Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Bofur noticed the big, quiet shadow in the corner of Bombur’s tavern, he paid it no mind. Some of the guards and warriors liked a drink away from their fellows once in a while and Bombur’s place was reliably cheerful and full of good things to eat. Bombur didn’t need to run the tavern, just like Bofur didn’t need to trek down the mine four days in eight; the remains of the shares of Erebor’s treasure even after the Elves and Dale-Men had gotten a cut had been substantial. But Bombur liked the work and the folk that gathered there and Bofur spent most of his off time there. 

Bofur noted the presence and dismissed it, waving his hat and stomping in time to the perfectly filthy song Fíli was singing in an attempt to make Ori blush. (It wouldn’t work. With a sibling like Nori, Ori was unflappable in certain areas. Creative threats. Innuendo. The exact amount of pressure you had to use to pop a knee joint out of place.)

The next time Bofur looked up, that corner had been taken over by three short, gray-haired cousins he recognized from the mines. He nodded at them companionably and the youngest twitched her beard braid over her shoulder in an overblown flirtatious way, winking to make him laugh.

Fíli plopped down beside Bofur, rolling his shoulder a bit and wincing.  “How’s that silver vein turning out? It’s been weeks since you uncovered it.” He tossed Bofur a biscuit.

“Well enough, well enough,” Bofur said. “There won’t be much coming out of it until we hit the main lode. We’ve had to reconstruct a lot of the old safety gear from scratch, re-prop several tunnels, and clear debris out of a bunch of the ventilation shafts. ”

“I thought it would be something like that. The jewellers are apparently complaining about the output. Last I heard, Dori was preparing to duel half the guild if they didn’t stop whining about how long it’s taken to get the mines back in operation.” Fíli crunched his own biscuit. “Ori says he’s duelled a lot of idiots so far.”

Bofur winced, picturing Dori’s crystalline beauty concentrated into diamond irritation behind the heavy maul he wielded. “Any fatalities?”

“Not yet. He’s been careful.” Fíli grinned. “And once they’re all properly terrified, we send Mister Baggins in to talk at them until they’re flummoxed and willing to agree that of course the miners’ safety is paramount and they’ll wait for their silver like patient dwarves.”

“Cheers to that.” Bofur toasted Fíli, then scooted over on the bench to make room for Ori, who was wrapped in approximately six scarves (resembling a woolen barrel more than anything else) and carrying two bowls of pottage. “Ori, lass, I hear your brother’s causing a ruckus.”

She nodded. “Somebody proposed to him yesterday, that’s four this month so far.”

Bofur startled into a snort of laughter. “I meant the duels!”

Ori rolled her eyes. “That’s nothing new. He was challenging dwarves who gave offense all the time back in the Blue Mountains. He didn’t get proposals back then because we weren’t wealthy enough.” She slurped a bite of pottage. “Well, he didn’t get marriage proposals.”

Fíli looked a little shocked.

Ori snickered. “Not all of us grew up princesses of the line of Durin.”

Bofur nodded in commiseration. “Bombur got a bit of rude attention too.”

“Nobody does that anymore though, right?” Fíli asked, twiddling his spoon and frowning down at it. “There’s nobody harassing any of our people?”

“Dwalin sets them right if anyone starts,” Ori said. "Or Nori if someone's being sneaky about it," she added viciously. 

Bofur frowned. "We've had no trouble at all here that I've heard of."

"Well, no, you wouldn't," Ori said around another mouthful of dinner. 

"Why's that?" Bofur asked, frowning. "Bombur would mention it if anyone gave their servers trouble."

Ori cocked her head. "Because Dwalin's here regular and will pulverize anyone who upsets your family."

Fíli nodded. " That's certain. I didn't know this was where they'd been wandering off to, though. They never said."

"I haven't seen them," Bofur said, confused. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Ori said, and shoveled the rest of her dinner into her mouth, which made it hard to ask questions. Bofur would just have to keep an eye out.

Dwalin slapped the recruit's sword out the way and stepped in close. They slammed Grasper into her shield with just enough force to jar the other dwarf into pausing, and put Keeper to the side of her neck. "Dead. Well done with the feint and good persistence. Work on building up your strength, and talk to the drill sergeant for some footwork exercises." 

She backed off, panting, and nodded. "Aye."

Dwalin headed back to the bench. They mopped sweat off their head and took a long drink of water. Fíli was lounging there, humming and swinging a lazy foot. 

"Are you waiting for some practice?" Dwalin asked. "I can run you around the ring a half dozen times or so."

"Óin still has me on health restriction," Fíli said, looking genuinely regretful. Dwalin hadn’t seen him in the practice yards in weeks and guessed he must be getting twitchy from the lack of exercise.

"Slow work?"

"Probably fine."

"I won't tattle this time. So long as you say if something hurts," Dwalin said. 

Fíli grinned and pulled his swords out from under the bench, jumping right up. 

"Rascal," Dwalin said fondly. They picked their axes up again and spun Grasper in a lazy circle. Fíli raised his swords into guard. The two of them fell into pattern as easy as breath, circling and throwing shots in quarter time and without power, focusing on each other’s movements and their own forms. Dwalin’s reach was greater and frame bigger, so Fíli had to keep moving and keep trying to close the distance to get in range to strike. Dwalin smiled to see Fíli moving so well; he still hadn’t got back all of the muscle he’d lost convalescing after the battle, but even a dwarf needed time and work to put so much damage aright.

Fíli’s left blade faltered on a block and he stepped back out of the pattern to shake his arm loose, swearing. “Mahal’s tits, I’m sick of this.”

“Mahal’s got more work to do than rebuild your arm from scratch,” Dwalin said. “You’ve been doing your stretches?”

Fíli rolled his eyes. “Yes. I’ve only got Uncle, and Mother, and Kíli, and Ori to remind me. If I didn’t go down to Bombur’s tavern every so often, I’d have nothing but stretches and king-training.”

Dwalin inspected Keeper’s edge carefully for nicks. “Well, good.”

“I hear you’ve been spending some time there too,” Fíli added cheerfully. “Good to get out, see some of the Company, eh?”

“Hrm,” Dwalin grumbled.

“Funny thing though, Bofur’s there all the time and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of you.”

“Must’ve missed each other.”

Fíli grinned. Dwalin ignored it. 

They still slipped into the back corner the next evening to keep an eye on the place until Bofur got in. It wouldn’t do to have Bombur’s hard work in making the place friendly get disrupted by someone getting too drunk and making a nuisance of themselves.

Kíli was taking a shift shadowing the engineers responsible for the silver vein, so Bofur invited himself along for the afternoon. They spent a busy couple of hours propping and reshoring a side tunnel that looked like it might damage the structural integrity a little further on if it collapsed. When Kíli, dusty and sweaty but cheerful, clapped Bofur on the shoulder and suggested the baths, he was only too happy to agree. 

After a quick sluicedown over the grate that fed the irrigation pipes, they settled in to soak. Kíli sank into the water up to the end of their finally-filling-in beard and sighed happily. 

"Much better."

Bofur bubbled agreement. The water lapped soothingly against his ears and he let some of the aches of the day drift away with it. 

"Surprised Dwalin, Uncle, and Mum aren't here. They usually have a soak, then talk politics with Balin in the steam room." 

"Mhm?"

"Just as well we missed them," Kíli muttered. "If I have to hear about dye tariffs in the baths one more time, I'm going to fall asleep and drown. At least Dwalin doesn't bring that stuff up."

"Only because they don't talk outside the sparring ring?" Bofur asked. 

"No, because they know I've enough of it elsewhere. They've been going over supply lines and camp planning with me," Kíli said, surprised. 

Bofur fiddled with his moustaches. "Is it just me they don't talk to then?" Bofur had thought there was a sort of general, if distant, friendliness between the two of them during the quest. Dwalin sang along with songs, laughed at his jokes, and stopped by long enough to compliment Bombur's cooking and Bofur's knife sharpening while they camped. He’d liked it; liked the courtesy that Dwalin showed and it had never seemed like they were being patronized about their skills.

Since everything had shaken out in Erebor, he hadn't got more than two words in a row from Dwalin. He was a bit stumped by it. Balin was pleasant still and didn't seem to notice the difference in their status (gold aside, Bofur was still common as muck and not likely to change), so it didn't make sense for Dwalin to have a pebble up their arse about that. Bofur didn't think he'd embarrassed the Company during the battle. The other possibility was that Dwalin was making themself uncomfortable around him, which...

"That's odd. They've mentioned you a few times. Your work down the mines at least," Kíli said. They splashed about, getting comfortable. "Want me to ask what's what?"

"Nah, I'll sort it out," Bofur said.

By which he meant that he'd resort to sneakiness and the element of surprise.

Bombur was not in the kitchens, for once, when Dwalin slipped in the tavern that evening. Bombur came bustling up with a smile, and prevailed upon them to join the family table for a bite. Kolri, Bombur's spouse, paused in spooning broth into the toddling twins to welcome them effusively. Bifur looked up long enough to nod pleasantly, then returned to her contemplation of a plate of leeks and radishes. Dwalin mumbled a greeting to everyone and accepted the plate that Bombur passed them. 

"Haven't seen much of you," Bombur said. "Hear you've been keeping an eye out though. Thanks."

Dwalin winced. "'s no trouble." 

The first bite was buttery with pastry and rich with ham and boiled egg. That pie was worth the risk of coming face to face with Bofur. Dwalin set to with a will, nodding thanks when Bombur's oldest, Bomir, slid them a mug of ale to wash it all down. 

The family chatted, Dwalin ate and listened. The miners guild was heading into another clash with the jewellers if those jewellers didn't listen to Dori. Dwalin saw the sparks of it. Thorin'd have to set Nori whispering, Bilbo pouring genteel cups of tea, Glóin playing bluff and hearty, and Dís being imperiously ladylike at folks if those sparks kindled any further. 

Dwalin caught Bombur's sidelong look after one of the pieces of gossip and saw that they were being fed that information on purpose. Then, talk turned to more homely things, and the middle three dwarflings brought out their drums to show the counter-rhythm they were working on. 

Bifur straightened up at the beat and started tapping her toes, then swooped Bomir up in her arms and danced them both around the table. Bomir laughed and protested that she was working, then ducked out and grabbed Bofur, pushing him into Bifur's grasp to take her place. Bofur laughed and spun, and slid Bifur into Bombur's arms. Some of the customers picked up the rhythm and someone pulled out a penny-pipe to add a melody. Bifur laughed, her craggy face seaming into lines of pleasure. Dwalin was so distracted seeing the old toymaker-warrior joyful with her family, that Bofur didn't register until the miner was stood in front of them, holding out a hand and smiling, quiet and calm-eyed and not expectant, but hopeful. 

"Come on and dance with me," Bofur suggested. "You can court me later, if that's what you decide you want to do."

Dwalin's face went forge hot. "Don't know what you're on about," they grumbled, but took his hand and stood anyway. 

Bofur pulled Dwalin into the jig and they let him. 

The two dwarves clapped and stomped and shouted along as it turned into a cooking song that Bombur made up. Bofur laughed and Dwalin missed a step and nearly knocked him down over-correcting. Bofur patted them on the shoulder and nodded back at the bar. Dwalin went reluctantly, but Bofur just passed them a beer and leaned back against the bar, watching the merriment that was by now more taverngoers than his family. Not by a large margin, mind.

"What've you been thinking, then?" Bofur asked finally.

"Nothing. Just keeping an eye on the place when you can't watch it. Bombur's looking to make folk happy, not spot trouble."

"Bombur's not so guileless as all that," Bofur said. "Not that we mind the help. It's just odd not seeing you anymore, but for out of the corner of my eye."

"Didn't reckon on you seeing me at all," Dwalin admitted. 

"I didn't notice at first, 'til some of the nosy lots we call friends said something. You weren't a problem, so I didn't pay attention. After I knew to look…" Bofur shrugged. 

"You're canny," Dwalin said. 

"I try."

"So you arranged a dinner and set your family to dancing to catch me into a talk?"

"A bit. Nori's taught me a little about shuffling people into place." Bofur's eyes twinkled over the rim of his mug as he took another drink. 

Dwalin huffed out a laugh, tickled in spite of themself. 

Bofur grinned at them. "So I've got you here and talking. Now, what's your aim, Dwalin Fundinul?"

Dwalin's fingers tightened on the mug. "I haven't said because I don't know. I would not insult you or your family by making promises lightly, not even promises of promises." That had come out clumsier than they intended. 

Bofur's mouth worked as he parsed it. "I'm glad to hear it."

"I don't know that I would be a good partner to you," Dwalin added more plainly. "I've little practice in it."

"... do you want to be?"

"Aye."

"That's the first step." Bofur smiled crookedly. "Well, I'll let you think on it. I'd like if you talked to me from time to time and disappeared a little slower once I've got off work."

"I can do that," Dwalin agreed. They could try.  

"Bring your viol with you sometime," Bofur added. "It'd be good to dance to."

"Are you courting yet?" Kíli demanded. Bofur flung out his hands in self defense before realizing it was a nosy royal in his face and not some greater danger. 

"No," he said patiently. "Everyone has to have decided they want there to be courting for that."

Kíli groaned. Gandalf stooped over as he entered, just in time to hear it. "Still nothing, young Master Bofur? This dilly dallying is becoming tedious. Hobbits are much more sensible in these matters."

Bofur rolled his eyes. "What would you suggest, then?"

Gandalf settled at a table that was only slightly ridiculously small for him. "Oh, I don't know. Make a public present or some grand gesture? I understand that's a crucial step in dwarven courtship."

Both Bofur and Kíli looked at Gandalf in some horror. 

"After the dwarves in question are engaged to be married ," Kíli said. "After several years of seeing each other."

"Ah, I must have mixed up whose customs were whose," Gandalf said placidly. 

Bofur eyed him. "Nori's running the book and you bet on too early," he said. "Both of you."

Kíli looked vaguely guilty. Gandalf did not. "Your friends only wish you to be happy," he said cheerfully. "The sooner the better."

"At least I didn't suggest a troth gift before they've even had a family dinner together," Kíli muttered. 

Bofur paused.

"You have?"

"Well, sort of." Bofur fiddled with his hat. "Bombur invited them. Dwalin didn't realize I was there until after the meal. Might as well say they're courting Bifur."

"Well, that's it then. Invite them to dinner properly and if they accept, then I'll mention it to Balin. Can't trust Dwalin to do it, they'll get hung up on whether you'd come…" the younger dwarf bustled towards the door. 

"Kíli!" Bofur protested. They didn't even slow down. 

Gandalf lit his pipe without bothering to use a match and smiled his all-knowing wizard smile. Bofur sighed. 

"Don't you have wizard things to be doing?"

"Not at this time," Gandalf said. "I'm not due to the Elvenking's realm for a few weeks yet, so you've got that long at least to sort things out."

"I'm not getting myself a sweetheart on your timeline," Bofur informed him.

"We shall see. Ah, young mistress Bomir, do be so good as to fetch me some of your parent's excellent bread, cheese, and pickles."

Dwalin stomped around all the next day, red from scalp to chin, and nearly snapped at Óin when she had the temerity to ask if they were coming down with some sort of ailment. 

It was embarrassing to be this confused still. Dwalin was a grown dwarf, a war veteran and the captain of Thorin's army, not some sort of waffling youngster. Balin, craftbonded as he was, was no help whatsoever. 

"You're clearly having...feelings," Balin said sympathetically, brushing his beard into a tidy, symmetrical poof of silver and twisting the ends to make it stay. "I'm going to suggest Glóin as more of an expert in these matters than I. Go have tea with our cousin and see if she can't sort you out."

"Interfere, more like," Dwalin grumbled, grabbing the brush and setting to work on Balin's hair.  

"You can, of course, continue to muse it over yourself," Balin said. "I have great faith in your problem-solving abilities." He eyed them in the mirror. 

Dwalin sighed. "In other realms of expertise, mayhaps."

"I'm sure it's not that different."

"You'd be surprised," Dwalin said gloomily. "I suppose I will speak with Glóin. She's lovesick over Gírim still after sixty-odd years, she might know something about it."

"Good. I wish you the best whatever you decide, my dear sib."

"I know." Dwalin set the silver brush aside. 

Balin knocked his forehead into Dwalin's and bid them goodbye.

Dwalin, shoulders slumped, went to Glóin's house. 

Gimli answered the door and tackled Dwalin in a delighted hug. 

"Haven't seen you in ages!"

Dwalin scrubbed a hand through Gimli's braids. "Come down to the practice yards and show your axe skills and you'll see me plenty, youngster."

Gimli struggled free, laughing.  "Yes, yes, and so I shall. Have you come to see amad and ma?"

"To have tea and talk about the mysteries of love."

Gimli grimaced. "That sounds like nothing you need me for."

"Not if you're bored by it," Dwalin said, grinning. Gimli laughed, squeezed Dwalin tight enough to make them huff out a breath, and waved goodbye. 

"Good arms on the lad nowadays," Dwalin said to Glóin, who was watching fondly. 

"He takes after me," she said, beaming. "Come in, cousin, come in and I'll have my jewel add another plate to the table."

Gírim was cleaning her knives at the side table, but reached up and tossed a plate to Glóin, who caught it handily and spun it onto the dining table in front of Dwalin.

“The pork buns should be just finished steaming,” Glóin said. “Get the kettle for me.”

Dwalin transferred kettle to table, then went ahead and pulled the steam-basket off its pot as well while Glóin dug through the tea selection and Gírim finished tidying her knives away. Signing a quick thanks at Dwalin, she swept the pile of wood shavings from her carving into the basket by the stove and went to wash her hands at the basin.

“Excellent, excellent,” Glóin boomed, coming up with a green tea that smelled of flowers and a black tea with a hint of cinnamon. “Your preference?”

The three dwarves went through the ritual of tea-pouring and settled in, each inhaling the first of the buns before slowing to a more genteel pace. 

“Now, cousin Dwalin, what brings you to tea today?”

Dwalin felt their face heat. "I was wondering if you can tell me how to find out if I'm in love," they muttered. Glóin beamed. Gírim sighed. 

Now you've given her an opening. Gírim signed. She'll be impossible all day. 

"But my darling," Glóin said happily. "You know I can't help myself. You're the most precious beauty in the mountain and hardly anyone gives me the chance to expound upon it!"

Gírim swatted Glóin, blushing. They didn't ask about that, they asked how to say if they're in love. The whole of dwarfdom knows how you feel about me. 

Glóin drooped. 

You remind me later, Gírim relented. Help your cousin now. 

"Right," Glóin declared, back on track. "It's quite simple."

Dwalin scoffed. 

"It is at the beginning anyhow," she amended. "Question the first: do you find their presence more pleasant than that of others? Do you wish to be near them, whether speaking or silent? Not all the time, to be sure, my jewel would have murdered me years ago if I didn't let her have time to herself."  

Dwalin considered that. 

"Second: do you wish for their happiness in particular? Do you wish to increase that happiness?" Glóin waved an expansive hand. 

"Third: do you admire their skills and accomplishments?"

"Well, of course," Dwalin grumbled. 

"No of course about it, the number of young idiots who can't say as much about the dwarf they've been mooning over for their pretty braids…" Glóin shook her head. "And fourth: have you - and this is optional, mind - thought about kissing them, and was it a pleasant thought? Is there someone else you'd rather be kissing?"

Gírim waved a hand. Flowery words aside: do you like their company, do you want to make them happy, do you respect them? If you desire, would they be someone you want?

"There must be more to it than that," Dwalin said. 

Not to begin with. Courting isn't marriage. It's finding out if you suit.

"That's true," Glóin said. "Can't know if it'll last at the beginning. All you need promise at the outset is to respect them and be honest as you find out how you feel."

Dwalin frowned, but for the first time in weeks didn't feel quite as tied up in confusion. "My thanks, both of you. I'll think on it."

Bofur washed his best coat and hung it by the bread oven to dry. He had changed into clean linens and undone his braids and was just running a comb through them when Bombur tapped on the door. 

"Are you well with this?" Bombur asked, hands twisting nervously. "This thing with Dwalin. Do you think you could be happy with them?"

Bofur went to cuddle his sib. "Maybe. I like them. If they ever make up their mind, I think we might make each other happy."

Bombur relaxed and wrapped both arms around Bofur to squeeze him back. "Well, they'll regret it if they treat you ill."

Bofur laughed. "You won't be their only tormentor either. Now, shall we ask them over to dinner official-like?"

Bombur puffed up importantly. "This time I have enough notice to make something extra nice."

"Aye, sorry." Bofur let Bombur go and went to pull on a clean shirt. "Let me know if you want help with it."

Bombur's eyeroll was impressive. "Just help Búmi carry the shopping and leave the rest to us."

"And clean your boots," Kolri called from the next room. 

"Fine, fine," Bofur said, laughing, and went to fetch young Búmi, keeper of the shopping list. 

Bofur's nibling was as quiet as their siblings were boisterous, but they enjoyed other people's noise, so when Fíli and Kíli sauntered up on either side of them in the marketplace, the little one just grinned and tucked their free arm into Kíli's. 

"Good day to you both," Kíli said cheerfully. "What business brings you to market today?"

Búmi dropped Bofur's hand to dig in their pocket and produce the shopping list. 

"Of course," Kíli said, looking it over carefully. They started grinning. 

Before they could speak, Bofur turned to Fíli and said, "If you see Dwalin, could you warn them I'd like to have a word?"

Fíli laughed. "Did you want them cleaned up nice for the chat, or sweaty and disheveled?"

Bofur's cheeks went hot. Fíli was unfortunately aware of the time that Bofur had walked into a door when he'd unexpectedly come upon Dwalin sweaty and shirtless after a tournament for Thorin's coronation. Dwalin's back muscles still made him a little wobbly if he thought about them for too long. "Cleaned up nice and proper as a hobbit, thanks," Bofur said loftily. 

"We can manage that," Kíli said, passing Búmi's list back and grinning hard enough to cause permanent damage. "Come on, brother! Good to see you, little one," they added, scruffing Búmi's hair gently. "We've got to go get your uncle a suitor!"

Bofur sighed and watched them trot off. "All right, my darlin', what are we after next?"

Búmi consulted the list gravely, then said, "Walnuts. And creampuffs."

"Creampuffs," Bofur repeated, eyeing the list suspiciously. 

Búmi nodded seriously.

"Well, you're the boss," Bofur said, shrugging. 

Búmi's expression cracked into a grin. Little slyboots.

Dwalin was halfway through the supply requests in the horrible undersized cubby they called an office (they needed to pay someone good at room-shaping to open it up to fit a dwarf with a bigger frame) when Fíli and Kíli knocked on the door. They marched in without waiting for an answer and took up the entire rest of the space in there. Dwalin sighed. "What is it? You look smug."

"You've got about an hour and a half to get cleaned up and presentable for a nice dinner invitation," Kíli said breathlessly. They had an even wilder look to their hair than usual and Fíli's left cuff had popped some stitches. 

"Fíli, stop letting your sibling win fights. You can just let them do things without scuffling over it first and then going easy on them," Dwalin said, ignoring the actual words. 

"I didn't let them, they bit me," Fíli protested. He put on an injured expression. "Besides, that's not important. Bofur's doing the shopping for the dinner right now, and some of it's things that don't keep, so what clothes do you need clean for tomorrow? We'll take care of it for you."

"You're awfully certain I'm going to say yes."

Both of them fixed Dwalin with such a deeply disappointed expression that Dwalin sighed and grumbled, "All right, fine, go see if Bilbo remembers where he put that red waistcoat with the copper embroidery that I wore to your mother's nameday party. It was in Thorin's rooms somewhere. Bilbo liked the cut and was hoping to get it copied and I haven't seen it since."

Kíli whooped and raced off. Fíli stayed a moment. "You know we want you to be happy, right?" he said quietly. "That's all this is about. It seems like you and Bofur might make each other happy."

"I know, lad." Dwalin slid out from the little writing desk and leaned over to pat Fíli's shoulder. "You needn't worry over me. I'll manage one way or the other."

"That's just it, though," Fíli said fiercely. "You don't have to manage alone. You don't have to do with bits and pieces. You can have good things."

Dwalin smacked him gently across the ear. "I know that. Now let me choose how to go about it on my own."

Fíli laughed and saluted, "Yes, Dwalin. As you say. Just be at the fountain looking nice in an hour and a half." He ducked out, then stuck his head back around the doorframe.  "And-"

The cushion from the chair caught him a satisfying whump in the face. 

"Fine!" he huffed, and left Dwalin alone. Dwalin retrieved the cushion and sat back down. 

They carefully went over the last of the supply requests, noting down a shortage of leather. Thorin could trade with the Dale-Men for that if there weren't enough hunters in the mountain. Arrowheads and fish hooks for tanned hide. The mountain was becoming a regular place again, with everyday goods to offer instead of relying on gold and gems. 

Then, conscious of the time, Dwalin headed home to tidy up and comb out their beard just in case there were any crumbs hiding in it. 

Fíli found Bofur as he was leaving the market, parcels piled in both arms and Búmi trailing behind him, exhausted from the errands. Fíli caught the little one up in his arms and tossed Búmi just high enough to make them squeak. 

"Dwalin will be at the fountain in about half an hour," he told Bofur, tucking Búmi under his good arm, where they hung limp as a tired puppy. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Just help me get Búmi home to their parents and I can manage the rest."

Together, they bundled dwarfling and food into Bombur's kitchen. Bombur and Kolri received it with the concentrated bustle of professionals and had the provisions squared away and the first of the onions chopped and sizzling in a pan in about half a moment. Fíli waved a goodbye, and Bofur dashed up the stairs. He brushed his boots, washed his face and hands, and combed his mustache. Then, Bofur headed for the fountain square at a quick walk. 

Dwalin was standing there as promised, feet planted and shoulders square, their back to the fountain.

Bofur took a moment to compose himself and remember catching them by surprise in the dancing the other night. He'd like to surprise them again, but not just now. Now was a time for formality. 

Dwalin saw him coming, their gaze sharpening and shoulders tensing for a moment. 

"Good afternoon," Bofur said, once he was close enough. He pulled off his hat and tucked it behind his back. 

"Afternoon, Bofur." Dwalin seemed to be making an effort not to loom, which was considerate of them. He might eventually get the chance to mention that he enjoyed the idea of being loomed over by them. 

"Could I- I'd like to invite you to dinner tomorrow evening with my family," Bofur said. "I should like you to get to know us better."

Dwalin's gaze flicked to the ground, then back up to his. "I'd be honored," they said. "What time would be convenient?"

"Half six."

Dwalin bowed. "I'll be there."

Bofur let out a gusty sigh, and smiled at them. "I'm glad."

Their scalp seemed a little pink beneath the tattoos. "Well," Dwalin mumbled. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

Bofur bowed and fled before the conversation could turn more awkward. 

Bombur smacked him with a carrot when he tried to enter the kitchen to help, so he went out to the public room. He ended up sitting beside Ori and Nori, who were sharing a massive plate of meatballs. Ori was scribbling on a set of translations while she had her dinner. 

Nori winked at Bofur and passed him a beer. "My dear friend…"

"I'm not helping you rig the book," Bofur said. "I know you're running it and I'm not giving you any more details than anyone else."

"You are such a traitor," Nori complained. "Ingrate. After I taught you to spot all those card-sharp tricks. At least tell me if they wear their best clothes tomorrow. You know Fíli and Kíli will have the inside scoop on that from Dwalin's side."

"Stake the place out and see for yourself, lazy."

"I have work to do," Nori said.

"Then I suppose you'll have to find out with everyone else," Bofur said pitilessly.

Nori turned to Ori. "Gemstone, precious sister-"

"Nope!" she said cheerfully. 

"How is a dwarf expected to manage under these circumstances?" Nori demanded.

Bifur patted Nori consolingly on the head and sat next to Bofur, leaning close. Good luck, she signed. We love you.

Nori sputtered and attempted to undo Bifur’s mussing. 

Bofur leaned against his cousin. "I know. Thanks."

Play your flute. Get sleep. Don’t be afraid. Bifur knocked her forehead against Bofur’s. But finish your drink first.

Bofur laughed. “As you say.” He tossed it back, hugged Bifur, waved goodbye to Ori and Nori who were arguing over their dinner, and went to fetch his flute. It was a good idea. Stuffing his pockets with carrot and onion pastries from the kitchen, he headed to the gallery above the market hall. 

Bofur leaned back against a pillar, one side to the empty space, and ate, enjoying the rhythm of a bustling dwarf community. Erebor's sounds rang different than the Blue Mountains, different than Dale, different than thirteen dwarves and a hobbit on the road, even with all of them talking at once. The ebb and flow of haggling and gossip got into his bones and set him humming. He finished eating, brushed crumbs from his lap and hands, and pulled out his reed-flute. 

It was nonsense, with no proper tune, but he fit the notes into the spaces in the buzz of conversation below, and made a song for himself.

Kíli had managed to unearth the waistcoat from the bottom of Bilbo’s closet and had personally brushed it, hung it in the steam room to get the wrinkles out, and presented it at Dwalin’s door at a truly unmentionable time of the morning. Dwalin was not an early riser by choice and had just barely managed to restrain themself from greeting Kíli with a thrown boot.

Balin looked smug to see them up so early, but then Balin had let Kíli in. So Dwalin glowered at him over eggs and pickled vegetables. 

"I hope you have a good evening," Balin said. "Do let me know if we will be returning the invitation."

Dwalin ignored him. 

Balin laid a hand on their shoulder. "I wish you the best," he said gently. 

Dwalin nodded. "I'll see you tonight," they said. "Now get on with you. You've work to do and so do I."

Two hours later, Dwalin had scrubbed the visible surfaces of their apartments to a military shine, mended the hole Thorin had put in the knee of their trousers the last time they sparred together, and beat the dust out of every fur and rug they and Balin owned. They dunked their head in the water barrel and came up with a whoosh of air. There were ten hours yet before dinner with Bofur and his family and not enough tasks to fill that time. Bathing and dressing would take, at most, an hour. 

Surprise inspection time. 

Dwalin climbed to the highest lookout point in the mountain. Though an unpopular posting, it was one that wouldn't go unmanned with Thorin on the throne. Smaug might be dead, but it was not the only fell thing to ever roam the skies. Luckily, the sentry on duty was bright-eyed and alert. She was not, however, alone. 

"Captain-General Dwalin!" Nori exclaimed, with unnecessary cheer. "What brings you to the aerie this morning?"

"Inspections," they said, nodding satisfaction to the guard, who relaxed slightly. "What of you, Sneak-thief-Noble Nori?"

"My feet," Nori said, smirking. Ze patted Dwalin on the cheek, then danced back out of swatting range. Their rivalry was an Erebor legend, passed on by those who knew of them in the Blue Mountains. It was very useful. Dwalin heard the faintest crinkle of paper that hadn't been in their coat before, but didn't acknowledge it.

"Perhaps your feet should take you somewhere else," they rumbled. 

"Oh, not until I'm caught up on the latest gossip," Nori said. "Is it true that Bofur spent last evening playing mournful love songs on his flute for the whole marketplace to hear?"

Dwalin felt their whole scalp go hot. "I've no idea," they growled. 

"Would you like it to be true?" Nori asked slyly.

"I think you've worn out your welcome," Dwalin said, jaw clenching. 

Nori shrugged and left, waving as ze went.

They didn’t like the idea of it. They didn’t want Bofur hurting over them. They wanted his eyes crinkled in laughter, his shoulders loose, and step jaunty, and if he did mourn, let it be for something more worthy than their indecision. Bofur’s face was made for smiling. Dwalin wanted to give him reason to smile more often, and they wanted to see it.

The sentry was sneaking looks at them. 

“Carry on,” they said stiffly, and left.

Dwalin made their way down through the mountain with no more commentary. Most of the sentries and guards were alert, and those few who weren’t smartened up with only a stony look or sharp word. The note in their pocket from Nori turned out to be addressed to Thorin. They left it on Bilbo’s desk as they checked on the royal quarters. Bilbo was sly-fingered enough to pass it on without drawing notice.

On the battlements above the gates, Dwalin took a moment to look out over the valley. Dale was still rebuilding. The stones of broken towers still loomed in a few places where they hadn’t yet been taken apart for materials. The place looked like a real town again, though, settled by the living instead of picked through by scavengers. The line of merchants and craftspeople leading back and forth between the gates was heartening. 

Some of them were Men, and some Dáin's dwarves from the Iron Hills. There were even a few lanky forms in Mirkwood green and grey, but they went only lightly armed and carried packs that lent themselves more to travel than campaign. Most of them though, were Thorin's folk. The halls in the Blue Mountains had emptied not only of those who'd come first as refugees, but also the families they'd married into and befriended, and dwarves simply looking for a new life. 

Dwalin felt the weight of responsibility for all those folk on their shoulders as they meandered deeper into the mountain. To be fair, they weren't the only one. Thorin and Dís had borne it longer than Dwalin had, Fíli was learning it now. 

Dwalin imagined bearing that weight with Bofur beside them and even in imagination, Bofur's bright face was a small relief. They leaned against the stone wall outside a storeroom and thought about what Glóin had said. They liked Bofur's company, they liked being near him, poor as they'd been at showing it lately. His work in the mines was careful and practical and his care for others warmed their heart. They wished very much for his happiness. 

The idea of kissing Bofur's laughing mouth, gathering him up in their arms and breathing in that joy, that staggered Dwalin. They slid down the wall to just sit for a moment. 

One of the cats that guarded the storerooms came over to yell at them imperiously for the dramatics, but subsided when they rubbed a finger between its ears.

Dwalin desired Bofur. They respected him and wanted his company and his happiness. And they were having dinner this evening. Everything else would sort itself out. Dwalin pushed up off the ground and maneuvered politely around the cat, even though it got in the way three times. They set out with new energy to complete their inspection. It wouldn't do to neglect any of the posts, or folk would shirk. Dwalin started humming to themself. It would be well.

Bofur had to take a moment to himself after inviting Dwalin in and getting them seated. Dwalin had bowed politely to them all, but their eyes kept fixing on Bofur’s face. It made his heart quicken and his hopes rise.

Komur and the twins were a fine distraction, luckily, chattering at full speed about their new beard hairs and the interesting bug the twins had found and poked and Komur’s attempts at songwriting. Dwalin looked as fine as any noble - which they were, of course, they just normally dressed in working clothes - wearing a red waistcoat shining with embroidery and fine brown wool shirt under their coat. Their earcuffs had red enamel patterns that matched the waistcoat, and their hair and beard were brushed. Nori would be cackling and adjusting the odds.

Bofur had dressed with care and oiled and rebraided his hair, and been shooed away from the kitchen three more times today, so he hadn’t spilt anything on his clothes yet. If Dori or Balin or Bilbo had been the ones at the table, he’d have still felt rumpled beyond repair, but it was Dwalin, who had once personally pitched Fíli into a mud puddle and then got tackled into the same one by Kíli and Ori. Dwalin listened carefully to the dwarflings, nodding at the merits of large beetles and biscuits. Bofur liked them all the more for it. Dwalin looked well with his family. 

Bifur smiled from across the table where she was lounging. She had placed bowls and plates in front of each seat earlier in the afternoon.  Now she tossed spoons into place beside the crockery as Búmi finished polishing them. Bombur and Kolri finally emerged from the kitchen with heaping dishes, Bomir and Borur following more carefully with a massive basket of flatbreads between them. 

Bofur, nerve back, shooed the youngsters to their own seats and slid in beside Dwalin. "You look very handsomely put together tonight," he said quietly, eyes down and tracing the knotwork on the leather cuffs that were the closest thing to armour Dwalin wore tonight. 

"You look lovely yourself," Dwalin said back, sounding a bit awkward, but like they meant it. "It was a fine day when the silver in your mustache grew so bright."

Bofur glanced up, startled. That had been a year or more back, when the strands of grey that had streaked it for a decade finally grew more thickly than the dark hair. Dwalin's head was pinker than usual, the scar across their brow and nose standing out paler. Bofur's mouth curled in pleasure, and Dwalin's gaze dropped to fix on it.

Bombur finished arranging the dishes on the table at last, beaming at the spread in justified pride. 

"Welcome, Dwalin child of Fundin, to our home and table," Bombur said. "Come and eat and talk with us."

Dwalin stood and bowed again in thanks, and when they sat back down, their big hand landed gently on Bofur's. Bofur turned his over to clasp it for a moment, marveling. But then it was time to eat.

The stew was full of chicken and raisins and onion and cream and the spices that Kolri got from home, brought by the traders from the south who had started visiting Dale again. The flatbread dripped with butter. Carrot and cauliflower pickles sat at intervals along the table to cut through the spices. Delicate pastry puffs full of fresh fig jam and walnuts sat on the side table for afters. 

"Magnificent," Dwalin said, loud enough for Kolri and Bombur to hear, and got down to the business of eating.  Bofur tucked in too. 

Bombur had charge of the twins tonight, mashing baked potato into their stew and portioning it out in manageable amounts, but Kolri took up the thread of conversation. "Now, Dwalin, we're always pleased to have you here of an evening, but will you not bring your viol sometime? I haven't heard you play in ages."

"Yes!" Borur cried, gesturing with an incautious spoon and nearly flinging sauce. "Komur's got a harmony line for our drums that needs a high part."

"And what's wrong with your uncle's reed-flute?" Dwalin asked. 

"Nothing," Komur said hurriedly, "only the song's got two parts."

"Ah," Dwalin rumbled. "Mayhap. Is the tune finished then?" They swiped a piece of bread through the sauce and stuffed it in their mouth. 

"Yes! We'll show you after dinner," Borur said, with Komur and Búmi nodding enthusiastically along. 

"I'll listen to Bofur play it along with you this time and next time bring my viol," Dwalin concluded. They glanced at Bofur with a question in their eyes. 

"Aye, that'll do right enough," Bofur said, warmed. "Do you want to hear me play, then?"

Dwalin nodded and returned to their plate. Bifur caught the young ones' attention then, and asked them about their lessons, and they were distracted. 

They talked about Fíli and Kíli's attempts to learn how all the trades worked together in the mountains, about Bilbo managing the entire high council of nobles through creative use of tea and biscuits whenever they got shirty about non-Dwarves in the mountain, and Ori bringing him to tears by presenting the Company's yule gift last year - a fully-equipped study in the archives for his writing. Dwalin talked about Óin's medical training program, which was doing only slightly better than her trade portfolio. She ruled the banking guild alongside Glóin in her spare time. Bombur passed on the news from Nori that Dori had turned down another suitor with such grace that she'd declared him her sworn liege and had punched three people in his honor so far. (Nori was gleeful.) 

Bofur definitely did not tell Dwalin what he suspected about Nori's betting book. That was just embarrassing. 

The food was gone before they'd run out of conversation. While the adults took their time over their sweets, the youngsters bolted theirs and ran to fetch their drums. Komur brought Bofur's reed-flute and dragged him up too, waiting impatiently as he gulped water to wash the crumbs out of his mouth. 

Bofur had heard Komur whistling the tune over and over while the three of them practiced their drumming, so he picked it up after only a few false notes and let the reed-flute sing along. He watched Dwalin through his lashes. The big warrior's left hand twitched, working out the fingering for their viol. It was a rhythm that Dwalin could fit into, all of it. The music, and the family, and Bofur's life.

Then Borur broke off her drumming to argue with Komur, and Búmi played the same six beats over again, looking upset at the pattern. Bombur came over to mediate. Bofur patted his niblings and escaped back to the table. 

He leaned over to Dwalin and asked, "Would you step aside with me?"

Dwalin tensed immediately, but nodded. When they stood, Bofur saw their shoulders drop back down, but they still didn't look easy. Bofur led them to the family room in the back of the building.

As soon as they were in the private room, Dwalin took Bofur's hand again. "I'm sorry," they said. 

Bofur flinched, and they let go at once, afraid they'd overstepped. 

Dwalin winced and barrelled on. "I'm sorry if my confusion and cowardice over my own feelings brought you sadness. I've been stewing in my own head over you and haven't given you a chance to speak."

Bofur's whole body relaxed in a moment. "Oh, I, that's… All right."

"You are skilled and handsome and your company brings me comfort and I would be honored to court you, to see if we suit together." Dwalin watched his face, hope dawning as a smile grew under Bofur's silver mustache. 

Bofur grabbed their hand again. "Don't scare me like that, I thought you were going to say this was a mistake and you wanted to let me down easy."

"I'm sorry," Dwalin repeated. 

Bofur waved that away. "Just talk to me next time, before I find out from you shadowing my home and playing bodyguard for my sibling. I won't bite unless you like it."

Dwalin sank onto a tall stool, face hot with relief and a flare of desire. "Oh. Well, good."

Bofur followed close, hand still warm in theirs, tucking himself in between Dwalin's knees. "Now, I'm fond of you too," he said smiling, "and I should like us to court. I like the way you act towards the ones I love and, when you unbend enough to do it, the way you look at me. You're a fine figure of a dwarf yourself." 

Dwalin's free hand clenched on their knee, restraining the urge to touch. "I…thank you. Could I-?"

Bofur smiled. "Please do. I've wanted your hands on me since the first time I heard you sing."

The noise Dwalin made was unintentional, but it made Bofur laugh delightedly and slide in even closer. Dwalin pulled him in and wrapped their arms around him. Bofur's mouth was sweet with figs and he was hot to the touch - hips between Dwalin's knees and back under Dwalin's hands. His hands came up to card through Dwalin's beard. When Dwalin hummed pleasure into the kiss, Bofur broke off to breathe, forehead against Dwalin's. 

"I'm afraid our friends are going to be smug," Bofur said, grinning. 

"Let them," Dwalin said. They cuddled Bofur close. 

"We need to rejoin the others," Bofur sighed. 

"Oh, so we do," Dwalin said. They maneuvered off the stool without letting go of Bofur altogether. 

Still holding his hand, they made their way back to the main room, where Borur and Komur were clearing the last of the dishes. As soon as they stepped in the door, Dwalin turned and asked, "Will you come to dinner with my family, to get to know us better?"

"Yes, of course," Bofur said, joy beaming from every inch of him. 

Bombur hid behind a napkin, Bifur came over, beaming, to clap both of them on the back. 

"Good," Kolri said cheerfully. "Now get on with you."

Bofur dragged Dwalin toward the door. "As you say."

Dwalin's laugh escaped, and they followed him out the door and into possibility. 

P.s. (Everyone was very smug. Gandalf was unbearable.)