Disclaimer: I don't own The Hobbit or any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: This is my second time dipping my toes into Tolkien's universe and my first time trying the 'soul bond' trope in the Hobbit fandom. So, I greatly appreciate any and all feedback/constructive criticism you have to offer. The main pairing in this fic is Dwori (Dwalin/Ori) with a hint of Bagginshield if you squint.
Warnings: Contains spoilers for 'The Hobbit' and 'The Desolation of Smaug' if you squint. This is set in an 'everyone lives' style AU. This is also a 'soul-bond' fic. Expect canon appropriate violence, mature language, age difference follows the general plot line of the first two movies and my take on the beginning of the third. Dwarvish courting rituals/traditions/culture, slash and smut.
Mahal's Script
Chapter Ten
It wasn't until the final battle was over, the elves and men of Dale sent on their way with promises of trade and a renewal of the trusts of old, that the company of Thorin Oakenshield - now King Under the Mountain - had finally had enough.
Honestly, they'd had their fill long before the Carrock, but had little opportunity to do anything before Mirkwood, Laketown and finally Smaug himself had forced their hand. But now, with Dwalin, still recovering, safely passed out thanks to one of Oin's more powerful sleeping draughts and Ori elbows deep in the ruins of the great library, the others had gathered in one of the lesser halls on a matter of great importance.
Namely, how to fix this gods forsaken mess!
"I thought for sure after the battle they'd-" Bofur began, unofficially starting off the secret meeting when silence ruled the table for longer than either dwarf or hobbit were strictly comfortable with.
"I'll say," Gloin broke in. "I lost a purse full of gold on that wager."
"Serves you right, nasty habit, betting," Dori sniffed, tutting a bit as Nori rolled his eyes, using the tines of his fork to clean his nails beside him.
"Oy! I seem to remember someone asking the odds just last week," Gloin pointed out indignantly, waving a leg of pheasant accusingly as Fili and Kili made a point to start refilling everyone's ale.
"Yes, but I didn't bet, there's a difference, you know! Besides, this is my brother we're talking about; I deserve to know the odds," Dori returned, looking slightly miffed at the suggestion as Bilbo wriggled in his seat, earning a strained look from Thorin as the hobbit's curls bounced becomingly.
"Only Ori and Dwalin could turn something so simple into such a god awful mess," Bombur sighed, munching contentedly on a joint of salted pork, using everyone's distraction to claim the best cuts for himself.
"It's rare, I'll grant you. But every once in a while a bond needs a helping hand to solidify," Balin said wisely.
"I'm really not sure we should interfere," Dori fussed. "I mean, let's be honest, what we're proposing here is nothing less than subterfuge."
"Well, all this waiting isn't doing them much good either - the strain alone," Thorin stated, speaking up for the first time from his seat at the head of the table. "Mahal knows why they are resisting, but this has to come to an end. And soon or they are going to do themselves irreparable damage."
The company stewed on this for a moment, taking to their tankards and plates as they considered their King's words. It was widely known that Thorin's sister, Dis, mother of his heirs was of the soul-bonded. She'd happened upon her one quite by accident, nearly half a century before Smaug. He'd been a wandering minstrel from the Iron Hills, the leader of a small troupe of performers and musicians that had become quite popular in the intervening decade.
Destan had been a comely thing with a handsome blond beard carefully woven with thin lines of finely beaten copper. He'd been personable, likeable and was well known to be a fair master, both in matters of business and the internal politics that comes from traveling from one kingdom to the next. The story of their meeting had quickly become legend. He and his company had been granted entrance for the season and naturally, offered their services to the King's Court that evening, promising a night of song and entertainment for all.
And entertaining it had been, though, likely not of the sort that either party had been expecting. For when Destan approached the royal table, Dis had taken one look at him and fallen clear off her chair. Destan, for his part, had clutched at his right hip, teeth gritted as an arc of pure gold shone through his layers.
You could've heard a pin drop when Dis poked her head out from underneath the table, ignoring Frerin and Thorin who were trying their best to pull her off the flagstones. Everyone was too busy staring at the mark, high on her breast, shining through the elegant scooped collar of her dress.
Dis had punched him clean in the nose and flounced off, nose in the air when the dwarf had stumbled within reach. Sending the entire kingdom into an uproar as everyone started milling around – yelling – as Thorin and Frerin collapsed back into their chairs, shaking with silent laughter.
He wasn't sure who'd looked more surprised, Thrain or Destan as they'd watched her go. The blond was clearly love-struck already as he bled all over his performing silks, ignoring his employees as they'd tried to sop up the worst of the damage as the entire hall descended into chaos.
They'd been married within a fortnight and utterly inseparable from that night on.
Thror had been furious, having to completely scrap a tenuous treaty with the Fire-beards of the Far East - one he'd been hoping to secure with a marriage between his only granddaughter and the Fire-beard's eldest son. But there had been nothing for it. Mahal's Script was clear. And despite their less than favorable beginnings, Dis had taken it upon herself to seek him out a few hours later, setting his broken nose herself.
The mountain's rumor mills had all but exploded with the news – some even going so far as to suggest that Destan had been so taken with her, he hadn't realized she was royalty until the following morning when he was summoned to Thror's chambers to begin the marriage negotiations.
There was a sigh from the other end of the table before Nori flicked one of his brother's braids and made to speak.
"I don't like it any more than you do, Dor. But they're tying themselves into knots," Nori began, breaking the silence. "Ori is projecting so badly I get anxious doing anything more complicated than taking a piss," Nori added, slamming his tankard down on the table with a bit more force than necessary.
Dori winced at the crudeness but didn't disagree.
"It's worse than that. The way they're going, they're running the risk of the fading," Oin said, sobering the table almost immediately. "As friends and family, it is our duty to see this sorted."
"It's settled then," Fili broke in. "Something must be done."
"But what?" Kili parroted, hair mussed from rubbing his braids together in worry. The young dwarf was especially distraught after he'd witnessed Dori and Nori running after their brother that day in the tents. They'd brought him back hours later on a stretcher, bloodied and pale. Oin had said a head wound and the stress of the unrealized bond were to blame. Still, it had taken three days for the dwarf to come out of it, Dwalin even longer.
"We could lock them in the vaults and not let them out until they've sorted it out for themselves," Fili proposed, stroking the edges of his beard thoughtfully, looking more like he was thinking aloud rather than seriously considering such a plan.
"Too risky," Oin interjected, jamming his trumpet more firmly into his ear, "not to mention too simple. They're stubborn, not dim."
Bifur growled something, smacking the table emphatically. Dori's refusal was swift. "Certainly not! That was hardly acceptable in the old days! Besides how do you propose we convince the two of them to drop trou in the mud pits and not wonder why? Heat addled or not, that's not exactly subtle."
"Lacks a certain finesse anyway," Balin agreed, patting ale out of his beard as Kili spat a mouthful clear across the table, gaping at Bifur with a macabre sort of curiosity. Fili just looked around desperately for another tankard of ale to drown himself in.
Bifur grumbled.
"I don't care how you met your wife!" Dori shrilled. "Our brother is not committing a felony his first week under the mountain! Not even for the greater good!" ignoring Nori when his brother snorted into his ale.
"I believe the weight of the issue rests in the fact that Dwalin's never met a problem he can't intimidate," Balin murmured, his sigh long suffering as he exchanged a knowing glance with Thorin from across the table.
"Ori is not a problem!" Dori butted in, slamming his fist on the table with such force that Gloin and Fili curled their hands protectively around their tankards.
"That is not what I meant! In his eyes Ori is a problem purely because he has no idea what to do with him. Neither of them could ask for a better match and yet, here we are!" Balin returned, a sober silence reining in his wake.
Kili twisted his braids in distress.
Dori just looked slightly mollified.
"Arguing that point is getting us nowhere," Oin interjected, wisely steering the conversation away from rougher waters.
"Well, be that as it may, this cannot continue," Thorin stated, kicking out and stretching backwards, clearly trying to get comfortable as Bilbo moved their plates safety out of the way.
"Agreed!" everyone yelled, raising their tankards in unison, finally able to agree on something as they drained them as one.
"They are a bit of an odd pair," Bilbo spoke up, earning himself the attention of all as he fiddled with a crust of bread. Thorin just looked ridiculously content as he nudged another plate of sweet bread in the hobbit's direction.
"Not as odd as you'd think," Bofur replied, hat flapping this way and that in a clear negative. "You didn't see the lad on the battlefield. Scribe or not, he took to a battle ax like he'd been born to swing it."
"Aye," Bombur agreed, "Ori's strong willed and sharp when needed, but easy and sweet until his temper's been riled. They're a good match by all accounts."
"True, the lad has talent. There's no denying," Gloin agreed, tossing a cookie towards Kili who was still sporting the expression of a particularly miserable looking puppy – staring moodily into his ale until the treat caught him square on the nose. "Pity he has his heart set on being a paper-scratcher. I know at least a dozen masters who'd jump at the chance to train him."
"We are getting off track," Fili reminded, "we need to come up with some sort of plan and soon. Oin can only keep Dwalin in the infirmary for so long and if we don't act now, the way they're going, one of them could do something stupid, like leave or worse-"
"Worse!? What could be worse than leaving!?" Kili cried. "We only just got here!"
"Best not think of that, laddie," Gloin returned, refilling Kili's tankard with a generous measure. "Besides, we aren't at that point just yet."
"I can't blame them, makes sense, really," Bilbo commented, looking thoughtful as he considered the matter logically, mentally reviewing all their interactions over the past few months.
"How so?" Thorin asked, genuinely curious as he favored the hobbit with an indulgent look, letting Bilbo refill his goblet before he took healthy swallow, sling tucked carefully at his side.
"Well, think about it, two dwarves who've never met. Couldn't be more opposite, with no common ground, nothing to base a relationship on other than their current circumstances and they suddenly discover - before they can even so much as say hello – that they have this bond of yours," Bilbo continued, stabbing a piece of tater with his fork as if to lend credence to his point.
"But that's how it's supposed to work, laddie!" Oin almost howled, beating his fists on the table as Bofur and Bombur slammed their heads together in sheer frustration. Bifur just muttered darkly in Khuzdul.
Balin huffed into his beard. "I know my brother. He is one of the most stubborn dwarves I've ever met. I have little doubt he is under the mistaken belief he doesn't deserve your brother," he replied, nodding towards the Ri brothers before continuing. "And if I know the lad at all, he is under the same impression."
Bilbo perked up at this, looking like he was about to say something before Nori cleared his throat.
The dwarf was deep in his pipe, but unusually somber when he made to speak. "Just before Ori was born, our mother came down with the fever. She was a few months away from her date, but the healer told her, if there was a chance for both of them to pull through, it had to be now. She was already so weak. We tried to talk sense into her, to make her understand it was a long shot at best. But she wouldn't hear of anything else. She was determined to bring another child into the world and would settle for nothing less."
"But what the healer didn't tell her, when he gave her the herbs to speed it along, was that the babe might be born, but likely wouldn't last the night. Hope for the best, but don't dare for a miracle – ain't that right Dor?" Nori continued, pausing as a wreath of smoke filtered through the air above his head.
"He was born small, just like you'd expect from coming too early. But he came out of our mother squalling - fighting." Nori insisted, knuckles rapping smartly across the table as he gritted out the last word.
"Aye and mind he was as polite as anything while she was carrying him," Dori broke in, steepling his fingers. "Very little fuss. Mother always said he was the easiest of the three."
"And sure, he made a right mess of things," Nori snorted, "trying to come out arse first until the healer put him to rights, but he arrived all the same. He made it through the night. We were told to expect two deaths – two - but Ori pulled through," Nori finished, using the respectful silence to knock a pip of ash from his pipe, taking a generous sip from his tankard as the words aired out.
"Not only that, he went on to become the youngest scribe in over six hundred years to be apprenticed to a master. Before he was even of age!" Dori added, all fierce pride and well deserved smugness as he looked around at the others – nodding.
"And with good reason," Balin interjected. "Mahal blessed me with the foresight to recognize his talent and be able to snatch him up before anyone else could. The lad is still quite coveted in the historical circles, especially after his paper on the difference between-"
"The point is," Nori interrupted, "I will be god damned if we're going to lose him just because the two of them are too stubborn to untangle their heads from each other's arses to actually see one another," Nori growled, finishing to a round of 'here-heres' and 'quite rights!' as the hall rang with agreement.
"Now, all we need is a plan!" Kili replied, hopeful expression falling when the circle of dwarrows fell silent, all wrinkled brows and furrowed expressions. Thorin thunked his head back against the head rest in despair, cursing Dwalin and his block-headedness as Bifur sunk one of his throwing knives hilt deep into the table and twisted.
Bilbo just smiled, looking around him with the air of a wine-master about to present a particularly rare vintage.
"Gentlemen, I believe I have an idea…"
A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Hope you are enjoying!