicious.)
However, that did not diminish the fact the lass still was not one of them, struggled to adapt to life on the trail, oddly took delight in the littlest things, and appeared at times so vulnerable. Dwalin continued his protective watch. If he and Miss Baggins exchanged a few rare words about hobbit food or his weapons that was neither here nor there. And if behind his huge beard the corners of his mouth turned grudgingly upward at times as he observed her, no one saw.
"Seriously, Dwalin?" Thorin had snorted incredulously after summoning him to his deserted corner of the campsite more than a week later. Folding his arms across his chest, the king pointedly glanced at the Halfling seated on the other side of the fire by Ori.
Alright, perhaps Dwalin hadn't been as discreet as he thought; maybe the others were picking up on the slight change in his manner towards their burglar, or something. Feeling like a dwarfling caught with his hand in the cookie jar, the warrior had concealed his embarrassment behind frustration.
"I did not ask for this!" he rumbled, careful to keep his voice quiet. It was the truth.
His cousin's face lightened slightly. "Ah!" he hummed, and looked back curiously at the lass.
Mine! the cry raced through Dwalin from head to toe. He did not fight it. Smoothly, swiftly, he shifted to meet Thorin's gaze with a glare. "Back off!" he growled warningly, his frown thunderous.
As though he hadn't had enough of Mahal laughing at him, as he'd watched in stewing silence while the conversations between Bofur and Bilbo flowed easily and comfortably, the two growing too close for comfort. Then to be faced with the possibility of this…!
Again, a situation brimming over with humor if Dwalin had looked at it right. But he hadn't.
And now...the company having transformed into werewolves under the full moon...spending several desperate minutes trying to locate the missing hobbit, sensing her fear...turning to discover Thorin trotting into the pack's midst with a tiny brown pup in his mouth, then comfortingly nudging it once the little creature was settled on the ground...Bofur, Oin, Fili, and Kili pressing in around her… On top of everything else, this was the final straw.
One second Dwalin was several yards from the huddle around the pup-hobbit. The next he was standing possessively over the shivering creature, growling threateningly at his friends. Not until the others eventually backed away did the tension leave his body and he curled himself around Bilbo. Leaning into the small creature's side, he lightly pressed his nose to hers, willing her to be calm. She was no longer in danger, not with him to protect her, remaining by her side.
The tiny bark that escaped Bilbo was completely adorable, and as she gradually relaxed against him as he licked the top of her head and ears, he melted. It may have been his imagination, but he could almost swear she snuggled closer to him.
Well, after the whole nonsense of the last few weeks, Dwalin hoped Mahal was satisfied. Having fought tooth and nail, he accepted his lot: the hobbit was his mate. And he didn't accept it only because Mahal had declared it. No, indeed. Clever lass had stolen his heart, he finally admitted to himself. One whack of the ladle was all it took.
Dwalin huffed, a chuckle in his transformed state, and gazed on the little pup. He supposed he wouldn't have it any other way.
THE END