Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nori will be the first dwarf in the history of Middle Earth to admit that he is a coward.

When he fights, he fights dirty. When he runs, he runs hard. When he plays, he cheats- because eking out a living is something Nori has turned into an art form. He has one of those faces. A face you think you can trust, a face that still smiles even when you feel the bite of the knife in your back.

There is a proud history behind Nori’s family line and if he cared to remember it- which he doesn’t- perhaps he would feel ashamed of what he does to survive. He was too young to recall the dragon fire. Dori might make his teas and grumble about decorum but Nori wonders what use decorum has when there is no mountain, there are no lords, and wolves wait at the door to devour the weak.

A coward is not weak. Nori has proven this. There are guards in Ered Luin who no longer have the full use of their sight, though he stopped poking eyes out when Dori gave him that look, that look so like their mother’s that it made him want to go and never come back.

Sometimes Nori does go. He goes, and he travels and swindles and lies and cheats his way from town to town and place to place and bed to bed. There is an invisible cord around his wrist, and no matter the weather it always pulls him back.

Nori does not think of himself as a risk taker, as an honorable dwarf. Honor. What use is that, anymore? It’s a fight or die world and Nori is a fighter. He teaches Ori things when he is home. Important things. Things Dori would shriek and titter over if he knew about them. Ori is a lackluster student but he holds Nori in awe.

That hurts.

When Thorin decides on his mad quest Nori does not wish to go. He is a coward and cowards do not fight dragons. Even the siren’s song of the gold- enough gold for him to stop running, stop backstabbing, stop everything and start over- isn’t enough to sway him.

Then Dori volunteers.

And Ori does, too.

That night Nori gets very drunk and finds an inkist. Though the dwarf is skeptical Nori has the gold to tempt him. Four hours later- a tattoo of a tightly woven cord still burning around his right wrist- Nori drinks a little more and all but bursts into the cave that passes as a throne room in Ered Luin.

Dwalin is on his feet at once, hands on his axes; there is no love lost between them. Thorin holds up a hand.

“Brave and stupid, to come barging in here.” he says, as thoughtful and calm as the eye of a raging storm.

“You aren’t taking them without me.” Nori says. “You aren’t.”

And so Nori is sworn into the company of Thorin Oakenshield, barely sober enough to swear on the axe handle.

Dori is angry, Ori less so; they help him pack and the Brothers Ri depart with their King in Exile.

Nori thinks it all insane but keeps his mouth shut because he might be good at fighting dirty but Dwalin is always within reach, Dwalin and his axes. They gather other lost souls and Nori privately calls them the Company of No Return but he doesn’t repeat these words to Ori, doesn’t want to frighten him.

They find the hobbit, and begin their quest. Nori keeps an eye on Ori, makes sure Dori doesn’t get lost in the shuffle. At night he considers departing silently but he doesn’t.

Then the trolls happen. And the goblins. And the orcs, and the wargs and by the time they make it to Beorn’s Nori is thinking that perhaps insanity is all that is keeping their little company from falling apart at the seams.

Still, the cord is there, stark and inked. He travels on.

After everything- after Thorin and Kili and Fili lie dead, and Dain has become King under the Mountain, and Bilbo Baggins is once again on the road home- Nori sits in a room with Dwalin and listens to every reason the warrior gives as to why he should become the Spymaster of Erebor.

Nori has every reason to refuse. He has gold now, so much of it it sometimes makes him crosseyed. Ori is looked after, Dori too; the cord around his wrist feels a little looser.

Dwalin’s eyes are hooded. He has not smiled since Thorin’s funeral.

Nori thinks of orcs, or men, or elves clambering up on the mountain unaware. He thinks of the King being blind to all outside. He thinks of all the traveling a Spymaster would have to do. He thinks of all the lying, the bribes, the intricate dances of shadow and knife.

Nori clasps Dwalin’s hand.

“I will do it.” he says.

Dwalin’s lips twitch. “It will be remarkably dangerous.” he says.

“As dangerous as trolls?”

“More so.”

“As wargs?”

“Frightfully.”

“As facing down a dragon?”

“You can’t even imagine.”

Nori hooks the thumb of his tattooed right hand into his belt. He is thinking about adding more cords to the design- perhaps thirteen more cords.

“Sounds like the perfect job for a coward.”

Chapter Text

“Did you know?”

The Book had already been sent down to the archives. Copies would be made of it, Thorin Stonehelm had assured them, one for each member of the remainder of Oakenshield Company. It was the least that could be done.

“Nori, did you know?”

Nori stared at a point past his older brother’s shoulder. When they had been presented with the book, Dwalin had broken down. A force in his grief it took three of his strongest guards to prevent the Captain from striking out blindly. Gloin had been silent though tears fell; Oin had been old.

So much older than Ori.

“ANSWER ME DAMN IT!”

The blow Dori landed was hard but out of despair, not rage, and Nori caught his older brother’s arm and twisted him around without thinking about it, left hand going for the blade concealed at his thigh for a quick throat cut before logic cut in and reminded him that this wasn’t a spy or a leak or a rabble rouser, this was his brother.

His only remaining brother.

Nori let go and Dori came at him again. The middle brother looked down at Dori’s clenched fists in his tunic as though he were confused, lost, wondering.

Nori was none of these things.

“No.” he heard himself whisper, the words stretched and thin as though he were shouting from the bottom of a mine shaft. “I didn’t know, Dori.”

“Don’t lie to me!!” Dori pounded his fists uselessly against Nori and Nori let him. He wrapped his arms around his brother, feeling cold.

“He’s gone.” whispered Dori, eyes clenched tight, braids askew. “He’s dead. He can’t be dead he’s the youngest he’s the baby ma told us to take care of him Nori Ori is-"

“He’s gone, Dori.” Nori didn’t mean to sound so clipped, so icy. “He’s dead.”

Dori howled and threw himself away from Nori, face buried in his beard.

Nori closed his eyes. He thought back- to the letters that stopped coming, the messages sent which never produced replies. His best spies, his finest eyes and ears leaving in the dead of night through the secret mountain passages that Nori knew better than the King. He thought of the long silence when they did not return.

Nori thought of all of this and repeats quite possibly the greatest lie he had ever told since taking on the post of Spymaster of Erebor.

“Dori, I didn’t know.”

Chapter Text

Nori has never had a very high opinion of Kings.

in his travels he’s met men who think themselves kings but call themselves something else; innkeeper, judge, mayor. A little power is all it takes to change and twist them. Money, respect, someone to share their beds, they all wanted something. Often as not, they got it, at the expense of someone else.

Nori hates that.

He hates that Dori titters and fusses every time the joker’s court of Ered Luin meets. He hates that there are laws that bind and itch and drive him crazy. He hates that there are consequences for survival, for doing what he has to to be sure his brothers eat, while those called ‘Kings’ sit tall and proud on their carved thrones and want for nothing.

Nori knows this isn’t fair, that a king of a culture in exile is the same as any other exile.

He feels it anyway.

When the quest comes Nori is filled with dark and ugly thoughts. A share of Erebor’s treasure would be more than enough to make Nori a king, or a lord, or a judge or an innkeeper. Someone with power. Someone above the laws that only applied when a bit of gold couldn’t be flashed in the dark.

All that had to be done was a little bit of dragon slaying.

What was there to lose?

They travel. They fight and bite and scratch and claw their way from the deepest caves to the tallest peaks and even Thorin- for he is never King to Nori, he is only Thorin- must crawl through the dirt with the rest of them.

It pleases Nori to see it.

The journey goes on and the still small voice which whispers its promises of power into Nori’s ear falls quiet when Bombur takes ill in the river. It abandons him entirely when he is trapped in the cells of the elven king, when he refuses to speak to the guards. not because Thorin ordered it, no, never that. He just hates elves. Bunch of useless tree shaggers.

When they escape in the barrels that knock them clear to Laketown, Nori does not think about riches. He thinks about his brothers, about his hurts, and about whether or not Fili and Kili and Thorin made it out okay.

He ignores his relief that they do.

The battle is beautifully horrible. Thorin calls and Nori obeys. Ori is beside him, far too young to be holding an axe. Dori wears his determination like extra armor. Nori looks down the long edges of his blades.

Imagine, he thinks to himself, that they are all kings come for slaughter.

It is motivation enough.

Once the funerals are done and the armies have gone and Dain Ironfoot is declared King Under the Mountain, Nori finds that his feet lead him time and time again to the burial catacombs, to the three tombs side by side. He watches the impassive stone face of Thorin Oakenshield. It looks much the same as he did in life.

Nori does not want to kneel before Dain, not yet.

Not yet.

He feels his knees give out and when his hands hit the stone floor beneath him he does nothing to stop his tears and that angers him. Footsteps behind anger him even more and he covers his face before the unwelcome visitor can see.

Dwalin’s hand is large and rough and as calloused as Nori’s is, as Thorin’s was. The warrior squeezes Nori’s shoulder. He doesn’t speak, only listens as Nori sobs, over and over,

“I’d have called him King, damn it. I’d have called him King.”

Chapter Text

Nori got into more fights over Dori than he would ever, EVER admit to anyone.

The trouble all started when Dori came to find him at the pub one night, when Ori was still small. Grumbling and huffing he’d pushed through the dwarves at the door and into the smoky room, hunting around for his brother’s distinct star-shaped hair.

“Hey, lad.” the barkeep had said. “I think yer mother’s lookin’ fer yeh.”

Nori’s mother had been dead for two years. He turned around and there was Dori, all violet robe and irate huffs, with little Ori asleep in a sling on his back.

Nori very nearly lost his ale at the insinuation that his fusty oldest brother could be their mother.

Then the barkeep said something else.

“Your Da’s gone, right?”

It was the way he’d said it. With a leer behind his teeth, a grin at the edge of his lips.

Dori found Nori, alright. He had to pry his younger brother’s hands off the barkeep’s throat. Nori had barely gotten out of time in the cells for that one.

Nori decided he would ignore any and all talk that had to do with Dori. That was clearly the answer. it would keep him out of trouble- well, out of trouble to do with starting ridiculous fights, anyway.

---

It just kept happening.

Damn Dori, damn his rounded hips and side to side walk and smile that turned up the edges of his eyes. Damn his perfectly braided beard and delicate manners and the ease with which he talked to other dwarves.

“Arse like a peach.”

“Would you lookit that?”

"Bet he screams like an elf."

“Mahal save me someone call me mum, I’m gettin’ married.”

It was never nice dwarves who looked at Dori. The decent ones were too polite, working diligently at their crafts or discussing the weather or the latest merchant caravans. If Dori had suitors amongst the more reputable class of Ered Luin Nori didn’t know them- he never spent time in the family apartments, having long ago moved out to more questionable lodgings in the lower town.

No, it was the dwarves like Nori himself- vagabonds, thieves. Dwarves who had neatly set aside their honor and their scruples to survive and thrive. Dwarves like that would tear Dori to shreds. They would take what they could and then leave the rest broken on the floor.

They weren’t good enough for Dori.

Officially, Nori joined the company of Thorin Oakenshield because the alternative was a short stint on the execution block of Ered Luin.

That much was true, but it all started- as most of Nori’s more hot-headed fights did- with someone making a pass at Dori.

---

Nori knew the dwarf in question. He was an information broker who dabbled in the black market- counterfeit silver, weighted dice, hidden beltbuckle knives. Once again Dori had come to find his brother and once again, remarks were made.

Nori had thought his temper under control. When Dori touched his shoulder in the grimy tavern he immediately stood. “Let’s go.” he said to his brother. Dori was clearly surprised- Nori never left his haunts without protest.

“Oh, aye,” the broker had called out, “go home an’ bugger the pretty one crosseyed! Make sure you leave the gold on the dresser, now!”

It was an insult to Nori’s honor, of course, what little he had. He’d heard worse. He’d said worse.

Yet something about the way the broker spoke, the look in his dull brown eyes, and the sharp inhale of indignation and shame from behind him where Dori stood waiting in the mess of the tavern with his threadbare but always clean and mended robes..

Nori swore he heard himself snap.

To hear acquaintances (For Nori had no friends) tell it, it took four guards, and one of them Dwalin son of Fundin, to get Nori off of the broker. He was in the cells for two days before he was hauled before Thorin Oakenshield, who wasn’t all that surprised to see him.

“You again.” he said, in the same tone one might use on a stray dog who had a tendency to live under the heirloom rosebushes.

Nori glared up at Thorin and said nothing, but what he wanted to say was this: Don’t you look at me like I’m a fool. Who dares to say such things about your pretty nephews? What would you do in my place?

Then Dori showed up, apologizing, pleading, cajoling.

And, as was normal with Dori, heads began to turn.

One of those heads was Dwalin’s.

It was more than Nori could bear.

---

He was a strong fighter and capable but Dwalin was in another league altogether and when Nori woke up from what Ori would later call ‘one hell of a head tap’ Thorin Oakenshield was waiting outside his old, familiar cell door.

“You attacked my Sentinel.” He said.

Nori spat at him.

“I could have you beheaded.”

Nori said nothing.

“Why did you do it?” Thorin sounded thoughtful and Nori, full of hate and fear and something sickeningly tight, did something he did so rarely he’d forgotten he knew how.

He told the truth.

He told Thorin Oakenshield that eyes watched Dori, eyes with less than perfect intentions. That Dori was in danger, no matter how capable he thought that he was. That if anyone ever managed to hurt Dori that Ori would fall apart and that Dori deserved better, so much better, than the greedy hungry eyes of the lower city and the knowledge that others snickered behind his back at his dainty manners and his useless, wayward middle brother who hadn’t done a thing to help him save get angry.

Thorin listened to him, and then the air between them was very quiet.

“I wish to undertake a quest.” Thorin said at last. “Assuming I and my companions do not die, the reward will be riches beyond your imagination.”

“I’ve got a lot of imagination, your majesty.” Nori replied. He knew- everyone knew- that Thorin thought of the dragon. “That’s a suicide charge, and you’re insane.”

His bluntness should have earned him at least a kick. Thorin just rose an eyebrow.

“You will go with me.” the King said, tone not giving room for argument. “We will take back Erebor. And when all is said and done, and the mountain is ours again, I will arrange a match for your brother. To Dwalin, perhaps-“

Nori growled.

“He is a good dwarf and bears noble blood.” Thorin said evenly. “It would give your family more status, and protection. With Dwalin as his husband you would not need to fear for Dori. No one would dare touch him.”

That was true enough, Nori supposed.

“Ori.” he said quietly, knowing he was pushing his luck. Thorin snorted. “He can have the library, if he wishes. Assuming it is not ash, we will need an archivist.”

Nori leaned his head back on the stone wall. Safety. A reputable match. Honor. Things his brothers needed- things they craved, for all they would say what they wanted was Nori.

“In lieu of execution,” Nori said, focusing back on the real world, “you’ve got yourself a deal, your Majesty.”

Dori was furious, of course. He was furious as he settled affairs and furious as he packed and furious as Ori began knitting more cardigans for the coming journey. Nori didn’t even try to explain himself. He used the gold and Thorin’s preconceived ultimatum for an excuse. He let himself think he was in it for the riches.

He watched his blasted pretty brother pack and thought of Dwalin’s arm around Dori’s shoulder, of Dori’s beard draped in gems, of Ori’s ink stained fingers in the gentle quiet of a library full of books.

He thought of these things and for the first time in a long time began to hate himself a little less.

—-

Chapter Text

-wake up in time to knock out trainee who was supposed to sneak up on you for his exam.

-fail him.

-go to Dori’s for breakfast.

-Ignore Dori’s bitching about getting a real job. Note to self: find a way to tell Dori that the Mineral Well pub stole his scone recipe without being nice about it.

-go to secret meeting in the catacombs. Be unsurprised when no one can find the secret meeting place in the catacombs. Mahal I should just hire elves, they’d be about as useful.

-get updated on smarmy bastard from the Blue Mountains who thinks he can sell counterfeit copper in the market.

-check out the counterfeit copper.

-get jealous because damn that is some fine work.

-remember that you have a legitimate way to make a living now.

-feel slightly unsettled at how disappointed that makes you.

-get the Guard to arrest the smarmy bastard from the Blue Mountains.

-break for lunch.

-poke the barkeep with a knife after he gets a little too close to hair for the fifth time.

-this time draw blood.

-lesson sticks.

-Go visit Ori. Return book on latest women’s fashions, check out book on the application of crushed minerals to the face for plays on Durin’s Day.

-wish you could get a drawing of the look on Ori’s face as he notes you have the book.

-return to lair hideout den of inequity office in the catacombs

-perfect disguise

-admit grudgingly that perhaps plum really is your color

-knock out subordinate who begins laughing at you

-call in new subordinate to help with all the blasted straps really who knew dwarf women liked straps apparently you’ve been missing out on something grand here.

-go on walkabout in Erebor’s high town.

-start no fights over whistles, catcalls, and other Very Grave Mistakes

-remember names for pain and suffering later

-go to the grand hall. Try not to trip on dress. Gain newfound respect for Lady Dis.

-Wait for predictable assassination attempt in the middle of Anniversary of Desolation of Smaug.

-foil

-in dress

-praising dwarf women as you go

-blend in with crowd. Not easy in plum.

-subordinates surprisingly not idiots. Catch would-be assassin. Threaten to carve his eyes out.

-give him to the Guard instead.

-ignore Dwalin grinning at you.

-no really, ignore Dwalin grinning.

-Ignore Dwalin’s hand up skirt.

-Let Dwalin fuck you in the back hallway. Don’t even care when he smudges makeup.

-Go home for dinner using Very Secret Tunnels.

-ignore Dori’s whining

-and protesting

-and general surliness

-even when he gives you the burned bit of the roast.

-it wasn’t like he was going to wear the dress anyway.

Chapter Text

Lord Nori of the Brothers Ri, the most official unofficial (read secret) Spymaster Erebor has ever had, keeps on his person several lucky charms because he, like all other thieves, vagrants, and liars before him, is a superstitious sort.

One is his tattoo- a cord, inked in blue around his wrist. It has several extensions down his forearm, all of them coming together in a sort of crossing and winding pattern, ending at his elbow. It isn’t entirely proper for a professional ner’-do-well to have such an obvious mark, but he can hide it well enough. It is a reminder, but of what he will never tell.

Another is a knife, concealed in the buckle of his belt. It is forged from the finest steel money can buy and he stole it many years ago from the first dwarf he ever killed in self defense. He cannot remember that dwarf’s name, but he does remember that the knife has a maker mark, and that mark indicates that it was forged by Dwalin, son of Fundin. Nori has lost count of the times it has saved his life.

The third item is a little stranger. It is a bracelet, silver, worn on the wrist opposite his tattoo. It has the look of an oddly worked and half finished project, broad on one end and slender on the other, with a remaining pattern of primroses along one edge.The broad and slender ends are hammered together to form a circle that long ago adhered to the shape of Nori’s wrist; now it will only separate with a torch or cutters, neither of which the dwarf is willing to let near it.

It is precious to him, for all it- like the knife in his belt- was stolen.

—-

Nori remembers singing the mountain song, his back to the group. He watches the darkness out the window and wonders if any of them are going to survive to see the gold Thorin has promised.

The silverware drawer is right there, properly made in a nicely stained hardwood with a green velvet interior. The whole set is carved over with some kind of flower. Nori looks them over piece by piece. Good work, even if they aren’t dwarvish; solid, old.

He doesn’t even think before he slips the spoon into his pocket.

Old habits, and all that.

The spoon stays. It stays through goblins, wargs, trolls, and a battle with four other armies. He loses his pack, his pipe, his extra clothes, what money he had brought.

But not that blasted silver spoon. He takes to stroking the edge with his thumb. It calms him, all that useful silver. Such a happy metal- so much more forgiving than gold.

An item made for those that valued food and cheer and song, above all other things.

Nori thinks about returning it. He tries, in his own way. Yet the owner rides away into the rising sun and still it sits, safe, in his pocket. He cannot bear to let it go.

His skills are not what they once were. He will need long hours in the forge to regain the craftsmanship he once had. Still, it’s enough to hammer it closed. He does not want it parted from him, this little sliver of silver, this bit of magic luck.

It is his own wealth, and he wears it and its primroses proudly.

—-

Nori of the Brothers Ri wears a silver bracelet around his wrist. It once was a spoon, and belonged in a hole in the ground, where lived a hobbit.

The Spymaster of Erebor thinks, all things considered, Bilbo Baggins probably wouldn’t begrudge him a single silver spoon.

Besides, he’d probably blame it on the Sackville-Baggins anyway.

Chapter Text

It was over and done in less than two blows.

Fili was lookout and he kept describing it to his brother in hushed, awed tones. The thieves who had absconded with Dwalin's axes and two of their loaded packs were sitting before their fire, drunk on dwarven brandy, laughing at how they had fooled the 'stupid little dirt grubbers'. Dwalin had wanted to be the one to give them what for, but Thorin had refused and cast a dark eye across their company.

"This calls for stealth, friend, and not the stealth of battle. Nori. Follow me."

Fili and Kili were not sure what to think about Nori. He was just so unlike his brothers- fussy, prissy Dori, quiet and hesitant Ori. Nori was a wide-grinning dagger-throwing quick fingered terror, the kind that had gotten away with more petty theft than anyone could readily admit. Still, when Thorin spoke he nodded and stood, dusting off his trousers and leaving behind his larger weapons in wary Dori's hands.

Fili had been summoned afterwards and the small group of dwarves traveled the mile and a half between their camp and the camp of the men they had been tracking in silence. Once they arrived they hung back and Fili heard his uncle murmur, "What of it?"

"They're seated and they're half drunk. Easy as pie, assuming you keep your watchdog from yelling obscenities at me while I work."

Dwalin had growled.

"None of that." Thorin's voice was tight- he hated these dealings but had long grown used to them. "We need our gear, Dwalin, and we need to move quickly." The men had left behind a group in the village who would no doubt be following after them in the morning. The Company had to travel on before long. Men did not look kindly on murderers, particularly not dwarvish ones. "Do what you need to, Nori."

"Of course, your majesty." the title was sarcastic but Thorin didn't flinch.

Then, as Fili told it, Nori just..disappeared. The shadows shifted so and he was gone. The next time Fili saw him he was behind one of the men, a curved knife in his hand.

Nori didn't hesitate at all. He slit the fellow's throat with his left hand, covering his death-rattle with the right, and in the span of one breath and another he'd moved behind the second thief and done the same for him. The men fell over, choking on blood. Nori was already in the clear, wiping his knife on a shirt.

"Hey, watchdog." he called, walking over to their stolen packs. "Found your axes. Ugly things."

---

This story fascinated Kili and he made Fili retell it whenever they had a moment- watching the ponies, guarding the gear. Their uncle and Dwalin, both gifted warriors, had never taught them how to slit throats- not from behind, anyway. The one time Kili had thought to bring it up Dwalin had scowled so hard the poor dwarfling had thought perhaps his face would be stuck that way.

"That is a dishonorable way to fight and to kill." He'd said. "Put it out of your head, lad."

It was back in Kili's head, and Fili's, too. So when they stopped near a small town to join in one of the fairs where Bifur and Bofur could sell their toys, they found their excuses and got Nori alone.

"We were wondering," Kili began.

"If perhaps you might be amenable," Fili continued.

"Nothing too drastic-"

"Really just a small request-"

"Spit it out, princelings." Nori said with a quirk of one braided eyebrow. "We haven't got all day."

And this was how Kili and Fili of the line of Durin found themselves beneath a tree at the edge of a warm meadow, learning how to slit a man's throat from behind.

---

They practiced on a small pillow held before the neck. Nori shook his head at Kili's attempt, seemingly unphased at being the one holding the doomed plush. "Not like that, lad." He adjusted the younger dwarf's hold on his knife. "In one smooth motion. Think of pumping a bellows, or taking a breath. You need to slice in the push of air against your lungs. Now, try again. One, two- yes there you've got it. Depth isn't quite right yet."

"There's a right depth?" Kili asked, giving up the poor lacerated pillow for his brother to make an attempt.

"Too shallow and you'll just leave a nasty scratch." Nori said as Fili moved into position. "Too deep and you'll let too much air out of his throat, warning his mates if he's got any. Fili don't saw that will just make a mess."

"A scratch." Fili said. "So it's possible to survive a throat cut?" He went again. Nori had gone quiet.

"Nori?"

"Hm?"

"Is it possible to survive a throat cut?"

Nori looked strange. "Aye. Aye, it's possible. That's enough for today, lads. If Dwalin catches us it'll be hell for the next month."

---

The two sons of Dis continued their newfound education on the road and got the chance to perfect their maneuvers when the Company came upon a bandit camp. There were sentries but there were also supplies and, as Balin reported, captives- women, mostly.

It was none of their business but Thorin ordered it anyway. "We need to release the women, at least. We are not so cold-hearted as to let them become slaves. Fili, Kili, Nori, with me. Bofur, follow Dwalin. The rest of you wait."

Thorin gave them orders. Nori and Fili and Kili would take down the sentries. Dwalin, Thorin and Bofur would free the women (and Kili and Fili could see why Thorin had chosen Bofur, him being the nicest and the easiest to talk to; Dwalin just terrified most of the human women he met.)

"Make it quiet." Thorin ordered. He assumed that meant Kili with his arrows.

The look Nori gave his two proteges said otherwise.

---

The next morning it was Fili who found Dwalin with Nori pushed up against a tree, Grasper settled neatly beneath the thief's braided beard.

"-throats cut. Those boys don't know how to cut throats."

"They're smart." Nori sounded as confident as ever, for having such an illustrious blade at his throat. "They figured it out."

"No one 'figures it out' not without practice and not without a teacher. What's next? Pickpocketing? Lying to guards? Where to twist the knife in the back?" Dwalin sounded so angry. Fili hadn't heard him ever sound the way he did right then. "I should have cut off your head when I had the chance, you mewling-"

Something was wrong and Fili knew it. "Dwalin!" he revealed himself. Dwalin backed up immediately and Nori relaxed, moving his hands from the small knives at his belt.

"Nothing to worry your head about, lad." he said cheerfully. "Just adult conversation."

"That wasn't an 'adult conversation'." Fili did his best Thorin impersonation, hoping he sounded half as majestically displeased as his uncle. "Dwalin Nori was following orders."

"Orders?" Dwalin rumbled.

"Aye, orders. I ordered him to teach me and Kili." Fili said. "Our quest is dangerous. It is an important skill."

"Not a worthwhile one." Dwalin replied.

"Perhaps not," Fili acknowledged. "but it is important, all the same. Please, stop."

Dwalin's hands tightened on his axe but in the end, he did relax. "Don't think that'll work every time, lad." he said, looking like a thunderhead. Fili couldn't stop the helpless grin that broke out. "I know it won't." he said. He patted Dwalin on the shoulder. Muttering the axe wielder made his way back to camp where Bombur was finishing breakfast. Fili turned to Nori.

"Did he get you?" he asked. Nori shook his head. "If he'd really wanted to get me, lad, he'd have done it right." Nori thought about it and then added, "the first time."

Fili's brow furrowed as Nori fussed with his clothes and adjusted his beard. Then Fili saw the scar- thin but a much lighter shade against the rest of Nori's ruddy complexion. It seemed to run just across his throat, where a moment before Grasper had been kissing.

"The first time?" Fili heard himself asking.

Nori's grin was sad and helpless and full of recklessness. "It is possible to bungle a throat cut, lad." he said. "Even for the great Dwalin, son of Fundin."

Then he patted a frozen Fili on the shoulder and, whistling, made his way to breakfast.

Chapter Text

Nori's soul mark began to come in the day he nearly got his nose broken in a bar fight.

He remembered that particular barfight because it wasn't the Guard who ended it but Dwalin son of Fundin, who as it turned out had been watching Nori the entire night waiting for him to get drunk enough to punch someone. What he'd finally lashed out over, Nori couldn't be sure- it took a lot of alcohol to get him to that point. However, it had been a night of plenty of alcohol, because not a day earlier his mother had finally died of the wasting sickness in her lungs. Someone had probably mentioned brothers, or Dori, or even an abstract concept that Nori took to mean that he was a terrible brother who should have been at home with his family instead of at the bar.

Nori didn't remember much of the fight when he woke up in the cells the next morning. He settled in for a wait, assuming that this time, this time was the time Dori would finally declare that he was a waste of space and air.

No, he was not so lucky. As his wrist tingled he heard the sound of the outer door being opened and there stood Dori, proper and red-eyed.

After the bail had been paid (money they couldn't afford) and his hurts had been seen to (more they couldn't afford) Dori had said, without looking at him, "I think you should go."

Nori didn't argue with his older brother.

He just went.

---

When Nori woke up one morning the week after that fight- already miles away in a small human town- he could read the name written on his wrist clearly.

Dwalin, son of Fundin.

Nice and even in the purple-blue letters their own mother's soul mark had been written in, it was as clear as if he had had it tattooed just a week before.

Nori laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more. He laughed so hard he nearly fell out of the stable he'd stolen into in the night and startled the horses below.

The legend of the soul marks was an old one. It was said that to keep his children from becoming lonely, Mahal assured they would find one another by carving their names into eachother's wrists. Thus, each of the Seven Fathers had six names- one for each brother. How the names of brothers transferred to the names of soulmates was long lost to legend, as most of the dwarves' origins were- a wandering people constantly ousted by war and dragonfire they could not keep written records. Still, they retained the magic of the marks, as they retained their resistance to fire, as some Longbeards and Firebeards retained their 'fire touch'. Another mystery in a long line of mysteries that Nori cared not one whit about.

Every dwarf, regardless of such importance as social status or skill or length of beard, gained a soul mark somewhere between their thirtieth and hundredth birthdays. It was tradition to keep the mark covered until the One was found.

Nori figured he'd have no trouble with that one. The first thing he did was nick a nice, thick silver band from a jeweler's stall and tighten it up, so that he wouldn't have to worry about it ever slipping off and showing the name.

Of course he checked to make sure dwarvish handcuffs could fit without its removal.

Just in case.

---

Nori wrote to Ori, sometimes. They were long letters full of the people he'd seen and (some of) the things he'd done. He told Ori about the style of southern headdresses covered in golden beads because he knew Ori would like to know. He didn't tell him about nearly having his fingers cut off for being caught stealing from the man wearing the head dress, or his quick getaway, or the two knives he'd managed to get out of the bargain, with their curled-viper handles.

Don't worry about me, little brother, he told his Ori. I'm just off on an adventure. Tell Dori not to fuss so much. It's bad for his complexion.

Ori always wrote back, and in a show of mature wisdom that proved he would one day be a very good dwarf indeed, he never used messengers. No, Nori's letters from his brother were delivered by thrush and swallow and the occasional irate turkey vulture.

It was in one of these letters that soul marks came up.

-mine appeared today,- wrote Ori, -and Dori nearly had a conniption. We do not know the dwarf or if he lives in Ered Luin. I don't think he does, because I'd remember a name like Frig, son of Fror. I like saying it out loud. is that normal? Being comforted by an idea of a person you've never even met? Maybe that's what having a soul mark means. Do you wonder about yours, Nori?-

Nori wrote back a jovial reply about vagabonds not needing marks and refused to think of how many times Dwalin's scowling face greeted him when he closed his eyes.

---

The truth of the matter was that Nori thought about Dwalin often.

He sought information on where the larger dwarf was, no matter where he went. Like Thorin Dwalin was prone to wandering. Sometimes they would be in the same town for a little while and Nori would lie awake in the night, thinking that all it would take was for him to stand up, to gather his courage (what courage?) dust off his honor (what honor?) and declare to Dwalin son of Fundin that his name was on a lying, cheating, backstabbing dwarf's wrist.

And while he was at it, Nori supposed he should try for a picnic on Mount Doom.

---

They did meet again, sort of, in a roundabout way.

It was an utter disaster.

One man had knifed another in a beer hall. Nori and his current traveling companions had immediately gotten out of the way as the yelling gave way to fighting and finally the whole place was in an uproar. Men were fighting and food was thrown and weapons were pulled out and swung by bearers too drunk to remember which ends were pointy. Nori was not stupid. He made for the door.

A man jumped on him.

Heat of the moment? Possibly. Men did strange things while intoxicated, Nori had found, but there was no denying that the fellow was out for him- his hands were all sorts of places hands weren't meant to be without permission. So Nori did what was natural.

He grabbed his knife, turned around, and cut the man like a pig.

His assailant went down, alright- and his vision seemed to tunnel. On the other side of the room, somehow remaining out of the chaos, was Dwalin, whom Nori had not known was in town. Dwalin, who was staring at him with a look, a look so utterly disgusted, so full of judgement, that it made Nori want to crawl under a rock.

He settled for taking the dead man's purse and fleeing out the door.

---

Nori tried to burn his mark off. A good, hard searing earned him three weeks of pain and a pearly scar but the scar could not dim the words that mocked him. He knew that cutting at the flesh would produce much the same result; no matter how many layers he peeled back he would always find Dwalin in his skin. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he would find Dwalin in his bone.

Nori took to drinking whenever someone asked about Soul Marks.

---

The letter from Ori spoke of a quest. -Thorin wants to try and reclaim Erebor. He's asked Dori along and I told Dori he was taking me. I'm going on an adventure, brother, like you!-

No. No, Ori could not go on an adventure. His sweet, innocent Ori, who had no idea the books he received were often stolen from scribe's stalls, could not come out into the cruel and unforgiving world. Nori packed up. Nori returned to Ered Luin, as quickly as he could.

Dori was not happy to see him.

Nori was not happy to see Dori.

They had words.

In the end Nori had demanded to come on the quest. If his fool idiot soft footed kind hearted morons of brothers insisted on it, then he would be there to make sure they didn't die, or get knifed in a beer hall by a jumpy crook.

When he heard that Dwalin was coming, Nori laughed so hard he nearly cried. Dori, concerned, asked him what was wrong.

"Nothing." Nori said. "Nothing at all."

Chapter Text

"so, what are you in for?"

Nori sat on the edge of the wooden shelf that passed for a bed and worked a thin strip of metal out of his hair as he talked. His cellmate was another dwarf. Men seemed to be eternally of the opinion that all dwarves saw one another as brothers in arms. Nori didn't do anything to change that opinion, at least not publicly. It helped to have a fall guy.

The dwarf in the corner didn't have the look of a fall guy. he settled very dark eyes on Nori and said, "That is none of your concern." His voice was crisp and even.

"Of course it's not. Well, I'm here for a spot of cheating, myself." Nori made a soft, pleased noise when the metal piece came loose from his beard. He went to work on the lock. "Bit embarrassing. Juvenile, even. A professional rat like me brought low by something so, so apprentice-worthy as weighted dice.." he gave a dramatic sigh. "So, you got family?"

The dwarf didn't speak.

"I've got brothers. Two. One's a fathead and one's a baby." Nori wiggled the piece of metal, listening intently. "Good dwarves, though. Living nice clean lives. Unlike their rapscallion of a sibling." A tickle to the left, a whisper to the right, and the cell door opened. Nori watched the hinges as he pulled the door open. Smooth as grease and well they should be- he'd been hoarding some from what food they gave him. He'd lathered up the hinges that morning.

"Oh Mahal I'm good." Nori chortled to himself. He turned. "Well? Are you coming?"

The dwarf quirked one fine eyebrow. "You would rather escape than face the penalty for your crimes?" he asked, not as though he expected Nori to say yes but rather as though he expected a reasonably thought out answer for why he might say yes.

Nori's grin was a little more genuine than it had been. "Friend," he said, "my life is shit. I'm betting your life is shit. I don't owe the men in this village a damn thing. I didn't kill anyone. I cheated a fellow out of a few gold pieces. If they hang me for that they can't take a joke. So, are you coming?"

The regal dwarf looked around and then stood. "...a sister."

"pardon?" Nori was glancing down the hallway, checking for sentries.

"My family. I have a sister. And two nephews."

"Oh nephews are the worst." Nori said, though he didn't have any. He slipped out of the cell and gestured for the other dwarf to do the same. "Name's Nori. Son of Kori. And just so you know, if this goes south, I'm dropping you like a hot ingot and running for the blue mountains."

His cellmate laughed.

"Glad you think that's funny. Alright, coast is clear, let's go."

---

Nori's cellmate- who apparently wasn't of a habit of divulging his name (Nori called him Grump)- was a blacksmith trying to make his way home to Ered Luin after a season of metalwork among men.

"Oh that's easy." Nori told him after they had liberated their belongings. "Take that road there and go east. You'll pass through the forest and then pop out in the man village just below Ered Luin on the other side."

"Thank you." Grump said. He turned and- headed west.

"Wrong way." Nori said. Grump turned and on a dwarf any less majestic in bearing he would have looked flustered.

"right." Grump said, and immediately headed- southeast.

Nori was seeing a pattern. "Okay stop. Stop stop stop." He waved his arms. "Oh this is just painful. You've got a case of the jerks?"

Grump looked royally annoyed. "I have found my way home before." he said.

"With the jerks?" Nori asked, amazed. "How?" He shook his head. "Nothing for it, I'll bring you back."

"Why?"

"Guy with a nice coat like that? I bet someone'd be willing to pay to have you back. Besides, the fathead and the baby live in Ered Luin. I haven't seen them for an Age."

---

Grump couldn't navigate to save his life but he was a handy guy to have in a fight.

"You need to teach me that thing you did." Nori said. "With the knife and the spleen, that was neat."

Grump didn't respond. He gazed into the fire and thought of things far away. He was well on his way to a good old fashioned brooding session when a tin mug of ale was all but dropped on him.

"What-"

"You keep doing that your face is gonna stick that way." Nori said seriously. "Did I ever tell you about this fellow I met just north of mirkwood?"

---

"YOUR MAJESTY!"

"Lord Thorin!"

"You're back! Mum thought you were warg food!"

"Shut up Kili!"

Nori stared at the small entourage of dwarves surrounding Grump.

"Well, shit." he said.

---

Thorin gazed at Nori across the wide table.

"It will not be easy." he said. "It will be very hard. I do not know if all of us will live. I do not know if we will even see the mountain."

"Sounds like a longshot." Nori said, sipping his ale.

"It is." Thorin acknowledged.

"Dangerous?"

"Aye."

"..do you have a navigator?"

Thorin glowered. "I do."

Nori smiled. "And what's in it for your companions?"

"Gold beyond your wildest imagination." Thorin said. "Assuming we aren't roasted in a fiery inferno."

"I see." Nori looked thoughtful.

"I am in need of a rapscallion." Thorin said in the quiet. Nori rose a brow.

"And a fathead." Thorin acknowledged. "Perhaps even a baby."

Nori chuckled. "Well, luckily for you, King Grump, I happen to know where to find three of those precise things."

Thorin smiled.

"Careful, your majesty." Nori toasted the dwarf with his ale. "Your face might stick that way."

Chapter Text

Dwalin often visited Thorin's tomb, in the early days of Erebor's rebuilding.

Sometimes he would sit and think, other times he would rant and rave. If Thorin Oakenshield heard from the Halls of their fathers there was no indication and Dwalin wanted none; he was bleeding the poison and guilt from the wound, bit by bit.

Dwalin was surprised to find Nori there on a cool autumn night.

Hesitant, the guard paused by the archway and Nori didn't turn to look at him. His fingers were busy with something- red string, which he was intricately knotting together. Dwalin had seen Nori doing similar things on the road, leaving colored knots hanging in odd places. The journey felt like it had happened a million years before, yet only yesterday.

"I failed him."

Dwalin didn't speak, not sure if the words were meant for him.

"He trusted me." Nori's voice was even and calm and nearly cheerful yet Dwalin knew if he saw the other dwarf's face, there would be tears there. "He didn't have to. He shouldn't have. But he trusted me. And I failed him."

"No." the word came from somewhere deep in Dwalin, a place that surprised him, a place he hadn't known existed. "No, lad. You didn't fail him."

"Yes I did." Nori's fingers twisted in the red string. "I should have known Bilbo took the arkenstone. I'm a better burglar than he is. I had ears all over the road. I should have tried to make Thorin see reason. I should have gotten the messages to Dain sooner. I should have-"

"I should have taken the blow, not him." Dwalin said harshly. He moved up beside Nori. "I should have stood between him and the spears. I couldn't. It's done."

The knot Nori had been working on was clearly a flower, many petaled with a twisting center.

"What is it?" Dwalin asked.

"Thief's lamp." Nori said quietly. "To light the way past the Judge to the door of the Mountain safely." He stood and put it on Thorin's tomb.

Dwalin watched the red string settle onto the stone.

"I'm not staying." Nori said. "I can't."

It would hurt Ori and Dori, he knew; but then they were used to that kind of hurt. They would forgive him, after a fashion.

"I know." Dwalin said.

"Come with me?" Nori asked.

Dwalin ran a thumb along the edge of the carved stone that served as Thorin's final bed. He turned to Nori and when he grasped the thief's chin Nori didn't pull away, merely watched him with those calm gray eyes.

"I will."

Dwalin took gentle hold of Nori's wrist and the smaller dwarf allowed himself to be led. They went together out of the tomb of Thorin Oakenshield.

---

What can then be said of Dwalin, son of Fundin, and Nori of the Brothers Ri? No one is sure. For while they came again to their kin in the days of the War of the Ring, and fought side by side with the companies of Erebor which they had labored to reclaim, they never again lived beneath a mountain, nor feasted on Durin's Day, nor forged works great and terrible. Ever with surety did their feet seek the road and in the gloaming of the world, when Durin's Children began to falter, they set together on a path to the West; what became of them then?

None can say.

The Red Book Of Westmarch, 'Of The Thief And The Guard', excerpt.

Chapter Text

Ori had always managed to stay ahead of the game by watching.

He was a very good watcher. He watched how Dori did his braids and learned how. He watched the books in the library and always sought out those who needed to return them. He watched how Nori slunk in at night and knew long before Dori what he had been up to and whether or not it had been profitable.

Ori watched Nori more often than he watched Dori, because Dori wasn't very good at hiding his emotions. Nori? Was a master of it. He could smile bright as day while inside he was a thunderhead. Ori was sometimes afraid of Nori, when he became a thunderhead. Other dwarves got hurt when Nori crackled his lightning and growled his thunder.

Nori would often say that everything was fine when it wasn't. Dori did too, of course, but Nori was very good at nearly making Ori believe it. He talked his little brother out of tears the night he came home with a broken wrist.

"Don't worry about me, Ori. Everything is fine."

---

Ori decided after that day that he would watch Nori more carefully and to Mahal if he would get in trouble with his second oldest brother, if there was a way for him to help then help he would.

It was Ori who saw what Thorin was planning and Ori who put forth his brothers' names for the quest. Dori blamed Nori, Nori blamed Dori; neither of them even thought that Ori had a hand in it but in the end, they went. Ori watched them pack and the path they took and he arrived just after dawn the morning of departure with his books and his pack and neither of them could convince him to go home.

Ori saw many things on the quest. He saw how Fili and Kili shared a soul, how Gloin would watch the locket with his wife's face in it, how Thorin Oakenshield would glance at their burglar and then away.

And of course, Ori saw Nori.

Ori saw how his older brother twisted together blue and purple thread in one of his many detailed and beautiful knots. He saw that the knot was hidden away in a pocket, and never saw the light of day.

Ori saw the knot and he remembered other things he'd seen.

How Nori always waited for very specific guard changes to start bar fights.

How Nori would always, always heckle his jailer, no matter how many thumps it earned him.

Ori saw great and terrible deeds on the quest but he always remembered the fights and the arguments and that knot of purple and blue.

And overly observant Ori knew- long before Nori was offered and took on the post of Spymaster, before he gifted the knot, before the very private ceremony on the mountain's edge-

that Nori was hopelessly in love with Dwalin.

Chapter Text

"I hate this."

Dwalin sighed. "So you've said. Five times, in the past ten minutes."

"Well I am going to say it again." the dwarf on the bed glared down at the papers spread across his lap-tray, fingers tangled in his hair in frustration. "Gris can hardly remember the ciphers we use for missives to Ered Luin, I'll be lucky if Fror recalls the secret knock to get into the catacombs AND that it changes every full moon, Naia got poisoned last month in that damn manish town and Keth hasn't been able to master westron at all this is a mess it is a mess I am getting out of bed and I am going myself."

"You most certainly are NOT." Dwalin said with a bit of a growl and Nori bore teeth at him. "This is YOUR fault." Nori said. "Yours, yours, and I say again, yours. If Dain gets knifed between here and the Iron Hills and the crows peck out his eyes and Erebor dissolves into civil war it will be all your fault."

"Nori." Dwalin said as patiently as he could manage, "Keth's westron is fine. Naia's mostly recovered, you saw her yesterday- she brought the blanket her mum was working on, if you recall. Gris can manage the ciphers so long as she's with him and Fror's just as quick on his feet as you are. It will all. be. fine."

"No it won't!" Nori said, dangerously close to something like hysterics. "I'll have missed something and someone will get by the security net and your people won't see it and Dain will get assassinated and Erebor will dissolve into chaos and then there will be ANOTHER dragon and-"

Dwalin, seeing the beginning of a fit, stood and went to the bed. He sat down and pulled Nori into his lap. The dwarf threw his arms around his One and shook.

"Shhh." Dwalin said, stroking Nori's back. "Shhh, love. It will be fine."

"If I wasn't so pathetic I could bear your child and do my job." Nori whispered hoarsely into Dwalin's jerkin.

"No." Dwalin said firmly. "Stop. Stop that right now." He caught Nori's chin and forced the other dwarf to look at him. "You aren't pathetic, Nori." he said, lacing their fingers together. "You're the canniest, bravest, cleverest dwarf I have ever known. There is nothing pathetic about you. I would know. I spent years looking."

That startled a laugh out of Nori. "I'm sorry, Dwalin." he murmured. "It's all just so.. and I'm so tired." he laid his head on Dwalin's shoulder. "It will be alright." Nori whispered to himself, a repeating mantra. "Nothing will go wrong. It's just a diplomatic visit. No need to fret."

"No," Dwalin said, "No need." he kissed the top of Nori's head. "I'm sending my best, Nori."

"They're not you." Nori said.

"Well no.."

"Than they aren't the best."

"I'm not leaving your side," Dwalin objected, one hand falling to Nori's swollen midsection. "Not even for the King Under the Mountain."

Nori's mother had had three very hard births; Ori had killed her. It wasn't rare for the women of their family line, and for the bearing-men, to have difficulty conceiving or carrying to term. Nori had warned Dwalin in one of their many fights-as-courtships that the likelihood of him carrying an heir for the son of Fundin was rare.

Surviving the pregnancy was even rarer. No, Dwalin would not be leaving Nori, not until he bore. Not for anything.

Dwalin kissed the back of Nori's neck. Already the slighter dwarf was half asleep, worn out from the exertion for all he claimed he was sick and tired of the eternal bedrest that the healers had ordered.

"It will be alright." Dwalin repeated. "Sleep, love. Sleep."

"Your fault," the temporarily retired spymaster of Erebor muttered. He patted the swell of their child. "I'll teach it to pick pockets."

"Don't you dare."

"And cheat at dice."

"You wouldn't."

"And how to sing like an elf."

Dwalin's hands stopped their gentle stroking of Nori's palms. "You wouldn't," he repeated, horrified.

"Tra-la-lay, welcome to the valley," Nori retorted. Before Dwalin could work up a good reply, he had fallen asleep, safe in his Guardsman's arms.

Chapter Text

"May I borrow these?"

Dwalin looked at Nori. The smaller dwarf had foregone his three-point star hairstyle for a single braid down his back. His beard was also braided differently- one long braid in the middle, foregoing his family's traditional three braids. He looked tired, and there was blood streaked across the front of his leather overtunic.

Dwalin looked down at where Nori's hands rested on top of his- specifically, over his knuckledusters.

"With the amount of times you 'borrow' them," Dwalin said, "I should just get you your own set. They can't be comfortable."

"They aren't." Nori replied shortly.

"So much for all your pretty toys." Dwalin said. He slipped the knuckledusters off and handed them over. Nori didn't respond. He pulled them on and Dwalin, as he always did, had to swallow a curse and an uncomfortably warm feeling at the feral light in Nori's eyes.

"Sometimes, Dwalin," he said, "the old fashioned way is best."

Nori turned back to the door he had emerged from, guarded by two other dwarves dressed as he was in black and leather jerkins. He nodded and one of them stepped forward to open it again.

"How long?" Dwalin asked as the door opened without a sound, revealing the single crystal lamp, table, and the captive within.

"Give me another ten minutes, sweetheart." Nori said without turning around. He tugged the knuckledusters into a more comfortable position. "Papa needs to get himself a new chisel."

Dwalin's bark of laughter echoed long after the door was closed. It almost covered the screams.

Dwalin wondered if Nori would leave this one alive.

Considering what had been said about Ori, probably not. He almost felt bad for the traitor- almost.

The Captain of the Royal Guard took the concealed tunnel up from the domain of Erebor's Hidden Vine and began planning in his head a set of beautiful steel knuckledusters.

Chapter Text

It wasn't Dwalin that Nori was afraid of.

Yes, Dwalin was a dwarf to be respected. He was powerful, he was skilled, and he was as honorable as they came. If another dragon came swooping out of the sky (Mahal forbid) Nori knew to whom he would look for orders, and the answer wasn't Dain Ironfoot. Certainly Dwalin could be scary and Nori knew that, too. After all, they had had their share of battles- both physical and mental- in the grimy corners and deep cells of Ered Luin. Yet for all they had made one another bleed, and for all that Dwalin had time and time again threatened to cut Nori's head from his body, the middle Ri brother could not bring himself to fear Dwalin, not in the same way an orc or a goblin would.

Balin, on the other hand.

Oh, Balin.

Balin made Nori feel small. He was so gentle, so soft-spoken and regal in bearing. Balin was a wealth of information of kinds practical and historical. He had the ear of Kings- both Thorin and his father, Thrain. Balin could write a beautiful poem as easily as he could knock an orc's head off. His beard was magnificent and there was no way around that. Balin made friends wherever he went, simply by being Balin.

When the inevitable had finally come to a head- that was to say, when Nori looked at Dwalin across a warm campfire and realized with a knot in his gut that he'd gone and fallen in love with the great stupid oaf- he had thought first of Balin. Balin, Dwalin's older brother, who standing in for the dead Fundin would be able to say yea or nay to any who wished to court his brother. That Dwalin wasn't one to let another, even his wise brother, make decisions for him didn't factor into Nori's worries at all; whether he survived the initial offer of courtship to Dwalin was secondary to what Balin would do to him should he think, for even a moment, that Nori was not worthy of being Dwalin's suitor.

Nori thought he wasn't worthy of a lot of things. The knitted gloves Ori made him. The thick mugs of tea that Dori brewed on nights when the wind was especially cold. The chattering laughter of Fili and Kili as they begged him for another story of of one of his 'adventures'. He wasn't even worthy to sit and listen to Bifur speaking in his ancient tongue, gesturing wildly to his relatives who could only hope to pretend at understanding.

Surrounded by good, stout-hearted dwarves, and in love with the best and most stout-hearted of them all, Nori wished some mornings he could crawl under a rock and hide.

Balin knew that, he was sure.

So no, Nori was not afraid of gruff, honorable, loving Dwalin, who deserved so much more than a thief in the night.

He was afraid of the disappointment he was sure would be in Balin's eyes, as he had seen it so often in Dori's.

After all, if he were the older son of Fundin, would he think a motherless middle son with sticky fingers good enough for his legendary brother?

No. No he would not.

Not even for all the gold in Erebor.

Chapter Text

"Are you quite alright, Lord Ori?" the Ambassador from the Gray Mountains asked. "You look a little green."

Nori smiled brightly. "I'm afraid I was out in Dale when an elvish caravan came through. Couldn't get out of the way of the bloody perfumery cart in time. Got a mouthful."

The red-bearded dwarf winced in understanding. "Elves." he muttered. "They need to smell like eight flowers all the time."

"And not even eight of the pretty ones!" Nori added. The Dwarves around them laughed and he chuckled along, taking a long sip from his tankard. He watched the high table out of the corner of one eye. Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, inclined his head towards his Consort as Bilbo said something. Something amusing, Nori was sure, as it made that wolfish smile cross his Lord's face. Thorin only ever smiled like that for Bilbo.

The dining hall was relatively empty; a few of the higher members of the court, a few men at arms, and of course the King and his family. Nori was standing in as a representative of his brother Dori who had fallen ill; he'd introduced himself to the ambassadors as 'neither the heir, nor the spare, but the one you don't mention over polite conversation!' and proceeded to fill up on ale.

The ambassador was more than happy to keep supplying it to him as he talked about Erebor- her deep delves, her treasure rooms, the recovery (slow and steady) of a true economy after years of building up and sending out hunting parties.

Then the double doors had burst open, and a slight dwarrowdam had come running in, braided beard streaming out behind her.

"IT'S HIM IT'S HIM NORI IT'S HIM-"

The ale had been drugged, of course; Nori had expected no less of a dwarf who had managed to smuggle ten trained assassins into Erebor. He had not survived as long as he had without taking full stock of his enemy.

Apparently, his enemy had not taken full stock of him.

Nori was on his feet before the ambassador could react to the shrieking dwarrowdam's accusing finger. The knife that Nori drew from the hidden sheathe on his back moved smooth as a whisper.

"I believe she's talkin' to you, friend," he said as he buried the knife in the ambassador's back, giving it one ruthless twist.

From behind the many hangings on the walls dwarves dressed in black and armed to the teeth streamed forth; Nori thought he could hear Bilbo complaining about how assassination ruined a perfectly good meal. As the world began to tilt Nori saw Thorin's face, dark as the mountain in a rainfall.

Oh I'm in for it, he thought, and succumbed to the poison he'd taken the reactive antidote to moments before he sat down in his chair.

---

Nori woke in his simple bed in the quiet rooms he kept for himself when he wasn't working or thinking about working or keeping his back safe from the kind of easy violence he'd just committed.

"In the middle of dinner, Nori?" Thorin's voice was somewhere near his left shoulder. "Really?"

"Had to make it stick, your majesty." Nori tried to open his eyes but it was like he had been dipped in tar. "Were Naia's proofs sound enough for you?"

Thorin shuffled the papers and the guilt they clearly showed off of his lap and onto a small table by the bed. "They were. You also filled my dining hall with your underlings."

"Did they do good?" Nori asked.

"They did fine. No one else died, save the ambassador. And Bilbo's appetite, of course."

"Terribly sorry about that, your majesty."

"You most certainly are not. Did you poison Dori to take his place at table?"

Nori did feel a little bad about that, though less bad than he should have. Dori was really looking forward to speaking with the ambassador. "Has he stopped cramping up yet?" the thief asked.

"He has been describing to Bofur what he will do to you. In rather intimate detail." Thorin replied.

"I can only imagine." Nori finally managed to get his eyes open. He made to sit up but when it became clear that Thorin would not be helping, he decided to remain where he was. "I couldn't get him in his rooms, My Lord. His guards were too attentive. They checked everything Naia brought him for poison. They checked the clothes for poison, for Mahal's sake."

"Can you poison clothes?" Thorin asked thoughtfully.

"Not yet." Nori said. "Have you seized his assets?"

"Naia handed the reins over to Dwalin as soon as they were in cuffs. You've amassed enough proof here to send Lord Signid running for the flatlands after cutting off his beard."

"Good." Nori's smile was fierce and white and full of teeth. "I want his hairpin." He'd admired the Ambassador's golden hairpin, in the shape of a swooping bird. It would look nice in one of Ori's braids- repayment for using his name when he sat down to dinner.

"It's in the inventory. All you need to do is sign for it." Thorin pointed out.

"You know this whole being respectable thing takes all the fun out of thievery." A lesser dwarf would have been pouting. Nori just sounded genuinely put out.

"I am very sorry to have ruined your fun, Nori."

"No, Thorin Oakenshield, you most certainly are not." Nori turned his head to look at his king. "He was going to try and kidnap Bilbo, my lord. He was going to do it after dinner. He had it all planned. I couldn't wait. I had no other choice."

"I suppose you didn't, though I'd hoped we'd broken you of such impulse during that mess with the trolls." Thorin sighed. "then again, if I'd wanted a Spymaster with scruples and an overly developed attention to decorum, I'd have hired your older brother."

"Mahal forbid!" Nori said, horrified. Thorin chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. "Consider yourself under arrest for now. Heal up. I'm making you help write the vaguely worded threats to the Gray Mountains for this."

"Why not ask your consort? He's great at vague threats."

"Nori." Thorin said patiently.

"Yes, yes, I know. I couldn't very well let him get away with it."

"No, you couldn't." Thorin chuckled and stood. "Sleep, Spymaster, you've done your King proud today."

"Glad to be of service. A nap sounds nice right about now. Wake me when Dori comes to do unspeakable things to my person." Nori stretched as well as he could. Then he said, before Thorin could open the door, "You know I'd do anything for you, Thorin. Right?"

Thorin Oakenshield thought of the plans they had found in the ambassador's rooms. Of the accidental cave in that would take Fili and Kili both. Of the slow acting poison that would rob him of all will to move and speak. He thought of how swiftly the knife had buried, and how quickly it had been twisted.

"Yes, Nori." the King under the Mountain said. "I know."

Chapter Text

"And then I'm supposed to compliment her beard-"

"Ori."

"-but only if the braids are tight enough, Dori says loose braids are a sign of loose character-"

"Ori."

"I'm sure that the eating house will be quiet so it will be a nice place to talk but what if she wants to talk about axes? I don't know enough about axes!"

"Orrrrii."

"And she just returned from a patrol and they killed ten orcs, ten, and what can I say to that 'oh did you know I found the most fascinating scrolls in the archives last week they date all the way back to-"

"ORI."

The youngest Ri brother jumped. "What?!" he exclaimed.

Nori, seated at the table and balancing a knife on his fingertip, gave his brother an appraising glance. "What the hell are you wearing?"

Ori looked down at his formal tunic, heavily embroidered and beaded with its lacy overjerkin. "Dori picked it."

"Of course he did. Is it comfortable?" Nori slid his knife back into its hidden sheathe on his thigh.

Ori shuffled and looked at his feet. "Um, well.."

"Ori." Nori said patiently, "You've fought orcs, trolls, wolves, and goblins. You can tell me if you don't like the outfit."

"It's not terribly uncomfortable, per say..."

Nori stood. "Follow me."

He all but dragged Ori back into the scribe's rooms. "Okay, shuck 'em." Nori instructed.

"What? But I can't-"

"Do it Ori." Nori went to Ori's clothing chest. "And tell me about this girl."

"Oh! Oh, well her name is Nis- daughter of Nari, they're Ironfist- and she's got the most beautiful beard, Nori, you wouldn't believe it, prettier than Gloin's wife but don't tell him I said that."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Nori said piously, emerging from the clothing chest with three different tunics. "So, she's pretty. What else?"

"She's very skilled. I saw her at the practice yards, when I was delivering ink for the quartermaster- she never once missed a target with her axes."

"A wooden target is very different from a running orc," Nori pointed out as he tried to decide between two pairs of breeches.

"Oh I know but she joins the patrols all the time!" Ori said. "And, and Nori, she can sing."

Nori decided on the gray breeches. "Sing?" he asked, laying everything he'd pulled out onto the bed. He discarded two of the tunics.

"Yes, and she sounds just like a songbird. It's so sweet and clear even when she's singing about hewing orc heads."

"Is hewing orc heads a favorite topic?"

"Yes."

"Right." Nori looked at his assemblage, nodded, and then turned to Ori who had been standing around in his small clothes. It took Nori aback, for a moment, how slender Ori wasn't; he'd grown, in many ways. His beard was longer and thicker, his shoulders broader and despite his unease he held himself far differently than the terrified scribe who had first chased his brothers out to reclaim Erebor.

Ori shuffled from foot to foot. "Nori are you okay? You look...strange."

"It's nothing." Nori said quietly. "Just- you grew up, Ori. I don't think I noticed before."

Ori smiled hopefully. "Well if you've finally noticed maybe Dori will too." he said.

Nori snorted. "You'll have to force your way out from under his skirts before you can convince dear Mother Dori of anything," he said. "now, come here. Gray breeches, purple tunic. Do you still have that dark brown jerkin?"

"Yes, it's on the shelf."

"Good." Nori went to get it while his brother changed. When he returned Ori was tightening the laces of the tunic.

"No, no, don't do that." Nori gently slapped his brother's hands away and loosened them again, revealing the expanse of pale skin beneath Ori's beard.

"But Dori will-"

"Hang Dori, you're a dwarf in his prime and taking a lady out to an eating house dressed like an accountant is not going to impress her." Nori held out the jerkin and Ori obediently lifted his arms. Nori slipped it on his brother. "You're a son of Kori. They sang songs about Da's collarbone, you know."

"No they didn't."

"If they sang songs about collarbones Da's would have gone down in history." Nori insisted. "Now turn around."

Ori did and Nori whistled and clapped. His little brother went red.

"Is it more comfortable?" Nori asked, padding around Ori to examine his handiwork.

"Oh, yes."

"Good. Something's still missing." Nori looked thoughtful, then nodded. "I've got it." He reached to his neck and removed a fine golden chain, upon which hung a small sapphire egg. Ori's eyes widened.

"Nori, you can't seriously mean-"

"I can, and I do." Nori said. He reached forward and clasped the chain around Ori's neck. The sapphire settled neatly just beneath Ori's beard, a blue flash to match the purple twist braided into his hair.

"There." Nori said firmly. "Ori, son of Kori, of the Line of Longbeard. Albeit-"

"On the wrong side of the blanket!" the two brothers said together, and they laughed. Nori reached out and taking hold of Ori's braids gently bumped their foreheads together.

"Everything will go fine." he promised. "You're a catch, Ori. Whether she knows that or not."

Ori's smile was so sweet, so sincere, that it melted a part of Nori. "Thanks."

The gong sounded.

"That's her." Ori patted himself. "Do I look alright?"

"You look like a Prince under the Mountain." Nori said. "Grab your bag, I'll let her in."

Nori headed out into the main room and down the short passageway to the door. He opened it and had to acknowledge that Ori did, indeed, have an eye for beauty. Her black beard was delicately braided in the Ironfist fashion and her eyes were clear and determined. She bowed.

"Nis, daughter of Nari, at your service." she said. Nori bowed back.

"Nori, son of Kori, at yours and your family's." He was immensely glad that Dori was still at the King's Chamber- he could only imagine what their oldest brother might have done to the poor girl. He merely stepped out of the way. "Ori, she's here. I'm out!" he called. Nis smiled and went to move past him. Nori grasped one strong shoulder and admitted to himself that he was impressed- she had quite the biceps. He leaned in close.

"I understand how younglings are," he murmured. "but hurt him more than a dwarrowdam should, and know that they will never find your body."

Nis's swallow was audible.

"Is that clear, sweetheart?" Nori asked.

"Yes, sir." she said.

"Good." Nori smiled. "Enjoy your outing." he moved past her into the causeway and headed down to the lower levels, whistling a song about blunting knives and bending forks.

Chapter Text

Nori had been a miner, once.

An apprenticed one, at least- until his wanderlust took over, and his fingers proved excellent for far defter work than the weilding of a pickaxe. However, he never forgot how to mine; what dwarf could? Burrowing in the earth was second nature to them, for it was of the earth they had been born.

Of course, the random flailing he was currently doing could be compared to mining as, say, cutting a roast with a sword when a knife was readily available.

"Nori?"

When Bofur- in charge of the southern mineshafts- had been approached about a 'barking mad dwarf with a pickaxe' he'd been concerned that his foreman was drinking on the job, a vice for which the other dwarf had been fired from other employment. No, he had been right- there was indeed a mad dwarf with a pickaxe attacking a wall of the nearest mineshaft with a vigor normally reserved for self defense.

Bofur watched the tense lines of Nori's body. "Nori?" he asked, louder.

No response.

Bofur straightened his hat and rolled up his sleeves. He had a very good idea what had caused his old traveling companion to seemingly go insane and decide to take up mining again. He waited for the right moment and darted in, grabbing the handle of the pickaxe. Nori, half in a trance, immediately let it go and made for one of his many concealed knives. Bofur dropped the pickaxe and wrapped his arms around his friend.

"Nori, it's not your fault." he said.

Nori didn't say anything. Shaking with exertion, pale and sweaty and cool to the touch, he looked up at Bofur and then hugged him back, crying like a child.

---

Bofur sat across from Nori in the chambers he shared with Bifur a few tunnels away from Nori's own lodgings. The Ri brother didn't look up as Bofur slid a cup of hot, strong tea across the table.

"you couldn't have known, Nori." Bofur said gently.

"I should have known. It's my damn job to know."

Bofur winced. "You aren't omnipotent, Nori." he said. "Devnir made her decision based on what information you had."

"I didn't know enough."

"You knew all you could have." Bofur objected. Nori took a sip of his tea and sank lower in his seat. Even his characteristic star-shaped hairstyle seemed to slump. He hadn't looked himself for months, since Devnir daughter of Devris had been found outside of the Iron Hills.

Her throat had been slit, her hands cut off. Worst of all, they'd taken her beard.

"I had to tell her father." Nori said, staring at his reflection in the teacup. "Her father, Bofur. She was only five years older than Fili was when-" he stopped talking.

"It's a risk she was willing to take." Bofur said. "You couldn't have stopped her."

"She was too young. I knew it. Naia would have been better."

"Naia was needed elsewhere." Bofur said. "You told me so yourself."

"I should have-"

"should have what, Nori?" bofur asked. "Gone yourself? Been the one in her place? So that I'd find Dori hacking at a wall, or Ori trying his hand at mining? You found the culprits. You did for them quite nicely, if I remember. Stewing like an elf lord is below you."

Nori flinched at the sharpness in gentle Bofur's tone and the miner sighed. "Nori, you can't save everyone." he said. "She knew the risks. They all do."

"Do they really?" Nori asked, finally looking up and catching Bofur's eye. "Can you honestly say any of them understand when they come to me the first time?"

"Of course they don't." Bofur said. "You train it into them. You're a good teacher, Nori, despite what Dori might say. Much as you wish you could control the outcome, you can't. You send them out and you hope to Mahal that what you've taught them is enough. You think spying's any different from mining?"

Nori snorted at that. "They aren't the same at all, Bofur."

"Well, not in spirit, no." Bofur said. "But I worry about my lads and lassies every day, Nori. I send a group down a shaft and I don't know if it will cave in, or they'll hit a gas pocket, or wake up something nasty. Now I can rely on my surveyors. They tell me the shafts are safe. What if they aren't? i don't know for sure. I have to take a risk. Sometimes that risk pays off. Sometimes, folk die. It's the same for a Captain like Dwalin- same for a king, like Dain. Like-"

Like Thorin hung in the air between them.

"Do you think he worried about us like this?" Nori asked. "Afraid to tell our families?"

"...Aye." Bofur said quietly. "I think he did."

Nori sighed. "I can't lose another agent like that, Bofur. I can't."

"So get better." Bofur shrugged. "Use what you know. Mourn Devnir, Nori. Mourn and move on In a way that doesn't have me suspecting my Foreman's been pulling an elvish butler."

Nori chuckled grimly in appreciation of the old joke. "You know too much. Curse you for being so easy to talk to." he murmured.

"It's not my fault Erebor's Spymaster gossips like a hen." Bofur said. He took his flute down from the mantle. "Now relax, my thieving friend." he played through a quick melody and added, "you can't take a mountain on your shoulders. Best just a chunk at a time."

Nori smiled and finished his tea, listening to Bofur's song and crying silently, off and on, until Bifur returned home from his shop.

Chapter Text

It was Nori's job to tie the knot.

The phrase, in fact, would many hundreds of years later come to mean marriage- the careful weaving of the strands into thick cords, the tying of those cords around the wrists of the dwarves in question beneath the statue of Mahal the maker boiled down to a half-chuckled 'ism.

Nori worked carefully and steadily. For Ori, clearly, purple- in all its shades, both as vibrant and as pale as it got. One dye was so bright Dori claimed it made his eyes hurt; one was so pale it was almost gray, the exact shade that Ori had been when he'd rejoined his brothers at the gates of Erebor. Nori performed the task of spinning in solitude. Others took on his duties within Erebor; he sat in the deep quiet of the Spinning Room and in a trance he spun his brother. Little Ori, who chewed on the end of his quills; bright Ori, who sought out answers when others insisted there were none to be found. Childish Ori, stubborn Ori, beautifully melodic and thoughtful Ori, all captured in the thread.

It took seven days and seven nights to be complete and the final product, wrapped reverently around a silver spool, was as thick around as one of Nori's calloused fingers.

In a rare twist, it was also Nori's job to spin for the bridegroom, a duty normally reserved for the closest family.

"Balin's fingers aren't up to it, lad. I don't know anyone whose hands I'd trust more."

Nori took one day to rest. He slept, ate a light meal, bathed and spent some time puffing on his pipe and gazing into nowhere. Then, at the stroke of midnight, he began anew.

Dwalin was orange and crimson and yellow, fiery and subtle, slow burning and warm. Vermillion for his temper, rust for his sorrow; golden orchre for his smile and pumpkin for his laugh. Throughout it all was an amber thread, for loyalty; buttercup, for laughter. Persimmon too for the sound of his violin, and scarlet for his war cry.

Dwalin's cord was wrapped around a second silver spool, and both were placed in the same jade box.

On the morning of the binding, with their private vows spoken, the coals burned hot and Nori stood before his brother and the dwarf he loved with the jade box in hand. He looked every inch a Lord beneath the Mountain only because Dori- resplendent in his own heavily embroidered robes- pointed out that he had the coin to look like more than a vagabond.

Nori spoke the ancient words of binding and from the box withdrew the cords; the look in Dwalin's eyes, the awe on Ori's face, made him smile, just a bit. He tied the cords around their wrists and with a few skilled twists (for what thief could not create and undo a knot?) he bound their bodies together and stood back.

Dwalin led, Ori followed; shoeless they crossed the burning coals and didn't feel the pain, for all they knew was the warmth of each other and the echoing roar of their friends and family in their ears. A still, small voice whispered to them and they knew it to be their Maker, blessing their union. Dwalin lifted their bound hands for the small crowd to see and Ori had to nearly stand on his tiptoes.

Then, of course, came the kiss, and more cheering, and a feast the likes of which Erebor had not seen for an Age.

Nori was at the feast. He nodded and accepted the compliments on his spinning and knotwork. He congratulated his little brother, told Dwalin he'd best keep Ori happy. He drank with Bofur and sang with Dori and even danced with a dwarf or two.

When he had properly recovered from the celebrations- which took between three days and four, depending on whom you were talking to and how much they had been drinking at the time- Nori cleaned up his small home in the mountain's walls. He took apart his spinning wheel, sequestered away the dyes and the threads. He took up his work again and was as efficient at it as he had been before.

If any noticed a change, they said nothing, but Nori was sure they did not notice. After all, he was a thief at heart- and thieves were excellent liars.

Nori thought about the single strand of purple-black plum he had spun, deep in the reds and the oranges and the yellows of the cord he had created to bind the one he had always desired to someone else. A small defiance, a declaration. It was my heart here first. I loved him more.

Nori tried to be content with that.

Chapter Text

"They're gonna be canoodling by the end."

Bombur looked up from his plate. "What?"

"Them." Bofur motioned across the fire to where Dwalin was growling in khuzdul at Nori, who was laughing and waving the other dwarf's money purse back and forth, having just nicked it from Dwalin's belt.

Bombur chuckled. "Them, brother? You're dreaming."

-completely out of it. They hate eachother. Dwalin's arrested Nori so many times I think he has a designated pair of handcuffs.- Bifur added in khuzdul. Bofur turned the new flute he had been whittling over in his hands.

"Ten gold pieces," he said, "says that they'll be screwin' on the gold piles the moment we make it into Erebor."

"You're out of your mind, brother mine." Bombur said. "I'll take that bet."

-Me too.- Bifur said.

Bofur just smiled.

---

"I submit that they aren't canoodling ON the gold." Bombur said, grasping at straws.

"Next to the gold pile still counts you know." Bofur said sweetly.

-And Nori's hair is definitely in the gold,- Bifur said, -so technically--

The three laborers ducked the small axe thrown in their direction.

"Shall we continue the conversation back in the main hall?" Bombur asked hurridly.

"Right." Bofur said. Laughing, he took off and his cousin and brother followed. On the other side of the gold pile Dwalin let out a growl that was half groan as he turned his attention back to the chuckling, gasping thief below him.

"And what's so funny?" Dwalin asked, punctuating his sentence with a strong thrust of his hips.

Nori shook his head. "Bofur," he panted in Dwalin's ear, "only bets on sure things."

Chapter Text

"Hey, Dwalin?"

At his desk and glaring into coffee number eight, Dwalin Fundin grunted.

"You might wanna see this."

The dwarf rolled his eyes. The last time a probationary officer had said something to that effect, the entire precinct had nearly wound up underwater due to a sewage leak and Dwalin had spent the next two weeks doing his paperwork in his brother's study.

"Whatever you broke, your uncle will tan your hide for it." He said, finally abandoning his coffee to begin the arduous uphill battle of Fundin vs Microsoft Excel.

"Okay, then I won't tell you what that pickpocket you caught last night wrote on his exit form."

Dwalin sat bolt upright. "Give it here, Kili."

Probationary officer Kili Durin waved the piece of paper just out of reach, on the other side of the double desk he shared with his brother in the bullpen. "ah ah ah. Play nice, Mr. Dwalin!"

Dwalin stood. He had roughly six inches on Kili, and was easily twice the lad's width. Kili's eyes widened and he yelped as Dwalin moved with slow purpose towards him. Kili had youth and speed on his side but Dwalin had patience. He scruffed the younger officer like a kitten and stood in the aisle dangling the lad, ignoring his undignified squawking.

"This is nice. Do you want to see nasty?" Dwalin asked.

"A very wise dwarf once told me that I should learn to keep my trap shut." Kili muttered. "Here."

Dwalin took the piece of paper, eyebrows raised. "Where's your brother?"

"Not sure. He left for coffee."

Dwalin grunted and dropped Kili. The younger dwarf yelped and glared at his superior, rubbing his thigh where he had bounced off a desk. "That hurt!" he pouted.

"Cry me a river." Dwalin replied. He looked the form over. Someone had paid the bail- A fellow named Dori Ri, and Dwalin wrinkled his nose at the name. It sounded familiar.

"Ri?" he asked himself out loud.

"Oh he works in the mayor's office!" Kili said brightly. "The Dori fellow."

An image came to mind- a fusty gentleman with beautiful silver hair. A friend of Balin's, if Dwalin remembered correctly.

The mouthy pickpocket was related to Dori the stuffed shirt?

Curious.

Dwalin gave Kili a withering look and kept reading. The court date was set, the personal affects (WHAT personal effects, all the man had had on him was a wallet and three knives) had been released.

"What are you on about?" Dwalin demanded of Kili. "This is standard."

Kili's grin had broadened from 'mildly amused' to 'possibly on some kind of really good hallucinogen.'

"Turn it over." Kili said.

Dwalin grunted and did so.

He stared.

He stared a little longer.

There was a phone number scrawled across the back of the form in purple pen. Underneath it there was a message.

Hey Officer, come up and see me sometime. Bring the cuffs.

Nori Ri

Dwalin realized that he could hear the sound of the bullpen's photocopier- an ancient beast of a thing- rumbling. He looked down at the paper. He looked up. He could barely see Fili's golden head over the divider. Kili had joined him.

"FILI! KILI!"

"Shit we're busted-"

"Run Kili!"

The two probationary officers- streaming fluttering clouds of double-sided photocopies of Dwalin's 'love note'- ran for their lives, cackling like mad. Dwalin chased madly after them.

"When I tell the Captain-"

"What are you going to tell him?!" Fili called over his shoulder. "That you've got a hot date?"

"Dwalin and the pickpocket sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-" Kili started.

When Captain Thorin Durin learned why his two nephews had black eyes, he gave them both punishment work and demanded the return of the photocopied forms from every officer who had received one, citing that 'paperwork like that does not belong on the office bulletinboard and Mr. Baggins does not need any more stress than is already upon him."

Dwalin went home and got very drunk.

Chapter Text

Hello, you poor daft bugger,

If you are reading this comprehensive list, then congratulations, you've been chosen to escort the King's Consort on one of his many trips to Dale or (Mahal bless your poor soul) to the Shire. Read these instructions carefully. Dedicate them to your memory. I am not joking, to your memory. Tattoo them if you have to, I know a good inkist. Keep in mind that these rules are guidelines and that the escort in question should use his or her best judgement when dealing with a traveling hobbit. It is best to err on the side of caution. Err very far.

Rule #1: Whatever the King's Consort says, goes. If the wee hobbit asks you to stop and pick the daisies at the side of the road, you stop and pick the daisies. You do not ask questions. You do not complain. You pick. The Mahal-cursed daisies.

Rule #2: Always Keep The King's Consort in sight. Let me repeat that. ALWAYS KEEP THE KING'S CONSORT IN SIGHT. He's a hobbit, they're very small and easy to lose. Do you want to report to the King Under the Mountain that you lost his Consort because you were giving eyes at the newest axe-grinder to arrive from the Iron Hills? I didn't think so.

Rule #3: Rule number two is only to be deviated from in the case of personal family affairs regarding the Consort or bathing. If the Consort catches you trying to take a peek, I will not speak for you before the King rends your head from your shoulders. You pay for your own idiocy.

Rule #4: Do not insult the elves. The King's Consort is named Elf Friend and therefore, the nancy tree shaggers WILL want to talk to him, and Mahal knows why but he WILL want to talk to them. Growling and looking ornery are allowed, but do your best to keep your trap buttoned. Ever been kicked by an irate hobbit? It hurts.

Rule#5: Despite what you might have heard, most hobbits have no trouble politely ignoring a troop of Dwarves trampling through their town, though they take more offense if you wander into the flowerbeds. Remember: the women are far craftier than the men, and often carry rolling pins made of solid oak.

Rule #6: See attached the Consort's family tree. Memorize it as best you can. If the Consort is approached by anyone who looks as though they have eaten a lemon, be aware that that is most probably a Sackville-Baggins and we do have an axe on sight order for them.

Addendum to Rule #6: before actually throwing the axe, please be sure it is a Sackville-Baggins, not a very grumpy Brandybuck.

Addendum 2 to Rule #6: Yes there's a bloody difference. Learn it, and soon.

Rule #7: While everyone enjoys a good tankard of ale you are to remain sober at all times. All times. I do not ever want a repeat of the Green Dragon Incident (Archives Scroll 8 paragraph 2) If I hear a single word of you being drunk on the job I will slit you from ear to ear and dump your body down a mineshaft.

Rule #8: When the King's Consort wants something in a market, no matter how trivial, get it for him. Try your best to do the haggling for him, as he is and I quote 'right shite at it'.

Rule #9: Don't stab the Bag End gardener. He's been working for the Consort's family for years and injuring him just because he wanted to say hello to his friend is Right Out.

Rule #10: As tempting as it might be to regale the King's Consort with stories of your own bravery in whatever fantasy world you live in, refrain. He does not need to be impressed by you. He sleeps with the King. He is already thoroughly impressed.

Rule #11: Keep on hand an emergency supply of brass buttons. the Consort tends to shed these. We're not sure where he keeps them all.

Addendum to Rule #11: If you cannot maintain a supply of brass buttons, see 'Hobbit Button Guide' at the back of this pamphlet for information on suitable replacements.

Rule #12: Old Toby is the best pipeweed. Don't contradict the Consort when he tells you this. If you disagree, disagree in your head and remember, sleeps with the King.

Rule #13: The dragon jokes were old before the body fell in the lake. I take no responsibility for what might happen should you persist in asking the Consort precisely how he 'tamed the savage beast'.

Addendum to Rule #13: Whatever it is, I hope it hurts like burning.

Rule #14: By order of His Royal Majesty Thorin II Oakenshield of the Line of Durin, anyone caught flirting with, making eyes at, or speaking in a lascivious manner with the Consort is to be immediately and painfully disciplined.

Addendum to Rule #14: Try your best to do it where the hobbit can't see you.

Addendum 2 to Rule #14: trust me.

Rule #15: When traveling with the Consort it is required of every escort to bathe at least once every two days. Don't give me that bloody look you don't need to smell like an elf just get the grime and the blood off.

Rule #16: It is a custom of the Hobbits of the Shire to share flower chains with newcomers. Assuming any hobbits approach with flower chains, do not refuse them. Unless you have hay fever it won't kill you and you can always get rid of them later.

Rule #17: Try your best not to be startled by Hobbit fauntlings tugging on your beard. They've never seen beards like ours, it's an occupational hazard. For best protection against curious fingers, make sure you're all braided up.

Rule #18: In the end what the Consort says, goes. If he says jump, you say how high. If he asks you to get him a rock from the highest peak of the farthest mountain, you do it. If he tells you to piss off for an hour while he tries to talk to his relations then within reason, do it.

Addendum to Rule #18: No, I don't care that he's a hobbit not a dwarf.

Addendum 2 to Rule #18: He's done more for our people in one lifetime than you could even dream of.

Addendum 3 to Rule #18: He's the entire reason we have a Mahal-cursed mountain and if you don't respect that I will give you to the Heir under the Mountain and his brother.

Addendum 4 to Rule #18: And then I'll tell Dwalin on you.

Addendum 5 to Rule #18: but you'll have to face all three without fingers, because I will cut them off. Painfully. Slowly. Smiling all the while.

Now that you have finished the list of rules and regulations regarding traveling with the Royal Consort, make sure you have read 'Hobbit Minds and Manners'. For your convenience, we have several copies in the archives.

Best of luck to you, you sorry sod.

Nori of Ri

Chapter Text

Something old

Dori had kept the beads safe for many long years. First he had kept them in a wooden box. When their caravan was attacked for the third time before reaching Ered Luin he had foregone the box and sewn them into the lining of his coat. They were made of mithril and carved over with swirling lines so delicate it was as if the wind had etched the metal. They had been Mother's pride and joy. If Dori closed his eyes he could see them in her beard as she rocked the then infant Nori to sleep, singing a song of Mahal forging the sun and moon.

Getting them out of his coat was easy, restoring their luster was not. He went to Gloin after a time, and the older dwarf took them with a kind of quiet reverence.

"I'll make them shine." he promised Dori, and Dori nodded, bowed his thanks, and went home to cry for a little while.

Something new

Dori knew precisely what he was going to make. It had come to him, as some of his projects did, in a dream. He'd all but evicted Ori from their shared workshop for nearly a week as he carefully hammered the gold and made the chains. Picking the stone was the hardest part but Dori had their father's eye for gems; he settled at last on a star ruby cabochon that gleamed so red it was nearly black. When the light hit its center, it shattered into brilliant white streaks. He set it delicately in its golden bed and affixed the chains just so. Three chains, three peaks, three brothers. It would come together in the back, and could be transformed into a necklace instead of a headpiece.

When Ori saw it, he clasped his hands over his mouth and teared up.

"Dori," he whispered, "It's beautiful."

Dori felt it was adequate.

Something borrowed

"Entirely for ceremonial purposes, of course." Dori told the King Under the Mountain. "I'll get him to give it back. I hope."

Thorin's chuckle was deep and shook Dori's ribcage. "I hope so too, but my Captain will be sure of it. Stand up, Dori. You do not need to bow to me."

Dori stood but carefully. Thorin Oakenshield moved off of his carved chair and removed the small dagger with its enameled handle from its clip on his belt.

"Here, my friend." he said. "With hope and a prayer."

"We'll need both." Dori said, only half in jest.

Something blue

Dori worked on the embroidery for hours. Sometimes, Gloin's wife or Dis would drop in and take up a needle, but mostly it was Dori and an endless bounty of blue thread, knotted and stitched with care into the plum-purple sleeves.

Here was the old khuzdul sign for birth, here the decimation of the dragon. Here was the thief's lamp, to light the way past Mandos into the Heart of the Mountain. Here were stitched years spent apart, and a quest together.

Across the back and shoulders of the shirt Dori embroidered a life, leaving the front empty and knowing that he would be filling it soon.

A sixpence in your shoe

Dori stood back and admired his handiwork. Nori was staring at him, pale, mouth a tight line, as though he'd never seen his older brother before.

"Good." Dori said with a nod. He adjusted Thorin's dagger on Nori's hip and carefully, gently, tugged the golden chains that looped up over each peak of his unique hairstyle into place, rubbing his thumb across the red ruby on Nori's forehead. Gloin had done a marvelous job with the beads; against the purple of the shirt and the blue embroidery they shined like tiny stars in Nori's beard. "You almost look like a real noble. Think you can fool them long enough to get the vows out?" Dori asked.

"Dori?"

Dori tilted one eyebrow. "If you're having second thoughts you'd best take your shirt off before running out on him, I don't want all that work getting wrecked in the mud Dwalin will dump you in when you leave him at the altar."

"Dori shut up." Nori said roughly. Then he reached forward and grabbed his brother.

Dori stiffened up, then relaxed as Nori hugged him, shaking.

"Shh." Dori murmured, rubbing Nori's back as he had a long time ago, when they were not yet three brothers, when their mother still wore mithril in her beard. "Shhh."

"Thank you." It was so soft that Dori almost didn't hear it; he knew he wouldn't hear it again, but the tighter Nori hugged the more the room began to blur and it didn't take Dori long to realize he was crying. In the corner Ori was struggling with his own tears. Nori gestured with one arm and the youngest joined them. Silently they held one another.

Dori took a long, deep breath. Nori released him and Ori let go. They looked at one another and all smiled the smile they had inherited from their father.

"Oh!" Ori said. "Don't forget!" he dug into his belt purse and held up a silver coin.

"For luck." he said, sheepishly.

Nori laughed and slipped off his boot. Ori dropped the coin in; Nori put his boot back on.

"Come on, Trouble." Dori said quietly. "Let's go get you married."

Chapter Text

Fili and Kili were very proud of their beards and hair. It was natural and expected; they were the heirs to the King under the Mountain. Unless travel or battle got in the way, they remained well groomed and presentable. Barring, of course, adventures in the lower city.

And running off with that damn Tauriel when the Mirkwood representatives arrived.

And convincing Bilbo that a 'short trip to Dale' would be a brilliant idea in a torrential downpour.

All in all, they were both handsome fellows who knew their worth. As was proper for their culture they knew a great deal about hair and beads and braids. Kili was more apt to comment on the various styles they saw than Fili. Sometimes Kili would shanghai Ori into drawing the more interesting braids they had seen, just so he could keep a record. Fili privately thought that if his brother didn't marry a comely lass or lad with just the right braids, he would forever remain a bachelor.

They were in that market when Kili grabbed his arm. "Fili." he said, sounding reverent. "Fili, look."

Fili sighed. "What is it now?" he asked. They had foregone their more formal clothes for normal workwear and left out their heir braids; the intention was to come to market and haggle over some rubies from the southland, for a piece Fili was working on.

"Fili it is perfection." Kili's eyes were wide. "I have gazed upon that which is fairest."

"Oh Mahal brother don't be so maudlin." Fili said.

Kili just tugged. "Look," he insisted again, and Fili rolled his eyes and looked.

And looked.

And looked.

Alright, Kili had a point. That was a perfect herringbone braid. A perfect, very long herringbone- the end of the braid was well past the dwarf's waist. The color was fine- a good, strong brown with clear red highlights, nothing fraying or frizzed. There was a ribbon run through the braid, a deep plum purple in color, tied off in an intricate knot at the bottom. Something about it niggled Fili's brain.

The dwarf the braid was attached to was talking with a guardsman. He was slender, for a dwarf, wearing a black tunic with gray trousers and serviceable boots. The guard seemed intent on his words.

"Well, it is very nice." Fili had to admit. "Now let's- Kili?" Kili was gone from his side, approaching the dwarf. "Kili!" he chased after his brother.

Kili crept closer, intent on the braid. It was so smooth, so long. Long hair was a mark of pride for Dwarves, as were long beards; how complex were this dwarf's working braids, if his rest braid was a herringbone? And could he teach it?

Fili saw Kili reaching out to touch the dwarf's shoulder just as he remembered why the ribbon seemed important.

"KILI NO!"

The guard backed up and Kili's wrist was twisted. He was dragged around in front of the dwarf and pressed down, a knife halfway to his throat before recognition threaded through the dwarf's eyes.

"Kili? By Mahal, boy, you should know better!"

Fili, having come abreast of his brother and Nori of Ri, tried his best to keep from grinning at the look of shock on his brother's face.

"You look..very different without your three peaks, Master Nori." Fili said. Behind him, his brother was a stuttering wreck.

"It's easier to come here without announcing myself." Nori grumbled. "What are you two doing?"

"Shopping. And we were just leaving to try that other stall, weren't we, Kili?"

"Y-yes, yes we were."

"So good day, Master Nori!" Fili smiled brightly and dragged his brother away from their Uncle's Spymaster, who watched them go with his braided brows furrowed.

"Something," he said to the guard, "is not right with those lads."

---

"Dwalin is going to kill me."

"No he won't."

"Dwalin is going to kill me and feed my body to wargs and tell Uncle that I finally went mad and decided to join the wood elves."

"Kili for Mahal's sake all you did was touch his shoulder!"

"I am coveting another dwarf's dwarf!" Kili gave a dramatic howl. "The braid, Fili, the braid! Lead me not into temptation!"

"Kili, please." Fili was getting a headache. "Please, can we just pretend like this never happened?"

"I will never love again."

Fili threw his hands in the air and went to find a drink.

Chapter Text

Sometimes it was just painful to watch.

Bifur sat on the edge of the fire and observed, like he did when he was within himself and not trapped in a dream. Starfish and Scar were watching one another again- but only each to the other when the other wasn’t looking.

The whole thing was ridiculous, at least that’s what Bifur thought. Starfish would watch Scar and rub his wrists. Starfish had scars there, thick ones from cuffs. Bombur had explained that Starfish had to go on the quest, or go back to Ered Luin in chains.

That was part of the problem, Bifur suspected. Scar was the one who had put him in chains.

Why? If Scar loved Starfish, as was clear as the axe in Bifur’s head, why did he put him in chains? love had a way of taming savage beasts didn’t it? And the looks Starfish gave Scar WERE savage, and yearning, and everything Bifur suspected a dwarf could put into a look.

They were matched only by the way Scar looked at Starfish. Scar was even sneakier, if such a thing were possible; he only looked at Starfish when he was on watch, and Starfish was sleeping. Everyone else slept too but Bifur didn’t. Sometimes he walked in dreams and lost track of time. When he came to himself he would see Scar watching Starfish and stroking his axe.

Sometimes Scar growled to himself, and sometimes he and Starfish got into fights. King Lion always stopped the fights before they got bad. Bifur almost wanted to tell King Lion to let them go. He suspected fights might lead to kisses but more often they led to broken bones.

The final straw for the frustrated Bifur came when he heard Starfish talking to Inky. Inky was asking Starfish what he thought of a portrait of Scar that Inky was working on.

Starfish looked like he swallowed a bee.

“It looks fine, Ori.” he’d said. “Just fine.”

Starfish’s fingers were twitching, like they did sometimes when he was near precious things.

Bifur decided right then and there. By the end of the quest Starfish and Scar would be bonded or he’d kill them both.

He nodded to himself and returned to his private dreams.

Chapter Text

Dori lowered the lantern and his flail and stared.

"Nori. Nori what have you done?"

His younger brother stood in the churned mud outside their leaky tent, rain completely ruining his three-peaked hairstyle. He was soaked; his waterproofed and furlined coat was wrapped around the cooing bundle in his arms.

"Shut up and let me in," Nori hissed. Dori glanced swiftly around but the rest of the camp was silent. The other dwarves had long since gone to bed, disheartened by the constant downpour and their less than warm reception in the village a few miles off.

"Come on." Dori gestured and Nori swiftly stepped inside, shaking his head a bit to get the worst of the rain off. The little brazier Dori had traded for in the last town was burning merrily and warmed the chilled air of the tent. Dori sat down on their pile of matted furs, hands wringing together. Nori ignored his sibling and carefully laid out his coat bundle. He unwrapped it to reveal-

a baby. A small, sleepy, flushed dwarfling, with barely a smidgen of beard.

"Nori." Dori said. "Nori-"

"They took him." Nori said hoarsely. He'd been gone for three days and it showed; his eyes were shadowed. "Humans. He was beside his Ma in that ditch."

Dori recalled the ditch. A few dwarves had stopped to try and bury the dead. He had not been one of them, but Nori had- at least, he'd thought he had been.

"I followed them."

Dori's ears were ringing.

"Nori you stole a child."

"He wasn't theirs to take!"

"He wasn't YOURS either!" Dori was surprised at how the anger came upon him, swift and hot. "We can't care for a baby, Nori! I can barely look after YOU! If a human family decides to take in an orphaned dwarfling then Valar bless them because-"

"They were going to sell him, Dori."

Dori's heart skipped a beat.

"...what?" he whispered. Nori gave his brother a flat look. His blue-gray eyes gave no lie.

"Nori, maybe you misheard." Dori said.

"You think I'd take a babe away from a family that loved it?" Nori asked. "A family that could take care of it? They weren't like that, Dori. They were headed for Harad and talking about how much they could fetch for a dwarf slave that could be raised from infancy. They were going to, to give him away like a bunch of beads or a sword or-" Nori cut himself off, hands clenched tightly, nails biting into his palms through his worn leather half-gloves. "He's one of ours. I couldn't leave him there."

Dori looked down at the dwarfling, who seemed unharmed for having traveled all that distance in the rain. Having decided that his surroundings were not interesting enough to contemplate, he had fallen asleep.

"Nori," Dori said. Nori didn't respond.

"Do we know anything?" the older brother prompted. "Age, clan?"

"They took out his braids." Nori said. "If he had beads, they were gone. I didn't want to risk waking the bastards looking for them. He's too young for a clan tattoo. His mother's probably underground by now. Brown hair? He could be an Ironfist, a Longbeard, a Broadbeam, who knows."

Dori turned his gaze back to the baby. Carefully, he lifted the little boy up. The babe made a soft mumbling noise and wrapped sturdy fingers in Dori's beard.

Dori turned and found a piece of flannel in their makeshift bed. He handed it to Nori who silently began to dry himself off. Dori resettled himself on the bed and thought of everything they would need- burping cloths, a backboard, something to use as a cradle- would the big iron pot do?

Dori felt for his own braids. Seeing this, Nori reached for his beard. The two carefully unraveled small portions of their hair, taking out a silver bead each.

Nori handed his over without a word. Dori adjusted his hold on the little one as his younger brother went digging in a pack. A chipped bone comb was produced. Nori sat down beside Dori and began detangling the baby's curls. The child didn't like that and began to fuss. Dori soothed him, singing an old lullaby in khuzdul. Wide green eyes gazed up at the two of them. Nori took the baby from Dori and Dori began braiding, fingers nimbly putting the two beads into the child's hair, one on either side.

Dori kissed the baby's forehead. "Ori." he said in the solemn quiet of the tent, the rain pouring down. "You are Ori, of Ri."

Their youngest brother giggled, and his older brothers held him cradled between them to sleep.

Chapter Text

"Aren't you going to get rid of him?!"

"It's not that easy, dear-"

"He's been sitting there for nearly half an hour! He probably has half the silver lockets up his sleeves by now!"

Grig son of Grim shook his head. "Dear, he hasn't done a single thing but sit and smoke and watch people go by."

"I don't CARE!" his wife whacked his shoulder with the flat of her half-gloved hand, her other busily turning the fine glass on the end of the tube she was working. "He's a thief, Grig, and I want him gone!"

Grig sighed and moved away as his wife returned her attentions to the hot glass, which would under her ministrations become a golden flower in a vase. Outside of her studio was their market stall, where husband and wife sold various creations- lockets, small pen knives, earrings, glass globes to blow light into or to hold down papers. It made them a decent living in the midtown of Erebor and Grig was happy to keep quiet and pleasant with all his customers.

Still, his wife was right. The man sitting at one of the stools that the merchants kept about for customers was clearly Nori of Ri.

And he was most definitely a thief.

He'd never stolen from Grig, not when they'd had their meager offerings in the iron hills, but he'd stolen from others Grig knew. His name was cursed thrice over from there all the way to the South. Nori was caught rarely and sentenced never; someone, probably his older more courtly brother Dori, always pulled the strings. Unapologetic he had roamed the markets of the Iron Hills, taking what he wanted without paying what was owed.

This was not the Iron Hills. This was Erebor. Grig steeled his spine and went to oust the thief in hopes that he would bother someone else. Maybe he could call the Watchmen...

When he approached he noticed that Nori was looking past his pipe intently at something in the case. The dwarf noticed movement and glanced up. "Ah." he said, face brightening. "Are you the glassblower?"

Grig shook his head, resolve crumbling at the sudden change in dynamic. "No, that's my wife."

"She does very fine work." Nori leaned in. "Tell me, is that a quill?"

Grig leaned over the cases and saw what Nori looked at- one of several long, hollow-barreled glass tubes, with a nib. He nodded. "Aye. They're a bit of a new product- we're experimenting with them. S'why they're not out in front."

"How do they work?" Nori asked.

Grig, unable to resist his marketing instinct, removed one from the case. "You pour your ink in here." he gestured. "It travels the veins in the glass, gives it color. Then you screw the nib in-" he demonstrated. "And you write."

"But how does the ink not all run out?" Nori asked.

"the nib is very small." Grig said. "It would be impossible. Have to store the things upright, though, more's the pity. We're hoping to figure a way to make the ink last longer. Cleaning them out's a bit of a pain, too. One color of ink per quill."

It wasn't normally Grig's prerogative to tell a potential customer what was wrong with his products, but he'd been right in saying this was a new thing, one his wife had dreamed up in a tizzy. Besides, maybe if Nori thought everything at the stall was defective, he wouldn't try to steal anything.

"Fascinating." Nori said. "You know-" he paused and straightened, like a burrowing rat who sensed danger. Grig, startled by this sudden change, turned his head.

"What is it?"

"You'd best get down, Master Merchant." Nori said, reaching down to his belt for one of his many sharp knives. "I'm about to make a mess."

Then he strode forward, away from the stall and towards one of the many dwarves in the crowd. Grig saw him tap the fellow on the shoulder. He saw the dwarf turn- and then everything got jumbled. The dwarf ran and Nori began chasing him, hither and yon through the marketplace. livestock were in an uproar, market goers were throwing themselves to the side, shopkeepers were bellowing as their wares were kicked through and as Nori the thief chased the fellow towards the great gates that indicated the beginning of the market he filled his lungs and yelled, "DWALIN!"

The watchmen poured out of every nook and cranny and converged on the dwarf. It was all Grig could see before the crowd got too thick.

"what is going on?!" His wife exclaimed.

Grig had to admit that he didn't know.

"Ah, well." she placed her newest piece out to cool and said, "At least you got rid of- oh by Mahal he's back."

Indeed Nori was back, having scaled the wall and used the top to clamber past the surging crowd, leaving the actual arrest to Dwalin son of Fundin and his more than capable guards. He landed and neatened himself up.

"What's your name, Master merchant?" Nori asked, as though he wasn't covered in dust and muck from the run, with a smear of blood across his cheek.

"Grig." the stunned merchant answered.

"Master Grig. I would very much appreciate two of those new fangled quills. Do you do the ink filling?"

"We can." Grig's wife said cautiously.

"Good. One in purple, one in gold, please." Nori removed from his worn beltpurse enough money to buy ten of the new glass quills without a problem. "Deliver them to the sixth house on Sapphire way," he said, citing the district where the nobles lived. "I'd do it myself but alas, duty calls." he waved and then headed for the crowd. Grig blinked and the other dwarf disappeared.

"Not much of a thief," he finally managed, turning to his wife, "if he pays for things."

The dwarrowdam snorted. "A well earned reputation is a well earned reputation." she said. "Watch the stall I'm going to go find out what in the name of Mahal is going on."

Chapter Text

Legolas gazed up at the Lonely Mountain. It was as tall and commanding as he remembered, that solitary peak where he had seen battle for the first time. Behind him Gimli was bidding their hosts for the night goodbye; they would spend the morning riding up the well maintained trade road between the realm of Erebor and the town of Dale. Everywhere there were scars of the battles past- wrecked buildings, scorched walls. However the people remained, as strong-hearted as ever they had. It gave Legolas hope, for the new age of Men.

"The mountain won't turn into a pleasing pine the longer you watch it, Legolas." Gimli came up alongside his friend and Legolas smiled, offering an arm. "I am not trying to make your mountain into a tree, Gimli." he said as the dwarf climbed up behind him, Arod patiently waiting for his second rider to become situated. "I was merely thinking that it has grown since last I saw it."

"Mountains do not grow, Legolas, not like trees."

"Not in leaves, no, but in majesty, perhaps. It truly was a lonely mountain with no dwarves inside of it." Legolas turned Arod and they clattered out the gate to much cheering and waving, for there were few places in Middle Earth that didn't know to some degree the quest that they had been sent on. As they rode they talked but about an hour in, Gimli fell silent. Legolas was confused.

"Gimli, what is it?" he asked, sensing an anticipation in his companion.

"Nothing, elf." Gimli said. "I only expected to see him-"

"Sooner than this?"

The voice came from a boulder not far off the road, where a dwarf was smoking a pipe. Legolas pulled Arod up short and behind him Gimli cried out in pleasure.

"Nori!" He slipped from Arod's back and ran to the newcomer.

Laughing, the dwarf on the boulder put out his pipe and stood. He was a little taller than Gimli, with brown hair that was beginning to show the white streaks of a dwarf's advancing years. He had on his back a pack and wore traveling clothes beneath his plum-purple cloak. Something about the dwarf was familiar- maybe the glint in his eyes, or the way he carried himself? Legolas was certain he'd remember that hair.

"Little Gimli, home from war." Nori hugged Gimli tightly. "Not so little anymore, I suspect."

"Ach, you lot have been calling me little for years." Gimli muttered.

"But you are little!" Nori said. "Little as can be. Do you know you've got an elf attached to you?"

Gimli turned and motioned to Legolas. "Aye, I know. Nori, this is-"

"Legolas Thranduillion." Nori said, and Legolas paused in tying Arod to a nearby sapling. "Third son of King Thranduil."

"And my shield brother." Gimli said, defensively.

"Your One." Nori said.

Legolas nearly choked. They had discussed how this information would be shared with Gloin and his wife, with Gimli's younger brother and sister; never once had they discussed how to word it with other Dwarves, whom Gimli claimed were private by nature and would think it a family affair.

Gimli looked furious. "Nori-"

"If I've told you once, I've told you twice, I've told you a thousand times, Gloin's son, there's not a word in or out of that mountain that I don't read or hear." Nori sounded slightly smug. "It's not my mess to deal with, anyway, though I do pity your father."

"Do you slight my One?" Legolas watched Gimli's hands stray to his axe.

"I slight no one, Gimli son of Gloin." Nori said sharply. "The choosing of a One is not a decision made lightly and I know you are not a fool. Save your idiot pride for when you'll need it, boy, I'm no enemy of yours."

Legolas came abreast of Gimli and put his hand on his dwarf's shoulder. "Thank you." he said earnestly. "You know my name already, but I will give it again. Legolas Thranduilion, at your service."

"Nori son of Kori, at yours and your family's." the dwarf bowed. "I won't be staying long. I'm off to Dale. But there's something I needed to do first."

"Aye, and what's that?" Gimli asked suspiciously. Nori grinned. "I'm afraid in my old age I am feeling a bit of a pinching guilt." he declared piously. "I would see the mistakes of my youth set right."

"By mistakes, do you mean what you did last week, or last year?" Gimli asked impishly. Nori waved one gloved hand. "I am ignoring you." he said regally. He turned his attention to Legolas. "Against our foes, you fought well. You brought our Gimli back to us and had a hand in the salvation of all the free peoples of Middle Earth. Not bad, for a nancy pointy ear with sharp feet."

Legolas rose an eyebrow and squeezed Gimli's shoulder. He could feel the dwarf bubbling over.

"In that case," Nori reached into his sleeve, "It seems only polite to rectify a bit of meanness." he removed a cloth-wrapped bundle and held it out to Legolas with a flourish. "For you, Prince of Mirkwood."

Legolas blinked at the bundle, then at the dwarf. He reached out and took the package. "Thank you?" he asked.

Nori flapped a hand. "Don't thank me. There's an entire extended family of Dwarves waiting for you at the gates. Save your thanks for Elbereth if you survive it. Try not to let him get eaten, Gimli. He seems a fair sort, for all he's that twig dicked prig's son."

This time Gimli really DID reach for his axe and Legolas was positive that there was nothing he could do to stop the other dwarf from being cut in half, but before any violence could be attempted the one named Nori had disappeared.

Legolas was impressed. "I've never seen a dwarf move that quietly." he said.

"Aye, and you never will again," Gimli grumbled. "THAT was Spymaster Nori of Erebor, who knows entirely too much and does just as he pleases with the information."

"Should you have told me that, Gimli?" Legolas asked.

"Everyone knows it." Gimli shrugged. "What is truly secret is how he works his trade. What did he give you?"

Legolas was reminded of the bundle. "I am not sure." he looked down and cut the twine with a small knife at his belt. He unwrapped the bundle and stared in shock.

Gimli craned his neck for a look. "A hair pin?" he asked, for indeed it was a hair pin, a mithril stag in mid-leap, its tiny eyes pale green emeralds. Its tail was a loop through which the pin could be inserted. "Why would he give you a hairpin?"

"It is a mate to one I left behind in the Wood." Legolas said with wonder, turning the pin over. "I had thought it lost, many years ago in the woods, when-"

Legolas paused.

The smile. The hair. The glinting eyes. His memory conjured up words, shouted furiously as a prisoner was dragged away.

"IF YOU HURT MY BROTHERS I'LL ROB YOU BLIND, DO YOU HEAR ME? I WILL EMPTY THIS CURSED CAVE AND I WILL BURN THIS FOREST TO THE GROUND, I SWEAR IT ON THE THIEF'S LAMP AND MAHAL'S BELLOWS!"

Legolas had kicked the dwarf into silence, not wanting any of the other guards to think perhaps it was time to practice their aim.

"Sharp feet? A bit of meanness?" Legolas asked himself, rubbing the stag's eye with his thumb. "Perhaps." He swallowed the small lump that had formed in his throat.

"Come, Gimli." he said, turning to where Arod was tied. "I would like to meet the rest of your family, very much."

Chapter Text

It was rare, for a dwarf to worship a god besides Mahal.

Respects were paid to Yavanna, of course- the Maker's wife, who created the wood and the field. To Manwe prayers were uttered for swift travel. The dwarves had no use for Ulmo, and stayed far from his waters, though the few river-dwarves tied the appropriate sacred sigils to their sturdy little ships. With Mandos, Judge of the Dead, the children of Durin had a complicated relationship; there was no imagery of him in their halls, though he had a temple, and priests to service him. It was with the uncertainty of the adopted that the Dwarves worshiped him, though they knew not his hand in deciding their fates.

Eru, of course, was everywhere- in gold, in mithril, in stone and in cloth, always portrayed as a bright and perfect light. Eru who had accepted them, Eru who had stayed their Father's hand when they might have been destroyed.

And Mahal?

Oh, Mahal.

For every dwarf that loved him, there was one that hated him in equal measure. Questions were demanded, answers never received; why were you so eager to be rid of us, do we mean so little to you? Is it because you made us smaller, stronger, hardier? Is it because we do not have ears that hear far and eyes that sparkle in the moonlight and voices that bewitch all who hear?

Regardless of their feelings, Mahal had his temples and his honors. Nori of Ri left offerings when he could, attended the short services when he felt like it. He supposed that if Mahal existed- and Nori was not the kind of dwarf to simply believe in a thing without solid proof- then he'd best reassure the Maker that he appreciated the life he was given.

Truth be told, Nori's patron god was not Mahal, nor Mandos nor Ulmo. No, in the dark of the night when he was hidden from sight and lifting coins from pockets, Nori prayed- as all thieves prayed, be they elf, man, dwarf or even hobbit- to Eugenides.

Who or what Eugenides had been was long obscured by time; if he had existed at all, then it was in the time of Beleriand, many thousands of years before. He could shift, it was said, take on whatever form he pleased be it smoke on the wind or a leaf atop the water. Tales were told of his great heists, narrow escapes and brilliant plunder but of course they were not told to law abiding folk, and Nori never repeated a single one of them to his brothers.

Eugenides, it was said, had a lamp most curious- a shining globe filled with and surrounded by a fire that did not burn. He kept it hanging on a thin pole which he slung across his shoulder and while it lit the way for him, no one else could see its light in the darkness. Lamp in one hand and knife in the other he stalked the darkness and in his own way was great and terrible, as many were in those dark times.

Eugenides once used the lamp to aid an elvish princess escape the thrall of her father, though you won't that in any tome, not in Imladris nor in the great Golden Wood of Galadriel.

His death- for Eugenides must have died- was as obscured as his birth. He was not fifty years gone before the first thief whispered his name in reverent prayer before slipping a silver necklace from a sleeping lady's neck.

The thief's lamp was the first knot Nori learned to make when he left Ered Luin. Hanging on a tree or over a door it meant safety, understanding, and guaranteed passage. The children of Gen were scattered far and wide and as with all who worshiped gods some were more sincere than others. Nori learned by himself how to tell the difference.

When Thorin gave him his options- go on the mad quest with the barmy king or die rotting in a cell- Nori prayed to Eugenides.

Let me make the right choice. Let the lamp guide me true past all judgement. Let there be satisfaction on the other side. Smile at me, Eugenides.

In the morning, he was sworn into the Oakenshield Company. His brothers were not long in following.

Nori's knowledge of thieves aided greatly; he recognized the knotted lamps, ubiquitously used them as guides, and when one thief saw another on the long road to Erebor sometimes there was good to be had on either side.

When there was no thief's lamp above the door of Bilbo Baggins, Nori knew that Gandalf had not found them a burglar. However, wizards had a nasty tendency to be right about the strangest things; Nori knew more than to question him.

After the goblins, in the gentle quiet of Beorn's domain, Nori knotted a thief's lamp in blue and in green, and hung it around the neck of their hobbit.

"What's this?" Bilbo had asked, surprised.

"Keep it." Nori had said, and offered no other explanation.

At the end of the quest- when Erebor was reclaimed, the dragon dead beneath the Long Lake, and Thorin Oakenshield cold and still in the tombs of his fathers- Nori prayed once more to Eugenides.

I give thanks for this bounty, for my life and my hands. May the lamp not fade before my task is done. Smile at me.

When Dain asked him to become Spymaster Nori agreed, if only to protect what Thorin had so determinedly fought for. He gathered underlings, lost ones, those who knew the name of Eugenides and those who didn't. He knotted himself a web and sat on it like a spider, listening to all and hearing much. Nothing moved within the mountain that Nori of Ri did not know about; nothing was stolen that he was not aware of.

Sometimes he brought these thefts to the attention of the Guard.

Sometimes he did not.

Every good worshiper had to leave tribute, after all.

Nori of Ri knew that he was not the most honorable of dwarves. He had known better dwarves, stouter dwarves. Three lay dead beneath his feet. He knotted a lamp for each of them, to guide them past unfeeling Mandos and his halls full of elves, and hung one over his own door. Sometimes Nori would have unexpected company, and always he smiled, as Eugenides did, but kept a knife close at hand. At night he hung a red lamp outside his door and never quite explained to Dwalin why he felt the need.

Eugenides smiled.

Chapter Text

"Remind me again how I let you talk me into this?"

Dwalin, son of Fundin, watched as Nori's fingers carefully braided thin threads of red silk into his beard. Their bedchamber was an absolute mess, a whirl of clothes and bedsheets and one unfortunate oil bottle that would definitely ruin the rug. Nori had produced the silk from the side cabinet and was half draped over Dwalin, his much smaller body a living blanket.

"I think it was roundabout the time I had my tongue up your-"

"Why red?" Dwalin interrupted.

"It's a warrior's color." Nori said. "Would you rather I used violet?"

"A warrior does not put ribbons in his beard."

"This is not a ribbon, it is thread. There is a difference."

"It will get all kinds of tangled. It's all the blasted stuff is good for." Dwalin protested, though he didn't move his hands from their slow stroking up Nori's back. The warrior's broad fingers lingered on every scar- rope burns, knife cuts, the one horrifying blaze that had been Nori barely escaping a blade to the spine.

"Thread is not just for tangling." Nori protested, tying off a bit.

"It's not?" Dwalin was clearly not impressed.

"No. It is useful for all kinds of things." Nori kissed up Dwalin's chest. "Signs, for when a place is safe, or when it is about to be raided." He paused to lap at the hollow of the larger dwarf's collarbone. "Decoration, or holding hidden weapons in place." he moved up a little higher and kissed the half of Dwalin's ear that still remained. "Combine it with steel and it makes a very nice garrot.."

"You're telling me things that could get you arrested again," Dwalin pointed out, his voice hoarse.

"Oh, you wouldn't arrest little old me." Nori purred. "Not when I could tie a beautiful orange thread around your cock and-"

Dwalin rolled over, pinned Nori to the bed, and thought that while it might get tangled, perhaps thread wasn't such a bad thing.

Chapter Text

Nori remembers.

He remembers the mountain, and the songs, and the Quest. When he is young, he thinks these all a part of a fanciful world he has begun writing for himself to deal with things- their father's death, his increasing kleptomania, David's smothering version of parenting. The longer life goes on, the less convinced he becomes. He leaves the scraps of paper at home, and then does not return home.

When Nori is caught at last at the age of twenty eight, a right villain in his prime with more skipped court dates than is advisable and a rap sheet that includes bank robbery, arson, and grand larceny, he recognizes the officer and could cry.

"What's your name?" he asks.

"You have the right to remain silent."

"I'll do anything you ask. Just tell me your name."

He looks uncomfortable. He always did, being put on the spot.

"Dan." He says before slapping the cuffs on. "My name's Dan."

Nori lets Dwalin drive him to the precinct and closes his eyes to better hear the pounding rain on the roof of the squad car.

Thorin Oakenshield, who introduces himself as Thaddeus Oakley, still fills a room without even trying. Nori ignores the officer who isn't Dwalin and therefore is not important reading off his list of crimes. He's never heard them all before, and admit that he is perhaps a little bit impressed with himself. Not that Dori- David- will be. Or Ori- Olsen, damn it someday he will get it right.

"-and one unpaid parking ticket."

Nori perks up. "What fuck you I paid that ticket."

"Unpaid parking tickets do not concern me." Thorin says, and when he sits in the aluminum chair across from Nori the thief finds he can breathe again. "You are looking at hard time, Mr. Rivers."

"That's the only time there is." Nori replies.

"And what if I could reduce it? Get rid of it?"

Nori raises a brow. "What can a rat like me offer you?" he asks, and means it.

"I am in need of someone with your.." Thorin looks for the words.

Nori neatly let the cuffs drop to the floor. He is pleased that the clang they make rouses the officer from the door. He stretches his arms out in front of him and then crosses them. "My particular skillset?" he offers, grinning.

Thorin does not smirk but the threat of it is there. "Are you interested?"

I followed you then. I will follow you now, to the end of the earth and beyond. Speak the words, King under the Mountain, and I am your thief again.

"I'm listening," Nori says.

---

It doesn't happen precisely as he remembers.

For one thing, Gloin and Oin share an accounting firm. The family Ur are more mechanics than miners. Dori and Ori, though, they react precisely the same. Fili and Kili nearly run Nori down with their motorbikes the first time they meet and Bilbo?

Well, a bookstore isn't a hole in the ground, but Nori thinks that they're certainly similar enough.

There's no sign of Gandalf, at least not in a way Nori can recognize, though if he had to hazard a guess he would say that Thorin's quiet and tense phone calls in the mid-evening hours are to a familiar and meddlesome man who likes the color gray. They are a Company again, for a short time. Nori takes the time to watch his brothers and steal what Thorin asks him to. He gives Bilbo pointers, just to be safe. The little shopkeeper isn't keen on taking them but there is a familiar glint in his hazel eyes and Nori knows that in the end it will all be okay.

Taking down a corrupt oil tycoon is not the same as slaying a dragon. It is infinitely more annoying and requires far more patience with computers than Nori would have had the first time around.

At least there aren't five armies going at it outside the cafeteria. That's something.

Thorin regains his family's land, as Nori knew he would. Smaug is defeated, as Nori knew he would be. In the faces of the jubilant crowd he sees people he knows- Beorn, Radagast, even the damn prince of Mirkwood standing ridiculously close to Gloin's son Gimli and looking uncomfortable about the whole affair.

Nori has no intention of staying. There is no mountain to guard, not this time. Thorin is not a king. There are no secret messages to be decoded, orcs to be slain, rings to be cast into fiery pits. When the party hits its fever pitch, he kisses Olsen on the cheek, ruffles David's perfect hair, and wanders away from the bonfire 'for a smoke'.

He supposes he isn't surprised to see a long-bearded man in a gray suit waiting for him.

"And where the bloody fuck have you been?" Nori asks Gandalf the Gray.

"Oh, here, there, everywhere." Gandalf's pipe has an image of soaring ravens carved onto it. He smokes, and blows colored rings, and says without much thought, "You once swore your life to his allegiance."

"This isn't that world. He isn't my King." It is a bitter pill to swallow but Nori knows it.

"Are you so sure?" Gandalf asks.

"Go away."

"If you insist." The man wanders towards the fire to join the celebration. Nori picks a spot secluded beneath a tree and smokes.

---

"You want me to be your...what?"

"Head of internal security." Thorin doesn't seem to find this odd. Nori stares at him.

"Why the hell would I want that job?"

"It pays." Thorin says. "Keeps you out of trouble. Keeps my idiot nephews out of trouble." He pauses. "Keeps you near Officer Fuller."

Nori coughs.

"I need someone I can trust. Bill will be busy enough helping me piece affairs back together and William has to split his time between his firm and my father's old papers. I don't want wolves chewing at my doorstep."

"You think I can stop wolves?" Nori asks.

Thorin gives him a look that, whether he is aware of it or not, is many centuries of unimpressed in the making.

"I swear my fealty to the King under the Mountain. To him and his blood do I pledge my eternal allegiance, my ear and my sword. I put before all other duties the one I hold to Erebor and Thorin, son of Thrain, of the Line of Durin. This I swear by the stone from which I came and to which I will return, Mahal mark my words and log it."

"...pay's good?"

"The pay is excellent." Thorin agrees.

"Fair enough. I'm in."

---

"You know," Nori says to Dwalin on date fifteen (or is it fourteen?) "I think I've come up with an ending for that book."

"You're still trying to write that thing?" Dwalin is laughing and it is a pleasant sound that shakes Nori's chest. Nori thumps him lightly. "Don't be a jerk or I'll go somewhere else for steak and blowjobs." he warns.

"Alright, alright. How are you going to end it?"

Nori leans back against Dwalin and looks up at the endless carpet of stars. He wonders, and at the same time knows, that he's seen them all before in another place and time.

"I think I'll end it, 'and he lived happily ever after- to the end of his days.'"

Chapter Text

Whenever the Spymaster appeared outside of the Royal Consort's quarters, his guards were suspicious. They let him in, of course; Nori of Ri had been one of the Thirteen, and he'd saved the King's hide (and by extension, their jobs) several times over. Still it didn't stop the dwarves from making vague noises of irritation when the spymaster grinned and slipped past them into the lavish bedchamber that was normally reserved for one dwarf only.

Bilbo Baggins, Esquire, formerly respectable hobbit of Bag End and current Royal Consort Under The Mountain Thank You Very Much, looked up from his book and sighed when Nori appeared framed in his carved and gold leafed doorway.

"What did you do now?" Bilbo asked, setting down his book.

"Nothing entirely unforgivable!" Nori said cheerfully. "..with luck, that is."

"With luck. With luck, he says. Sends me a desperate message for three dozen cheese scones and it's 'forgivable with luck'." Bilbo gestured for Nori to follow him. There was a small cooking chamber attached to the Consort's rooms but Bilbo was the first Consort in two hundred years to use the area for its intended purpose, much to the eternal delight of King Thorin Oakenshield. Bilbo picked up a covered wicker basket that contained the mentioned scones. "Did you have to rob a guard of a key?"

"No."

"Break mountain curfew?"

"Pft I do that all the time."

"Stab someone he liked?"

Nori shook his head. "Nothing like that, master burglar, I promise. Let us just say that these are..insurance."

Bilbo shook his head and handed the basket over. "Well, I hope they're worth all the fuss." He said, making a face. "You know if I wanted to be a pastry baker I'd have stayed in the Shire instead of taking off on an entirely unrespectable adventure with a bunch of sodding dwarves."

"Oh but it was worth it in the end, wasn't it?" Nori asked cheekily. He hugged Bilbo with one arm. "You are a hobbit among hobbits, Master Baggins. Presuming my love does not rend my head from my shoulders I shall wear a posy on my heart for you, ere we meet again."

"Please don't. Thorin might try to finish what Dwalin will inevitably start."

Nori gave a dramatic sigh. "It is the eternal curse of the beautiful and the sly to suffer the attitudes of those undeserving of their attentions." he said.

Bilbo whacked Nori on the shoulder. "Just go home and give Dwalin his scones before someone tries to knife you in the dark." he muttered, and though he smiled there was real concern there. Nori looked offended. "I'll have you know I'm the one that does the knifing, thank you very much!" he said. Holding the wicker basket easily in one hand, he bowed. "Thank you, Bilbo." he said. "Sincerely."

"You're welcome. Now go on." Bilbo made a shooing motion and Nori, laughing, retreated with his basket full of scones, intent on returning home to his highly irate Captain of the Royal Guard.

Bilbo Baggins, Esquire, formerly respectable hobbit of Bag End and current Royal Consort Under The Mountain Thank You Very Much, returned to his book.

"Next time," he said aloud in the quiet of his lavish chamber, "I think I'll put them in a little glass jar." Smiling to himself he began to read again.

Chapter Text

"D'you need a couple pointers?"

Bilbo looked up from where he had been observing (and mourning) a tear in his jacket sleeve. "Pardon?"

"For burgling." It was Nori- at least Bilbo was fairly sure it was Nori, as of the three Ri brothers he had the most memorable hair.

"I- well I'm not much of a-pardon?"

Nori's grin was wide and showed off large white teeth. "If you're a burglar, Master Baggins, then I'm a city watchman," he said, dropping down on the log next to Bilbo. "And just ask that hulking lad," he jerked his thumb at Dwalin who was talking with Thorin on the other side of the fire. "I'm no city watchman."

Bilbo swallowed. Nori, he decided, made him nervous. "I don't suppose it would hurt anything." he said nervously.

"No," Nori said, "No it certainly won't. Good! We'll start now." He reached into his pocket and held out a coin. "Take this from me."

Bilbo, brow furrowed, reached out.

Nori snatched his hand back, twisting the coin over his knuckles. His grin grew wider.

"I beg your pardon?" Bilbo asked huffily.

"Go on, Master Baggins. Take it from me."

Bilbo realized then Nori's game and he glared at the dwarf. "I'll not be made a fool of for your amusement." he snapped.

Nori shrugged and held out the coin. "Very well. Hold this, and don't let me take it."

Bilbo rolled his eyes and took the coin, holding it in his hand. "What point does this ha-"

He stared down at his empty palm and then up at the coin Nori was flipping through the air. The dwarf grinned. "Lesson number one, Master Baggins." he said. "A quick-fingered thief is a successful thief." He stood. "We'll work on it more tomorrow." He went to join his brothers, leaving a bewildered hobbit staring at his back.

---

"Lesson two," Nori said, "A light touch leads ever to success." He emptied out his pockets and Bilbo couldn't help but stare. Balin's smoking pipe was settled beside Bofur's harmonica. Bombur's emergency salt box was right at home beside Oin's flints and Gloin's extra beard beads. Bilbo was sure that Fili would be missing that horn-handled dagger and he had no doubt that Bifur would know his small chisel had gone on walkabout. Kili likely hadn't noticed yet that a couple of his extra arrowheads had strayed.

As a final flourish, Nori removed one of Dwalin's axe polishing cloths, and a single leather strap from Thorin's travel pack.

Bilbo looked up at him in horrified awe.

Nori winked.

---

"Lesson three. The thief's lamp is a sign of safety, but it's a thief's safety. Keep your knife and your wits."

Bilbo all but clung to Nori's sleeve as the other dwarf talked jovially with a man who seemed to have a wooden front tooth. All around there were Big Folk playing dice and growling at one another. The smoke of the place was thick and acrid, not the pleasant pipe smoke of the Green Dragon. Bilbo had no doubt that any food served here was swimming in grease and gravy, and would probably cause all kinds of tummy aches.

"Now what's with this little bit?" The man who had been talking to Nori asked, and Bilbo suddenly realized he was rather uncomfortably the center of attention.

"Oh, do you like him?" Nori asked casually. "Picked him up past Bree. Quiet little thing when he's not on his back."

Before Bilbo could think to be insulted the man laughed. "S'abit small for me, whispers, but whatever works for you!" he chortled.

They continued talking, Bilbo going pale with rage, for another fifteen minutes before departing the tavern. As soon as they were outside Nori grabbed Bilbo's arm and tugged him down an alley.

"I say let go of me-"

"We're being followed. One dwarf, two men. All armed and nasty. Come along and be quiet."

Bilbo made to glance behind but Nori's grip was like iron. The dwarf pulled the hobbit down the alley way, across another street, and down another alleyway-

Where Dwalin was waiting, with Grasper and Keeper.

As Nori passed him, he nodded. The bigger dwarf responded in kind and Nori tugged Bilbo a little faster.

"I beg your pardon but let go of-"

Behind them there was a rather sickening sound, like what one would hear in a butcher's shop. Bilbo's eyes widened. Nori looked over his shoulder and grinned.

"Do me a favor and don't tell Thorin what I said to throw that gent off you, ay?" he said. "He might cut my tongue out, and I rather need it, see."

---

"Lesson Four. Thinking on your feet."

This sparring was very different from the structured work with Sting Bilbo had been managing with Dwalin. It mostly consisted of Fili and Kili laughing at Bilbo while Nori chased him about with his mace.

"You need to attack, Master Baggins, not all dragon hordes are going to have all this nice room!" Nori said, swinging the pole around his shoulders using his neck in a movement that might have killed a lesser master of the weapon. He brought it down hard and Bilbo barely dodged; there was a small crater in the dirt where it had struck.

"Do you teach EVERYTHING this madly?!" Bilbo demanded.

"Oh no." Nori said cheerfully. "Just the important parts!" He shifted the weapon to his other hand and Bilbo, seeing a chance, seized it. He ducked in and grabbed the knife at Nori's side, pressing the hilt into the dwarf's stomach.

Nori's eyes glinted and he grinned. "Very good, Master Baggins." he said, and meant it.

---

Dori watched his brother. Nori sat before the fire, running his fingers up and down his mace.

"Are you okay?" he asked, settling beside his sibling.

"He stole the Arkenstone." Nori said. Dori took a deep breath. "Aye, He did." the older dwarf replied cautiously.

"He stole it, he got it out from under Thorin's nose AND he handed it over to the Elven King."

Dori watched the shapes of the other dwarves moving around in the shadows. No one had talked much since Thorin's declaration. They simply didn't have the heart. "Nori-"

"I couldn't have done that." Nori said bluntly.

"What?" Dori asked.

"Taken it so easily. Given it so simply." Nori looked thoughtful. "Maybe Thorin doesn't see why he did it, but I do." He smiled slightly. "I've trained the most honest blasted burglar between here and the ocean."

Dori wasn't sure what to say to that. "Nori?"

The middle Ri brother smiled at his sibling, though his eyes stung with unshed tears of worry for their hobbit. "Come on, Dori. Let's find you a mail shirt. We might go to war tomorrow."

---

Bilbo Baggins, the no longer very respectable gentlehobbit of Bag End, received two years after his adventure a package. It was delivered by a Ranger from the north, who told him that in his travels a dwarf near the town of Dale had requested that it be delivered to the Shire as soon as was possible.

Bilbo, who knew plenty of dwarves around Dale, eyed the little package with trepidation for a day and a half before finally opening it.

Settled there in a bed of soft velvet was a beautiful creation of silver and gold. Bilbo knew it at a glance to be a thief's lamp, with a pin on the back for holding a cloak closed while out for a walk. Along with the cloakpin there was a note, written in a sharp hand he recalled very well.

To Mr. Bilbo Baggins, the finest and most honest burglar in all of Middle Earth. Remember, quick fingers and a light touch.

Respectfully yours in shared craft, Nori of Ri

Chapter Text

Dwalin woke one night to a searing and immense pain on his wrist.

At first caught in dreams he believed that he was under attack, that a hot iron rod was being used to cleave his hand from his arm. He woke with a warcry on his lips and only then realized that it was not a dream, though the pain did not subside.

Swearing vibrantly he tossed himself from his bed and stalked to the washroom, shoving his arm elbow-deep in the cold, mineral-scented water that ran through the Iron Hills. In the gentle light of the glowlamp he could see that there was nothing physically wrong. No redness marred his skin, no swelling, no blackening. There was only the pain and it was beginning to fade slowly.

Dwalin attributed what he saw next to his exhaustion, having spent the last four days on patrols and this his first night home. Under the water, where always before his wrist had been blank, letters were beginning to form in the dark red of his family's tradition.

Letters that were spelling out a name.

Dwalin watched in the uncomprehending stare of the exhausted as the N took shape, sharp and jagged. Then the O, a graceful loop. An R next, with its little tail coming up to form the I. the 'son of' came all at once, unimportant, impeding progress. Kori spelled itself out in one smooth run, as though someone had taken a pen to Dwalin's skin.

Nori son of Kori was glinting devilishly from his wrist.

Dwalin decided it was still a dream and, arm still soaking wet, went back to bed.

---

The next morning, the name was still there.

Dwalin stared at it. He stared at it so long that his brother, concerned, came to touch his shoulder. "Dwalin what are you- oh my."

Balin leaned in to read the mark. "Well." he said mildly.

"Well?" Dwalin asked, voice a rough growl.

"Well, that is something." Balin replied. "And so late. I'd wondered.." he trailed off. Dwarves who did not receive soulmarks were not rare. Both he and his brother had presumed that Dwalin was one of those when no name had appeared after his majority.

Dwalin stood abruptly and went to find his axes.

---

It was not unheard of for two dwarves who shared one anothers' names on their wrists to never bond.

Not unheard of, a treacherous voice whispered in Dwalin's ear. Just not likely.

Maybe there was another Nori son of Kori? It was possible, wasn't it? Legends had it that Narvi daughter of Narvis had had an elf's name on her wrist, that she had only done her best and most brilliant work when Celebrimbor son of Curufin was by her side. Maybe Nori was a Man in some village somewhere.

Dwalin was not in the habit of lying to himself. He adjusted the cuff of his knuckleduster to cover the name and went about with his duties. Mahal had graced him; after his last heist Nori (son of Kori) had seen fit to flee Ered Luin. It was not wise to make trouble in Thorin's town; Nori was many things but he was not entirely a fool, or Dwalin would have caught him long before the sudden disappearance of fifty gold ingots and a jewel encrusted hammer. With luck and the will of the Maker they would never meet again and Dwalin could settle into his comfortable life of guarding Thorin and his heirs without worry.

---

The Maker was not kind.

This was what Dwalin thought when he saw Nori in the tavern brawl. He had stuck to the wall, trying to stay out of it. He spotted the other dwarf making for the door. Apparently, not even thieves wanted to get involved in a fight this large, though Dwalin was sure there were purses for the picking. He couldn't help but notice that around Nori's wrist there was a large silver cuff.

The Man who approached Nori was clearly drunk, and when he put his hands upon the other dwarf Dwalin felt a sudden and nearly uncontrollable rage. He grasped his axes and almost stood up, almost crossed the messy tavern and showed the man precisely what he was dealing with when he touched a dwarf's property.

Then Nori's quick fingers brought up a blade, and the Man learned his mistake without Dwalin's interference.

When the body fell they saw one another. Dwalin watched as a range of emotions crossed Nori's face, none of them easily identifiable. The thief had watched him, then made off into the night- with the dead man's purse, of course.

Dwalin watched him go and thought that he was not drunk enough.

---

"We're going to need a thief."

Thorin gave Dwalin a long and measured look. "Are we?" he asked.

Dwalin looked to his King. "I don't like it any more than you do, Thorin," he said, "but between here and Erebor there will be plenty of trouble that axes alone can't get us out of. We'll need someone with wits."

"Balin has wits."

"Thank you, majesty, but I have diplomacy." Balin said. "tis' not the same."

"Oin and Gloin-"

"Have a sense with money, not with cutthroats." Dwalin said.

"Then who do you suggest?" Thorin asked. "We can take a stroll through the cells, if you'd like."

Balin watched his brother thoughtfully. Dwalin took a deep breath and spoke as a man who had been sentenced to his doom.

"Nori. Son of Kori."

Thorin's face went dark.

"He slipped out from under my nose time and time again." Dwalin said. "He's got contacts in damn near every village between here and Mirkwood. He knows his trade."

"I will not have that vagabond undermining this quest."

"Then bring along his brothers." Balin offered. "Dori is strong, Thorin, and competent. Ori has skill as a scribe and a record keeper and we will need a record of the journey. They can keep their brother in check."

"Thieves do not stay put, Balin." Thorin said. "How would we even go about getting him to return?"

"Offer him a pardon." Dwalin said, a little too quickly. Thorin wheeled on his Guard. "What?" the King asked.

"In return for joining the quest," Dwalin said. "Pardon him. Give him a share of the gold. He's a gutless heartless rat but he'll do it for his brothers and if not for them than for the riches. No thief can resist the idea of a dragon's horde."

"And if he tries to double cross us?" Thorin asked.

Dwalin stroked Keeper's blade. "I'll pike his head for you myself."

"That still leaves us with a conundrum." Balin pointed out. "Nori doesn't have a single base of operations, all of our informants know that. It's impossible to keep tabs on him. How would we get him back here in time?"

Dwalin's smile was fierce. "Leave that to me."

---

Ori son of Kori gazed up at Dwalin, holding his knitting so close to his nose it was almost a second beard. Dwalin couldn't help the small grin that crossed his face.

"Y-you promise you won't hurt him?" Ori asked, voice barely a squeak above that of an adult.

"Aye, lad, I promise. The King needs his skills and I serve the king. No harm'll come to your brother."

"I can't tell him Thorin is summoning him. He won't come back." Ori said.

"Tell him you're going." Dwalin suggested. "You and your older brother. He'll come back like there are wargs on his tail then."

"He'll smell a trap." Ori warned. "Nori's got a nose like a weasel for traps."

Dwalin smiled. "No he won't. Because you're going."

Dwalin caught Ori as the little scribe fainted and lamented that it wasn't Ori's name on his wrist. He seemed so much more sensible than his brothers.

---

Dwalin had been right, Nori was irreplaceable. He found them safe paths, shelter, food. He talked at length with strange men and dwarves in dark cloaks and knew his way about the natural world in a way that most of the others did not. He spent what time he wasn't working with his brothers, not talking a lot. He made a point to never be near Dwalin. It didn't take very long for the guard to realize that to be removed, the silver cuff around Nori's wrist would have to be cut off.

Well, he thought to himself, at least we are miserable together.

Chapter Text

This time, Dwalin always told himself. This would be the time.

They had a regular meeting spot that Dwalin refused to believe was regular. At the back of the Crooked Sparrow tavern there was a table, and just down the hallway there was a room which was always open though Dwalin had no idea why. He’d stopped asking questions.

It was better that way.

“You’re thinking again.” Dwalin was pulled from his mind by the voice and he lifted his eyes to catch a pair of impish blue-gray ones. “you know,” Nori went on, “thinking gives you wrinkles.”

“Is that how you stay so fresh looking?” Dwalin asked gruffly. “Here I thought it was the mudpack in the cells.”

“Oh that’s marvelous for one’s complexion, don’t you know.” Nori’s legs are just as nimble as his fingers. The table was small. Dwalin pretended it was an accident that his own knees fell open and hissed when Nori’s knee rubbed up against him.

“I should arrest you.” Dwalin said, as he always did. “You have an outstanding warrant list as long as my arm.”

I suppose you should.” Nori said thoughtfully. He leaned in and gripped one of Dwalin’s huge hands, hands that could easily crush his windpipe. He began peppering kisses between them, licking the rough skin lightly, ghosting over the knuckledusters. His tongue felt like wet velvet. “but isn’t this so much more fun?”

The next morning Dwalin knew Nori would walk away, half-limping and grinning like a satisfied cat. He knew that when Balin asked where he’d been he would only grunt non-noncommittally and return to Thorin’s side, where he aided an Exiled king rule an Exiled people. He knew that eventually, he would hear of another theft, another heist, another ‘we almost caught him’.

He knew he would return to the Crooked Sparrow with a set of cuffs and noble intentions.

For all the good it ever did him.

Chapter Text

"What do you mean, 'he's down at market'?" Dori demanded. "You told me three hours ago he was in the library!"

"Aye, and while you were away I realized I was mistaken." Nori drawled. "I distinctly remember Ori saying that he was going to the market before the library today, and that it might take some time because he was going to haggle with that shopkeep from the Gray Mountains over his golden ink. You know the stuff."

Dori huffed. "That ink is not worth what that blowhard charges."

"You know that. I know that. Ori knows that. The merchant doesn't." Nori shrugged. "Maybe Ori's still down there. You can probably catch him if you try."

"Nori, if our little brother isn't in the market..." Dori let the threat hang in the air.

"What am I, his keeper?" Nori demanded. Dori rolled his eyes. "Thank Mahal you're not or he would have wound up rotting in a cell!" the older brother snapped before heading for the door again.

Nori decided to let that one slide; Dori had been all over Erebor looking for his youngest brother. He was worried, that was all.

"Aaannnd now I have to go cause a ruckus in the marketplace." Nori muttered to himself. If this wasn't a rest day he would get one of his lads to cause a commotion, but everyone was off. Assuming he picked the right merchant he could get into a good old fashioned row without needing to steal anything, and if he wound up in the cells, well, it was good for his personal cover anyway. No self-respecting Spymaster would get caught shoplifting.

And Dwalin and Ori would owe him big for covering for their stupid date the entire day.

This decided, Nori went to grab his cloak. Maybe he'd snag a couple silver charms from that adorable little shopgirl at the corner stall next to the meat pies.

For old time's sake.

Chapter Text

It was Thorin lying dead that did it.

He had been buried months before, he and Fili and Kili side by side until the end; the last of the direct Line of Durin. Dwalin had visited once a day for all that time. He made it his duty to see to the little tributes left; carved figures, food offerings, small semiprecious stones. Such work was meant to be left to the priests who guarded the crypts but if Dwalin was breaking some sacred taboo, none of them spoke of it to him.

One day, he went down to visit his real king and found new tribute there.

Settled on the stone heart of each figure was a knot. They were made of the finest hand-spun silk cord, and dyed the brightest colors. Greens for Kili, yellows and golds for Fili, and the most vibrant of red and blue for thorin.

Dwalin would have to have been blind not to know the knot. He had seen Nori twisting them often enough, almost in reflex. When they were at peace the thief was always braiding something.

He thought to move them to where the other tributes were gathered. He went to touch them and glanced at his wrist.

His wrist, with a name in red upon his skin.

Fili had a Soulmark. Kili hadn't, not yet; he'd been so eager. If Thorin had one he'd never said and never shown it. Dwalin hadn't asked, not wanting to open up any painful memories. Now he wanted to. He wanted, desperately, to shake his friend from the grave and ask him what he should do, what would Thorin have done?

There was no way, of course.

Thorin was dead, and the dead could not help the living.

Dwalin looked down at his knuckleduster, and then wrenched it off. Throwing the broken metal and leather against the wall he left the crypt and the knots behind.

---

Finding Nori was a matter of patience and luck. He was all about Erebor those days, from the lowest taverns to the highest towers that looked out onto Dale. He was building something, and Dwalin only heard whispers of it; a network, a grouping, a ghost of a thing.

Nori'd been intent on leaving. The row between Dori and his brother that night had been so loud the night watch had nearly been called. Dwalin still wasn't sure how Dori convinced his younger brother to stay. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. He'd once seen Dori of Ri wrench an orc's head off bare-handed because he'd been 'startled'.

Mahal smiled on Dwalin; Nori was in his favorite tavern, looking over a few papers and smoking. When he spotted the guard coming he looked up and put out his pipe but said nothing. The quest had made them companions, of a sort; they'd fought together time and time again, but always there was a stone in the way, a ceaseless weight, reminder to them both.

Nori's smile was a ghost of what it had once been. Losing Thorin had hurt them all. Dwalin hadn't realized- perhaps hadn't thought- that it had hurt Nori as much.

He was twice the fool for that.

"Can I help you?" He asked. The damn silver bracelet on his wrist caught the scant light and winked at Dwalin cheekily.

"Aye." Dwalin said, throat thick and nerves uncertain. "You can."

He seized the smaller dwarf in his arms and pinned him to the nearest wall.

Their first kiss was more tongue and teeth than anything else and Nori fought it tooth and nail. Dwalin had the upper hand, as his greater size allowed him to press the fight out of the thief. Scratching fingers soon turned to gripping ones and when Dwalin at last brought them both up for air Nori was disheveled, eyes wide, face pale, body pressing tight against the Son of Fundin like if he tried hard enough he could crawl into Dwalin's skin and live there.

The papers were gathered up in Nori's satchel before the other startled patrons could blink, and the two Dwarves were hauling one another up the causeway to their abodes not too long after.

They paused at the crossroads only long enough for Dwalin to ask, "Yours or mine?"

A little bit of light returned to Nori's eyes. "Yours. Dori's home."

That was all Dwalin needed to hear. They headed for the Street of Emeralds.

---

Later- when Dwalin's bed was a complete mess, when Nori was still twitching with the aftershocks of pleasure, all his brown hair tumbled down to its sleek glory below his waist- Dwalin cut the bracelet off.

It fell to the floor with a solid 'thud' and the skin underneath was pale and stark. There it was, a cool twin to Dwalin's own warm mark.

Dwalin stroked the skin and Nori shuddered. Questing fingers found the raised edges of scar tissue. Dwalin made a questioning grunt.

"Did you know," Nori breathed in the peaceful quiet they didn't dare puncture, "that you can't burn a soul mark off?"

The remark was enough to have Dwalin raining kisses all over Nori's face again. When he gathered the thief up in his arms Nori didn't protest and he laid his head on Dwalin's chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"What are you working on?" Dwalin asked later, when they'd slept and awoken at the same time, bodies attuning after so long a span of denial.

He could feel Nori's smile against his chest. "A web." Nori murmured. "So that I don't fail again."

Dwalin wanted to tell Nori that he hadn't failed, but he couldn't. They had all failed, in one way or another. They had failed their King, failed their friends, failed their burglar.

For a time they had failed each other.

Dwalin swept Nori's hair back from his neck and bit him gently. Nori stiffened in his arms.

"Bind with me." It was nothing short of an order. Nori's laugh was breathless, but it was better.

"Yes sir." he murmured. Dwalin pressed their marks together.

No, it was not perfect. Perhaps it never would be. Their King was dead.

Long live the King.

Chapter Text

When, after three years away, Nori was asked about the beautiful sapphire pendant he wore on a golden chain around his neck, the normally brash thief was surprisingly mum. If a suggestion was made that he stole it he immediately responded that he had not, that in fact it had been given as 'payment, of a sort'. What kind of payment, he would not say. Once, when he was very tipsy, he told his brothers that it was a promise from a foreign prince, whose life he had saved on the edge of Gondor during his travels, and with whom he had taken up arms to reclaim a part of Harad in the name of the prince's lost Tribe.

Dori told Ori it was utter nonsense.

Ori, of course, wrote it down.

Then there was the quest, and the dragon, and all sorts of terrible and wonderful things happened and by the time they had settled into their shared house, nobles of Erebor and properly employed by King Thorin Oakenshield son of Thrain son of Thror, all thoughts of such fanciful tales fled from Dori's mind. His brother had been drunk and hadn't wished to admit to a theft, that was all.

---

Thorin got word of the diplomatic party barely two weeks before they arrived at the gates of Erebor.

They were Men from the southland, and they came seeking an audience with the King under the Mountain on a matter, quote, 'private and of the utmost importance.'

"What private matter does a Harad tribe have with us?" Balin asked his King. "We've not had dealings with them in our recorded history."

"Perhaps someone sent them a letter?" Bilbo Baggins offered. The looks he got from the King's Council did not deter him. "It could happen." he defended.

"We will meet them graciously and with caution." Thorin said. "Dwalin, get a message to Nori. I want him back from Dale posthaste."

The party was let into Erebor with all reasonable speed, and it was not long before the King under the Mountain sat across from the King of the Blue Snake tribe.

King Aza was young, for a Man. Tall and cocoa-skinned he had eyes that glinted like amber in the darkness. A golden button adorned his nose and up his ears golden rings were pierced. His hair was braided tightly back and tinted with henna; henna decorated his arms and legs, bare save for his sandals. A scent of dust and burning wood seemed to cling to him. He was the opposite of Thorin in every way.

"Thank you," the King of the Blue Snake said, westron thick on his tongue, "for allowing us this meeting, Lord Thorin."

"It was no difficulty." Thorin said. Beside him Dwalin loomed. On his other side Bilbo kept his hands folded and his ears open. Dori, standing by the Consort's side, was polite and quiet, waiting for any indication that perhaps he should no longer be either. "Your message spoke of a personal matter, Lord Aza, yet I confess- we have never met, nor have our peoples crossed paths."

Aza inclined his head, the golden bells hung about his neck tinkling. "This is known to me, and I come in friendship seeking to take nothing from you, King under the Mountain."

Thorin's barely raised eyebrow told those who knew him that he doubted that. "Then why do you venture so far north?" he asked.

"It is a matter of personal honor." Aza said, "a debt I have owed for years and now have the ability to repay."

Thorin's brow furrowed. "you owe no debt to my people."

"To your people, Lord Thorin, no." King Aza said. "To one of Durin's folk, who I hope in your mountain now resides, yes."

Thorin looked even more perplexed. "None have lived in Erebor for many years." he said. "There was no small matter of a dragon to evict."

Aza nodded. "Tales reached us in Harad of the wyrm, but when first I met the one to whom I owe my life, he was not of Erebor." Aza smiled. "He claimed to be of the stock of Ered Luin, and so to that realm I ventured only to find that he had joined a company of thirteen warriors to overtake a dragon and reclaim an entire mountain. I had no doubt in my mind it would be done, for with his knife at my side I slew the man who took my father's crown and regained my tribe and my honor."

"No."

It wasn't Thorin who spoke. It was Dori. The King turned to look at his second adviser. "Lord Dori-" he said, a warning.

"No. This is not true. This is an elaborate ruse."

Sitting with the court scribe, overseeing his work, Ori's eyes had gone as wide as gold pieces.

"Do you question my integrity?" Aza asked. His guard loomed behind him.

"You are a pretty lie my brother told to feel better about himself." Dori's voice had taken on a note of hysteria. "It is not possible."

Thorin was a moment away from gesturing for Dwalin to restrain Dori when the door to the council room was pushed open.

"Sorry I'm late. Bit of feather work to do here and there- Gen smiles, Aza?! No one's knifed you yet?"

---

It is written in the court records of Erebor that King Aza of the Blue Snake Tribe gave to Nori son of Kori three chests of gold and gems, each for one blow of a knife to the back of an assassin who might have ended Aza's line. The record further stated that Aza remained in the company of the dwarves for two months and a day, regaling them with his war campaign and listening to their tales. While no deep alliances were forged between races, for Harad and Erebor were far apart, a friendship was rekindled between King and Thief, a friendship that would last even into the War of the Ring when the Tribe of the Blue Snake rose up in defiance of Mordor and cast its lot with the man who would become known as Elessar, King of Men.

No mention is made in the official record of Dori son of Kori making every attempt to bludgeon his brother to death with a silver goblet, though in the personal journals of Bilbo Baggins, Consort to the King, a paragraph notably states that the scribe who oversaw the first meeting of King Aza and King Thorin, one Ori by name, prevented his brother's kinslaying with, quote, 'appropriate application of half-finished knitting'.

Chapter Text

For as long as Nori could remember, he wasn't comfortable in one place. Maybe it was due to the way the Dragon had invaded their ancestral mountain, but Nori could not think of any one place as 'home'. If he were being honest, he didn't have one to go to. He had his brothers, sometimes. But family and home weren't the same thing, and Dori's disappointment was a palpable tang whenever Nori could spare a few days to get back into town without being caught by the guards.

Across the gently rolling hills,
beyond high mountain peaks,
along the shores of distant seas,
there's something my heart seeks.

Nori considered himself a well traveled dwarf. Before reaching his majority he'd been all across Gondor, both north and south. He'd resided for a time in Rohan and stolen some of the horse lords blind. He'd skirted the Ash mountains, stared distantly at the cold ashy air above Mordor where the shadows lie. Nori had walked past Isengard and was one of a few dwarves who knew the songs of the sea, and had gone diving for pearls with less grace than the handsome men and women who did so with their sleek gray boats.

In none of these places did Nori the thief find a home.

But there's no peace in wandering,
The road's not made for rest
and footsore fools will never know,
what home might suit them best.

He thought perhaps that Harad could be as close to a home as he knew, full of other quick-fingered fighters and golden dancers and scarlet snakes but in the end he knew that he was not meant for such heat and sand and sharp cruelty. He was a child of Durin, though a lost one, and he put his weary feet to the road and kept on roaming.

Yes, the world was meant for knowing
and feet were meant to roam.
But one who's always going
Will never find a home.

Nori got very good at giving the guards in Ered Luin the slip. Nori the fox, some called him. Nori the rat, said others. A few said nothing and simply watched, assured that he would come to berth, and then he would be snatched up like a mouse in a trap. They were wrong. There was no berth. Nori would greet little Ori, give him a hug, share his presents. Dori would come home. Sometimes there was shouting, sometimes there was quiet but always a small dinner together. Then, as the rest of his profession, Nori stole away in the night to find another road to wander. No trap could hold Nori. He had no home in which to be trapped.

where's the thread that binds me,
the voice that calls me back?
where's the love that finds me-
and what's the root I lack?

When Thorin Oakenshield found him- far from his pauperking realm, in a tavern full of Nori's acquaintances on a dark road which led to Dunland- Nori was not feeling particularly chatty.

"I have need of a dwarf who knows the roads." Thorin said. "Who understands the lay of the land."

Nori watched him.

"There is gold in it for you, at the end. A pardon, should you wish it."

Nori told the king he needed no pardon. "I will not stay." he warned Oakenshield.

Thorin's face in the light of the cheap lamps was at once something hideous and beautiful.

"I know." Thorin said.

My heart seeks the hearth,
my feet seek the road.
a soul so divided
is a terrible load.

The road to Erebor was long and dark and full of despair. Nori kept an eye to his brothers and lamented how slowly a group of thirteen moved, in comparison to one dwarvish thief in the night. When the fire was lit and there was singing sometimes Nori joined in. More often, he sat back and watched, feeling something strange in his stomach.

It was Nori who found Thorin Oakenshield on the battlefield, followed closely by Dwalin son of Fundin. The Guardsman who had so often tried to slap the thief in irons helped him carry Thorin away, to a tent to die.

Still that feeling was in Nori's stomach, something tight and warm and hard.

My heart longs to rest
my feet yearn to roam.
shall I wander the world
or stay safe at home?

Nori of Ri knew what it was to have a home.

Home was thirteen dwarves singing about breaking plates and blunting knives. Home was the determination in a little hobbit's eyes as he faced down a warg twenty times his size. Home was Dori in the softest silks, quietly mediating a domestic dispute. Home was the ink on Ori's nose when he came home late after losing tack of time, chattering away about the restoration of the libraries. Home was a single night a year when ten dwarves gathered in a deep crypt and sang a song of dungeons deep and caverns old. Home was the way Dwalin's arms locked around him, a solid anchor when at last his business with his contacts was concluded and he could shut the doors of the mountain behind him.

Home was Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, and all that had come before it, and all that had come after. Sometimes, Nori of Ri- who grew sort of respectable, in his own way- could be heard to sing softly to himself, "My heart is at rest, my feet no more roam- for I've wandered the world, and now I've come home."

Chapter Text

Balin stared at the pile of parchment his brother had just dropped in front of him. It had kicked up enough dust that he was coughing and waving a hand in front of his face. He put his pipe down and looked up at Dwalin.

"You're joking." Balin said.

"I'm not." Dwalin sounded overly pleased with himself.

"That is not possible."

"It is."

Balin carefully pulled the pile towards him. By Mahal it was nearly seven inches thick. He began to delicately flip through the pages. A great deal of them were filled out in his other brother's messy, loopy handwriting, but some were done by other Guards of Ered Luin.

"Escaped. Escaped. Slipped cuffs, escaped, 'permanently damaged family jewels'- in the name of the Maker this is going to take me a month to get through!" Balin looked up at his brother, giving what on a younger and less dignified dwarf would be called puppy eyes. "And you're sure Thorin said it had to be THIS thief?"

"Thorin specifically asked for the one that got away." There was a cruel glint in Dwalin's eye. "Won't be able to get away if he's on the road with me."

"Dwalin, we need a thief, not a corpse."

"He won't be one immediately." Dwalin muttered.

Balin rolled his eyes and checked the next paper. "'stole an eagle feather quill and-'" he squinted. "...put out someone's EYE with it?!"

Dwalin grunted noncommittally. He had been on that patrol. it had been a good move, and he could admit that, in an angry sort of way.

Balin sat back, eyes wide. "Dwalin I am going to need tea. All of the tea. Right now."

Dwalin just laughed, patted his brother on the back, and headed for the door. He was very glad he'd never been one for scribing or diplomacy.

Chapter Text

Dori both loved and hated Nori.

It was a complicated relationship; as complicated as the relationships of Durin's folk got. Dori wanted to earn an honest living, doing honest work, and wanted his brothers to do the same; Nori couldn't stand doing a day of honest work. It was boring. Nori wanted to travel and take things that weren't his and dance with pretty girls and pretty boys and laugh as he ran from danger or sometimes headlong into it.

Nori was like his father.

Dori was well aware that they didn't share fathers; after his sire died, his Mam had for a time taken up with a bright eyed drifter. Where the dwarf came from, what his name had been, Dori never knew. All he knew was that one night his Mam was dancing again, and a little later he had a brother named Nori. A brother who laughed at wargs and jumped over high burning embers and wrapped all of life in his hands and refused to let go, even when what he held wasn't his to take.

Ori, thankfully, was more calm. He liked to scribe, liked to listen to Master Balin tell old tales. Ori was getting to be quite the durin's day chanter. Ori would, at the end of his apprenticeship, have skills that were both legal and useful. Ori could provide for himself without robbing another dwarf of an honest day's work.

All Nori could do was be trouble.

Dori felt like a failure, in his darker hours. He would wash the teacups and clean off the tables in the shop he worked in and wonder where, precisely, he had gone wrong. A small part of him knew that he hadn't done anything wrong; he'd tried his best and that was all Mahal could ask of any of his children. Dori had apprenticed Nori at the proper age to a metalsmith whose primary skills were with wire, etching and inlay. That had lasted all of a month before half the man's stash of gold wire went missing, and so had Nori.

Dori paid for the damages out of his own pocket and fumed.

Nori came home sometimes, with presents and stories for Ori and a wink for Dori. They always argued and sometimes it came to blows. Dori loved his brother enough to use only a fraction of his true strength; Nori loved Dori enough that he never once went for one of his fifteen concealed knives.

What kind of family were they, if that was love?

Ori wanted them to get along. He could see a bridge between them that was hidden from Dori's sight and sometimes he tried to help them cross it. Dori always felt happy, and a little sick, when Ori tried.

It's not so simple, he wanted to explain to his smallest brother. Some things cannot be fixed.

When Dwalin son of Fundin began catching Nori Dori had a hope. Dwalin was large, he was strong, he was terrifying. Nori was still young. Maybe Dwalin could do what Dori couldn't. Dwalin did not love Nori. He could hurt Nori in the way Dori couldn't. He could bring Nori down from the constant heights he seemed to be on.

Then Nori escaped.

And Dwalin caught him again.

And Nori escaped.

And by the time Dori realized what was happening he well and truly did snap.

"HE CAN KILL YOU!" he roared at his brother, forgetting their neighbors, forgetting Ori studying upstairs, forgetting that the last time he had gotten so angry he had destroyed their small kitchen table. "HE ISN'T YOUR BROTHER, NORI! HE WON'T LET YOU GO!"

Nori watched Dori then with something like pity in his eyes.

"You know," he'd said, voice thick with feeling and tears that he wouldn't shed because if he did shed them, their house of cards would come falling down. "you know I don't remember a time you weren't afraid of living?"

Nori left, and was gone for five years.

Dori let himself become fusty and bitter. Whenever Ori wished to do something, Dori said no. Sometimes Ori did it anyway and they fought and Ori would bring up Nori's name and there were stone walls between them.

Dwalin had taken to roaming the countryside in search of Nori. He was determined to take the dwarf's head.

When Thorin Oakenshield walked through his front door Dori thought that was it. Of course the King had no reason to tell him that his brother's body was in a ditch but why else would a King visit a tiny house with two brothers and wobbly chairs?

Then he began talking.

Dori almost told him to get out. Long remembered manners, good breeding, kept it from happening.

"I have need of your strength." Thorin Oakenshield said, a fire in his eyes. "Your strength, your brother's writing. And.." he seemed unsure. "and your other brother, should you know his whereabouts."

Dori almost laughed at that.

"I have no other brother." he said to the exiled king.

It was Dwalin who found Nori, of course; Dwalin who hauled him before the king.

Dori was never clear on the details, but Balin told him later that offers of gold had meant nothing to Nori. He'd called Thorin insane, half cracked, and demanded to be put to death if that was what it took to be saved from the idiocy of the line of Durin.

"Then he mentioned you two, laddie." Balin had said. "and that changed his tune right quick and proper."

The first leg of the quest was not good, but it was not bad either. Nori talked to Ori and tried to talk to Dori; sometimes they managed. Most times they didn't. Nori stole when Thorin ordered him to, killed a few people who got in their way, and in general stayed out of everyone's way.

Except Dwalin's.

He went out of his way to bother Dwalin- stealing his purse, tugging his hair, dodging his axes and laughing as he did so. Fili and Kili thought it was hilarious; Ori privately wrote a romance and Dori just worried.

Then they met Bilbo Baggins, and encountered trolls, and goblins, and wargs and orcs.

Dwalin had Nori's back

and Nori had his

and when Dori found them wrapped around each other in a hidden corner of Beorn's hall he realized just what it was about life that scared him so much and what it was about life that Nori loved so deeply.

Dori was afraid of playing with fire.

Nori had long ago become addicted to the burn.

Chapter Text

Nori son of Kori knew that he was dead when he saw the lamp hovering by the crossroad.

He'd been walking for some time, aimlessly and without thought, down the dirt pathway. In the distance he could see a mountain larger than all others he had seen before. He knew that he could reach it, if only he kept walking; so he did. It never seemed to get any closer, nor larger. Still, he did not tire.

The crossroad was new, and the dwarf sitting on a rock by its northern corner watched him with a broad grin.

"Greetings, Nori, Kori's son." he said, puffing out his pipe. "You've kept me waiting long enough."

The lamp- a fiery sphere hanging on a thin pole- was draped across his shoulder, balanced by his arm wrapped around it. Nori looked at it and then looked at the dwarf.

"Hello, Eugenides." he greeted the God of Thieves.

"So formal?" Eugenides teased. "After all we've been through together?" The dwarf stuck the pole firmly in the earth and left it there.

"Why do you look like a dwarf?" Nori asked.

"Because you are a dwarf, Kori's son." Eugenides shrugged. "I am a thieving god. I do not need one face. To you I appear like this; to an elf who passed by not twenty minutes before you I was as handsome as the wretched one called Feanor. To a hobbit I will have the curliest toe hair imaginable."

That made sense, in a strange sort of way. Nori looked down the paths. "Am I dead, then?" he asked.

"Oh no." Eugenides smiled and the smile was wide and surreal. "No, not yet you're not. You're doing a very good job of it, though. You're nearly halfway there."

"To the Mountain?" Nori asked.

"If you wish it." Eugenides replied.

"What other paths are there?"

"A few." Eugenides gestured. "You can follow through to the Mountain, and in so doing pass by the halls of Mandos. Perhaps you will evade him; perhaps you won't. It's a bit of a gamble either way."

"And if I choose not to?" Nori asked.

"You could take the eastern road." Eugenides acknowledged. "Where there are mansions upon mansions of treasures ripe for the picking, and a warden for each one sharp as flint with eyes forged by Mahal to seek out thieves. Perhaps you will bring home great works of gold and silver; perhaps you will be eaten, and your soul reused in Arda reforged."

Now that sounded like an afterlife after his own thieving heart, even with the risk of being eaten; and Nori considered it. "To the West?" He asked.

Eugenides shrugged. "Perhaps if you take the western road you will make it to Valinor, home of the Valar and their pet elves." he said. "I've heard tell of a dwarf or two that managed. Most get lost along the way, those few that try."

Interesting, all very interesting and Nori thought hard.

Then, as thieves hoard details, he recalled something.

"You said I wasn't dead yet."

Eugenides chuckled. "You've a mind like a trap."

"...so I could turn around?" Nori asked. "If I wished?"

"Oh, aye, you could turn around." Eugenides said. "To whatever's left of your body and your mind."

"And what is left?"

"I'm a thief, Nori Kori's son, not a healer." Eugenides replied.

Nori thought. The past was a large gray blur and he couldn't be certain of anything he thought he knew, but he recalled a roaring voice, and clanging blades, and someone begging him to hold on, Oin will be here soon, hold on you damn thief-

Nori spun abruptly. "I'm going back."

"Well that was quick." Eugenides said. "Do you think you know the way?"

Nori didn't know, but he didn't say that.

The thief god smiled. "Well, if that's your choice." He stood and picked up his lamp. He held it out and Nori stared at it.

"I've a bit of a secret to tell you." Eugenides said. "The Valar aren't allowed to choose favorites, but those of us Arda dreamed into being- we have a little more leeway." He held out the thin pole. "and you are a favorite, Nori Kori's Son."

Nori was not sure being the favorite of a god so fickle as Eugenides was a good thing, but he took the thin pole. It was warm in his hand and the fire of the lamp danced.

"I thank you, for your gift." he said.

"Gift? Oh, no, it'll come back to me. It always does." Eugenides smiled fondly. "But until then, it will keep you out of trouble, as much as it can. Now go on. And next time you leave me an offering make sure it's got opals in it. You know how long it's been since you left me opals?"

Nori smiled. "I will try." he bowed, the Thief's Lamp bobbing beside him. He straightened up- and Eugenides was gone.

Nori son of Kori turned and walked back the way he came, the lamp lighting his path.

Chapter Text

It was the most beautiful job he'd ever pulled.

"Get us the Arkenstone by the next full moon, and you'll get the rest of your payment and more besides. We'll make of you a King."

The Arkenstone. The Heart of Erebor, set into the throne of King Thorin Oakenshield, of the Line of Durin. It was the size of his fist, and glowed so brilliantly that it was said no other light was needed when the King sat for council. It had been cut by Masters who had learned their art through sweat and blood. It, like the line of Durin, endured.

Stealing it was nearly depressingly easy.

Of course he'd been gone from Erebor so long that none who saw him remembered him. He did not seek out his two brothers, who were both gainfully employed; they had not spoken in years. They did not need to know he was there.

No one needed to know.

It was a matter of confidence, skill. The setting of the Arkenstone was no simple golden rim. There was magic in it, but he had learned from the best, and had magic of his own. No ravens cried thief in the night, no guards followed in his footsteps. As silently as he had come he left, a velvet bag in one of the pockets of his coat. The throne room had gone dark.

The Arkenstone had been stolen, and his place in the silent history of thieves had been appropriately written.

---

Of course he should have suspected it wouldn't be that easy. After all, he'd thought everything about the security seemed lax. There were rumors that the Arkenstone had a will of its own but he had gone up against such gems before and knew with surety that there was no such soul in the beautiful fires of the King's Jewel. It was gorgeous; it was dead.

The guardsman following him, unfortunately, wasn't.

He had to put off his rendezvous with his employers. They were not happy.

"I'll meet you past the Misty Mountains." he told them in his message, carried by a magpie. "I'm not out of the woods yet."

Nor would he be, if the roaring behind him was any indication. He put a spring in his step as the magpie flew off and headed for the wall. Dwarven guards were all the same; they couldn't jump walls to save their lives.

---

The guard's name was Dwalin, son of Fundin, and he could jump walls just fine.

In fact, he could swim pretty well, too.

He wasn't all that bad at climbing sheer cliff faces.

Or dodging orcs.

Or tracking a thief through crowded marketplaces.

The thief caught sight of him, red faced and hollering, on the other side of a cart crash that had blocked the whole causeway with cabbages and rolls of linen.

I think I might be in love with you, he thought.

---

The thief was a little embarrassed to have been caught in the gloaming. That was theif-time, his time. He looked up at the furious guard above him and wondered how appropriate it would be to ask for a last good hard fuck.

"You know if you kill me you'll never find out where it is." he said.

The axe just bit into his neck a little more.

"Oh, you'll tell me." Dwalin growled, and the growl went straight to the thief's groin. "We'll start with your left hand."

Well that was hardly polite, a ruffian had to make a living and the thief liked his hands- they were very nice, with long quick fingers and well groomed nails. Long emerald rings looked particularly fetching on him.

"You can't be serious." he said.

Dwalin just adjusted the hold on his axe. The thief opened his mouth to start negotiations over again when he noticed something strange a few yards off.

"Are those footprints?"

"Oh no." Dwalin Fundin's son grunted. "I'm takin' yer head AND the Arkenstone back to Thorin-"

"I'm being serious you musclebound dunce!" The thief pointed as well as he could with his chin, the rest of him being pinned under the admittedly delicious weight of the guard. "Look!"

Dwalin looked.

---

They were tracks.

Goblin tracks.

Leading to...

"Mahal preserve us." the thief whispered. "They're ten thousand strong at least."

"And moving quick." Dwalin muttered. He tugged a bit on the rope collar he'd fashioned for his catch. "We need to get warning out-"

The line went taught. He rolled his eyes. "What now?" he hissed. The thief was staring down into the ramshackle camp, eyes blazing. He gestured towards three tall figures talking with the biggest, ugliest goblin Dwalin had ever seen.

"Those Men," he said, and the way he said it- polite, detached, almost sunny- made a shiver run up Dwalin's spine. "those Men paid me half a horse's weight in mithril to steal the Arkenstone."

---

"I can't believe we are here right now." Dwalin growled, leaning against a perfectly good stone column someone had utterly ruined with carvings of flowering vines. The thief ignored him as a tall blonde elf approached, looking concerned. "Master Wallwalker?" he asked. "What brings you back to our realm?"

"Hello, Legolas. No time for a chat, I'm afraid. I need to see your father. I'm calling in that favor."

---

Getting the word out didn't take that long. By the time they were riding into Dale, the thief obediently following on his rope leash, Dain Ironfoot was two days off and Thranduil the Elven King was exchanging terse words with Erebor, his glittering host all but camped on the edges of Dale.

Brand the Dragon Slayer looked at the two dwarves as though they had grown extra heads. His guest- a wizard of no little infamy- just chortled.

"And so you return as I told you you would," he said to the thief, "at the foot of a hound and dragging the forest behind you."

"Oh shut up, Gandalf, and find your sword." the thief said. "And someone get me a piece of paper I need to write to my brother."

---

The whole thing was very messy and the thief was sorry he had anything to do with it.

Later on they called it the Battle of the Five Armies because apparently Dwalin knew a bear and Gandalf thought that maybe the eagles would come in handy. The thief was just happy he still had his head.

Though, judging from the look on Thorin Oakenshield's blood-spattered face, he might not get away with even that.

"..parlay?" he asked.

"You," Thorin said, quite out of majestic speeches and feeling a little heavy from all the bloodloss, "YOU-"

"Helped save us all, my Lord."

Dwalin was bowing, one hand on his axe. "He mustered the elves, Thorin." Dwalin said. "He led me true, and killed the instigators."

So he had, gleefully and with a multitude of wires he kept up his sleeves. He was a thief, not a pawn of nations and politics; his employers had learned that the hard way.

"If there is blame to be laid, lay it on me, for I allowed the stone to be taken."

The thief made a noise remarkably like an angry cat who had just been dropped in a bucket of water.

"What? WHAT? Now see HERE you stubborn idiot of a dwarf, I'm the thief here, not you!" he turned to the King under the Mountain. "This fool tracked me for nearly twenty leagues without a moment's rest! Give him a bloody medal! Give him the Arkenstone, for all I care, but don't listen to a word he says!"

Thorin gave him a long, searching look.

Realization slowly dawned.

Oh, bugger. the thief thought.

"Nori?" asked Thorin. "Nori of Ri?"

Well, what the hell else was there to do?

"That's my name," Nori said to his old childhood playmate. "Try not to wear it out, Thor'."

---

It wasn't that bad a job, Nori supposed.

Running a spy network inside a mountain was entertaining work, and important. He liked the throat slitting and the information gathering, though he could do without the disapproving looks from his older brother.

Ah, well. The pay was good, even if everyone gave him the stink eye every time he came even remotely NEAR the Arkenstone.

And his older brother wouldn't let him set foot in the family teashop.

Things could be worse.

There was the sound of a door opening and then closing. Strong arms wrapped around him.

"Done anything I need to arrest you for?" Dwalin rumbled.

"Not yet." Nori purred.

Yes. Yes it could definitely be worse.

Chapter Text

"What about that one?"

"No way. See his braid? Five strands and split ends, he'd be out on his rump in less than ten minutes."

"Okay, what about her?"

"Pretty but too skinny."

"What about- oh, look, Nori, twins!"

"He'd either kill us both or thank us profusely then kill us."

"Alright, see the fellow just down the way?"

"He's got blue hair."

"Yes, so?"

"You remember that incident with the blue coat.."

"Oh. OH. Yes. Drat I'm not any good at this game, am I?"

"No, but we've a few minutes yet for you to learn again."

"Learn what?"

Nori and Ori looked up from their spots on a public stone bench to see Kili, Prince Under The Mountain, grinning down at them.

"A game we play!" Ori said brightly.

"It's called 'find Dori someone else he can mother'." Nori added.

"Oh, sounds fun!" Kili dropped bonelessly onto the bench. "How do you play?"

"Well, first you seek out someone you think Dori might like," Ori said, folding up the remains of his lunch in his kerchief, "and then you try to figure out if Dori would like them or not."

"The answer is almost universally no." Nori added.

Kili grinned. "Well, what about that guard down there? The one with the war hammer?"

"See his boots?"

Kili frowned. "They're boots."

"Aye," Nori said, "boots covered in dried mud, which means he's been outside recently and hasn't bothered to clean them off. Dori would knock him arse over teakettle for that."

"Is he really so picky?"

The look the two brothers shot Kili could only be politely described as 'incredulous'.

"Okay, okay. What about the lass with the apple cart?"

"She hasn't starched her apron." Ori said dutifully.

"Huh. The polisher down the way?"

"Doesn't clean his teeth often enough." Nori was grinning. Kili shook his head. "Are you sure your brother isn't determined to remain a bachelor for the rest of his days?" he asked, distraught. The idea of any of their company being so alone was simply unthinkable to Kili after the Battle of the Five Armies. After all, they'd survived- barely- and now they had their Erebor, albeit a tiny bit tarnished and more dragon-smelling than it had been in his great great grandfather's time. His Uncle had Bilbo, and Gloin and Bombur had reunited with their wives, and Dwalin even had Nori when they weren't yelling at one another.

"No, no, see, that's why we're playing the game." Ori said. "Nori has it on good authority-"

"The BEST authority-"

"that Dori's going to be meeting someone by the fountain midafternoon!" Ori gushed. "And we don't know who it is, so we're guessing!"

"You don't know?" Kili asked Nori, who just grinned and put a finger to his lips, gesturing to Ori. Kili grinned back and was prepared to join in the game again when he spotted a familiar hat coming up from the southern street. "Look, lads, it's Bofur!" He said.

"I see Dori!" Ori hissed. "He's got his satchel quick HIDE!"

Kili found himself dragged behind the bench and put firmly between the two younger brothers Ri as 'Dori can smell and scold the unwashed from ten yards.'

"Does it look like anyone's walking up to him?" Ori asked, view obscured by the bench. Kili shook his head. "No, it's- oh wait a minute." Kili frowned. "Bofur's seen him."

Beside Kili, Nori's grin had grown to shark-like proportions.

"Oh no if Bofur ruins the timing we'll never see who it is!" Ori lamented. Kili glanced at Nori, who was clearly having trouble keeping his mouth shut, having sealed one hand over his mouth to hide his mirth.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Ori." Kili said faintly.

"but if he- Kili you look weird."

Kili grabbed Ori's arm and hauled him up. The younger dwarf squeaked and then stared.

Bofur- dirty, mine-fresh, forgetful, whimsical, entirely too cheerful in the mornings Bofur, had his tongue down Dori's throat.

In public.

Ori appeared to have frozen in place. Nori's smile was soft. "He must really like him." he said to Kili. "He'd never put up with this otherwise."

Kili watched as Dori lightly pushed Bofur off and with a soft scolding, though he laced their hands together for all that Bofur's were covered in dust. "You aren't going to kill him, then?"

"Kill a member of the Royal Council?" Nori scoffed. "That's bad manners. Dig up every nasty little thing he ever did from Ered Luin to here..." the Spymaster grinned. "That's another matter, altogether, isn't it?"

Kili, watching Dori and Bofur walk away, had to admit that it was.

Chapter Text

"So that's it?"

Nori dropped his cigarette and ground it out under the heel of his boot. "So what's it?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

"You're just going to let him go?"

Nori twisted his neck around to look at Dwalin, lurking in the shadows by the gate. Just up the brick driveway and inside the gigantic stone house behind them there was a party in full swing; Fili and Kili had broken out the old records on the massive sound system. Nori was sure that the staff who arrived the next morning would demand raises on the spot and chances were, Mr. Thorin Oakenshield, newly returned to Durin's Manor, would have enough of a hangover that he would give it to them to stop the noise.

"He was never mine to keep." Nori said, turning his face back to the road.

"Here I was under the impression that thieves stole things to keep them." Dwalin came up beside him but maintained a three foot distance.

"Not always." Nori said quietly. He fished out a fresh cigarette and his hands trembled as he tried to light it. He nearly dropped his zippo and cursed. A large, calloused hand came up and took the thing from him. "Quality work." Dwalin noted as he flicked it open and held the flame. Nori leaned forward and lit the end of his cigarette.

"Stolen?" Dwalin asked, closing the top and handing the thing back to Nori. The thief looked at it. It was silver with gold encrusted around its edges, forming something like a knot.

"What if I told you I bought it?" he asked curiously.

"I'd call you a liar."

"Ah, well. It was revenge. The fellow was an asshole."

"I see." Dwalin looked out at the road. "...are you sure you won't stay?"

"You said I had a twenty four hour window and it starts at midnight, Officer Fundin." Nori said, checking his watch (also stolen). "It's ten thirty now. I've got more than enough time."

"Bilbo will be unhappy that you didn't say goodbye."

"Bilbo will..will understand." Nori's breath caught.

"You still feel for him." Dwalin said.

"Are you a psychologist as well as a blueblood now, Officer?" Nori asked, prickling.

"It doesn't take an egghead with a degree to see what's obvious as the nose on your face." Dwalin replied.

"He made his choice and I told him it was right."

"Was it?" Dwalin asked.

Nori glared at Dwalin. "Did you not see?" he asked. "Were you not there when my par-my former partner, who never, not once, spilled blood in his life, put eight goddamn rounds through Azog? You think he would have done that for me?"

Dwalin was silent.

"No. He'd have never done that for me. We always had an agreement. He found the way in, I did the heavy lifting. He wouldn't have stolen something like the Arkenstone for me. He wouldn't have faced down armed thugs, participated in a high speed car chase, or negotiated with Thranduil for me. He loves Thorin, Officer. He loves Thorin and he loves gardening and keeping an estate and mothering those two twits in there. He worked with me because it paid, not because he was like me."

"That doesn't absolve him of all guilt." Dwalin pointed out. Nori made a noise like a hiss and Dwalin held up his hands. "We'll take care of it."

It was already half-started. The moment it became obvious that Bilbo Baggins wasn't planning on leaving Thorin's side, Balin had begun digging for loopholes and records. It was good that Nori was leaving; that gave them someone to pin the crimes on, not that anyone had said that out loud. If they had Dori might have had kittens.

"Do you think you'll ever come back?" Dwalin asked.

"Why do you CARE?" All of a sudden Nori's claws were unsheathed. If he'd been a cat, his ears would have been back, and his tail lashing.

"Because I do." Dwalin replied.

He hadn't, not in the beginning. He'd been furious that Thorin called in the favor Nori Rivers owed him. He'd been even more furious when Nori showed up toting along a small, soft man who looked about as threatening as a peach-shaped pincushion. Then everything had gone to hell in a hand basket, and the peach pincushion had proven his worth five times over, Smaug was toppled from his empire, and the King had back his Castle.

It had come at a price.

Nori turned his back on Dwalin. The officer cleared his throat.

"If you did come back," he said, "your brothers would like to hear from you."

"Dori would rather jump off a cliff than hear from me again."

"That's not true."

"It is." Nori had told himself this lie so many times because he wanted it to be true.

"If you did come back, I would like to hear from you."

Nori stiffened all over. He turned to find that Dwalin had closed that gap between them. He leaned down, being just that much taller than Nori, and bumped their foreheads together.

Nori felt something begin then. He knew it wouldn't grow quickly. The hole Bilbo had left, apologizing all the while, was still too raw.

Eventually, though.

Eventually.

"I can't change who I am, Dwalin." Nori whispered.

"Next time you're in town." Dwalin said. "I won't be on duty."

The taxi arrived then, the driver honking his horn. Nori stepped away from Dwalin and picked up his bag. He slung his coat and his knives over his shoulder. Dwalin had no idea how he would get them through security, but he would; he was Nori Rivers. Of course he would.

"Officer Fundin?" Nori said as he made to get into the car. Dwalin grunted.

"Catch."

Dwalin caught the tossed zippo on reflex. He squinted at it and then at Nori.

"I don't want your stolen goods." he said.

Nori smiled. "They're the only good I've ever done for anybody." he said. "Look after my idiot brothers, officer. And tell Bilbo-"

"Tell him what?" Dwalin asked.

"..tell him congratulations. From me."

Then the door was shut. The taxi drove off into the night, taking with it one of the most notorious career criminals Dwalin Fundin had ever chased. Dwalin turned the zippo over in his hands, thumbs stroking the heavy gold crust. Inside, he knew, Bilbo Baggins would be sitting on Thorin's lap, laughing and smiling. The rest of the Company would be arrayed around them, singing, eating, drinking, celebrating being alive after all. No one would notice Nori was gone, not until the next day.

Dwalin pulled a cigar out of his front pocket. He sliced the end with his pocket knife and lit it with the zippo, the flame reflecting back in his eyes, which were dark and thoughtful pits.

He took a few deep drags and let the smoke wreathe about his head. He wondered what he would tell Ori.

He decided on the one truth that could be applied to one as rootless, as infuriatingly lucky, as beautifully chaotically marvelous as Nori Rivers.

He'll be back.

Chapter Text

"I've never seen wandering fingers craft anything of their own."

It was the first personal thing that the silversmith he had been apprenticed to said to him. The first and the last, since the next morning the old bastard had woken up to find his tools filched and a good portion of his silver missing.

Nori remembered this as he curled the golden wire from its spool. As every noble dwelling in Erebor, the one shared by the Brothers Ri had its own workshops. Dori was delighted to take up work again, Ori converted his into a study. Nori kept his locked; his brothers did not come in.

Sometimes, on the road, Nori had stopped to create. It was an itch, one he felt was annoying and one he dealt with in a swift manner. For a week, or a month, he would do an honest dwarf's work- joining a forge or a guild, taking whatever labor needed to be done if only to touch metals again, to watch as a gemstone was set beautifully into its prongs. Some of the money he sent home to Dori was honest; but Dori didn't know.

Dori had paid the silversmith for his time and his lost items. He'd never brought it up to Nori, though he had every right to. Nori loved him a little bit for that- for giving him at least that small part of his peace, his own tiny bit of honor.

It was amazing, what you could learn when you weren't being hounded by an overbearing taskmaster. In the far east Nori had watched goldsmiths create whole mandalas from tiny golden balls. In Rohan he discovered how to make horseshoe nails that stayed even in the sloppiest of springtime muds. Nori wandered, and thieved, and learned.

Nori carefully twisted the wire again in his fingers, breath coming softly if at all. There was a deep silence in his locked workroom.

Nori made it a point to never steal from the forges and workshops he sometimes gave labor to. Bad for business. Sometimes he stopped other thieves. Sometimes he didn't.

Bilbo Baggins had asked him what his trade was.

"I don't have one, Master Baggins."

"But, but," Bilbo's face had scrunched up in a way that could only be called adorable, "but you're a dwarf! Surely there is something?"

Ah, the old 'but you're a dwarf' argument. Nori decided then was the right time to give Bilbo back his small coin purse. The hobbit had turned red as his overcoat.

"I'm a jack of all trades, Master Baggins," Nori had said then with a wink, "and master of none." he'd ridden ahead and not talked to Bilbo for a day and a half.

Nori carefully cut the wire and looked down the length of the axe blade that was laid out before him, grooves already cut into its faces. It was time to begin the inlay. He checked his braids to be sure they were tight and picked up his small guide chisel and padded hammer.

---

The axe was beautiful. Double-headed, it was clearly a piece for decoration, not for war, though the edge on it would suggest otherwise. From the handle golden swirls issued forth, creating on one side the screeching head of an eagle, and on the other the great and monstrous form of a bear.

Nori looked at it. He critiqued it, walking through what he could have done better, what he could have eased off on. With a master's eye he contemplated how the axe would swing, how Dwalin would wield it, or Gloin, or even Thorin though Thorin preferred the single blade as a rule.

Nori removed his leather apron. He draped it over the chair, set the small forge fire to extinguish, made sure the wire spools were in place and the tools- some stolen, some bought- hanging on their hooks or nestled in their drawers.

He left the axe on the table.

He would melt it down in the morning.

Wandering fingers did not craft anything of their own.

Chapter Text

Nori of Ri could steal anything.

All one had to do was ask his contacts, acquaintances, enemies. Guarded by an entire battalion of elves? Nori could steal it. Sequestered in the highest tower of the most holy monastery? Child's play. Left in the middle of a public square, guarded by liver-eating eagles? A walk down a delightful forested path.

Nori had always tried not to let it get to his head. He still got caught sometimes. Getting caught and being punished, though, were two very different things. Nori always made sure he was out of town before one turned into the other.

He thought of these things as he looked down at the contract. It was well worded and he knew; he'd read it three times just to be sure. Old Balin didn't seem to be in a hurry to make him sign, the quiet, dusty air of the other dwarf's workplace laying a hush over everything.

The wording was basic. Come with us, help kill the dragon and retake the mountain and your slate is clean. Pardoned. Not a thing held against you, and enough gold to start your life over besides.

He knew that Dori had signed a contract like it, and so had Ori, that very morning. He'd watched them walk down the street together arm in arm and hated them for it and hated himself for hating them for being so respectable.

Had they forgotten about him?

No, because his knots still hung in the window.

Ori was so big now. His beard had grown in, and he was almost ready to receive his master scribing braids. Dori was as annoyingly beautiful as ever.

Nori noticed that his hands were turning white where he gripped the contract. It took a conscious and forced decision for them to relax.

The contract noted that he was accepted for his 'various skills'.

Was that what they were called now?

'Various skills' sounded better, he supposed, than 'breaking and entering, poaching, shoplifting, pickpocketing, knowing thief's cant and a bit of a dabbling in murder for hire'.

He could steal the contracts, he knew. Steal them, burn them. Even if he did, Balin would just write up more. He had been in Erebor; a gnat like Nori wouldn't bother him at all.

Nori reached for the quill, signed his name quickly and with a deep and burning shame. Balin took it from him and nodded.

"We will see you in two weeks, Master Nori." he said gently, as though Nori wasn't a thief, as though he hadn't just signed on a cutpurse for a suicide mission separately from his two very respectable brothers who still had no idea that their sibling was in town. "Pack for a long journey."

"Indeed." Nori said tightly. He stood, gave a short bow- because Balin was old enough to deserve one- and turned on his heel. He needed a tavern and he needed it now, if only to wash away the feeling that he needed to be scraped off of someone's shoe.

Nori of Ri could steal anything.

Except respect.

Except the love of his brothers.

Except the honor he never had.

Well if I get lucky the dragon will eat me and Ori will write me as a hero, Nori thought. Doesn't matter what you can steal if you're dead.

That was assuming, of course, that Ori remembered his name.

Chapter Text

Thorin looked at Nori son of Kori. On a lesser dwarf the face he wore would be incredulous.

"You are refusing the full share of gold."

"Aye." Nori said with a nod.

"...May I ask why?"

"Hardly seems fair to get all that gold AND a pardon out of it." Nori said. "Dwalin will have a conniption as it is."

"I will not slight any member of this company." Thorin said. "You will get the full share."

"My Lord-"

"I am trying to argue a thief into taking gold." Thorin said to the ceiling. "Mahal, mark this."

Nori sighed. " The pardon is what I'm after, your Majesty. I really am not comfortable with-"

"My choice is made, Korison."

And it was, and Nori knew there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

"Yes, my Lord."

---

He had not seen his brothers in eight years.

The first thing Ori did was hug him tight- so tight that Nori thought his bones might creak, that Ori had inherited some of their mother's strength after all. "You came back!" Ori cried, and Nori admitted that he had, because he couldn't let his pig headed idiot brothers die in a dragon's den without him.

Dori was more suspicious. Nori let him be; it was the least he deserved.

"Where were you?" Dori asked, three days before they set out.

"Arranging things." Nori said, and that was all.

---

Bilbo Baggins watched Nori gently urge the fascinated little fauntling back to his parents. The dwarves were fearsome enough that most of the hobbits had stayed inside, but a few of the more Tookish bent had wandered out.

"You did that very well." Bilbo said to him.

"Did what?" Nori asked, eyes far away.

"Getting him back to his mother. Sure little Jetho is part Took but he's also part Bracegirdle and they're more stubborn than pigs in mud."

"It's not so hard to tend to a child, Master Baggins." Nori said, shrugging. "I did it for Ori all the time."

Talk turned to other things, but Bilbo remembered the gentle way Nori's hands had touched little shoulders, and he resolved to be more courteous to the shifty fellow from then on out. It was hard to dislike anyone who clearly had a love of children, for all he was (if Dwalin was to be believed) a thief, a liar and a charlatan.

---

Gloin got soppish about Gimli at least every other day, and most of the company had learned to tune him out. Surprise of surprises, Nori often put up with the older dwarf's soliloquizing, as it did nothing to stop him from knotting together his strips of silk and bits of ribbon. He was making something, though when asked he said he didn't know. "might be a butterfly, might be a hangman's noose," he replied, squinting at it in the firelight. "I suppose I'll make up my mind tomorrow."

---

Nori had been going down to meet the caravans for months now.

It was starting to get disturbing.

Dori wasn't sure what to make of it. Neither was Dwalin, nor Thorin. At the drop of a hat the newly christened Spymaster of Erebor would make for the gate with all haste and with no explanation. Once there, he would help the caravans with whatever was needed, far too casually. It was classic 'Nori is impatient' behavior, and Dori confessed to his King that he had no idea what it was Nori was waiting for.

"Maybe he's waiting for a lover?" Bilbo had offered in one of their more quiet and private moments. Dori shook his head. "Nori has never mentioned a lover." he said.

"Well, why would he?" Bilbo asked sensibly. "you were not overly close when the journey started, were you?"

Dori had to admit that they weren't.

"If you asked I'm sure he would tell you." Bilbo said, but as that wasn't how things were done- at least, not if you were of the house of Ri, they weren't- it would have to remain an intriguing and very annoying mystery.

---

The day the larger caravan arrived, trailing half of Ered Luin under the iron fisted control of Lady Dis, the entire Company went down to greet them. It was quite the affair, despite the slow rebuilding of Erebor; everyone wore their finest clothes, and Fili and Kili spent hours fussing over one another's braids, panicking as only young dwarves of Durin's line could. Bilbo panicked for an entirely different reason, though Thorin assured him that his sister would adore the hobbit.

Gloin could not contain himself. the moment his beautiful wife was revealed with Dis's axemaidens he threw himself from the lineup and caught her in his arms. She laughed and he laughed and he spun her around and cried. Gimli appeared from wherever he had been held (with an aunt, perhaps) and the little family fell in with an amused Princess of Durin.

Ancient words were spoken and repeated; the King welcomed the Princess, and the Princess bowed to the King. Then Brother and Sister and Sons and Mother embraced, and the cry from the crowd echoed through the great hall.

Dori noticed, in this chaos, that his middle brother had disappeared. Exasperated he searched for and found Nori's distinctive hairstyle in the crowd. The spymaster slipped between the dwarves like a whisp of smoke, searching for something.

Dori was about to go down and tell his lout of a sibling that damn it the princess was not someone you slipped out on when he heard, as clear as a bell, a voice.

"Papa?"

Then again, louder, happier, full of tears.

"Papa!"

And then something small and wearing a violet tunic and leggings jumped on his brother, and his brother did precisely as Gloin had done with his wife and turned the little creature in a circle, laughing and crying all at once and there was a roaring in Dori's ears and then nothing but darkness.

---

He'd fainted, of course.

He came to surrounded by a protective circle of his friends. A pair of small, mischievous silvery-gray eyes- Nori's eyes- were looking down at him.

"Papa he's awake!" She had a voice like little golden bells and Dori could hear Nori laughing. "Is he? Good! Get up, Dori, you realize you collapsed before meeting the Princess?"

"I should say he did!" that was Bofur. "A nasty shock you gave to us!"

"I'm not nasty, Mister Bofur!" cried the girl. Her eyes went away. Dori slowly sat up and stared. He had been moved, clearly; they were in a smaller council chamber off the main hall. Every surface had a dwarf or a hobbit on it. The dwarfling ran to sit on Ori's lap. Ori, who looked as though he had discovered a vein of mithril into which were inscribed all the great stories of ages past, gently stroked her hair. Nori sat beside him, eyes red, smile trembling. Strewn around were the company members. Thorin and Dis were deep in conversation with Bilbo, occasionally tossing glances at Ori and the dwarfling. The others just seemed stunned, save Dwalin, whose face looked dark as a thundercloud. Nori ignored him.

"I'd like my dwarrowdam back, if you could." he said to Ori. The girl giggled and Nori picked her up, carrying her over to where Oin was handing Dori a cup of water and grumbling to himself.

"Now, treasure," Nori said, kneeling down and damn it why did he look so natural with a child? "You've met Misters Bofur and Bifur and Bombur, and Dwalin and Balin, and our burglar and the Princes and the King, and your friend Gimli's father Gloin and his brother Oin and your Uncle Ori. Now, say hello to your other Uncle. This is Dori."

The girl looked at him with her big silver gray eyes smiled a smile Dori knew oh so very well. She gave a wobbly little bow.

"Yori, daughter of Nori." she said. "At your service!"

Dori looked at his niece, and up at his brother, whose face glowed with sorrow and guilt and a hard to conceal pride, and without thought for the decorum of the thing he began to cry.

Chapter Text

Yori's mother's name had been Vedris.

She was an Ironfist, plying her trade with blades. Nori had met her in the Wilds on the edge of the world where East and West began to blur and so did the people.

Of course, Nori being Nori, they didn't meet as most lads and lasses did.

No, there was the question of a cask that Nori had been hired to steal- a cask that Vedris had been hired to protect.

"You can imagine how THAT ended..."

Well enough, for what came after.

"She'd have driven you crazy, Dori. Always wore two different colored socks and her braids were never straight."

They met sporadically, usually around that town where first they had crossed knives; if Nori wandered by the house Vedris shared with her sister Vin, and his knot hung in the window, he went inside.

"Did you love her?" asked Ori, who could ask because he was yet young enough to believe that love was so simple a thing to find.

They had never spoken words of love to one another; they were a wander-axe and a thief, members of a roaming culture that spread to the wind each passing year. They knew that such fickle promises were made to be broken. Nori had other lovers when he was not with Vedris; sometimes she told him of the ones she took to bed. It was all a very genial affair.

Then Yori happened.

"I didn't know, not until I returned to Wilds." Nori had to return, because he had worn out his welcome in Ered Luin. Dwalin son of Fundin had put a price on his head, and Dori had nearly taken his arms off, and the argument that night in the house of Ri almost brought the rafters down upon their heads.

When Nori arrived at the tavern where he and Vedris sometimes shared a drink or twelve, he found her waiting tables, belly getting round.

Vedris had every right to chase him off, or demand trial by combat, or financial weregild; she did none of those things. She simply asked him to stay.

"So I did."

Dori read between his brother's lines. I had an obligation. She was carrying my child. I had to protect her.

Nori moved into the house with Vedris and Vin. He got work with the blacksmith, who knew Nori's business and kept an eye on his hands. Months later, on a stormy spring night, Yori was born.

"Twelve hours, Mahal bless her soul." Nori said. "And the lightning was so sharp I thought it would strike us all dead."

It did not, and Yori was born squalling into her father's hands.

"A month before you, Ori," he said and affectionately scruffed his brother's hair. "and twice the beard besides!"

Nori had wanted to name her Veryl, but Vedris had refused.

"My child has a father, and that father is Nori, of the honorable house of Ri of the line of Durin, and that is the line to which she will belong."

And so Yori the bright eyed dwarfling had been named, even as the lightning ceased above their heads.

Things were not perfect, but they were not bad. Vin returned to fighting for hire and was gone for many months on end. Vedris went to the tavern and with her babe strapped to her back served ale and stomped the feet of those whose hands wandered. Nori smithed, and tinkered, and occasionally followed well to do gentlemen from one end of town to the other, picking up gold.

Then Vedris got sick.

"Three months." Nori said, voice tight and eyes shadowed. "Three months and she was gone."

Nori buried the mother of his child, and he returned to work.

Word of the mad dwarvish king and his quest traveled by mouth and by messenger bird until it reached Nori in the wilds, while he was rocking his child to sleep and singing a thieving song.

It woke something in Nori; the wanderer he'd put away when Vedris asked him to stay. The urge grew, and grew, until finally he could take it no longer. Thorin Oakenshield was looking for good dwarves, stout of heart. He was willing to give anything to get them.

Anything- like a full pardon, a release of the price on his head, and the right to walk down the streets of Ered Luin or Erebor like any other dwarf.

"The way I figured it, I had nothing to lose." Nori said, staring into the bottom of his ale. "A pardon would let me come back to where there was more work, and if by some miracle we survived a portion of the gold would go leagues in helping Yori."

There were other factors, of course- honor, the respect of his brothers, a chance to be a part of a family larger than he and his wee babe again. Those came second. Everything came second to Yori's small hands in his braids, her gleeful laughter as the cutthroats and scoundrels of the tavern bounced her on their knees, the way she quickly knotted strings into long cords that resembled tatted lace.

Vin had been against it, of course; but in the end she had agreed, for the goodwill of her sister's daughter, to look after Yori while her father 'went on a bit of a suicidal walk'.

One cool spring morning, years after the stormy night she had been born, Yori kissed her father goodbye, tied a clumsy knot in the threads of his cloak for luck, and watched him walk away. A month later he had entered Ered Luin, laid down every knife he had before a stunned Balin son of Fundin, and requested an audience with the Exiled King.

"And the rest, as they say," Nori said, "is history."

In the quiet of the large house they now owned- large, they realized, because Nori had had always an intention to send for his daughter- the Brothers Ri looked at one another, a trembling bond between them. It had weakened, for a time; the quest had given it new life and purpose. They were brothers again, and now they were Uncle and Uncle and Papa. They were the House of Ri, and the House of Ri would endure. There was a soft noise from one of the bedrooms and Nori was on his feet in a moment, headed for where Yori slept.

Ori began cleaning up the mugs of ale but Dori followed his younger brother.

In the quiet of the bedroom Yori was snuggled up into a ball, breathing uneasy. Nori sat down on the bed beside her, stroking her forehead. Unbidden and for the first time in Dori's recent memory, the thief began to sing.

"Way, hey, over the hill, the fox he sleeps and the crow is still, but does the magpie care a whit? not for the dark, no, not a bit- way hey, over the hill, the king his crown is ruby short, and flies the magpie to the north, and to him every door is shut- way, hey, over the hill, castle quiet, guard is still, and magpie flies back to his nest to give his nestlings ruby rest.."

Yori stilled, a small smile playing on her face. Nori leaned in and kissed her forehead.

"Goodnight, my treasure." Dori heard him whisper.

And in the dark, all was still.

Chapter Text

"You've been avoiding me."

Dwalin nearly groaned- nearly, because if he did that would give Nori a conversational advantage, and Dwalin had seen what Nori of Ri did with any advantage.

"Aye." he said, as there was no point in denying it. "What of it?"

The Spymaster moved around the table to look into the Captain's eyes. "Why, Dwalin?" he asked.

Dwalin did not answer. He looked down at the maps spread out over the wide table- maps they were supposed to be searching for hidden passages, for Mahal's sake- and then back up at Nori. "You've been busy lately." he said.

Nori's lips twitched. "That's not an answer, Fundin's son." he said.

"it's as much of one as you'll get, Thief."

Thief. Dwalin had called Nori that so many times, as though it were his name. In the early days of their acquaintance, it had been, for Nori never used his real name when visiting Ered Luin for fear of what might happen to his brothers. It had been yelled, growled, hoarsely begged, and said with such affection that it filled Nori with an echoing warmth just to think of it. Now the word was as it had been at the beginning of the quest. A title, a label. A reminder.

Nori had determined not to lose his temper. He held it fast and said evenly, "Shall I tell you the answer then? Or make a guess?"

Dwalin growled. "We don't have time for stupid games."

"You're angry."

Dwalin's eyes narrowed.

"You're angry, and you're hurt, and you're shocked and you're guilty and betrayed but mostly, you're angry." Nori said.

"What in the name of Mahal-"

"You're angry that I'm not what you think I was. You had a nice image of me away all those years, robbing eastern lords blind instead of playing with my daughter. It fit. I was a thief, your thief, and that was what I did." Nori realized he was getting choked up but he continued on valiantly. "You're hurt because I never told you about Yori. For all the kisses you stole- YOU stole, Fundinson, you were the thief then- I never whispered to you of a child, or commitments, or the reason I wanted that pardon so badly. You are betrayed for that same reason. You feel guilty for not guessing, for presuming I was only what you saw and all of this together makes you angry."

Dwalin's fingers creaked, they were clenched so tightly. "You presume much, thief."

"Do I?" Nori asked. "Tell me, Dwalin, that you haven't been avoiding me, even when our posts require that we meet each fortnight. Tell me that when you hear I'm in the market, or at the tavern, or when I walk my little girl to the communal school you do your very best to not be there."

Dwalin was silent.

"I didn't think so." Nori said quietly.

"Can we just do our work?" Dwalin asked. "I would like to get this done before-"

"Yori's mother is dead, Dwalin."

THAT brought the guard up short. He stared at Nori, who looked like a cornered fox, breathing shallow and face a little pale.

"My apologies," Dwalin said, "for your loss."

"I do not need them. She was never mine. Which you would have known, had you replied to my notes instead of pretending I didn't exist, like you did every time you threw me in a cell!"

"WHAT ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?!" Nori had determined to maintain a hold on his temper, but Dwalin had made no such promises. He stood and was nearly the size of a bear in his wrath. "This little bit comes to you, and you're her father, and you never once- not once-"

"you didn't give me a chance to explain, Dwalin!" Nori shot back.

"What, you couldn't have mentioned it when we were knocking boots at Beorn's hall?!" Dwalin demanded.

"I THOUGHT WE WERE ALL GOING TO DIE!"

The fire crackled and the room fell silent. Dwalin stared at Nori, who had wrapped his arms around himself.

"It was insane, Dwalin." Nori whispered. "You knew it. You went along because of your loyalty to Thorin, your desire to see the mountains again I understand. It was my last chance, don't you see? I had no other options left. Work was running out, thieving isn't a simple thing with a child sleeping at your back and winter was coming. I couldn't tell you. Your heart is too Mahal-cursed big, Dwalin. Tell me now, knowing that I had a little one, you would have maintained your strict loyalty to Thorin- been the guardsman he needed you to be- if you'd known my death would orphan a dwarfling."

Dwalin wanted to protest. After all, Gloin had Gimli, and Bombur his pack of children, and Dwalin had not gone out of his way to look after them.

It would have been different, though, with Nori.

Because he was Nori.

"You should have told me." Dwalin whispered.

"Aye, perhaps I should have," Nori said. "but I didn't, because I was scared, because I was cautious, because every time you touched me I felt like I was home and I didn't know how much you would rip from me if you did, did this."

Dwalin saw two paths to follow then. One, he knew, was full of pain and sorrow, for both he and his thief. The other- well, it wouldn't be easy. It would be rocky, and painful.

His soul throbbed.

The One. Some dwarves thought it was a myth, others swore to it as Mahal's gospel, the idea that for each dwarf that existed there was an equal and opposite part. Dwalin wasn't a devote follower. He wasn't sure he believed in something so soppish as One True Love.

His body ignored his mind and moved of its own accord. Nori was tense in his arms, but he was in his arms and suddenly everything felt better, much better.

"A girl needs a mother." Dwalin said into Nori's hair. There was a shake and a snort. "Not that old yarn. She needs her parents. If she wishes to take up embroidery I shall send her to Gloin's wife."

"She will miss her mother."

"she does miss her, absently, as the young do."

Dwalin's hands stroked down nori's back, tracing the curve of his spine.

"What do you want?" he asked, laying kisses across Nori's forehead.

"I want to be her father. I want to be your thief." Nori's clever fingers came up to tangle in Dwalin's beard. "Will you let me do that? Can you?"

Dwalin recalled Yori's bright eyes, her quick feet and gentle smile.

"Someone has to keep the lass honest." he said at last. "Mahal knows you won't."

Nori could have laughed, or cried, or perhaps done both at the same time but then Dwalin was kissing him and no it wasn't alright but it was on the road, and he kissed back and despite the fierce chill of winter inside the mountain he felt warm.

Chapter Text

When Nori woke up (after a wonderfully rousing night of sex, sex, talk a little bit, have some ale, sex again) he realized something was off.

Namely, he was making noise.

Nori prided himself on not making any noise at all. It was an important part of his first job (no good lowdown dirty thief) and his second job (no good lowdown spymaster of the mountain, with dirty thief subheading.)

He could go just about anywhere on feet as quiet as a hobbit's, and even in waking he was quiet and quick. Mahal, he'd snuck up on elves once, and robbed them blind!

Bleary eyed and cotton headed he rolled over and noted the source of the sound.

Bracelets on his wrists.

Very beautiful things, he had to admit. Made up of tiny silver bells. They had been forged by the master silversmith over on Amethyst Way- Nori would recognize Haenmar's work anywhere.

He gave an experimental shake of his arm.

ring a ling.

He did it again.

ring a ling.

Nori could see no manner in which the bracelets would be removed. He would have to go to the silversmith to see about a hidden catch- which was not unheard of, in courting gifts given between dwarves. After all, treasures belonged with their owners.

The bed beside him was empty, of course, with no note, no leftover articles of clothing or bits of metal or leather.

Bracelets that jingled, that he couldn't remove unless he left his home and went, ringing and singing, all the way to Amethyst Way.

Nori knew precisely who to blame for this.

"DWALIN!"

---

The Captain of the Guard had every reason to put his beloved in bells.

Namely, Nori kept sneaking up on him.

Dwalin prided himself on his ability to sense danger, or another presence. He was the Captain of the Guard for a reason, and that reason was due to his well honed battle sense.

A sense that simply went haywire where Nori son of Kori was involved.

Nori was cat-quiet and swift. In their early days, chasing one another through Ered Luin's streets, it was a toss up as to who would wind up pinned against the wall. Dwalin was caught nearly as often as he caught Nori, though that was their secret and no others were privy to it. It had gotten a bit better during the Quest, when Nori's soft step often meant that an orcknife aimed at Dwalin's back was diverted, and had been downright useful in the early days of their courtship when Dori often came storming into Dwalin's house demanding to know where his brother (already escaping on the roof) had gotten to.

Still, it was humiliating to be a Captain of the Guard so easily caught off guard, and Dwalin had bemoaned his fate to a few of his underlings at the bar. One of them- a Stiffbeard named Sura- had asked, tugging on her brown braid, "Have you considered getting him a cat collar? With a little jingly bell on it?"

That was when Dwalin had an epiphany.

---

Dwalin easily ducked the hands going for his shoulders, laughing.

"you bastard!" Nori exclaimed, twisting around and attempting to grab him from the front. The bells sang. "I sound like a troop of dancing girls!"

"And a right pretty dancer you'd be, with ribbons in your beard." Dwalin cooed. Nori growled and pushed him into the wall. The two attacked one anothers' mouths with vigor, the bells ringing in Dwalin's ears as Nori's hands caught the hair on the sides of his head.

"I can't wear these." Nori said, holding out his arms. "They'll get in the bloody way. How do they come off?"

Dwalin chuckled. "You're the thief, you figure it out."

"I will cut them off." Nori threatened. Dwalin looked scandalized. "Don't you dare! They're Haenmar's finest work!"

"And you think I won't go to Haenmar?"

"I had him swear on Grasper and Keeper both that he'd tell you nothin', an' you aren't allowed to torture lawful civilians." Dwalin grinned at Nori's sudden wide eyed stare.

"...son of Fundin, I am going to put a knife in your back." the Spymaster growled.

"No you won't." Dwalin said. "I'll hear you coming!" He ducked out the door, cackling, as Nori let loose a flurry of khuzdul curses behind him.

---
The day was long and it was tiring. A personal fight in one of the taverns had turned into an all out brawl and it had taken Dwalin and three squads of guards to maintain order. Once the brawlers in question had been thrown into the cells to cool off Dwalin headed back home. He thought of Nori, working all day at his ciphers and codes, sending his lads and lasses up and down the mountain while angry and jingling, and the thought cheered him immensely.

The house was quiet and dark when he entered. That was normal; their work hours were not so typical as those of the dwarves who worked the forges or the mines or the foundry. For days on end Nori could be out in the dark chasing down some brigand or brief, flitting piece of information; Dwalin sometimes spent many extra hours digging through reports and paperwork and putting together statements for the courts.

With this in mind Dwalin thought of Nori and his bell bracelets and laughed. He went to the kitchen to poke the fire in the hearth back to life.

There was a hard something prodding into his lower back.

Dwalin stilled immediately.

"Told you I'd knife you." Nori whispered, breath hot in his ear. Despite himself Dwalin groaned when the smaller dwarf rocked his hips, pressing his evident arousal against the guardsman.

"How in the name of Mahal did you-"

"Less talk, more work." One of Nori's hands stole across Dwalin's front and yes, yes he was still wearing the bell bracelets, but they weren't making any noise at all. Light fingers dropped down and Dwalin was whole-heartedly of the opinion that yes, less talk and more work was ideal at the moment.

---

Nori was draped over Dwalin, purring, when the larger dwarf caught one of his wrists.

"...wax?" he asked, staring aghast at the small, perfectly carved blue wax plugs that had been inserted into each and every little bell.

Nori rolled over so that they were back to stomach and tugged one of Dwalin's hands over his chest. "Well, they are very nice. Haenmar did a good job. I didn't want to destroy them."

Dwalin couldn't help the small smile. "You didn't figure out how to get them off the-"

Nori's fingernail caught underneath one of the bells and he tugged. The latch fell open and the bracelet slipped from his wrist.

"Please." the son of Kori snorted. "I'm a thief, Dwalin."

The Guardsman shook his head. "then why didn't you just-"

"because you gave them to me." Nori turned again and leaned up over Dwalin, smiling. "And they are very pretty, for all they jingled." he leaned in and kissed Dwalin's ear.

"But try it again," he murmured, "and you'll be punished most heinously."

Dwalin smiled wide as wide could be. "Why, Master Thief, I would not dream of it."

Chapter Text

Nori almost couldn't believe it when they started to sing.

He glanced quickly from one face to another, searching for someone who knew what precisely it was they were half-chanting, have caterwauling. Everyone seemed so happy, and Bilbo Baggins' name fit the song so well, that Nori heard himself singing the old, familiar yarn. At the end, Fili grinned at him, chuckling over the double meaning of the words and he couldn't help but grin back- the older Durin heir had a way of lighting up a room when he smiled.

Still. It kept him awake.

It kept him awake most of that night, and while his time would have been better spent inspecting all the little corners of this enchanting hobbit hole, with its many treasures that could be slipped up a sleeve, he instead heard thirteen other voices raised in uproarious song.

Dwarves loved to sing, of course, and on the first leg of their journey there were many merry tunes to be had around the fire. Bilbo acquiesced to teach them some hobbit drinking songs and they took these up with vigor. Nori listened, but rarely joined in.

It was Balin, of course, who noticed.

"Do you not like making merry, lad?" he asked one foggy morning. Nori glanced at the older dwarf and then away.

"No, Master Balin." he said, studying the mist. "I like to be merry as any dwarf."

"Yet you've been very quiet." Balin pointed out. "It is starting to worry everyone. Even my brother."

Nori snorted. "The day Dwalin son of Fundin is worried about a thief is the day Smaug politely exits Erebor and apologizes for getting his shed scales all over our gold."

Balin smiled gently. "I'm not trying to make you fuss, lad." he said.

"I'm not fussing." Nori said, and that was that.

---

A night came when Thorin had need of Nori's skills.

Gandalf had gone ahead, for whatever reason; wizard business, the company was sure. There had been an altercation in town, between Ori, Fili, Kili and a group of Men. Lots of growling, name calling, insulting; Ori's wrist had been sprained.

It had been Balin who discovered where they were bedded down. A tavern not too far into the town proper, and with them many supplies that the Company needed. An insult had been made to the honor (what little there was, in Nori's opinion) of Oakenshield company. it had to be rectified.

Nori, of course, did not need to be asked twice.

Getting into the tavern was simplicity in itself. The sides were made of ill-mortared stone, and any dwarfling could climb them. A story up, none of the windows were locked. The men had partaken in a bit too much ale that evening; they were snoring like thunder and laying like logs when Nori slipped inside, pausing only to assure himself that their night watchmen had not stirred.

From his sleeve the thief drew a stiletto.

blunt the knives, bend the forks

Their weapons he gathered up. A few careful hits with a rounded hammer and they were useless, twisted metal hunks. Anyone seeking revenge would need to find their own swords and axes.

smash the bottles, burn the corks

He isolated their wineskins next, and their matches and other bits. Thorin had ordered that the tavern be left standing; that made Nori itch.

Still, an order was an order. He dumped the items beside the weapons and let them be.

chip the glasses and crack the plates, that's what every guardsman hates

Nori undid belts, boot buckles, shirt laces.

cut the cloth, tread the fat

The largest ones he did for first, quick slices across the throat. He yearned for a partner then, someone to watch his back and the window, but all he had was Bifur and Dwalin waiting below for the packs.

leave the bones on the bedroom mat

He shifts the ones who are bleeding out into a pile. They tangle together, limbs and shirts and laces all askew.

pour the milk on the pantry floor

He'd barely brought enough corrosive salt with him, and silently cursed Thorin Oakenshield as he spread it over faces and hands. It was expensive stuff, and he'd been lucky to procure it before the bloody quest anyway. Still, if not here, he would have needed to use it somewhere else. With luck everyone in the tavern had been too drunk to remember what the men looked like; come morning, they would be no help in identifying already mangled bodies.

splash the wine on every door

He elegantly avoided the dark trails of blood, tiptoeing over them like a dancer.

dump the crocks in a boiling bowl, pound them up with a thumping pole

Nori was careful to give each and every body one last killing blow. Ideally, he'd use his faithful bongy knocker, but it was back at camp with the other dwarves.

and when you're finished, if any are whole-

send them down the hall to roll

The packs Nori lowered out the window one by one, carefully. Bifur caught them and Dwalin, grumbling all the while, loaded them onto a pony. When Nori clambered down as skilled as a monkey he demanded, "What took you so long?"

Nori slipped his stiletto back up his sleeve.

"I was blunting knives." he said.

Neither Bifur nor Dwalin understood what he meant. With luck, perhaps they never would. Nori followed the pony and the other two dwarves back to camp, whistling as he went.

that's what every guardsman hates.

Chapter Text

Nori of Ri had received the Black Key from his Uncle, just before Sori died in the deep cold of the winter.

"Keep it secret, Nori. Keep it safe. You are its holder now."

There was no ceremony, no tying of the strings, no initiation or solemn blood oath; the mountain was lost to them. Everything was lost, save the Key.

It had been forged many thousands of years before, in the great fires of Belegost. Passed from father to son, uncle to nephew, brother to brother it had moved from that ancient kingdom to Khazad Dum and there to the line of Durin, always following the blood of the house of Ri.

Nori began as soon as they were settled, as soon as his mother would take her mourning eyes from him. He learned to run swiftly, to dodge quickly, to climb and to fight. His fingers learned the knots, and the signs, and the strings. He became deft with knife, with mace and axe and bow. He read the ancient scrolls locked in chests beneath his bed, shoved away when Dori came to check on his rest.

When he turned fifty, he set his sights upon his first Boon.

It was a collar, elegantly crafted in gold and silver, with swirls of malachite and cat's eye. A ruby was its center, big as an egg. The craftsman who created it told the tavern after he got well into his cups that it had been commissioned by a merchant's wife, with hopes that the beauty of it would enhance her charmingly horselike face.

The stones were not of the highest quality. The gold was not pure, the silver would easily tarnish. The cut of the ruby was a joke, but it was the best in Ered Luin, and therefore it was enough.

Nori planned for three days, as was tradition.

On the fourth day, he struck.

Things did not go perfectly to plan. The wife was still awake when he slipped into the shop; she blamed the dog for the noise. The lock was rusted and took twice as long to pick. Still, the piece of worn maroon velvet he had taken from Dori's bed was perfect to muffle the clink of precious metals, and he was out the back window and down the alleyway before the family was even in bed.

Nori waited another three days until the theft of the collar was the talk of the town and all had run together in a feverish pitch. It was late, but not too late, when Nori entered the quiet long hall where Thorin Oakenshield held council with his head held high. The guards at the door did not know what to make of him.

"State your business." One of them demanded.

"My business is for the King." Nori replied, and though the guards glared, he was let in.

Nori remembered his uncle's tales of Thrain, the look in the older dwarf's eyes as he spoke of the dwarf prince's strong eye, keen heart, and powerful bearing. Sori had been half in love with Thrain, in the way some servants loved their lords.

When Thorin set his eyes upon Nori, the young dwarf became acutely aware that there was a rip in his tunic, that he was holding a stolen good in a piece of maroon velvet better suited for a rag than a blanket, and that one of his braids was coming loose.

Thorin did not say anything about his appearance. "You say you have business with me, dwarf?" he asked, and of course Thorin didn't know who Nori was, he could hardly be counted upon to remember all of the faces of his people. Nori decided that it would hurt too much.

"Aye, your lordship. I do."

Something came over Nori then; a sort of smooth confidence, a salve to his soul. He strode forward and placed the velvet upon the table. Thorin looked at it and then at him.

There were no words spoken yet in the ceremony, and Nori knew, for he had memorized it by heart. He opened the velvet, revealing the stolen collar. The guardsman beside Thorin immediately surged forward, growling, only to be grabbed by another white-bearded dwarf, who watched Nori with curious, cautious eyes.

Nori next removed the chain around his neck.

He laid the Black Key down across the collar and the angry guard fell silent.

Nori took a knife from his belt- the sharpest of his set, the finest- and cut both palms- right, left. The blood dripped onto the key, and the collar. As a shocked Thorin watched Nori linked his hands and, pulling his hood over his head to obscure his face, went down on one knee.

Then was the time for the words.

"I am Nori, nephew of Sori, Secondborn of the House of Ri. To the Line of Durin do I swear the quickness of my fingers, the steel of my blades, the guidance of my strings and the blood of my body, from the stone I was made from until to the stone I return."

There was silence for what seemed like a long time and Nori was wondering if he did it wrong when he heard Thorin speak, voice deep and awed.

"I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain. Into my service do I take Nori, Secondborn of the House of Ri, to be in all things my shadow, to command as I will, from the stone I was made from until to the stone I return." There was a rasp of cloth; Thorin had come around the table. "Stand, Black Key."

Nori stood. Thorin grasped his shoulders and kissed him on the forehead. The Black Key he held in one hand; he unclasped the chain and leaned forward, putting it back around Nori's neck.

"Well met, my Thief." Thorin said.

Nori smiled.

"My Lord." he whispered, and understood then how Sori could have been so in love.

Chapter Text

The first time Dwalin son of Fundin cornered the thief, it was an absolute disaster.

Of course maybe he was overreacting. He was still young, for a guardsman. He was allowed to make mistakes, and it was clear that the thief had an awareness of that. Dwalin did as he'd been trained to do- held his axe at the right angle, told the other dwarf he was under arrest. He had one hand on the iron manacles that every guardsman or woman carried.

Then the bastard had smiled at him.

Smiled, gotten his feet under him, climbed over the axe and said, "Not if you can't catch me, gorgeous."

Dwalin had been so startled that his mouth had been partially open, which was detrimental because that was precisely where the thief's tongue went when he leaned forward and kissed the son of Fundin.

It was hot, wet, barely there- then gone, and so was the thief.

Dwalin was left staring at the end of an empty alleyway, with a set of manacles to clamp on a criminal who had just plundered him and run.

It was a bad way to start his day.

---

it just kept happening.

He would find the thief stealing, or gambling, or fleecing, and he would give chase. Sometimes other guardsmen joined in, sometimes they didn't; it was Dwalin and his Thief.

Oh, how he hated that they called him 'his' thief.

Sometimes Dwalin would catch him. More often than not the thief found a way to wiggle out of it for as Dwalin grew in age and skill so did the damn criminal. Always there was a kiss- bestowed to his cheek, his nose, or (if the blasted bastard could get there) his mouth. Once, memorably, it was to Grasper, held trembling in Dwalin's giant hand.

He always got away.

Dwalin wondered why he kept trying.

---

The Guardsmen had been chasing this particular group of thieves for a fortnight. A raid had ended in the usual annoying fashion; they had scattered throughout Ered Luin. It was Dwalin's job to help hunt down the ones that hadn't been caught in the surprise. He was normally put on point for such jobs- after all, he chased thieves (A thief) with alarming regularity.

They had spread out to better facilitate searching and Dwalin had been rewarded; the idiot he was after had turned a corner to what Dwalin knew was a dead end alleyway. He turned swiftly after and sure enough, the dwarf was panicking, eyes flicking from one wall to another in desperate search of a way out that would not come.

"Are you gonna come quietly," Dwalin asked, pulling out Keeper, "or am I going to have to use this?"

The dwarf looked at him with the appropriate level of terror. Then the terror seemed to warp into a bright, chilling smile.

Dwalin did not like that smile, or the fact that it was aimed behind him. There was a sound behind him like something from a butcher shop. The smile on the criminal froze.

Dwalin turned-

and a body dropped forward. Another criminal, and by the look of his face brother to the pinned one.

There was a familiar curved knife buried in his back, and in his death he still held tight to the hammer he was going to use to brain Dwalin.

Dwalin took the knife, arrested the sobbing vagrant, and tried very hard not to think about it.

---

Dwalin had the thief pinned good and proper this time. There was no way to escape. He had no friends to call upon, no last minute tricks up his sleeve. He knew this, and he looked at Dwalin patiently, as though he'd long expected the day to come.

"May I have my knife back, at least?" he asked.

Dwalin had carried the knife since the night it had saved his life.

The guardsman looked down at it. He looked up at the thief.

The look of surprise when Dwalin brought their bodies together was more than worth the guilt he would drink away later at the pub.

Once Dwalin was done thieving the other dwarf's mouth, he placed the knife gently in his hands.

"I never saw you today." he said gruffly.

the thief stared at him. He worked his lips but nothing came out.

"..thank you." he said at last, and was up over the wall and gone in an instant.

---

There were more chases, more escapes, before Dwalin learned that the thief's name was Nori, that his older brother was the ever respectable Dori of the teashop over on Lace Street, and that his younger brother Ori was Dwalin's own brother Balin's apprentice.

He learned all this on the eve of a suicidal quest to reclaim the lair of a dragon.

Nori. The name suited him, smooth, like oil drizzling through a crack. Nori.

Dwalin saluted him across the fire. Nori smiled and saluted back.

---

"I can't lose you. I can't."

Dwalin stared up at Nori. They were holed up in Rivendell, surrounded by elves.

"You or my brothers Mahal and Eugenides I should have stayed in the east I should have-"

Dwalin didn't let Nori speak any more. He pulled the thief to him. There was no axe between them, no stolen goods save those probably taken from elves and really Dwalin could care less about that. Full bodied they embraced and when he kissed Nori's ear the smaller dwarf's hands tightened upon him and it was almost like having a lover.

---

The crown was lowered onto Thorin Oakenshield's still-bandaged head, but the roar that went up from the remains of Dain's army- and a group of very battered old soldiers, tinkers, miners, toymakers, tea brewers, scribes and one little hobbit- nearly drowned out all the rest.

Dwalin turned to Nori of Ri.

"Marry me?" He asked.

Nori's grin was wide and it was warm. "You'll have to catch me first, Gorgeous." he said.

Chapter Text

The front window of Bag End was always unlocked.

Hamfast Gamgee had long ago given up trying to grow flowers before it; they always wound up trampled or pecked. He would mutter, and tug on his ear, and consider asking Mister Bilbo just what it was that was trying to get into his roses but he never did. instead he did as was the Gamgee way- he kept his mouth shut and moved his flowers somewhere else.

He also couldn't fathom the ravens.

There was nothing in the Baggins garden that attracted them, and yet they kept showing up- like clockwork, almost, once every few moons. They would sit on the gate and caw and peck and no matter how much he waved his hoe Hamfast could not get the blasted creatures to go.

Then there was the matter of the..gifts.

Hamfast assumed they were gifts; strange things from distant lands that always showed up whenever he had a day off, and no one had been around to see just what old Mad Baggins was up to. Silver inkpots encrusted in rubies, quills made from the scarlet feathers of birds, a journal embossed with a bright silver star.

Of course things often went missing, too. Hamfast could never forget the day he came up to the gate of Bag End to see Bilbo Baggins smoking a second rate pipe.

"Why, Master Baggins!" he'd cried in alarm. "what happened to your best pipe?" The pipe was a lovely thing, long and carved from ash, with all sorts of delicate spirals and swirls.

Bilbo had smiled and shrugged. "Oh, it's wandered off, Gaffer. It will return. They all do, eventually."

Hamfast knew then that what they said was true. Bilbo Baggins' adventure really had driven him mad.

Still, it wasn't his duty to question gentlehobbits. He was the gardener. He gardened.

And if he sometimes saw a tall, sharp-eyed dwarf with the oddest hair sneaking in through the front window-

or kissing Bilbo senseless by the wisteria bushes-

or walking down a darkening road with a raven on his shoulder, in the general direction of a Lonely Mountain-

Well. Who was he to judge?

Chapter Text

"Aaannd there are the authorities! Right on time."

Professor Bilbo Baggins had never been so happy to see his husband in his entire life. "Thorin!" he all but threw himself down the dock to the speedboat. Thorin Oakenshield caught up the smaller man in his arms, grumbling darkly. He glared past Bilbo to where another man sat on the dock, a leather satchel by his side. He grinned brightly, in a very non-threatening manner, which didn't negate the two knives Thorin could see crossed at the back of his belt.

"The next time you decide to raid an amazonian temple, thief-"

"Hey don't forget the lost Pyramid of Tutmos." The thief said. "Or the caves of Galel. Or-"

"STOP DRAGGING MY HUSBAND OUT ON YOUR CRIMINAL MISCHIEF, RIVERS!" Thorin roared. The thief winced and rubbed his ears.

"oh come now, Thorin." he said, pouting. "It's not criminal, it's archeology. Have I ever gotten him back to you in less than one piece?"

Thorin's eyelid twitched. "I will call your brother." he said silkily, one hand moving to the thick satellite phone at his waist. "I will call him right now and he can be on his way here in a heartbeat."

"Oh, will he? Good, he needs a vacation." Rivers stood up. "Feeling steady, Bilbo?" he asked, looping his satchel around his shoulder.

"I'm fine. Nori-" Bilbo heard it at the same time Thorin did- a sort of chopping whir. The larger man swore and jumped forward, intent on finally dragging Nori before an ethics committee.

"Sorry about your spybug, Bilbo!" Nori said brightly. "You know I've got a terrible fear of small electronics that can lead to my unjust arrest at the hands of various world organizations."

The helicopter appeared around the edge of the wide, lazy river, a rope ladder already dangling. Thorin turned an interesting shade of red.

"Nori!" Bilbo leapt forward, intent on grabbing his friend- but Nori was faster, and better trained, and by far more used to grabbing rope ladders at the last second. The helicopter was up and Bilbo cupped his hands around his mouth.

"THAT BELONGS IN A MUSEUM!" he called desperately. Nori saluted.

"SEE YOU IN THE NEW TERM, BAGGINS!"

He ascended the rope ladder with a kind of grace Bilbo would have found attractive if he wasn't getting away with a five thousand year old snake god idol.

It would, of course, wind up in a museum- Bilbo knew that.

After Nori fleeced every collector in the world.

"Why is the University still paying him?" Thorin demanded.

Bilbo smiled helplessly. "Because he makes archeology interesting. Can we go home now? We're late for supper."

Chapter Text

Nori's first act with his bongy knocker was to brain the dwarf who was intent on removing his innards with a pickaxe.

Nori wasn't stupid- the other dwarf was giant, and angry, and it was dark at the quarry mouth. His chances of survival were getting slimmer and slimmer.

If you die here no one will tell Dori or Ori. They'll think you're coming home and you never will.

He cast his gaze around, looking for something, anything, Eugenides map it, to keep that from happening.

That was when he saw a wooden handle sticking out of a rock pile.

Well, desperate times...

"Look, lad," he said to the incoming dwarf, "It was just a friendly game of cards. Not my fault you can't play."

The other dwarf was past talking. he roared and swung his pickaxe; Nori ducked and rolled. He grabbed the handle and pulled.

Nothing.

He pulled again as the dwarf advanced, murder in his eyes.

The pickaxe rose and the adrenaline pumped. Nori pulled one more time-

and the spiked knot of the end of the thing swung out, catching the dwarf at his temple. There was a spectacular noise- a sort of hollow knock, the sound of metal hitting bone. He dropped.

Nori stared at him. "...bugger." he said bleakly. He hadn't wanted to kill the fellow, just make him stop. He'd need to skip town, and fast. Still...

He pulled out his purple string and swiftly knotted up a thief's relief. "Gen smiles." he murmured, and quickly buried it in the rock pile, where it would no doubt remain until the rocks were carted away.

He looked at the thing he had pulled from the pile. It was just a tad shorter than he was, with a pointed iron butt to go with its knobby iron knot. A mining tool of some kind, clearly- perhaps to break apart stones in search of more precious materials?

It didn't matter. Technically it was a murder weapon, and it had saved his life.

"Bongy knocker." he said suddenly. The name had a pleasing lilt, something almost juvenile to it, and Nori smiled. "Bongy knocker." he repeated, and lifted the thing over his shoulders. It had spectacular balance. Maybe in the morning- when he'd gotten far enough down the road to not worry about angry mobs- he would investigate it further. It seemed a useful thing and he would hate to have to throw it away in the next town, for all polearms hadn't been his strong point in what weapons training Dori had forced him to go to.

"Bongy knocker." he said again, and laughed out loud with the sheer pleasure of still being alive. He checked the dead dwarf over and neatly took his purse- he didn't need it, after all, he was dead- then Nori of Ri was on his way.

---

The bongy knocker was incredibly useful.

It made for a spectacular walking stick, and broke through the hard earth much easier than the best blackthorn. It helped nori practice his balance on thin lines and fallen logs. It was an excellent weapon of distraction and diversion, and of course in true one on one combat- when he had no chance to circle around and get a knife in the other fellow's back- it was his saving grace.

He added a strap for ease of lift while running and sometimes, he squirreled it away for weeks on end. It wasn't long before he devised a folding method so that it- like everything else he owned- could be picked up as he fled town.

After the rigamarole of joining Thorin Oakenshield (and knowing that later he and his older brother would be having Words) Nori sat down outside the tavern where they had met to clean the head of the thing. It was best, he'd decided, to blow off steam now; he was fast but Dori was strong and he liked his arms where they were, thank you very much.

There was a shuffle at the door and one of the dwarves came out. Bofur, Nori remembered, the one who sang and played the flute and seemed eternally optimistic about their fiery demise.

"Hey-ho." Bofur said. "Mind if I tuck in for a smoke?"

"Suit yourself." Nori shifted over, using the movement to check his knives. Bofur and his brother and cousin claimed to be miners by main trade, though Bofur and Bifur were also toymakers on the side. Nori had tried to steal from a toymaker once.

Just once.

"Good group of fellas." Bofur said, lighting his pipe. "Gonna be an interesting trip."

"Gonna be a short one." Nori snorted, moving the cloth over the knot of the bongy knocker. Bofur saw it and he blinked. "What are you doin' with that?" he asked. "I thought you said you were a hunter, not a miner."

"I am many things." Nori said. "It's my weapon."

Well, one of the seventeen he currently had on his person, anyway.

"it's a-"

"Bongy knocker."

Bofur choked on his first lungful of smoke. "What?" he sputtered.

"A bongy knocker." Nori said. "That's what I've called it, and that's what it's saved my hide under, so I'd prefer to live on in blissful ignorance, if you could, Mister Bofur. Bongy knocker."

Bofur's grin was broad and sunny and Nori thought that maybe, just maybe, this was the kind of dwarf who always told the truth. "Bongy knocker. Well, alright then."

Chapter Text

Nori of Ri did not often dream.

It was a blessing, perhaps. After all, in his eventful life much had happened that would drive a weaker man or dwarf to insanity.

The burning blood in the tents of the Haradhrim.

The market fire in the town of Longlake.

The taking of hands in the hidden kingdom of Laopur.

The triple homicide of the dancing girls at the crossroads to Gondor.

Really, if Nori sat down to make a list he might be at it for days.

Still, when Nori did dream, it was never any of those horrible things. No, it was just one moment.

"Mr. Gandalf!"

The tree is shaking, and the fire is roaring. He can get to them, he can, if he moves just right-

Ori's eyes open. They are glazed with fear.

"Nori-!"

Their fall is silent.

Nori jerked awake, screaming in khuzdul to Mahal, to Eugenides, to anyone please save my brothers, please please please-

An arm wrapped around him, solid and warm.

"It's okay, Nori." Dwalin's voice was burred with sleep. "They're alive."

The smaller dwarf began to cry.

Nori of Ri did not often dream.

When he did, it was only of one moment.

Chapter Text

Nori didn't want to get out of bed.

It was so warm, and so soft, and he could feel Dwalin right up behind him and Ori right tight to his chest. His fogged senses fought him as he tried to bring himself to wakefulness, telling him 'it's alright, just a little more sleep, you deserve it'.

Then he remembered about the wire rigging that Frith had found in the southeastern mine shaft five days before. Wire rigging that had been tied to black powder explosives. The Hidden Mountain had hit the ground running, exhausting every lead and interrogating every possible culprit. Messages had been sent, resent, hashed and coded and sent again. Nori had paced and sworn and threatened and stabbed and tied as many knots in as many strings as he could to hold on to what was turning out to be a colossal mess.

He'd been forced home on day four to get some sleep, and prove to his family that he was still alive. After all, it was his job to report to the King.

Nori had practice at slipping out from their warm morning huddle and this was what he did, shifting slowly and carefully down the bed and off the end. He had insisted when they had the bed built that it come without a footboard, something that had bewildered Ori and just made Dwalin shake his head and laugh. As he moved, Ori did as well, sliding into the heat he had left. Nori slowly stood and watched his two bonded ones, a fond smile on his face. He didn't like leaving them alone in the morning, any more than Dwalin liked leaving Nori and Ori alone when he had to go on a two week patrol outside the mountain, or Ori leaving Nori and Dwalin alone when a crumbling manuscript required just the right touch.

Nori moved to pick up his boots when he heard a soft noise. He looked up and it was Ori, hazel eyes still sleep fuzzed.

"Nori?" he whispered, at the level they had learned would not wake Dwalin from his hard won rest.

"I need to go, Ori." Nori said. "I'll be back soon."

Ori reached out a hand and Nori moved around the bed to clasp it. He leaned in and kissed his brother warmly, then over and pressed another kiss to Dwalin's cheek.

"Come back safe." Ori said.

"I will." Nori promised, as he did every time, knowing that somewhere out there there might be a dwarf with a knife who intended to make him break that promise, every time.

Ori rolled back into Dwalin's chest and drifted off once more. The Spymaster quietly left the bedroom he shared with the Captain of the Guard and the Head Scribe, intent on quenching some rebellion.

It was good, he thought, to be a dwarf of Erebor.

Chapter Text

Dori knew that there was no help to be had.

That didn't stop him from screaming for it.

All around was choked dirt and ash. The body of the fighting had come down from the gate and Dori was certain there were stragglers in the evil mist- both goblin and orc- but he did not care.

"Damn it, Nori," he hissed, half dragging his brother into his lap. "Damn it!"

Nori laughed. The son of a bitch laughed, opening gray eyes hazed with pain. "Stop shouting." he said, and red touched his teeth. "Hate to have to save you an' then watch you get cut."

"Be quiet." Dori pressed his hands to the wide, ugly gash, refusing to think that he could see inside his brother, deep inside where no dwarf was meant to see another unless they were a healer or an embalmer. "Just, just be quiet."

"Dori, stop." It sounded so kind that Dori froze. "There's no point."

"YES THERE IS!" Dori roared.

Nori's hand was shaking as it came up to tug on Dori's braid. "There's no fixin' a belly cut, Dori." Nori whispered. "Stop."

Dori's hands were wet and nearly black with blood. He held Nori in his arms and shook.

"Nori.." he whispered.

"Front pocket." Nori's breathing was beginning to sound choked. "Front pocket of my jerkin.."

Dori reached over and it took him three tries to get the jerkin open, cursing himself for the wasted minutes. He withdrew something thick and purple and red from the pocket.

It was a knot, and Dori recognized it and gave a cry of alarm, of disbelief and rage. "Nori!" he begged.

"Give it here."

"No!" Dori wanted to stand, wanted to stride away. "Not now, Nori, not-"

"I lived a thief and I will die one, Dori." Nori smiled, and the smile looked grotesque on a face so pale and drawn. "Give it."

Dori pressed his lips into a thin line and slowly lowered the Thief's Lamp- the largest and most intricate he had ever seen knotted (and of course Nori would have made himself one, of course)- into Nori's open hand. His brother clutched it tight in fingers that seemed more like the talons of the eagles that were beginning to fly overhead. Nori brought his hand up over his heart.

"Other pocket." he said, eyes closed. Dori reached within and found two silver disks, carved over with intricate stars.

They were the size of coins, and Dori knew they were meant to hold down a dead dwarf's eyelids- a bit of wealth, a bribe for Mandos.

"Nori." It seemed that all of Dori's ability to speak had been boiled down to his brother's name, and this time he was pleading.

"Take care of Ori." Nori said suddenly, opening his eyes and catching his brother in his fevered gaze. "Take care of him."

"Nori-"

"Build a tea shop. A brothel. Whatever makes you happy. You make damn sure you get my share understand?"

"Nori-"

"Tell Dwalin I win." Nori whispered. "He never caught me. Not once."

Dori wanted to laugh at that, wanted to say something clever, something that would make all of this stop happening.

It would not stop, and there was not a person to yell at or a broken piece to mend that could make time reverse itself, could take back the moment Nori flung himself in front of his older brother, stabbing the orc as swiftly as the orc stabbed him. Nori was going to die, and there wasn't a damn thing Dori could do about it. Dori's senses took swift leave and tears poured in a torrent. He held his brother and begged him not to go, don't leave me, not when I've just found you again please-

"Dori?"

The older dwarf rocked back and forth, whimpering.

"Sing for me?" Nori's voice was almost gone. Dori stared down at his dying brother's face.

"Okay." he whispered. He took a breath, choked on tears, tried again. He had intended to sing a lullaby, something comforting, something real and true in this horrible nightmare.

What came out instead was their mother's brother's thieving song.

"the light of Gen is kind they say, the light of Gen is wise- the light of Gen will lead the bold to every brazen prize, for fingers light and foot quite fleet will never yet be caught- into the arms of Gen we run and his songs we are taught. If ever you are cornered, boxed, defenseless and afraid, hold high your head and search for light.."

Nori's chest was still. Dori's voice caught and he lifted the silver disks to Nori's eyes. He carefully weighed down his brother's lids and gently rested his head on the bloody mud.

"..hold your head high and search for light," Dori whispered, "Gen's Lamp will guide the way."

Chapter Text

Nori had heard of this kind of thing happening, but it had never before happened to him.

He stared quite unabashedly across the wide green-marbled floor of the Hall of Gems at the short, sandy-haired man who was staring right back.

They were both holding toolkits, dressed in black, and clearly out for more than an evening stroll in a part of the museum that was normally under heavy guard and surveillance.

"Well." Nori said. "This is embarrassing."

"I'll say." the man replied, shuffling his feet. He was wearing very nice shoes, Nori realized- thin, black leather, practically socks. Useful.

"I don't suppose if I say I'm here to take in the view you'll believe me?" the man said, gesturing at the many glass cases that lined the walls and filled the room in two columns.

"No. But then I don't expect you to believe me if I tell you I'm just security doing a routine check."

"Hm. Nope, not for a moment."

Both men laughed. The sandy-haired man looked thoughtful. "The alarms," he said, "was that you?"

Nori nodded.

"Nifty trick." The man said.

"Thank you." Nori said.

"Any chance you could teach it to me?"

"Trade secrets, I'm afraid." Nori replied.

"Right, right. Well." The man sighed. "Oh dash it all you're not here for the Arkenstone are you?"

Nori rose an eyebrow. "The Arke- THAT thing?" he pointed in dismay at the gigantic diamond that was the current center of the Hall of Gems. Donated by one Drake G. Smaug, it was the biggest cut diamond in the world. It had a prominent place on a bed of blue velvet surrounded by no less than twenty infared pressure sensors, a solid granite pylon, and bulletproof glass.

That wasn't even counting the nasty little razorblades Nori knew to be hidden in the edges of the case. Smaug was a bit of a sadist.

"Oh god no, no." Nori said. "You're welcome to it, be my guest. I've my eyes on a subtler prize."

The man relaxed the hold on the gun he had pressed to his back. Nori, seeing this, relaxed his own hold on his knives. "Good." the man sighed the word out. "We'll just, uhm, go about our business, then?"

Nori smiled. "But of course." he said. The two picked up their respective kits and, with a nod to one another, got to work.

Nori settled down by the emerald case. It was full of beauties and if this were any other time, he'd have spent a good long while admiring each of them in the lights the museum had so thoughtfully provided. However, this wasn't any other time, and things were very complicated by the fact that he'd met a coworker in the dark. His best bet now was to get his target and get out before the other thief could think to memorize his features for identification later, as Nori was considering identifying him.

The Mcreedy Emerald was one hundred and seventy carats of gorgeousness, set in platinum and diamonds. Nori's breath caught when he'd finally managed to cut the pressure sensor wire and gotten his hands on it.

"Oh you wicked thing." he crooned at it, running his fingers over the deco chain. "You pretty, pretty girl.."

There was a locking case already waiting for the necklace and Nori carefully packed it away, shivering deliciously at its weight. A princess like that didn't deserve to be locked behind glass. It was in his kit and on his back. He stood, adjusted his straps, and made for the rapelling line he'd laid four days before hidden in an unused steam shaft.

"Oh, bother." he heard.

Don't look back. It's his heist. His job. There are rules.

He seemed new at this.

If that bloody loony wants to go after the Arkenstone that's his neck, not mine.

Nori groaned and turned around. He carefully approached the Arkenstone's display case and the other thief, who was glaring at the infared control panel.

"Need some help?" Nori asked.

"Oh, would you?" The man asked. "I've dealt with sensors like this but this is just ridiculous."

Nori leaned over and looked. Yes, yes it was ridiculous. For one thing, all the wires were red.

"What kind of..."

"The kind that would burn an entire family out of their homes to get at a bunch of rocks."

Nori blinked.

He blinked again.

He looked from the gentle-faced man, whose countenance had suddenly gone stony, to the Arkenstone, and back. He felt a pinch that was suspiciously like guilt.

"...ah. Yes. Well, Old Smaug's a bit of a prick." Nori said. "Let me help."

It took them both the better part of an hour, far longer than either had wanted to be on the floor of the museum, but in the end the Arkenstone was removed and tucked carefully away. The man stood. "Thanks." he said, and offered his hand. "Ringbearer."

Nori immediately revised his opinion of the other man as 'new at this'.

"Starfish." he replied, and took Ringbearer's hand in a firm shake. "Good luck to you, friend."

"And also to you." Ringbearer grinned. "Take what you can-"

"-give nothing back." Nori finished the old thief's saying, smiling just as widely. "Do you have a way out?"

"I fit in the vents."

"Lucky." Nori said. He checked his kit and nodded. "While I very much hope we never run into one another like this again.." he gestured around at the empty museum. "It was a pleasure."

"Likewise." Ringbearer said.

Nori nodded and headed for his rapelling line once more. He paused as he gripped the nylon. "Ringbearer."

The man was halfway to the vents (and how the hell did he climb that easily?) "Yes?"

"..tell Thorin Oakenshield if he sends you out alone again, I'll brain him. And tell Dwalin Fundinson he still owes me a goddamn beer."

Then Nori was up and climbing and if Ringbearer had anything else to say to him it was lost in the cold blast of air on the roof and the rush of adrenaline as he made off with the largest cut emerald in the world.

Chapter Text

There was nothing quite like watching the Ri brothers fight.

They did it so rarely outside of their private home that it had in some ways become an event; as soon as word spread that Dori was headed for the combat yards and he had his bolas, or Nori was on his way down with his knives or thread or staff, or Ori with his knitting needles and quill the guardsmen put out the word. In no time at all the practice ring became an arena.

It was to their credit that the Brothers Ri never paid any attention to their sudden (most likely unwanted) audience; they were always wholly focused on one another.

Normal practice bouts began and ended with the sound of the drum set up at the entrance of each fence, but no dwarf could confess to ever seeing the Brothers Ri use it. Instead there was some unspoken signal- a tic, a twitch, perhaps a change in the still air of the mountain.

Whatever it was, the brothers heeded it immediately and with a vicious intent.

Each member of the guard had favorites that they bet on, mainly because in the free for all it was eternally a toss up as to who would win. Some days it would perhaps be Dori, with his terrifying strength and seemingly endless patience. Other days Nori would come out the winner, slipping around his siblings like a greased snake to kiss their backs with his knives or their heads with his staff. There were even days that Ori was victorious- Ori, little underestimated Ori, with his bright smile and his deadly aim and his quill with its iron core that had once skewered a thief in the Library of Erebor before the scribe ever bothered getting up from his desk.

The brothers never underestimated one another.

Dori and Nori both respected Ori's needle-striking range, doing their best to get in to his personal space where close combat was required; in response Ori would often dodge away though sometimes there was the rare treat of watching him and Dori go at one another with warhammers large enough to break the head off a troll. Nori's established pattern betrayed his former profession, for when he had the opportunity for a quick strike to the back or the neck he took it. Dori and Ori were aware of this and made adjustments, forcing their brother to try newer and more interesting methods of quartered fighting in order to gain the upper hand.

Dori was the slowest, of that there could be no doubt, but his sheer brute strength more than made up for it; he could take blows from his brothers that would easily kill a lesser dwarf, and had the stamina to remain far longer than they. There was a special proviso in place for the flagstones that Dori of Ri inevitably shattered to pieces when he used a staff weapon or even, on one breathtakingly memorable occasion, his fist.

Of all the dwarves who came to see the house of Ri fight, the one who enjoyed it the most was Dwalin. He sat quietly and he never bet, never talked, never engaged anyone else in conversation. He just watched, an odd light in his eyes, as the Brothers Ri pounded the tar out of one another.

His gaze followed Dori's powerful blows, tracing the inevitable arc into the fling of Nori's knife, then the quick and subtle twitch of one of Ori's knitting needles. He watched as rock was put upon by a rush of water, swept up by a buffeting wind.

If it were possible to be in love with the crunch of a kick, the slice of a knife, the sharp whistle of a projectile being thrown through the air, then Dwalin knew he was in love with the Brothers Ri, and so he watched as earth and water and air came together and then parted, separate yet whole, unique and similar, united and divided.

And if Dori, Ori, and Nori, of the old and venerable House of Ri, were aware that they were being watched so carefully, well, perhaps they smiled about it together when again they retreated behind their locked door.

Perhaps they discussed when next they would go to the practice yards together.

Chapter Text

Nori had a way of picking the good ones.

It drove Dwalin to distraction. Sometimes, he would collar a thief or a hustler or a con artist and they would stay where his men put them- in the cells. Other times he would come in and there the head guard for the day would be, wringing their hands, telling him that they couldn't disobey a direct order from the Spymaster of Erebor, he had the seal scroll and everything, Master Dwalin, I swear I tried but he insisted.

Nori's version of insisting sometimes included very gentle smiles, and threats, and knives. He viewed it as keeping the guardsmen on their toes; Dwalin viewed it as an eternal annoyance.

Dwalin took these moments in stride, most of the time. Sometimes, if a convict had been particularly difficult to corner, he swore to himself and when he saw Nori in their home (in the short times they managed to see one another, working as they did) they fought about it.

"He's a thief!" Dwalin would yell.

"So am I!" Nori would retort.

There was very little that the son of Fundin could say to that and so he would leave, grumbling, an sometimes not return for a few days. When he did the bed was always made, and their room was always warm, and Nori always shifted aside to let him in with a grumbled 'idiot'.

Dwalin asked Nori why he did it, of course. He never got a straight answer, besides Nori's standard.

"What, you think anyone with his jollies will tell a guardsman secrets?"

Dwalin suspected there was another reason; a reason linked to very blue eyes, and a calm and regal voice, and a second chance that had been offered when Dwalin himself was more than ready to take the axe to Nori's throat and call the whole mess done.

He didn't ask; it was an unspoken truth, and he did not wish to stir the silt from the river.

If any of Nori's 'lads' (the regular soldiers called them the irregulars, and with good reason; they were convinced more than half of the spies of Erebor were out of their minds) went south, Dwalin didn't know about it; Nori's people dealt with such things swiftly, silently, and brutally. In the mountain there was a whisper of a nameless fear. Step out of line, of course, and Dwalin of the guard would come to you.

Step very far out of line- so far you were balancing on shaky ground- and Nori of Ri would find you.

And you didn't come back.

The underbelly of Erebor both loved and hated Nori, as he loved and hated them. He told Dwalin he didn't need children, as he had 'an entire bloody city full of them to deal with'.

Dwalin thought perhaps the last straw had come when he came home one night to find the woman he had arrested for the fencing of illegal goods cleaning their kitchen.

He stared at her. She stared at him, and straightened her shoulders, and said, "I was told if you wanted to holler that you should go to the study and holler all you wanted because I've a job to learn and I've almost figured out where all the blasted pans in this kitchen are."

Dwalin nodded to her. He went to the study, where Nori was waiting.

And he hollered. At length, for quite an amount of time, until Nori handed him a mug of water and asked if he was done.

"What is she doing here?" Dwalin demanded.

"She's earning her keep. We can't be here all the time, watching things."

"So I'm to trust she won't run off with my great grandfather's axes, or the rug, or-"

Nori slid around the desk like smoke and embraced Dwalin in a manner the rubbed them together in all the right places.

"You are to trust that if she even thinks such a thing," he whispered into his bonded's ear, "I'll cut her fingers off one by one."

Dwalin grudgingly accepted the presence of a servant in their house, where there had never been one before. He admitted that it was nice to have someone worrying over things like the laundry and the marketing; getting those chores done with their erratic hours had been incredibly difficult in the past. Nivor had a way with money that impressed even Gloin son of Groin.

"That girl of yours," he once told Dwalin, "could walk off with an entire chicken farm and leave the farmer with the three coppers thinking he got the better end of the deal."

Nivor was from a family in the lower town of Erebor, those that had moved in just after the dragon and aided in the reconstruction. Her father was a miner, her mother an employee of the Rose Quartz Moon brothel; she had two younger brothers.

Dwalin found himself teaching the girl how to hold a full sized axe when he caught her looking at his with the kind of longing that spoke of long hours at the practice fields.

Nivor knew what kind of food they liked, how they preferred their pillows fluffed, the exact method that Nori used to sort his books. On holidays Dwalin would send her home with a little extra coin and a basket for her brothers, gruffly telling her they could live without her for a day. The first time he did this Nivor was so surprised she hugged him.

As with all things Nori brought into his life, Dwalin should have suspected that Nivor was not all she seemed.

Sometimes Dwalin went with her to help bring home the groceries and as they stood in the market, gazing over the offerings of fruit and vegetables, Dwalin felt an old, familiar prickle on the back off is neck.

Someone is watching us.

He made to turn-

"MASTER DWALIN!"

He was never entirely clear on what came next; he only saw the body of the dwarf that had been advancing on him fall, a knife embedded in the poor bastard's forehead. It was one of Nori's knives, the kind he forged for each of his Irregulars. Nivor huffed, hiked up her skirts, and retrieved it as the guardsmen swarmed around the body.

"Daft idiot." she said to the corpse. Then she turned to a slack-jawed Dwalin. "I think I'll make potato soup tonight for dinner, sir. Would you like that?"

He interrogated her about her actions later, after the guardsmen had finished their own questioning and the shopping was finally done.

"Master Nori hired me to do three things." Nivor told him. "I was to keep the household neat, listen for whispers on Lazuli Way, and keep an eye to your backs." she dropped another potato into the pot with a shrug. "Master Nori likes things done right."

Nori had a way of picking the good ones.

It drove Dwalin crazy- but he knew it was for the best.

Chapter Text

On reflection, this had not been one of Kili's better ideas.

"Aww, look, the beardless puppy's tryin' t'stand on his own two feet!"

Definitely not one of his better ideas.

The young dwarf growled and swung blindly. There was a whoosh of air and he was tripped again, landing on his (probably already broken) nose.

"Oh this is just too cute. Puppy gonna do a trick for us?"

Kili coughed as he was kicked- not hard enough to break anything but hard enough to hurt.

"Come on, Durinson, where's all that swagger?" Another voice jeered.

"I think he left it in his locket with his nappies."

"Damn straight!" More laughter. Kili groaned and tried to focus. He was surrounded by a group of boys his age- some a little older. It was the same group that had been tormenting Ori for a month every time they passed by the park. The younger dwarf had all but hidden behind Kili every time they came into view, turning so red his ears were nearly burning. Kili had asked the younger student if he wanted to tell someone.

"No, I can't!" Ori had been panicked. "They're all from well bred families, Mister Kili, like yours, no one would believe a word of it!"

"Ori, for the last time," Kili had said, "don't call me Mister." He'd resolved then and there to do something about the bullies. It was his duty, he supposed, as a Durinson.

The idea of Ori fawning over him as some kind of hero, he had to admit, might have also had a bit to do with it.

some hero, he thought to himself as he struggled to his feet. bet I look like a stuffed bear gnawed on by a dog.

He could hardly be blamed; there were eight of them and one of him, and while Kili was proficient in the combat training that was held by his uncle Thorin every afternoon, he was not yet at the level of Uncle Dwalin or even Ori's older brother Dori, who could do some horrifying things with a tea strainer. Kili wished, fiercely, for Fili. With his older brother he was unstoppable; they made the perfect team.

Fili was away, and would be until the weekend. That left Kili Durinson and eight sacks of shit to deal with.

Kili shook his head to clear it and spat out a mouthful of blood and phlegm. "Leave Ori alone," he said, putting his back to the wall and raising his fists. The ringleader of the group, whom Kili had nicknamed 'moon face', just snorted. "You think we're scared of a little elf-bred whelp and his nancy scribbler?" Moon Face asked. "This is getting boring. Here I thought a Durinson would have a little more fight in him." Moon Face waved a hand in dismissal. "Someone knock his stupid ass out so we can go."

One of the larger boys moved in and Kili homed in on him. One on one, that made his chances a little better (disregarding the broken nose, of course.) If only he could-

"Hello hello hello." A voice said from somewhere above Kili. "What's all this, then?"

Moon Face turned back around as his goon backed off, uncertain. Kili craned his neck up at the fire escape. His eyes widened.

"Nori!"

"Hello, Kili." Nori nimbly climbed down the fire escape, executing a jump from the last eight feet that had him landing solidly beside the youngest Durinson. "Well would you look at this. Just out to get a pack of smokes and what do I find?" He looked from one slowly paling face to the next one, until he'd made a full circuit of the bullies. "Eight wastes of space and their leader, he who should not waste air."

"Piss off." Moon Face snapped, trying to sound braver than he felt. "This ain't your business."

Nori shrugged. "You're right, it's not." He glanced sidelong at the panting Kili. "Except, little master, you mentioned someone I happen to know." Nori smiled, and the smile was not kind. "I believe you called him a nancy scribbler, but I really need to tell you, lad-" he moved forward faster than any of the boys could follow and draped an arm around Moon Face's shoulder. "His name is Ori."

Moon Face scrabbled to get out from under Nori's arm, turning brilliant scarlet. "I said piss off!" he all but yelled.

"Well I can hardly do that." Nori said. "This fight isn't fair by half. Eight of you against one of him? Seems a bit skewed, if you ask me." He shrugged. "So, fair's fair. Let's try it again. Me an' him against you and your lads, what do you say? Proper tussle."

Moon Face glared. "Don't be an idiot." he said.

Nori smiled again. He flexed his elbows- and two very long, very sharp knives fell into them. He patted the flat of one against Moon Face's cheek. "Run home to your mother, whelp." he whispered, voice seeming very loud in the suddenly silent alleyway. "before I lose my patience and give you all a proper spanking."

Run Moon Face did, and his gang followed, leaving behind school bags and clouds of dust.

Nori snorted and shifted his arms again; the knives disappeared. He turned to Kili. "Are you DAFT?" he demanded. "They were twice your size, half of 'em!"

"They were bothering Ori." Kili said resolutely, hunting for his handkerchief to stem some of the bleeding. Nori sighed and dug out his own. "And while I appreciate you trying to defend my little brother's honor," he said to Kili, "you really should learn to think before you fight. What would Thorin say?"

"He'd say I didn't get enough of 'em in the first round." Kili said gloomily. Nori chuckled. "Aye, you didn't, but you did good. I saw some black eyes on 'em."

"Not enough."

Well, no, but it's a start."

"How'd you find me?" Kili asked. Nori smiled. "I told you, I was out for-"

"It was Ori wasn't it?" All the blood rushing out Kili's nose made a sudden turnaround for his face as he blushed. "Oh damn it."

"He might have maybe thought you were doing something stupid and he might have maybe asked his disreputable brother to go take a look." Nori said.

Kili groaned.

"You know there are better ways to impress a fellow." Nori said, gesturing toward the alleyway's mouth. They began to walk, Kili leaning on Nori. "Flowers, I hear sometimes flowers work. Books. Bring him to the library, he loves the library."

Kili chuckled at that, then winced as the action hurt his nose. "How long are you in town for?" he asked.

"Oh, you know, long enough for the silverware to start disappearing and for Dwalin Fundinson to lose all self respect and shag me senseless. Then I'll be off again before the police come knocking."

"Dwalin loves it when you come home." Kili countered. "And everyone from here to Bree knows you work for my Uncle. They'd never arrest you."

"Yes, well, tell that to Mother Dori." Nori said. "I won't be staying long. Too much to do."

Something about the way he said that made Kili stop short. "Too much to do?" the younger dwarf asked suspiciously. Nori grinned and tapped the side of his nose. "Aye, Kili. Too much to do."

Kili grinned wide. "Are we- is it-"

"Don't go sticking your nose places it shouldn't be, Durinson." Nori said fondly. "Not that you can, with how well it's broken. Do you know Oin is going to throw an absolute fit?"

"Bugger Oin Nori is it time?"

"Let us just say that after Dwalin takes temporary leave of his self respect I'm off to Hobbiton." Nori grinned. "So heal up your nose, lad. You'll be doing more exciting things than getting beat up by a bunch of twits by the time this year is through."

Kili whooped and began to run.

"Kili, where are you going? We need to go to the hospital! Kili if you drop dead of blood loss Ori will never speak to me again! KILI!"

Chapter Text

The Magpie's Ruby Inn was full to bursting that night. Patrons were piled in up to the ceiling, laughing, drinking, catcalling to the barmaids. The place was a cacophony of clinks, rustles, the drawing of worn playing cards, the rasp of beard on skin. Despite all the noise there were no guardsmen about; nor would there be.

The King had an announcement to make.

He sat at his carved chair by the hearthfire as any great and noble lord. He watched the underbelly of Ered Luin pass him by with a small smile on his lips. He balanced a knife on one slender fingertip. The knife had a golden handle, with a grip molded into a magpie midflight, with a gem in its beak. The barmaid who served him whispered in his ear with a tiny smile. He took his ale, toasted her, and stood.

He was slender, almost elegant in the way a stoat or a weasel was elegant. He nodded to a dwarf by his side- dour, red-headed and frowning.

"SHUT UP YOU LOT!" the dwarf bellowed, and almost immediately the inn fell silent. Many faces turned to look at the King until it was a sea of moon-pale in the smokey light of the fires and candles. The king smiled.

"Hello, lovies." he said, and at that old endearment there were chuckles and guffaws. "As you all know, I've a bit of a royal decree to make-"

"Then make it!" one of the dwarves called. "Some of us'er still sober!"

"In good time, Vior, in good time." The King said. "Now. As no doubt all of you have heard, our lordly King in Exile, the most venerable Thorin Oakenshield-"

"Thorin Oakenarse!"

"Thorin Oak-up-his-jacksey!"

"Thorin Broodingshield!" there was laughter at that one. The King chuckled. "Aye, him. Well, you've no doubt heard his half-cracked plan to retake the Lonely Mountain."

There were mutters here and there. Everyone had heard, whether the King in Exile wanted them to or not.

"What you haven't heard," their King continued, "is that I am going with him."

The inn fell into dead silence. Not even the mice stirred near the baseboards. The King took the moment to sip his mead, smiling in satisfaction at its warmth and spice.

"You WHAT?!" Someone cried out, and that was the rock to start the slide; immediately questions, protestations, accusations began flying.

"Oh do shut up." The King did not yell, but they fell quiet all the same, watching that knife balancing without effort on his fingertip.

"Never you mind why I'm going," he told his court, "fact of the matter is, I am. And it seems to me that since none of you halfwits have managed to put a dagger in my back as of yet-" the golden magpie knife he'd used to assassinate the last King, as that king had used it to kill the one before and thus gain his throne (and such were the coronation rites of this court) did a little twirl before he caught it effortlessly. "that means I've a declaration to make. So I'm making it now."

He turned and slammed the knife point first into the table he'd been sitting at before climbing up on top of it effortlessly, striding down its length and catching each face in turn. "You've all been lovely." he said. "Letting a little half-wit refugee run things, even when he had trouble cutting his apron strings."

"Mother Dori isn't that bad!" one of the pickpockets exclaimed.

"Aye when you aren't bein' walloped by him!" a fighter for hire shot back.

"This trip is half cracked and will most likely end in my painful and utter demise." The King told them. "and if it doesn't, well, it's hard to keep an eye on you lot all the way from Erebor! Who knows, perhaps I'll even become respectable."

There was chuckling to counteract the wincing and even the few tears to be found. Under this King's rule their purses had fattened, their arrests had lessened. They trusted one another more, and had always trusted him, but it was the way of thieves to go where the wind blew.

"But the time has come to talk of other things." The King paused in the center of the table. "Tonight, the guards will not touch this place. There will be no raids, no arrests. I wrung that promise from their Captain," he winked, "in return for my very best behavior!"

The laughter shook the inn to its foundations.

"So tonight, my friends," the king said, spreading his arms, "tonight let us drink, and fuck, and fight and steal as we always have. You are the finest group of scoundrels, villains, ner'-do-wells, cut throats and thieves I have ever had the pleasure of working with. Consider this my most humble abdication." He bowed low and grinned, an unholy light in his silver gray eyes. "And may Eugenides smile at all of us! Fortune favors the bold!"

"THE LAMP LIGHTS THE WAY!" his subjects roared back, and the night was begun.

The red headed dwarf sidled up to the King, who had sat back down in his chair. "I still think it's folly." he growled.

"It is, Roth." The King said. "You know and I know it."

"Then beggin' pardon, majesty- Nori- why are you doing it?"

Nori of Ri looked out over his court of miracles and said, one fist propping up his chin, "because I wish to, Roth."

He left the knife in the table, and that was that.

---

The red light district of Ered Luin was quiet when Thorin Oakenshield's company rode through it. In the dim half-light of dawn all of the windows were shuttered. The ladies and men who plied their trade on the streets had long since gone to bed, the day shift not yet awake. Nori rode quietly beside his youngest brother, eyes forward.

From the shadows by the gate a woman emerged, fine-bearded. She was the maid from the night of abdication, and she walked without fear right past Thorin Oakenshield and his cousins and lords and the earnest miners from the Iron Hills and even Dwalin son of Fundin, who had arrested her twice before. She found the pony Nori rode, and she pulled from her jerkin a wrapped package. She lifted it up to him in the foggy morning quiet and said, lines drawn deeply into her face, "Long live the King."

It was the magpie knife.

Nori took hold of her hand and squeezed; when she felt the touch of a silken knot in her palm she nodded and disappeared as quickly as she had come. Ori, who had been riding beside his brother, looked him over. "Nori what was that about?" he asked.

"Nothing." Nori said. "Come on, we need to catch up."

The abdicated King urged his animal on, leaving his kingdom and subjects behind.

Chapter Text

"Remind me again how you talked me into this?" Bofur asked as he piloted the dunk cart down the long and winding track to the old mineshafts. The lamps at either end of the thing did a little bit to light the way, but it was still dark and even though the tracks were well greased and the cart dwarf made there was the unmistakable shaking that always accompanied such long trips into the dark. The miner's customary hat was on the floor of the cart as he didn't want to lose it.

"Because if Midrin's clan gets a hold of Fissa's body, they will mutilate it in the Ironfist tradition." Nori was sitting behind Bofur, on top of a very suspicious canvas wrapped lump, trying to keep his pipe lit as they were jerked suddenly around corners and took deep drops.

"Right. And?"

"And Fissa's a criminal so regardless of his clan legally his body should be burned in public at the top of the basalt tower."

"Yes..."

"But if we try to burn his body in public Midrin is honor-bound to try and retrieve it, which will get him in trouble with Dain."

"Okay."

"And if Midrin is arrested because he defiles a public burning he'll most likely be executed and Dain would be out a cartographer to send to the next summit between us and Dale and Mirkwood."

"Alright, so?"

"So if there's no body, there's no honor to be avenged, no public burning to be interrupted, and I can finally have a blasted day OFF."

"You can't just dump it in Forlorn lake?" Bofur demanded, taking a turn so wildly that only two of the cart's wheels were on the track. When they righted themselves he looked back at Nori and grinned to see that the spymaster was a little paler than he had been.

"I'm not going to dump a body in our main water supply, Bofur. Contrary to popular belief dead dwarves do not just turn back into rocks."

"Oh, aye, but think of the fun the kiddies would have pokin' him with a stick!"

Nori groaned. "Bofur-"

"Why does it have to be these mineshafts?" Bofur asked. "I was serious, Nori, they're deathtraps waitin' to happen."

Nori knew. Bofur had thrown an absolute fit when the northern Mine Head wanted to keep digging. No one who had been with the Company had ever seen him so angry.

"Precisely. Deathtraps, so no one will come looking for a body. I'd have used my usual dump but that's the FIRST place Dwalin would have looked."

Bofur blinked. "They're going to put DWALIN on the tail of the body?!" he asked. "Nori I can't be lyin' to Dwalin!"

"You don't have to. I never said I had a body with me, did I?" At Bofur's stare at the canvas bundle Nori waved his pipe. "Eyes on the track, Broadbeam."

"WHY do I always help you?" Bofur asked as the cart came to a grinding halt at the start of the abandoned passages.

"Because you're my best friend." Nori said matter-of-factly. "Now come on we need to move this thing that definitely isn't a body."

Bofur sighed, scrubbed a hand through his hair, and put his hat back on. "Lemme get the headlamps."

Chapter Text

---

Love and the weather, birds of a feather- can't be depended upon.

---

Nori taunted Dwalin into chasing her because he was fun.

He plowed right through obstacles that would stop the other guards in their tracks. If she feinted left over a cart, he jumped over that same cart, and destroyed half its contents in the process. If she took to the roofs, he did his best to get there despite being twice her size and weight. He would do his best to cut her off and she would leap right over his head, laughing the entire time.

It wasn't love.

When he caught her- which was rarely- and had her pinned, tying her arms behind her back as she did her damndest to rub back against him, it wasn't love.

When she heard how he roared when he came in for his shift the next day and she was gone, the little flutter in her tummy wasn't love.

Dori, of course, hated it. "He'll get fed up one of these days." Her older brother said. "and when he does, he'll hurt you. Badly."

She laughed it off. "Dwalin son of Fundin would never hurt a lady." she scoffed.

"You are no lady." Dori replied, but before he would unload his truly terrible insults she was already gone back out the door and on another adventure, an adventure she would write Ori about.

Whenever she returned to Ered Luin, she would spy on the house that held the sons of Fundin. Never very long, of course- just a quick jaunt up the road, just to see if they were still in residence. They always were, though they weren't always home. She toyed with the idea of perhaps taking a teacup, or a polishing cloth, or a book. Some small thing they might notice was missing. Something she could taunt Dwalin with when she saw him next.

She never did.

After a hard night of drinking and another round of sex a friend who had excellent technique- both in thieving and otherwise- asked her if she was in love with Dwalin.

She scoffed at him. "Don't be a moron." she said to him. "Love and the weather. Can't trust either of them."

Ori worshipped the ground she walked on. She braided his hair and sang him songs from distant corners of the world and did her best not to argue with Dori when he was around and Ori too thought she was in love. "It's the way you look when you get away from him," he tried to explain to her one night. "There's a sort of glow in your cheeks, sister. You look happy."

"I'm happy not to be in jail again!" Nori laughed at him, and asked him to show her his letters.

When Thorin Oakenshield found her, she was seated quite firmly in the lap of a handsome Blacklock, an ale in one hand a knife in the other, preparing to wallop the barmaid in a game of drunken knife toss.

"You want me t'what?" she asked.

Thorin wrinkled his elegant nose. "This is hardly the place for such discussion." he said.

She threw the knife; it hit the bullseye. "It's the perfect place." she said, and put her ale down. "Now sit, majesty, you're givin' me a headache."

The terms were simple. One share of the gold plus a full pardon. Once the mountain was retaken, she could take her gold and go wherever she wished, unfettered by imaginary ties to the Kingdom of Erebor or the King who planned on moving back in once the dragon was dead.

"You're insane." she told Thorin. She looked him over and decided that, while he wasn't Dwalin, he was comely enough. He had good eyes. "I'm in."

Dori was angry. Ori was thrilled. The brothers and sister Ri sold their house and began to pack.

Nori found out Dwalin was coming, and she grinned. A chase through Ered Luin was one thing; a chase all the way to Erebor?

Fantastic.

---

Nori was not in love with Dwalin when he helped her lift the packs Thorin had ordered she steal.

"You can't depend on me." she told him.

Nori was not in love with Dwalin when he helped her out from under the foot of a troll.

"You really can't depend on me." she told him.

Nori was not in love with Dwalin when he washed her hair in Rivendell's large communal pool, the both of them chortling over how quickly the elves had cleared out once they entered.

"You shouldn't depend on me." she told him.

Laying atop a pile of gold in Erebor, holding up a brilliant beard bead made of mithril with tiny sapphires studded around its edges, Nori looked up at Dwalin and realized that the weather could be dependable.

Standing in the dust and murk of the battlefield, coated in orc blood with fingers still clutching half-blunted knives and seeing a lumbering shape coming towards her, Nori screamed as loud and as long as she could and when she was caught up in massive tattooed arms, and held as tightly as a vice, she knew her love was dependable, too.

Chapter Text

"Do you deny before these witnesses that the crimes in question are yours to claim, yours to be punished for?"

Nori, son of Kori, pupil of Sori and Black Key of Thorin Oakenshield, meets Dain Ironfoot eye for eye and says, "I do not."

He can hear Ori's anguished yelp somewhere in the crowd behind him. He knows that Dori is likely holding their brother down; their mother's insane strength is hard to master, and Ori has little practice moving in crowds when aggrieved. Nori knows he could break the chains that bind him, stand and declare Dain Ironfoot the coward and weakling and suckling pig that he is.

He does not.

The fight is lost, before it is even begun. An old tradition; the passing of a Black Key from King to King. Each is pulled before the court, their crimes laid bare; each pardoned, in return for training a new heir for the next line of succession.

Nori will not train another. He has refused, seven times.

He had only seven chances.

"Then you give me no choice." Dain does his best to sound regal, imposing; to Nori he only sounds like a buffoon wearing a crown he cannot hope to make fit, on a throne that is not his. "The consequences for repeated acts of theft and spying are written in our laws as set down by Durin the Deathless and his six Lords. Nori of the House of Ri, of the Clan of Longbeard, I hearby sentence you to death by hanging."

Hanging is the worst way to kill a dwarf. Their bodies are built of solid bones, with strong muscles meant to withstand the hardest of Arda's storms; it will be a slow death, an honorless one, the death of a thief.

Nori will have it no other way.

He can hear his brothers yelling. He knows Dori will try for parlay. He knows his brother will not succeed. He allows himself to be led away to the cells.

---

They come to him one by one, in the three days before he is set to die. Bofur tries to keep his spirits up. Gloin and Oin both grieve in their own way, yelling or scolding. Bombur brings him his favorite meals and will not look him in the eye. Bifur sits outside the bars and speaks to him at length about the right paths to take in the afterlife. Bifur has the right of it, Nori thinks.

The worst, of course, are his brothers.

Ori can do nothing but cry. He doesn't understand, can't understand. Nori shushes him and sings him songs and promises that someday, they will meet again. He takes a black key from around his neck and hands it to his brother.

"Make sure they bury it with me, Ori." He says, as sternly as he can though his heart quakes. "Don't let anyone touch it, understand?"

Ori says he does.

"Nori please." Dori is begging. He is on his knees. "Please. For once, brother, be a thief. Be a coward. Run away!"

"I can't do that, Dori." Nori says, and when his brother's fingers dent the iron bars he catches them in his own and squeezes. "Promise you'll look after Ori?" he asks.

Dori cannot look at him.

"I promise." he whispers. "I promise."

That Dwalin is the guard they choose to keep an eye on him is part practicality, part punishment; a guardsman cannot question his duty the way a thief can, and Dwalin knows best how Nori would slip away. They watch one another through the bars but say nothing. On the second day, Dwalin seizes his tunic and drags him forward.

They kiss hot, and hard, and with every bit of pent up aggression and menace they have ever sparked over one another, during those long chases and narrow escapes in the confines of Ered Luin. When the separate, Dwalin grasps Nori's braid and growls something in khuzdul that makes the thief's eyes widen, but before he can speak the guard is gone and he is alone.

Nori is led to the gallows at the top of the basalt tower just before dawn. There is a small and silent audience. Dain, his advisors, the Company. Nori looks for and spots his brothers. He feels a sinking in his chest. He hoped Dori would not subject Ori to this.

Dwalin stands at the stairs, ever dutiful. When their eyes meet, there is a moment of fire, and then Dwalin looks away.

A scribe reads off Nori's crimes. Some are real and he smiles; some are lies and he wishes for better embellishment. The rope pulled over his head is coarse and thick, nestling neatly beneath his beard. The sun is barely kissing the horizon when in the sharp wind the Overseer of Ceremonies asks, "Does the accused have any last words?"

Nori smiles, then. It is an old smile, one every member of the Company remembers. They almost surge forward, almost defy their new king, almost throw away everything. The look in Nori's eyes stops them. It tells them that he has embraced it, that he has found a way to win.

And he has.

"Long Live Thorin Oakenshield, Son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain." he speaks clearly and without shame.

There is a crack, a snap, at the same moment a sharp whistle. Nori's body dangles beneath the platform. A small knife is embedded in his forehead. There will be no gristly dance for Thorin's left hand criminal, only long peace.

The blade belongs to Balin, son of Fundin, who looks King Dain Ironfoot full in the face and spits at his feet. One mighty swing of a battle axe and the body is down; Dwalin lets no one near. Silently the Company form a procession, and bear their thief away. None dare to stop them.

In death, Nori of Ri- the last Black Key of the Line of Durin- is still smiling.

Chapter Text

"For one who runs so quickly from danger, you have the heart of a lion."

At the time it hadn't seemed so strange. He'd shrugged it off, just something a weird harad woman said. One never knew with the haradrim. One minute they were offering you figs the next minute they were stabbing you in the eye, or so he'd heard from a dwarf with an eyepatch.

"I wonder, lionheart- what will it take to make you roar?"

Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

So why couldn't he remember the past three days?

...and why was he naked underneath a shrub?

---

His friend Laervor thought the whole thing was hilarious. "Maybe she witched you." he told Nori over a mug of ale at a border town. "I've heard some of those desert-hags can do it. Wiggle their fingers and turn you into a toad."

"Don't be an idiot." Nori replied. "No witch would bother hexing me."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because I'm not dumb enough to steal from a witch."

Laervor begged to differ and the two wound up going home that night with bloodied noses and a black eye apiece, but grinning. Nori soon put the incident behind him.

---

Nori had vivid dreams. Dreams of lands he'd never seen, scents he'd never smelled. He dreamed of stalking slender-legged deer with horns instead of antlers. He dreamed of listening to the roars of his pride, and answering them. He dreamed of fighting other males, of facing threats head on in a way he would never do upon waking, with claw and teeth and massive jaws.

Once, when he awoke from these dreams, the world seemed strange and black and white, everything too close and the scents of the tavern, tolerable to a dwarf, suddenly unbearable.

He immediately coiled like a spring, ready to face his surroundings at his most alert. He made to yawn-

and it came out a roar.

---

He got the hang of it, after a fashion.

He had to concentrate, very hard, on a sort of itch in his head. The itch would grow all over and soon enough, with a little discomfort caused by shifting bones, he would be a great cat from Harad's southwestern scrublands, with a massive ruff and giant paws.

He stole a book about them and read it cover to cover five times before burning it.

He returned to the market but the harad woman was gone; subtle questions produced vague, annoying answers. Those who deemed themselves wise in the desert's ways told Nori that what had been done could not be undone; if it was not Fate it was a god laughing at him.

Nori was fairly certain that that god was not Mahal.

There were upsides, of course. Hunting became easier, for a deer that would startle at the sight of a dwarf with a spear or a bow could not recognize such an alien creature as the great cat. In the night Nori's eyes were keener, his step more sure. There was some yellowing around his gray irises, and he took it in stride as he took everything else. He had no choice in the matter.

In the end, it changed very little. Thieving was thieving, even when you were quite suddenly a skin changer.

---

They were only children.

Two dwarflings no older than twenty five, standing firm beside one another and watching the wolves circle. The older one, blonde and with the start of a beard, held a stick and it would not last long against the pack; the younger darker haired one had his hands full of rocks. The wolves were toying with them, snapping close but not close enough to draw blood, not yet.

They were Ori's age, maybe a little younger. They clearly weren't supposed to be out alone.

All's fair out here. Let them get eaten.

How can you face Ori on his birthday knowing you let two kids die?

Nori strode into the clearing, his mace held out. When the wolves turned to him they snarled and a part of him quaked, demanding that he drop the stupid thing made of metal and wood and teach this upstart a lesson with his fangs and his claws.

No. he had killed wolves with his mace before; this time would be no different.

The alpha snarled again, and the dark haired child cried out in fear.

Nori dropped his mace and any semblance of control, lunging at the wolf and burying his teeth in the animal's windpipe, tufted tail lashing.

The fight did not last very long. He stood, scored with bites and slashes, and turned his great head to look at the dwarflings.

The dark haired one stood first. Eyes wide he approached and offered his hands. Nori pushed his face into them and the child giggled.

"Fee, Fee he's friendly!"

The blonde did not drop his stick.

"Skinchanger." he whispered.

Nori yawned.

---

King Thorin Oakenshield observed the bloodied, unconcious thief in the holding cell. Beside him his Captain of the Guard stood, arms crossed, scowl affixed to his face.

"Are you sure?" Thorin asked. The Captain nodded.

"Aye. I'm sure."

"Dwalin..."

"With me own two eyes, Thorin. Carried them in and dropped like a rock."

"A lion?" Thorin still did not sound convinced.

"I had Balin triple check."

Thorin's fingers touched the bars and inside the cell the thief's eyes opened. They reflected the dim light of the torch behind the King and he drew back into the corner, teeth bared.

"Nori of the House of Ri?" Thorin asked.

"Depends entirely on who's asking." The thief responded, fingers clawing at the rock behind him.

"Your King asks you." Dwalin grunted and Thorin ignored the sound, though in the cell Nori made an accompanying snort.

"I haven't got a King." Nori said.

"The Uncle of the dwarflings you saved, then." Thorin responded. "You realize that you have outstanding warrants that would have you hanged in the Basalt Tower?"

"A lovely view, the basalt tower." Nori said.

"Why did you return?"

"None of your bloody business." A moment of silence. "Your Majesty."

"I would speak with you, Nori." Thorin said.

"On which side of the bars, your kingship?" Nori asked.

"Whichever side you prefer." Thorin said firmly, and Nori was not expecting that.

"Well, then." The dwarf stood and gave a jester's bow. "Come on into my humble abode, your Majesty. Nori, son of Kori, at your service."

---

Nori had told his brothers the story five times, and still they could not believe it.

"So it just, just happened?" Ori stroked Nori's flank, admiring the amber of his fur. Nori huffed, being entirely unable to speak and having already described the harad witch (in painstaking detail), and watched his oldest brother move around the kitchen. Dori was shaking but hiding it well, making tea.

"I told you nothing good could come of traveling." Dori snapped in the general direction of the living room, where his youngest brother was cuddling with the massive beast that had moments before been Nori. Infuriating, frustrating, fly by night Nori.

There was a shifting noise and Dori felt a weight at his side. He looked down and saw yellow-ringed gray eyes looking at him. The lion bounced his head on Dori's chest. The dwarf took another deep breath and buried his fingers in Nori's mane.

"Mahal preserve us," he whispered, and hoped that the royal council came to a conclusion soon.

---

Nori did not like being in the open. He did not like pomp and circumstance, he did not like being pinned down, he did not like that he was practically blackmailed with ancient beliefs on skinchangers (generally involving, well, skinning) that had been abandoned since before Erebor was founded.

He did, however, like the looks on the faces of various assassins when a dwarf emerged from the shadows only to shift into a monstrous beast and run them down, burying his claws in their backs.

He also liked how the little Princes always wanted rides. He liked being able to listen to Ori talk about his day. He liked sleeping and waking in the same bed, knowing that Dori was grumbling and making breakfast.

And he liked the scent of Dwalin, son of Fundin, who was never with him alone.

---

The spear that was meant for Thorin Oakenshield was buried deep, and the lion gave a low, whining whimper.

"Don't move." Dwalin ordered it as around them soldiers bustled and crowds were controlled. "Don't move, thief, understand?"

Another whimper. The lion lifted its head and licked at Dwalin's hand, tangled in his dark mane.

"Stupid thief." Dwalin growled. "Stupid, stupid creature."

The change was slower than Dwalin had ever seen it and every movement hurt; the spear was buried no longer in a lion's side but in a dwarf's chest. A shaking hand came up to wrap around Dwalin's.

"Stupid creature." Dwalin's voice was choked and he hated it. "Stupid, stupid..."

Nori laughed and the laugh was throaty and thick with blood.

"But I'm your stupid creature." he whispered.

---

Nori dreamed of a far off savannah, filled with good things to hunt and to eat, clear water and cool green trees under which he could rest. At the edges of his hearing he could percieve words. 'assassination' 'culprits' 'survival'. They were ceasing to matter.

A woman approached him, slender and beautiful. He knew her to be the harad witch and when she beckoned, he came. She stroked his nose and he purred with pleasure.

"And so you've roared." She said to him. "Do you feel brave enough to go?"

Go? But why? When all of this beautiful world was before him?

He thought of thick fingers tangling in his mane. Of the grumbled word 'thief'.

"Yes," he told her, and was a lion no longer.

---

Nori opened his eyes and saw Dwalin above him. He smiled, and despite the pain in his side once he felt Dwalin touch his forehead he began to purr.

Chapter Text

Nori the dwarf stood on the shores of the sea. The sun was just beginning to touch the horizon and the water that stretched into it was gold and red and purple and pink, glittering like stars and diamonds. Behind Nori was a cliff, which he had painstakingly climbed down with all the skill a child of Durin possessed; no man had ever touched the black rock upon which he stood. The waves crashed into the jagged stones, throwing up great sprays of water that took on fanciful shapes of birds and beasts before falling again into the deep.

It was beautiful.

Nori eased his pack off of his shoulder. It was all he carried, that and his weapons; he'd had to leave Erebor in rather a hurry. He opened the flap and dug around, not for the secret pocket but the SECRET secret pocket. He eased it open with nimble fingers that were already beginning to swell with exposure to the salt air, naturally sensitive.

He removed from the pocket a stone.

As big as his fist, cut so brilliantly that it seemed to glow. Not a diamond, not a moonstone, but containing aspects of both it shimmered in his palm.

It was the Arkenstone of Thror, and two moons ago he had stolen it from the throne of Thorin Oakenshield, Reclaimer of Erebor, King under the Mountain.

He turned it in his hand, thoughtfully.

He had passed the Shire by, but had not entered; the few hobbits he saw had been suspicious and quiet, which he suspected would always be the case now, with Dwarves. He'd indulged in a drink in Bree and overheard the name 'Mad Baggins'. It had made him smile, but also made him feel like crying.

Nori carefully put down his satchel and removed his cloak and what knives would get in his way. Thus unencumbered he stepped back and, Heart of the Mountain in his fist, stretched his body out.

He released like an arrow loosed from a string, and the Arkenstone flew in a gorgeous arc, catching the last of the setting sun's rays and lighting up red as blood. Then, with hardly a sound, it disappeared into the roaring ocean.

Nori of Ri turned his back on the water. He put his knives back, slipped his cloak on, grabbed his satchel. He went to the cliff and began climbing, unafraid of the coming darkness.

Thieves flourished in the dark.

Chapter Text

Dwalin followed the rumors of a smith who could knot anything from silver and gold until he came to a little town on the border of the west and the east, where all seemed to blend in the dust. He stood in the door of the little shop and watched the waterfall of Nori's redbrown hair as the thiefsmith moved. Neither of them spoke for a time, until-

"It is gone." Dwalin said, and felt all at once the deepest relief and the greatest despair.

Nori paused in his work, back ramrod straight. "It is."

"Out of your reach?"

"Out of reach of us all."

Dwalin closed his eyes and let loose a long breath, one that perhaps he had been holding for the three years he had been searching every tavern, pub and back alley fighting ring between Erebor and Harad. "He sent me to kill you."

"I know." The apron was discarded and Nori turned to Dwalin. He looked tired, and broken. "Will you?"

Dwalin placed Grasper and Keeper on the splintered counter top. "No."

"Come on." Nori said, and took Dwalin's hand. "I'll make tea."

"You hate tea."

Nori laughed, and the laugh was hollow. "Things change, my husband."

Things change.

Chapter Text

Before the dragon came, Nori was the first Guardstone of the House of Ri in three generations.

When it was declared formally at the Ceremony of Beginning, in front of the great flowering gardens that surrounded the House, the party that Orla daughter of Fora threw became the stuff of legend. Nori received his braids, lovingly worked into his hair by his older brother, who had surprised everyone by being declared a Lordstone when the firstborn of Ri were almost always Scribestones. Nori was decked out in gold and practiced his flirting before being put under the tutelage of Madame Vira, whose brothel had proudly put out some of the finest Stones the Ri House had ever born.

Nori had an impish light to him that delighted whore and customer alike. He had quick fingers, a quick mind and a quicker tongue. Nori had an endless heart. He fell a bit in love with everyone who trained him, but there was always room for another when they left. He could sing, he could dance, he could tell a yarn and lift a purse and do it all with a smile and a promise of sweet, sweet things to come. He could bend, and did not break- important in a Guardstone.

"He will be the greatest of your line," Vira told Orla of Ri. "I guarantee it."

Then the dragon came.

---

After the first attack on a Stone from the House of Sur, Orla told her children that they could not wear their braids. Dori understood, but Nori did not; still his mother's iron gaze had cowed Kings and made warriors quake. He did as she said, and when his friend Nura of Ra was found beaten and violated behind a tavern, and her mother ripped out her beard in despair, Nori did not question his mother again.

Dori took up tinkering work. Orla began to sew.

Nori found other things to do with his clever hands.

---

Dori took up with Balin after Orla died, and Nori could not blame him. With Ori on his back Nori's older brother tinkered and brewed tea and smiled in a way that told his customers he had been taught precisely 142 ways to smile, each way promising something he might have given them, in another place, in another time.

Sometimes, Thorin Oakenshield, who thought himself a king, visited. Nori made sure he was gone for those times.

---

The first time Dwalin caught Nori stealing and threw him against a wall, Nori looked up at Dwalin and felt such a surge of hot want in his gut that he didn't even resist arrest. Here was a guardsman, tall and strong and tattooed and scarred. He growled and bristled and threatened and even as Nori slipped out of the prison cell in the dead of night he wanted, so badly, to leave a silken knot hanging on Dwalin's axe.

The kind of knot that, once, was an invitation.

Before the dragon came.

---

Dori read the portents. Nori told him not to; "What point is there, Dori? We've no mountain, no family, nothing."

Thinking about the past made Nori angry. Dori only shook his head.

"We are of the House of Ri, and we have a way of doing things," he told his brother, and that was that.

Ori was a Lordstone. Dori was relieved; brother was not meant to teach brother in the ways of the Stones, but it was not unheard of and in their family- small as it was- not frowned upon. Ori spent the night speaking with Dori, wondering over this slice of their lives he had not known about, blushing madly at the very idea of his fussy brother clad only in gold and sitting at the feet of a King.

Nori went to the tavern.

---

Thorin Oakenshield needed a thief. Nori of Ri wanted a promise.

"If this goes the way you want- and it won't, mind, you're INSANE- then you give our family back its title. You make sure Dori's a Lordstone again, a real one, with gold and gifts and clothes that don't chafe and a seat on your council so the old farts from the Iron Hills can only wish he would look at them."

There was a smile at the edge of Thorin Oakenshield's lips, but he did not let it spread. That was good. Nori would have punched him if he had. "And your other brother?"

"Ori's not trained for it. He doesn't have a sense of it, not yet. Let him scribe. Let him be. Your nephews are scaring him."

"I shall take them to task. And what do you ask for, Nori of Ri?"

Nori thought of Dwalin, and of all the guards he could have saved.

"Nothing." Nori told the King-who-wasn't. "I don't want anything."

---

When they bedded down among the gold, Nori had disappeared, but Dwalin found on his axe handle a silk knot. He followed the directions woven into its center and was far from the company, in one of the rooms that had been so small, the dragon had missed it.

It wasn't perfect. There was still dust. But there were candles, and a bed with a proper setup, and Nori, laid out like an offering, wearing gold and nothing else, with braids Dwalin had only ever dreamed of in his hair.

"Before the dragon came.." Nori whispered, and could not finish. He beckoned Dwalin forward and the Guardsman went.

---

After the dragon had gone, the House of Ri endured. For many generations from son to daughter and brother to brother it produced Stones of brilliance and elegance, whose clever words and sharp knives defended those they kept warm in the night. Songs were sung of their prowess in bed and battlefield.

After the dragon had gone, the flowers in the garden bloomed again, and Nori made a crown for Dwalin's bald head, laughing all the while.

Chapter Text

The first time the russet-haired man came into the Ink of Erebor tattoo and piercing parlor, Dwalin hated him.

It was in the way he walked- so smooth and slick, like oil gliding on a marble floor. He was confident, he was cruel. His smile was too wide and too white and too pretty. Dwalin could tell he was used to carrying knives. He was precisely the kind of customer that Fundinson would normally refuse, simply on principle.

It was the way his eyes looked, though, that stayed Dwalin's demands to 'get the fuck out of my parlor'.

Dwalin had never in his life seen such desperate, lonely, terrified eyes.

"What can I do for you?" he'd asked when ID had been provided, with a name the artist was positive was a fake.

"I'm looking to get something designed." The man said.

"Well." Dwalin pulled out a pad of paper. "I think I can help with that."

---

The first parts of the cage were done in a single session and Dwalin told the man to keep an eye on it, not use anything scented, the whole nine yards. hen it came to scheduling another session he was reticent.

"I'll call you." he assured Dwalin, pulling his shirt back on and covering the cellophane and shoulders that most men wouldn't hesitate to kill for. "Trust me."

Dwalin did not trust him, not as far as he could throw him, and the idea of the tattoo being finished by another artist irked him. Still, the bastard paid in cash and left just as smoothly as he'd come. Dwalin stared at the door with its tarnished silver bell for a little while before coming back to himself and remembering that he had other appointments.

---

The second session came two months later, and Fili and Kili were in the shop when he slid in. This time he was wearing leather pants, and had his hair up in a bun. Kili stared outright; Fili had to drag him out for a burger while Dwalin worked.

The chain the cage was hanging from came up over the Bastard's shoulder, curling around and tied in a padlocked knot. There were precisely 67 links. After requesting the number and agreeing to it, neither of them spoke, save for when the session was through. The man looked at Dwalin, grinned, and said, "Thanks, gorgeous."

Dwalin clicked his tattoo machine menacingly and the man laughed and swung out the door.

Kili was in love for weeks, but got over it, as the young did.

---

It took a half a year before session number three. This time the Bastard came at night, and when he took his shirt off Dwalin would have had to have been blind not to see the freshly healed bullet pockmark on his side.

The words hovered at the tip of his tongue. He choked on them and worked on the open door of the cage.

---

Everyone was surprised when they met Dwalin's best friend. Ori was small and shy and booksmart, always clinging to his satchel full of papers and drawings. He had known Dwalin for many years simply by virtue of a shared bus stop. It was to Ori Dwalin went when his big brother Balin was out of reach and his cousin Thorin didn't understand and Bofur and his family down at the pub couldn't be serious enough to contemplate what he wanted to contemplate.

He told Ori about the Bastard. Ori looked thoughtful.

"Do you think he's running away?"

Dwalin wasn't sure. "It doesn't seem like it. He keeps coming back."

"Maybe he's marking his trail." Ori offered, and Dwalin had never thought of it like that before.

---

Dwalin didn't see the Bastard for another year. When he did he almost grabbed the man around his shoulders and shook him. He was thinner, gaunter, and his hair- that fucking glorious redbrown hair, which Dwalin had not been having dreams about, thank you very much- had been cropped.

Still, he grinned. "Miss me?" he asked, and it took everything Dwalin had to not say a word.

the magpie on his opposite shoulder was the most intricate thing that Dwalin had ever done, at times realistic, knot based, and awash like something from a calligraphic brush; the treasures it trailed behind him were done in black and white at the cage's bottom, gaining color as they trailed along the back.

There was a ruby clutched in the magpie's beak and the Bastard thought this hilarious but wasn't willing to let Dwalin in on the joke.

"One more session." he told the Bastard.

The Bastard just grinned.

---

When everything came to a head, it did it at a speed that would have killed anyone.

There was a kidnapping, a shootout, a manhunt, all peripheral things; Dwalin didn't care about them. He cared about Ori sobbing into his arms, and Ori's older brother Dori (who didn't look like he had the best damn prince albert in the county but Bofur Broadbeam swore up and down-) wringing his hands and making tea and swearing when he forgot his own strength and shattered the tiny cups.

Words like brother and snitch and undercover and deal were whispered.

Terms like diagnosis and projected survival rate and blood loss were buzzing bees in a jar.

Dwalin had heard of the Other Brother, in passing. Ori didn't speak of him much.

Dwalin realized that they had a similar hair color when he finally connected his Bastard with the limp, pale fish attached to the respirator.

---

"Why do you keep going?" Thorin asked him.

Dwalin, reading the bus schedule to the hospital for the fiftieth time, didn't answer him.

"You've spoken perhaps two paragraphs to one another."

Dwalin grabbed his backpack. Thorin sighed and put his paperwork down. "At least," he said, "At least bring flowers."

---

The Bastard's name was Nori, and he was awake.

He grasped Dwalin's hand with a grip that bordered on painful. The TV was on some awful spanish soap opera that Ori had insisted Nori would find hilarious.

"One more session?" Nori breathed, eyes half open.

"One more." Dwalin confirmed.

"Well." Nori shifted a little in bed and Dwalin saw what he wanted. Dwalin went to the door and closed it. He returned and unzipped his bag, pulling out the machine and the inks and his gloves and his sanitizers, which he had been bringing for all eight weeks.

He helped Nori roll over, and- straddling his back- he began.

The nurses were throwing a fit, and Dwalin was banned, but they let him finish cleaning, at least.

"You gonna sign it?" Nori asked him, half-asleep, a small smile on his face.

"That depends." Dwalin said. "You gonna fuck me?"

Nori laughed, and on his back the magpie was free of its cage, a ruby in its beak.

Chapter Text

"I can't go."

Thorin Oakenshield, King of Erebor, looked up the length of the granite table at his Spymaster, Nori the Houseless. "What?" he asked, in that tone of voice that insinuated no he hadn't just heard something he didn't want to hear, are you sure you don't want to revise your statement?

"Your Majesty- Thorin- I can't go to the White Mountains." Nori clasped his hands behind his back. "I was banished, if you'll recall."

Thorin frowned. "Surely in the face of a war such as this banishment can be rescinded."

"I really don't think so, majesty. The words 'hot poker' and 'eyes' were used rather frequently in the descriptions of what might happen if I ever turned my attention south again."

"I cannot take a diplomatic delegation to another dwarven stronghold without my Spymaster, Nori." Thorin said.

"I can send one of my seconds," Nori offered. "Fror, Nis, any of them would be suitable."

"None of them know the White Mountains as you do," Thorin pointed out, "not the customs nor the people. I need you, Nori. We have precious enough allies as it is with Balin trapped in Mirkwood trying to convince that tree-shagging twig dick to do who even knows what."

"Majesty I can't."

"I order it."

"Then I resign."

"I forbid it."

"Then I'm going to throw myself off the Basalt Tower." Nori said.

Thorin stood and though all he wore as signifiers of his station were his seal ring and mithril circlet, he was every inch a King under the Mountain. "You will come with me to the White Mountains, Nori the Houseless, and no one will touch you with pokers- hot or otherwise- and you will find me a way to convince that damn fusspot on the throne that war is upon us."

Nori sighed deeply.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

---

The days leading up to the journey were harrowing. The dwarves who were to be part of the delegation had to be hand picked and informed, the regent (Prince Fili, who was none too happy to be left behind) had to be secure in what needed to be done, and liens of communication had to be opened between the King and his vassals. Nori's ravens provided that security, and he did as he was ordered with a bowed head and the look of a man who was sentenced to hanging.

It disturbed many of Nori's friends, not the least his former partner and current informant cum almost member of the Clan of Broadbeam Bilbo Baggins.

"It won't be so bad," the hobbit said to his friend, blowing smoke rings on one of Erebor's many balconies. "You could dye your hair yellow. Or change your peaks. Or find a hedgewitch and beg for a womanspell."

Nori groaned.

"Honestly I think you're more scared of Thorin than you are of the White Mountains." Bilbo scolded. "You've prepared for this. Be a dwarf, Nori."

"I'm going to die, Bilbo."

"No you won't, you'll run pel mel for Harad first and then Dwalin will come chasing after you." Bilbo blew another smoke ring and grinned at his friend. "I'm sure it will all turn out fine."

---

This was not turning out fine.

The two month trip to the White Mountains was filled with its own perils but the Company of Thorin Oakenshield- eight sturdy Dwarves (chosen more for heart and likability than impressiveness, which Nori thought a mistake but whatever, he wasn't the King-) and a hobbit- managed rather well. Nori kept his companions entertained with tales of plunder and mayhem in the region but the closer they got to the unforgiving white peaks the quieter he became until he was but a shadow of himself, withdrawing ever deeper into his gray coat and cowl.

The gates of Khazwin were made of white steel, tall and gleaming and perfectly cold. They opened silently and Thorin and his fellows rode inside. Hostlers were waiting to take the ponies, dignitaries and scribes and assistants were lined up, and so was the King.

Thorin had to catch himself. The King Under the Mountain of Khazwin was a beautiful dwarf, with eyes green as emeralds and hair and beard the color of soft mithril, braided intricately in the style of the white mountains. Though they had not met before, he smiled and Thorin found comfort in the smile. He bowed.

"Hail, Thorin Oakenshield, Son of Thrain, son of Thror, King of Erebor." he said. "Welcome, cousin, to my halls-"

"Dori?"

Nori couldn't help it; it had just slipped out. And when the King of Khazwin focused those emerald eyes on him, he felt his tongue go stupid as it had been when last he'd left the mountain, on the back of a pony he'd stolen just before the guards could clap him in irons.

"Da's DEAD?!"

---

Nori of the House of Ri, disgraced secondborn Prince of Khazwin, former Captain of the Raven's Wing, needed another goddamn drink.

Chapter Text

It was a thorough job, Dwalin made sure of that.

When he'd caught Nori in Lacemaker's Alley just off the marketplace the first thing he'd done after getting his hands on the nicked silver bracelet was pass his axe off to another guardsman. While Nori smirked at him he'd tied his hands and frogmarched him to the jail.

Then.

Then.

The search had begun.

Dwalin loved the look of abject shock on Nori's face when their normal frisk went far longer than intended. It immediately became his favorite memory. That memory was topped minutes later by the noise the smaller dwarf had made, like an outraged cat, when one of the guards reached for the laces of his jerkin. Nori jerked away, swearing an oath, and Dwalin had settled Grasper just under the thief's throat.

"This can't be in the rulebook." Nori said, slender hands clenched tight.

"Oh, it's not." Dwalin said. "But then you're a special case."

"Are you that desperate to see me naked?" Nori asked, one eyebrow raised. "You could have just asked."

The guardsman who was doing the actual undressing- an unflappable fellow named Dior- snorted.

"If I wished for gentle company I'd go visit the brothel. You're not getting away this time." Dwalin said, ignoring the burn at the tips of his ears. "Thief."

Nori's eyes, which Dwalin knew to be a sort of silvery gray that told all who cared to look that he and Dori didn't share a father, turned dark as thunderheads.

"I am going to gut you in your sleep." he said pleasantly as he was quickly divested of every piece of clothing- and weapon and pick- on his person.

"I don't sleep." Dwalin retorted as even the thief's smallclothes were removed. "I wait."

Completely naked, Nori was tossed into a holding cell.

"At least give a dwarf a blanket!" he yelped, and was given one by a stern-faced female.

"Thank you." he told her, and sat curled up, glaring at everyone and everything.

"Alright, who's telling Dori?" one of the guards asked in their dressing room.

There was a quick game of knife, parchment, stone. Frigdis lost and, with a request to his best friend to "tell all of my ladies I only thought of them at the end", he went forth to tell the most terrifying (and polite) shopkeep in all of Ered Luin that his brother had been arrested.

Again.

Dwalin, feeling the full and heady rush of victory, blew the swearing Nori a kiss, laughed, and headed out to the pub.

---

"Okay, repeat this to me again. Slowly."

"Sir, it really is very cold, if you could please-"

"No one is getting untied," Dwalin informed the dressing room full of very naked guards, "until someone explains to me HOW THE FUCK HE DID IT."

"The blanket!" one of the others cried.

"The blanket."

"Aye."

"He beat my best men and women. With a blanket."

"There was a chunk of wood in it." Someone else offered helpfully. "From the bed. Damn near brained Gip."

Gip groaned as if to corroborate the story.

Dwalin, son of Fundin, whose head was still pounding just a bit with all the ale he had consumed the night before, swore a round and bloody oath and grabbed his axes, striding out of the Guardhouse without so much as a backwards glance at his colleagues.

---

When the fire on the edge of Ered Luin became big enough to be seen from a street over someone called the Watch. Dwalin came, of course, recovered (and thoroughly harassed) fellow guards with him.

No one knew who started the fire, only that it had been burning for a few hours and seemed to consist of one of the piles of refuse that the trash wagons, often overloaded, sometimes missed. While the witnesses were questioned, Dwalin approached the fire, caring not a whit for the heat. A trashfire could not compare to the heat of Azanulbizar.

He noticed something in the flames that looked familiar. It was a shirt, half-wet and so it had not gone up immediately with the rest of the trash.

It was a very nice shade of green.

His favorite shade of green, in fact.

His very..favorite...

"THIEF!!" Dwalin roared, and the birds were scared from the trees.

---

It took Dwalin nearly four months to obtain a slightly usable wardrobe again in replacement for the one that had been burned with the trash. Balin promised to have better locks installed, though both sons of Fundin knew it was a moot point; there wasn't a lock in existence that could stop Nori of Ri.

Of course the thief was nowhere to be found.

He had left a note, though.

'My dearest guardsman,

perhaps next time we can forego the foreplay and skip right to the main event? We are both busy dwarves.

Yours in fondness,

Thief.'

The picture that had been included, featuring both of them against a wall of the dressing room, was downright pornographic. Dwalin kept it in a drawer he never let Balin open and swore revenge.

Someday.

Chapter Text

Nori knew several things about being in love. He had learned them over the course of years in the world, wandering (and running) from place to place and hide out to hide out.

He knew that it felt wonderful.

He knew that it felt painful.

He knew that it was something he wished to hoard like a dragon on its gold.

He knew it was something that could not be stolen.

He knew it would get him killed.

Across the fire Bofur laughed at something his cousin had said, slapping Bifur on the back and whipping out his flute to play a short and merry tune. Kili and Fili immediately began calling out songs and Bofur obliged them, jumping from one to the other as lightly as the flames leapt up and devoured the wood. Even Balin began tapping his feet, smiling as he smoked his pipe. Dori stitched up the rip in his cloak in time to the music, humming along.

"You play very well, Mister Bofur." Ori said.

Nori watched Bofur turn in the warm light of the fire. The flame caught his braids and painted them orange and yellow, casting his face deep in shadows. For a moment there was no Bofur, just a sprite of Mahal's forge, laughing and piping merrily for the children of Durin.

Of course Mahal would send a firesprite on a quest to kill a dragon. He was not the most attentive Father.

Nori turned in early that night and ignored the looks his brothers and Dwalin cast his way. In the morning he considered leaving, as he always did. He caught sight of Bofur's hat- placed strategically over his face so that it lifted with each whistling snore and kept out the sunlight. He didn't leave.

In the home of Bilbo Baggins Nori watched as Bofur shamelessly flirted with their prospective burglar, all smiles and soft notes on his flute. He seemed bewildered when Bilbo fainted at the mention of incineration.

Nori stole three silver knives and a package of pipeweed.

After the trolls, Nori watched as Bofur fussed over Bilbo, and the state of his clothes.

After the stone giants, he laid awake and listened as Bofur wished Bilbo everything, keeping nothing for himself.

After the Goblins Nori wondered how heinous it would be to add murder of a hobbit to his long and illustrious list of crimes.

Then Bilbo came back and Nori felt, perhaps, a bit ashamed.

After Azog, Nori prayed to Mahal for the first time in fifty years.

Clutching his brothers and gazing out over the wide forests to the peak in the distance, Nori watched Bofur, and Bilbo, and their fingers linking together in the soft light of the sun.

Nori knew several things about love. He knew that it was wonderful, and also painful. He knew he wished to hoard it, like a dragon on gold. He knew it was something that could not be stolen.

He knew, on top of the carrock, that it would get him killed.

Chapter Text

1) Nori of Ri drank a vial of poison in full view of the Council of the King after being called a liar. The poison he had found in a pocket of the coat belonging to the Ash Mountain ambassador, and was intended for Thorin Oakenshield.

Nori made sure that the blood he vomited came up nearly entirely on the old Stiffbeard who had called him, among other things, a fatherless whoreson.

Once he wasn't poisoned anymore, Nori was given a Boon of the King and told if he ever pulled anything like that again, he'd be murdered and buried in the Bag End garden to help the roses grow. The Stiffbeard noble had come down with an inexplicable case of the runs. Oin conveniently lost his hearing trumpet for a week afterwards.

2) Nori dyed his hair and beard, raided the royal jewelry box, and successfully acted as Dis daughter of Thrain's body double. In this manner he knifed four potential assassins and danced with nearly every member of the court of the Iron Hills while his Princess successfully negotiated a trade agreement with the Silverbrow guild that would keep Erebor in wire and plate for the next five years.

Nori still hasn't forgiven her for giving him her new boots to break in.

3) Nori encountered agents of King Thranduil's spymaster, which would have made for an interesting meeting had it not happened in the rafters of the ceiling above the floor of the small cabin that Prince Kili and Warden Tauriel chose for their regular romantic liasons. A few years and a few dozen negotiations later, the two master spies switched off their agents annually. Neither told their King.

4) Nori once started a stampede in a southern market by stabbing an oliphaunt in the toe. This both allowed him to prevent Fili of Erebor from being hit with a crossbow bolt (oliphaunts, when hit by crossbow bolts, generally just get angry) and explain to his Crown Prince that no, that gentleman with the henna in his beard was not asking him for swordsmithing tips, he was trying to proposition him. Nori then spent another ten minutes explaining just why it was he had tried to get Fili to forego the normal golden beads in his beard, as Princes in general do not like being mistaken for prostitutes, even well paid and lovely ones.

Chapter Text

Nori first noticed when he saw Bifur take out yet another hank of embroidery thread.

The toymaker had been fiddling with the thread for nearly the entire time that the Company had been traveling together, which was less than a month. While they still stuck close to their family groups they had finally begun to branch out, with Oin and Dori talking teas and Ori listening attentively as Gloin rambled on about the way starlight caught in his wife's beard. The sons of Fundin had gone on ahead and Nori wasn't a chatty sort- in his line of work, chatty was either a ploy to keep you alive or a ploy to distract someone long enough to kill them- so he took to watching the Family Ur.

They fascinated Nori. Unlike his brothers, and Oin and Gloin, they had no genetic links to the line of Durin and thus no family obligation (no matter how tenuous, on the part of the House of Ri) to aid Thorin Oakenshield in what equated to a madcap suicide charge at a mountain. Still, here they were, and if they were to be believed simply out of the goodness of their hearts. There had also been something about free beer, but Nori was of the opinion that it would take a hell of a lot more than free beer to make him decide to forego all familial bonds, pick up, hike halfway across Middle Earth and slay a dragon.

The irony of him doing just that was not lost on Nori.

Bofur was as he presented himself- always with a bright outlook, cheerful while describing the most terrible of things that could happen to them in the lair of a dragon. Bombur was fat and jolly and wished all others to be fat and jolly, too; Nori could appreciate his skill over a cookfire, and knew better than to question the heavy dwarf's fighting abilities when he realized the massive ladle Bombur carried was made of solid iron.

Bifur was...intriguing.

An orc, Bofur had happily explained to them, was responsible for the chunk of axe lodged in his cousin's head. It had healed alright, but the injury had done irreparable damage to Bifur's brain. He poke only the secret language now, and iglishmek, though he clearly still understood westron. He didn't eat meat, or hadn't in the past month, yet his weapon was a boar spear and he had proven himself incredibly deft with it. Bifur seemed to be a solitary sort, sticking by his family simply because he was not yet comfortable communicating with the others. Nori could respect that; he felt the same way.

The embroidery thread, though.

That was something else.

Nori watched Bifur make knot after knot with admirable dexterity, though not as swiftly (nor as finely) as Nori himself could manage. After he finished a series of knots he would look at it, then immediately cast it into the fire and begin again. A strange habit brought on by his axe wound, perhaps? Nori had known addle-pated dwarves and Men and even one questionable Elf; all had strange habits.

This night, however, Nori was sitting close enough to the Family Ur to see the knots clearly.

He stared.

He stood, breaking all the silent codes of personal space and solitude, and strode over to Bifur. Bofur saw this and made to stand but Bombur grasped his shoulder and shook his head; Nori had done nothing wrong, yet. The thief ignored the two brothers Ur and sat down across from Bifur, watching him. Bifur spared him a single dark-eyed glance. When Nori offered his hand in request Bifur looked at it, looked at him, and then handed him a long strand of green thread.

Nori immediately began to knot.

How do you know? his knots asked. He held up the thread.

Bifur stared at the knots, and then at him. Deep in the dwarf's eyes there was a spark of recognition, and something like hope. Bifur began to knot again.

was taught. wife.

His wife? Nori moved his fingers over the green thread. Your wife was of the guild of Gen?

In response, Bifur began working on a slightly more intricate knot. It took him a while, and Nori waited patiently. Bifur handed it over.

The Thief's Lamp, with a series of knots hanging from its tassel. Nori read them and his eyes softened. He looked at Bifur.

I am sorry for your loss. he knotted.

you remind me of her. Bifur replied.

how so?

It is in your eyes, Journeyman.

Nori knew then that Bifur was telling the absolute truth, for only the beloved of a guild member of Gen would know the braids in his hair for those of a thieving journeyman.

They spent the rest of that night speaking in knots and burning the thread as they went. In the next town Nori stole some of his own, and began brushing up on his iglishmek, reciting the pronouns and conjugations of their secret tongue in his head.

---

Talking with Bifur was a way to stay sane over the long hours of ponyriding. Nori would knot thoughts as they came to him in a long string. Bifur would take the string, smile, and knot answers back. Dwalin would scowl at the both of them because knotting was for thieves. He said as much one night over the fire and Nori said, with a grin and a bow, "And what precisely do you think I am, Master Dwalin?"

As the quest went on, the knots became more intricate. Sometimes they spoke in words, both signed and made with voice but most of the time nightfall would find thief and toymaker content, making knots in either end of a long string.

After mirkwood- after nearly starving, being poisoned, being half-drowned- Bifur presented Nori with a new knot.

It said, love in fear and question.

Bifur woke the next morning to a beautiful Thief's Lamp settled on his chest. Its tassel read, love as thieves love, for always.

It was all either of them could promise.

There was a dragon waiting, after all.

---

In the smoke after the great battle, Nori found Bifur kneeling in the center of a bloody massacre of orcs and elves. When he touched the other dwarf's shoulder he half thought he was going to be thrown; but Bifur pulled him down into an embrace and Nori frantically used his fraying braid to knot.

Safe. Safe. Safe.

Bifur held him fast and cried.

They found Bofur and Bombur waiting by the tent that held Thorin. That the King would not live was no longer a question. It was merely a matter of time.

When Bifur asked Dori for formal permission to court Nori, Dori was startled into saying yes by the simple fact that he had not known- or perhaps had been ignoring- the way that the toymaker spoke with his brother. Ori was far more warm. He took Bifur's hands in his own and said, in the ancient tongue, "Keep a tight hold of him, for if you do not he is liable to slip away with the breeze."

And Nori did slip with the breezes, but never without leaving a long coil of knots behind. It was one of the odder things to come out of Erebor's reclaimation and many would exclaim over it, in the coming years, that Nori of Ri who held such a trusted position with the King should take up with a simple toymaker; Nori did not hear any of these stories, for they were not in the language that mattered to him.

The language that mattered was knots, tied in string, wrapped around his wrist with a kiss to his brow.

Chapter Text

Dori looked down at the length of purple silk that Nori had put into his lap. The shop was closed; outside they could see miners and woodcutters and other assorted workers coming home from their long days of labor. Upstairs Ori was making dinner, entirely unaware that his second oldest brother had returned.

Dori carefully unwrapped the elegant knot at the top of the package. He pulled apart the corners of the purple silk (which by itself cost more than most everything in the shop) and gazed at what lay within.

A braid. Thick and beautifully blue, the shade of the night sky just before it became sticky with stars. The braid was nearly two feet long. It was tied off at one end in its elegantly curling tail with heavy silver coins threaded onto the leather thong, runes for 'strength' and 'sleep' stamped into their domed surfaces. The top, where the hair had been cropped, was sealed with a heavy black wax so that the braid would not come undone.

Dori unrolled it. He exclaimed over the coins, stroked his fingers admiringly down the length of the thing, weighed it in his palms.

When he looked up at his brother, he was smiling. Nori. who had at first seemed so unsure, smiled back.

"It is precisely what I wanted." Dori told him, in the voice that he used when praising a particularly fine tea or engaging in satisfying conversation.

Nori's smile became more of a wolfish grin and he kissed his brother on the cheek. "Happy birthday, Dori." he murmured.

Chapter Text

The axe has been sharpened well and Nori is thankful for it; at least he won't have to suffer more than one quick stroke of the blade. The perks, he supposed, of stealing from nobility.

The axe is raised. He is not sorry.

"Wait."

Nori looks up. "Who the hell are you?" He asks the sapphire eyes attached to the granite body of a dwarf dressed discreetly in riches.

"Theif. You said you could steal anything. Is this true?"

"Yes." Nori answers, because it is.

"Release him." the granite-dwarf says, and Nori's chains are taken away. He stands and rubs his wrists, watching warily.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"You will steal something for me." The granite dwarf said. "And then you will die."

It sounds stupid. It sounds intriguing. And there's still the matter of that axe to consider.

Nori agrees.

---
"What the hell are you going to do with the King's tapestry?" Nori asks the granite dwarf.

"It is none of your concern. You die in the morning."

The next morning, he faces the same axe, the same executioner- tall, bald-topped, scowling.

"Wait."

Nori almost sighs.

---

Nori meets Granite Dwarf's friends, and he has many. The growling executioner is one; his kinder, even more dangerous brother is another. A deaf old healer yells at the top of his lungs at his grumpy, rich axe-wielding sibling.There is a friendly miner with a smile like daggers and a rotund cook who keeps his cleaver close. There is even a little hobbit, all smiles and quick flitting from shadow to shadow.

They altogether call themselves the Company, and Nori is to join them.

This time, Nori steals a ring, and Bilbo- who is quiet and clever, in his own hobbity way- gets him his lost lockpicks.

"Folk like us," he said, thief's lamp knotted just behind one pointed hobbit ear, "We gotta stick together, Master Nori."

---

Fifteen stays of execution over the course of a year and a half, with thefts ranging from black powder to leather to the payment meant for the city's most coveted mistress and Nori is only barely surprised when Erebor erupts.

He is even less surprised when the Granite Dwarf- who any idiot could realize, by now, is the Prince- meets no resistance in the merchant's quarter, is met with cheers and sharpened iron quills in the scribe's hall.

Nori isn't expecting to see his brothers decked out in armor. To be fair, they aren't expecting him either.

"Shouldn't you be awaiting execution?" Ori asks him, and Bofur and Bilbo both snigger into their hands.

"Here, Trouble." Dori gives Nori his weighted staff, returns his favorite knives. "You're going to need this. We're storming the fortress at first light."

Bofur is grinning. "Oh Thorin'll storm something, alright!" he chortles before Dori shushes him.

Nori feels like there is a joke he doesn't get.

---

one coup'de'tat later and the body of sick Thror son of Dain is given to the fire and the gold he coveted until he breathed his last. Thrain leaves quietly, with a following of those devoted to him; Granite Thorin does not chase him, and kisses his father's furrowed brow before the gates open. His sister Dis stands by his side, her hand on his shoulder, grinning like a wolf. Her two sons, fresh-blooded, look much the same in the sun that rises over an Erebor rekindled.

Nori returns patiently to his cell and waits for his very late, entirely inconvenient execution.

Thorin stands outside the door.

"Thief."

Nori watches him.

"You have stolen something."

Nori has stolen many things.

"I want it back."

This confuses him. He asks what it was he took and Thorin all but tears the door from its hinges.

When he pulls his lips from Nori's, Nori can hardly breathe. He has enough intelligence left to say, "A King cannot love a thief."

"No, a King cannot." Thorin agrees, fingers crawling up Nori's sides. "A conqueror, on the other hand.."

Nori tries to explain to Thorin that he has yet to really conquer anything, as a coup isn't at all the same as a vast military campaign, but Thorin doesn't seem inclined to let him speak all that much.

There is no execution.

Chapter Text

Ori was a cute kid, there was no denying that. With his little lip pushed out in concentration and nearly his whole hand wrapped around a pencil meant for a much larger dwarrow he was the image of studious, if tiny, scholar. He was one of Balin's charity cases; the boy had a clear talent, and Dori's teashop kept Balin in both his favorite drink and conversation. The trade off worked for his brother and Dwalin had no reason to complain. Ori's study time didn't bite into the work Balin did with the princes, and Dori was always courteous and thoughtful when he brought his sibling in for lessons.

Dwalin wondered if maybe Ori was afraid of him. He did frighten some dwarflings, being so big and loud by nature. Ori didn't talk much; Balin assured him it was because Ori was simply a quiet little dwarf and didn't want to interrupt or somehow impede the goings on of the adults, something that Dori seemed to have drilled into him. Dwalin thought that a bit unfair. Every young dwarrow needed a chance to run around like a maniac. Mahal knew the princes did it often enough. Still, it was nice to sit and watch Ori draw when his lessons were done. Balin had been right, the boy did have talent. Where most children his age still drew colored gemstone blobs, his dwarf scribbles had actual fingers, and passable beards. Dori seemed to be a favorite subject and Ori could do a sketch of him in practically no time at all. Balin's snow white beard appeared to be a challenge.

There was very little sound in Balin's study, just Ori scribbling and the slow rasp of Dwalin's whetstone moving over Grasper's blade. It was a chore he normally reserved for after hours duty at the Guardhouse, but the Guardhouse was the last place Dwalin wanted to be, considering his latest failure.

Dwalin's Thief had gotten away again.

That he was 'Dwalin's Thief' filled the guardsman with some very complicated feelings. Dwalin did not want to have a Thief. He wanted to throw the bastard in jail, watch him be sentenced on the Day of Court, and be done with it. The problem was that no matter how many times Dwalin collared the thief, the prison bars couldn't hold the catch. By hook or by crook, a night watchman would slumber or go to investigate a sound and that would be it, the criminal would be gone. How he did it, no one knew. Sometimes he left presents- things he'd stolen, little drawings, knots made of fine silk and coarse linen and once- just once- his frustratingly beautiful red hair.

The presents didn't help Dwalin's case with the other guardsmen.

Dwalin sighed deeply and this caused Ori to look up from his drawings. "Mister Dwalin?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

Dwalin smiled. Ori was very much in tune with the feelings of others; it was a rare trait in a dwarf, this empathy. It endeared the little one to the guardsman. "Aye, Master Ori, I'm fine." he said. "Just thinking of a bit of unpleasantness, is all."

"Oh! Would you like some tea?" Ori chirped. "Dori says that most of life's problems can be solved with a cup of tea! Or an axe. He prefers tea, though. I can make you some!" Ori made to climb down from his chair- with its three cushions- and paused. "...but I don't know if I'm allowed to make tea here. Am I?"

Dwalin smiled. He couldn't help it. Ori's enthusiasm was infectious. "I'm sure Balin wouldn't mind, Master Ori, but your brother will be here soon."

Perhaps Dwalin was meant to be a prophet. The door's gong rang. Unlike other dwarves in Ered Luin, Dori always used the gongs built into the door; the last time he had knocked at a friend's dwelling, the door had fallen off of its hinges, broken into fifteen pieces.

Ori's eyes lit up. "Dori!" he climbed off the chair, grabbed his satchel (which was nearly as big as him) and ran to the hallway. Dwalin followed after him. Balin had already made it to the door and was chatting quietly with Dori.

"Dori! I mastered rhuk today!" Ori bounced up into his brother's arms. "Look!" he dug into his satchel and pulled out his rune book, showing him the pages.

"Well would you look at that." Dori shifted Ori in his arms. "Very nice, Ori. Will you write me out some more at home?"

"Yes!" Ori said. Dori chuckled and gently pressed his forehead to Ori's in a parental pantomime of the headbutt so common between dwarvish brothers. Ori giggled. "Come on, we've taken up enough of Masters Balin and Dwalin's time. Thank you, Balin."

"Not a problem, Dori." Balin said with a slight twinkle in his eyes. "He's always a pleasure."

A few more niceties were exchanged and then the sons of Kori were on their way down the street, Ori telling Dori all about how to make rhuk so that it was entirely distinguishable from thruk, which was a novice mistake but Master Balin had taught him the proper way to do it and wasn't that so nice?

"Weird kid." Dwalin grunted. Balin smiled at him. "Yes, a little," he admitted, "but he's a fine mind and a good memory. He will be one of the best scribes I've trained when he reaches his majority. Would you care for tea, brother? I heard the wee one mention it."

Dwalin grunted- the universal second son word for 'sure'- and went to retrieve Grasper and the whetstone. He would finish the job later. They were right where he'd left them and he reached over to retrieve the axe first before he noticed the pile of parchment. Ori had left his drawings behind.

Ori would return the next day. Dwalin was sure Balin had a drawer for the things the dwrfling forgot, as he did for all of his other students. Dwalin determined to put them in a neat pile, so that they would be easier to move. He picked the parchment up and found himself shuffling through them. They were skilled, in small ways. Here was their house, here was a drawing of the window of Dori's teashop. Here was a drawing of a dragon. Dwalin smiled at that one. Ori had drawn the dragon wearing a long knit scarf.

Ori was a cute kid. Weird, but cute.

Dwalin shifted the parchment. There was another drawing and he paused to study it.

It was a dwarf, a full body drawing. The dwarf was holding a long staff and wearing a cloak. Dwalin didn't pay attention to those details.

What he did pay attention to was the hair.

The...star shaped...three peaked...very memorable hair.

Hair that was red, the same shade of red that made up the highlights in little Ori's bowlcut.

The eyes, emerald green, identical to Dori's. The nose, slightly smaller, on Ori's face, squished in concentration as the scribe in training drew. The same face of concentration that Dwalin had seen worn when the thief was cornered, trying to seek a way out.

"Brother?" Balin appeared at the doorway, looking concerned. "You were taking a long while. Is everything alright, Dwalin?"

Dwalin stared down at the picture. He looked up at Balin.

He opened his mouth. He closed it.

"Oh, did Ori forget his drawings? No matter, I'll keep them safe for him." Balin plucked the drawing from Dwalin's hand, put it with the others, and locked it in the top drawer.

"Come along, Dwalin, the water's hot." Balin said.

Dwalin could only numbly follow after his older brother.

How was he going to INTERROGATE a child?!

Answer: He wasn't. Dwalin had once seen Dori son of Kori put a dwarf who had goosed him in the market through a wall.

Besides, he was a guardsman of Ered Luin, and a Bodyguard of Thorin Oakenshield. Using family against an enemy was not only honorless, it was low.

It was something a thief would do.

I will get you. Someday, somehow, I will get you.

Dwalin considered cutting his palm and swearing it in blood, but realized that Balin probably didn't want blood all over his desk. Instead, he went to drink tea.

Tea and axes. Perhaps little Ori was on to something.

Chapter Text

This is the dumbest thing I've ever done.

Nori's feet felt like they weighed fifty pounds each. He was sopping wet, and the rain wasn't helping; everything from his wools to his leathers was soaked clear through, and his teeth were chattering.

Never, in the history of thieves, has one done something as stupid as this.

He stuck tightly to the shadows. The moment it looked as though anyone, dwarf or man, was coming up the street he disappeared- behind a trash barrel, up a rough patch of wall, into the nearest alleyway. He waited for whoever it was to go by. He avoided the tavern doorways and their bright lanterns.

I am a shame to my profession.

Thankfully not many were willing to travel in this deluge. Up ahead Nori could see his destination. The lights were burning in the windows with a hellish fury. Nori paused and considered simply knocking and running. That made sense, didn't it? Knocking and fleeing like Morgoth was on his tail? It wouldn't be the first time he'd done such a thing. He could see four or five different balconies that would aid in getting to the rooftops- Ered Luin's second set of streets.

The heavy bundle on his back groaned; the one in his arms twitched.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Nori marched up to the door and realized that he couldn't feel his feet. He hammered on it, fist hitting the wood so solidly that the hinges shook because no, he wasn't Dori, but he wasn't to be underestimated, either.

I should melt my lockpicks down and join the priesthood. Sing hymns about rocks all day long.

The door opened and light and warmth flooded the street, temporarily blinding Nori to everything but the massive form in the doorway, which was wearing leathers he knew and bristling in a way he found distinctly familiar.

He opened his mouth, and Dori popped out.

"At your service."

His last thought as he fell forward, save this is the dumbest thing you've ever done, was I hope someone takes the kid away.

Then everything was dark.

---

When Nori woke it was midday. The sky through the window to his left was still pewter gray and angry; he could hear the taptaptap of rain on the zinc roof. The room he was in seemed empty but for a beautiful dwarrowdam, who watched him with stony eyes from a chair by the door. She had an axe under her hands.

"Good morning." she said.

"The kids?" he asked, because this being the dumbest thing he'd ever done wouldn't be worth it if the little brats had the audacity to die on him just as he got them someplace warm.

"My sons are alive." she said.

Oh.

Dear.

Nori focused as well as he could on Dis, Daughter of Thrain. "Good." he managed.

"Dwalin wanted to behead you."

Of course he did.

"How did you find them?"

Not by trying, he wanted to say, none of my business. But she stroked the edge of that axe and Nori found the story spilling out. The trade caravan, the lazy guards, the soft sobs from one of the central wagons. The two dwarflings, chained together, older soothing the younger.

"Good kids you've got." he said. "Smart."

Smart enough to stay quiet and hidden. Smart enough to follow only when they heard the thud of bodies hitting the grass. Smart enough to stab what soft parts they could find and hide under the wagons where the Men couldn't touch them.

"You brought them home." Dis sounded cold. Nori thought that if he was the daughter of a madman who was the son of a madman, he'd probably feel a little cold, too.

"It was where they wanted to go." Nori said. "I was headed in the right direction."

"Balin tells me you've a list of crimes nearly as long as this axe."

Nori eyed the axe. It was entirely possible. He hadn't checked the latest bounty roster yet. Normally he had to get arrested in Ered Luin at least once before he managed to find his poster buried under all the others. It was as though Dwalin purposefully tried to hide his face every time.

"You saved my children. They owe their lives to you."

Nori's eyes widened. "No they don't." he said. He didn't want anyone owing him a life debt.

"They do." Dis stood, having made up her mind. "I am going to go make tea." she said. She left the room, taking the axe with her, and closed the door.

Nori stood up. He watched the door for a few moments. His clothes were draped over a chair, warm and clean and dry. His pack and knives, also.

Nori knew an out when he saw it. He pulled his clothes on, strapped on his knives, braided his hair and was out the door before the kettle heated.

Never again, he promised himself. No matter what.

---

Nori looked from the dead orc who had thrown the spear, to the spear lodged in the shield he'd been holding, to the stunned look on Kili son of Firi's face.

"You saved my life." Kili breathed.

"No, I didn't." Nori said.

"Yes you did."

"I owe you my-"

Nori remembered Dis, Dis of the cold voice and the axe.

"Kili."

"Yes?"

Nori grabbed Kili's bow off the ground and handed it back to the dwarf prince. " Shut up."

Chapter Text

"I WILL CHOP YOUR HEAD OFF MYSELF, THIEF!"

"YOU'LL HAVE TO CATCH ME FIRST!"

The marketplace was in an utter uproar as Fundin son of Farin charged through it like an outraged bull, snorting, black hair flying out behind him. Many feet ahead of him and widening the gap quickly was a russet-haired dwarf, dressed in grays and blacks. His hair was done up in three distinct peaks, and he was laughing.

"I'll use your braids to light my forge!" Fundin said as the thief took a corner at such a speed as to climb the vertical wall, landing neatly on top of the roof. The thief flashed him an insulting sign in iglishmek and. laughing, jumped across an alleyway. Fundin ran straight down the causeway, heedless of the craftsmen and merchants and other dwarves going about their business.

Fundin took a corner as the thief jumped into the street, landing in an athletic roll and coming up with knives in his hands. Fundin swung his axe and it was parried, bouncing off the steel-plated gauntlet on the thief's arm. The thief grinned and locked their bodies, twisting in just such a fashion that even with Fundin in full leather and chainmail, he could throw him. Throw the thief did, in a spectacular fashion. The larger dwarf landed hard and the thief was off again.

"Slowpoke!" he called behind hm. "You're slower than an elf in heat!"

Fundin struggled to his feet, cursing Mahal, and cobbled entirely undwarvish streets, and bent hammers and thieves. The chase began anew.

Fundin knew he had him when they headed into hightown. The walls there were not so easy to climb, and the tunnels to the caverns were a maze. He put everything he had into a last burst of speed and threw himself onto the thief as another corner was taken too slow- a corner that ended in a dead end. Fundin whipped out his cuffs, a manic light in his eyes. "You're mine!" he cried out, and went to grab the thief's hands, which he knew from experience would grab at the nearest knife (and who knew where that was) when the mountain began to shake, violently. Fundin swore, steadied himself-

"FUNDIN LOOK OUT!"

Fundin was thrown. The thief landed on top of him.

Where they had been, three feet away, a piece of stone big enough to have crushed Fundin's spine lay in pieces.

"What in the name of Eugenides-" the thief said. He pulled away from Fundin and ran to retaining wall, one that looked down the long sight of Hightown to Lowtown, and then to the great gate-

Fundin got to his feet and went to grab the thief. The thief grabbed him.

"Dragon." he whispered. "DRAGON."

They ran.

---

Fundin all but pinned the thief to the ground.

"Let me GO, damn you, let me go! ORLA! KORI! DORI! DAMN IT ANSWER ME!"

Fundin cursed against the tears stinging his eyes. There was such strength in that wiry frame, despite the coughs beginning to wrack it. "If you go back in there you'll die, thief!"

The mountain was nearly entirely emptied of those who had survived; that the dwarves in the foundaries, the treasure rooms, the mines were lost was not a question. Sori had pulled Fundin through old tunnels far too small for both of them, swearing all the while. In another life, it would have mattered that these were the paths Sori used to evade him.

In the cold, dry grass, with greasy smoke in their lungs and in their eyes and marring the sky, it did not matter anymore.

"Let me go!" The thief thrashed again and Fundin snarled, throwing him bodily to the ground.

"IT IS TOO LATE, SORI." He roared, and then coughed. The cough turned into a howl of anguish.

Sori stared at the faraway door to the mountain. Tears tracked down his face, making clean trails in the soot. He let out the sound a wounded animal would make, rocking back and forth, and Fundin threw his arms around him. Thief and Guardsman wept.

---

In a little shack on the outer edge of Ered Luin, two dwarves were speaking.

"You will not answer the call to arms?"

"I'm a thief, Fundin, not an idiot." Sori snapped. "Thrain is leading us to our deaths. Khazad Dum is crawling with orcs."

"Then you are a coward."

"I am a realist." Sori growled. "You march with our King in Exile and you will die, Fundin. What good will remembering our culture do if it washes away in blood for revenge?"

"I suppose I should not have expected anything more of a thief."

Fundin found himself face to face with Sori, eyes blazing in his pallid face. "You do not have any idea what to expect of me." he hissed. "You never did."

"We have our pride," Fundin replied. "we have our honor."

"Honor does not fill a belly and pride cannot make a roof!" Sori said. "For the love of Eugenides, for all you hold dear, for your sons, Fundin, think of them!"

"My sons have decided to march with me."

"WHAT?" Sori said. "Why?"

"Balin is old enough and has seen battle." Fundin replied. "Dwalin wears the warrior's lock. If Orla would consent to Dori-"

"I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!" Sori roared. "No child of the House of Ri will die in the name of an idiot king, not while I am yet patriarch!" The words seemed altogether too much, and he coughed a few times, trying to eject the ash still in his lungs.

"Then you brand him a coward!" Fundin bellowed back, ignoring the coughing, ignoring the shadow of death. "A coward like his uncle, who ran instead of fought! A spineless, heartless, no good piece of slake who never knew what honor and valor meant!"

Sori stared at him.

Fundin felt cold, but the words were spoken. He could not take them back.

Silently, Sori removed from a shelf a spool of thick cotton thread, dyed orange and red. He knotted it together with fingers that shook and Fundin did not react when a knot in the shape of an abstract feather was tied into his beard. The bigger dwarf's nostrils flared.

"...go and die, Fundin son of Farin." Sori whispered. "Die in a way that suits you, and when you stand before our Maker I hope you understand then the honor of dwarves is paid for in blood and tears on the backs of those left behind."

"And will you mourn, if I fall?" Fundin asked.

Sori said nothing.

Fundin left the small shack, pausing when he heard the hacking cough. He walked away so quickly he nearly knocked a little dwarrow off the path.

"HEY!" the child exclaimed.

Fundin said nothing and carried on. The child threw a rude gesture at him and padded up to the door. He didn't enter- he went around, and came in through the window in the tiny kitchen as quietly as he could. He'd been practicing so hard, maybe he'd finally be able to dodge Uncle's cuff when he was inevitably caught making some tiny noise.

The cuff never came. The child crept cautiously from the kitchen to the main room, where his Uncle sat, head in his hands, shoulders wracked with quiet sobs.

"Uncle?!" the child ran to his mentor, alarmed. The sobbing was interspersed with coughing. The child ran to the pitcher and poured a cup. "Uncle Sori.."

"It's nothing, Nori." Sori whispered, wiping his lips on his sleeve, annoyed more than anything when his phlegm came away red.

"It didn't look like nothing." The younger dwarf accused. Sori chuckled and did not bother to dry his eyes.

"My best friend is going to die." Sori whispered. "and there is nothing I can do about it."

---

Fundin did not have a grave, and so Sori did not want one, either.

Nori watched the shack burn. He'd begged his Uncle for another way. Not fire, he'd said, please, not fire, not when it took so much. Sori had been adamant. Fire had stolen what was most precious to him, first his home then his livelihood; to fire he would belong, and in that way perhaps he would see Fundin again. The shack where Nori had done most of his learning away from his mother and brother wasn't much of anything, just an empty husk, like the body within. He'd made sure that Sori died facing South, and that his hands were filled with the Thief's Lamp, his best picks, and his sharpest knife. There had been no time to get silver for his uncle's eyes; Nori had weighed them down with copper disks, the rays of the sun carved into each one. They were probably meant to be a pair of earrings; he would thank the oblivious jewelers and their shoddy locks for the rest of his days.

"Someday, Nori, you will have to make a choice between what you are, and what you could be."

The fire reached for the sky.

"It will break your heart."

Nori pulled his cloak's hood up and he deftly made knots in a long purple string. He sang the Thief's Farewell, and threw it on the flames.

"But we're thieves, Nori. We know a thing or two about heartbreak."

---

"STOP, THIEF!"

Nori grinned- a fierce, defiant grin- pocketed his prize, and ran.

"I WILL HAVE YOUR BEARD!"

Behind him came Dwalin, son of Fundin, azanulbizar-scarred and scowling, wielding an axe. Nori couldn't help but turn and shout,

"YOU'LL HAVE TO CATCH ME FIRST!"

Chapter Text

Fili, son of Firi, of the line of Durin, sat beside a cot in a healer's tent. One arm was in a sling, one leg was heavily bandaged; he had survived the battle, barely. In another tent nearby his younger brother was recovering, and across the camp Thorin Oakenshield was watched over by a fretful hobbit. The elves were still camped on the mountain's sides, and healers from all races were working around the clock.

It could have been worse. It could have been so much worse.

Fili was having a hard time remembering that.

He kept his good hand resting just above the head of the dwarf on the cot. Dwalin had come to see him. The guardsman had sworn at ranted and called him a coward for still being unconcious. It was Dwalin's way of showing worry for a friend; Fili knew that, but Dwalin had stopped his growling when he saw the frozen look on the Crown Prince's face.

Ori had been worse. He'd sat beside Fili, leaned on the Prince's shoulder, and cried his eyes out. Fili had let him, still feeling numb.

Dori had been the worst of all.

Dori had come in, stared down at the dwarf on the cot, and then looked at Fili. He'd heard the story from Kili, once the younger Prince had woken up; most of the company had.

"For you." Dori had said, voice hollow and hopeless, eyes flat. "He did this for you."

Fili had waited for Dori to leave before he'd dropped his head to the sheets and finally cried, long animalistic howls of grief that told any who passed the tent by of his sorrow and rage.

On the cot, still silent and unmoving, Nori of Ri lay, his body a mess of cuts and bruises.

On top of the covers, the stump of what once had been his right hand was tightly bandaged.

---

Fili's arm was broken, he knew that; the bone cracked uselessly and numb fingers dropped the shield he had picked up. The wound on his leg throbbed, pulsing blood. The orc before him smiled, showing off all of his crooked, yellow teeth. He raised his sword-

and was intercepted by the hardwood of a mace's staff.

"MOVE, BOY!"

Fili backed up as well as he could as the two began to grapple, Nori's own teeth bared in a snarl, pushing with all his strength against the orc. Fili could hear Kili yelling somewhere behind him but all of his attention was focused on russet hair and sharp steel.

There was an opening. It was right there and Fili saw it and knew that Nori saw it too.

"NORI NO!"

Nori ignored him. He shifted his weight light as a dancer, and the Orc's heavy battleaxe came down. Surprised, the creature couldn't correct its weight and fell forward, snarling.
There was a sickening thunk, the sound of a knife being slid between leather and mail. The orc coughed up black blood and Nori let out one pained noise.

He forced the body of the orc off, rolling over and coughing. His wrist was a bloody banner; his hand lay useless and shriveled on the ground.

---

Nori woke up seven days after the battle. He had slept the longest, out of all the members of the Company. Fili felt him stir and jerked awake.

"Nori.." he whispered.

Nori coughed and Fili struggled to retrieve a cup of water; he brought it to Nori's lips and the dwarf drank thankfully.

"Did we win?" he asked hoarsely.

"Yes." Fili whispered.

"My brothers?"

"Alive, both of them."

"..your brother?"

Fili laughed and it was a nervous giggle, nearly a sob. "Driving his healers to distraction."

"The King?"

"Alive. Our Burglar intends to keep him that way."

"Yelling all the while, I'm sure." Nori made to get up- then paused, eyes going wide. He looked down at his stump.

"...well." he said. "Could be worse."

Fili leaned forward and pressed his lips to the bloodied bandage on the stump. Nori inhaled and it sounded like a sob.

"Yes." Fili whispered. "It could be."

---

Nori was nothing if not realistic. As soon as the recovery began in earnest, he sought out the steps to the Basalt Tower.

The highest non-residential or work zone in the mountain, it was a sheer drop of two hundred feet into the deep, cold waters of Forlorn lake. At its base it was gigantic; the top tapered off to a flat platform of three hundred feet around. On one end still sat the granite block with its hollow and sluices in one end and deeply bored hole in the other. Beheadings, hangings, burnings on occasion; the Basalt Tower had seen them all.

Sori of Ri had watched friends die on top of the Tower. He maintained a fear of it until he passed. In his fevered dreams he would mutter of the spiky black finger of Thror. Of course, to be executed and to Fall were two vastly different things.

The emblem of Mahal's hammer, poised and ready to destroy the Seven Fathers, would need a good scrubbing to highlight the gold inlay. Aside from that, little had to be done; the tower was still structurally sound. Nori couldn't guess as to why Smaug had somehow missed it in making all of Erebor's lowtown his bed, though with the long gouges on the side he would hazard a guess at draconic scratching post.

Nori peered over the edge and thought that yes, that would do nicely. Perhaps he could slit his throat before the drop, and be good and dead by the time he hit the water. He didn't object to getting wet, but the idea of sinking into the dark didn't appeal to him at all.

Maybe Dwalin would acquiesce to helping him hold the knife for a heart cut. Only guiding, of course; he wouldn't want to sully Dwalin's hands, for all he'd need someone to make sure his remaining hand was steady.

The dwarf was his friend, after all.

"Not much left to do." Nori said to himself with a nod. He returned to the steps. It would be businesslike, he hoped, and quick.

Thorin would surely not mind acting as Witness.

---

"I forbid it." Thorin said, voice rolling through the council chamber.

"I've met the perimeters as laid down in our Laws." Nori replied, standing with head held high. "It is my choice, and no other's."

"You are not useless to me, Nori of Ri," Thorin snapped, "and until I say otherwise you will not Fall."

"Frankly, your majesty, I'd like to see you try and stop me." Nori replied. Dori, red-eyed and yelled hoarse, watched the back and forth between his king and his brother. Beside Thorin, Bilbo's eyes were wet, his barely-contained sorrow and wrath making him nearly vibrate off of his chair.

"Nori.." the hobbit started. Nori shook his head. "No, Master Baggins." he said, lips twitching into a wry smile. "A handless thief?" he held up the stump of his hand, sheathed in black leather. The elves and Oin had done an amazing job keeping it clean as it healed; Nori had not succumbed to infection and madness, as many others who lost limbs on the battlefield did.

"I am broken, and there is no mending this." Nori continued.

"The Old Magics are strong." Thorin said. "Oin could-"

"I would rather rely on my own strength than on fairytales, Thorin Oakenshield," Nori said calmly. "and I am at the end of my strength. I had a good run. Here we sit in Erebor renewed and I am not branded. I helped a King and I fought a terrible battle they'll sing about for ages to come. It's enough. I will not be coddled, I will not be pitied. I wish to Fall. Will you Witness or won't you?"

"I will not." Thorin said, voice deadly with rage.

Nori bowed. "Fine." He turned and strode out of the chamber, leaving the sounds of his brother's gut-deep sobbing behind him.

---

Fili burst into Nori's chambers as the older dwarf was preparing to cut off his beard.

"You can't." Fili said, eyes wide and horrified. "Nori, you can't."

Nori put his knife aside with a soft sigh. It wasn't as though he would have done a good job, anyway; he had only one hand free to attempt it. Perhaps he could coax Dwalin into aiding later.

"Fili-"

"I won't let you."

"Fili, let this go." Nori said. "Please."

"I'm not going to watch while my One Falls without me!"

"Don't SAY that!"

Were Fili a younger dwarf he would have recoiled at the tone Nori used. Instead he held his ground, bristling. "It's the truth." he said. "Whether you will acknowledge it or not, Nori son of Kori, you are my One."

"No. I'm. Not."

"Yes, you bloody well ARE!"

"YOUR ONE CAN'T BE A THIEF!"

That time Fili did recoil. "...Nori, what-"

"A handless thief." Nori continued, wishing he could stop but knowing it was too late. "A handless bastard from a whithered family branch descended of whores is not the destined one of Golden Fili son of Firi, Heir under the Mountain. This is not a storybook. Things do not go that way."

Fili looked like he'd been struck. "So you don't love me, then?" he said in the heavy silence. "Your knots- and I kept every damn one- the way you watched my back in mirk wood, punching Dwalin in Laketown, speaking with Kili, letting an orc cut off your hand, was it a lie? Am I burdened now with the knowledge that you never cared for me, that you saved my life and would call that action worthless by throwing your own away?!"

Nori clenched his remaining hand. "If I tell you it was, will you go?" he begged.

"I will call you a liar." Fili said.

"Fili," Nori whispered, "Lad, I'm dead weight. Without both hands I've as much use as one of our Burglar's doilies. I'd rather die, here and now, than become a shadow. Let me have that. I cannot have you and I cannot have my hand but I can have an honorable death, would you deny me that?"

Fili stared at him. "What idiot told you you couldn't have me?" he asked, furious.

"Fili, you're the heir." Nori said. "Someday, Mahal willing far far into the future, Thorin will be gone and we'll be bowing to you."

"What has that to do with anything?" Fili demanded.

"You need to marry, Fili." Nori said. "Have children, a whole pack of little golden-haired brats running this place ragged. You need to be a king. And Kings cannot love thieves."

"...You ARROGANT BASTARD."

Fili's hand stung from the impact, but the look on Nori's face was worth it.

"Who are you to tell me what I need to do?!" Fili growled, stepping forward as Nori stepped back. "Nothing so stupid as needing to produce children or, or marrying for political gain controls the heart of a dwarf, especially a dwarf who has already found their One! So it was written when Durin woke and so I proclaim it now, that you, idiot Nori son of Kori, are my One, and I claim you as is my right as a descendant of the Deathless!"

Nori's protests were muffled by Fili's tongue. They fit perfectly, lock and key. Fili pressed their hips together with a soft animal sound, mapping Nori's lips with his tongue. Nori shifted only a little, panting against Fili as the heir's hands tangled in his hair, ruining the peaks.

"I hate you." Nori whispered when they parted.

Fili bore him down to the bed and said nothing.

---

Dori poured another cup of tea. Nori watched it steam.

"Is this what you want?" Dori asked him.

Nori looked at the tea. He looked at the spot where his hand had once been, and at the official summons for training and rehabilitation in preparation for further serving the court of Thorin Oakenshield. Nori almost wanted to be angry that Ori had been the one to write it up, but Balin was very busy; Ori had likely been the most skilled scribe with a free moment, and he probably thought the request softened if he wrote it in his own curvy hand.

Ori was asleep, of course; he would be awake with the sun.

"I don't know." Nori said.

Silence lay thick over the room. Dori took a sip of his tea.

"…if it isn't what you want." he whispered, looking everywhere but at his brother, "I will help you."

Nori quirked a brow. Dori put his tea down and reached out his hands- his beautiful, calloused, deadly hands. Fingers that could crush metal and shatter bone wrapped lightly around Nori's throat and squeezed, just once, before retreat.

Dori looked as though he'd just blasphemed Mahal on the god's altar.
Nori could only smile, and if he had any more tears left he would have cried. He trusted that Dori would do the crying for him, should his older brother need to fulfill his request, and snap his neck in the night.

"I love you, Dori." Nori said.

Dori poured more tea.

---

"Get up." Dwalin snarled. The other dwarves around them glanced at one another uncomfortably. "Get. UP."

One of them opened her mouth, perhaps to suggest that Dwalin go a little easier on a still-recovering veteran of the Battle of Five Armies. Balin, watching from the sidelines, shook his head at her. Dwalin stalked up to the dwarf on the ground and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "I said get up, damn you-"

Dwalin barely dodged the knife and couldn't dodge the leg that snaked around his own, bringing him down to the hard packed dirt. The knife- strapped to a stump of a hand- lodged in the arena floor just beside his ear.

"Fooled you." Nori singsonged.

Dwalin snarled, though his eyes were alight. "I'll get you for that, thief."

"You'll have to catch me, first!" Nori retorted. He twisted his elbow and the knife withdrew into its hidden sheathe on the leather wrap of his stump. Dwalin threw him off and jumped upon him. The sparring began again in earnest and Balin nodded to himself.

Fili would be most pleased.

---

"What's that?" Nori asked, still keeping his feet against the wall.

"It's a book of elvish legends that Bilbo found." Ori said, blushing slightly. "It, well.."

"Spit it out, Ori." Nori said kindly.

"There's a story about an ancient hero." Ori said. "Well, not always a hero- he's complicated-"

"Like me." Nori said wryly.

"I wasn't going to say that!" Ori defended. "His name is Maedhros."

"Very elvish name."

"well, he's an elf. And he was captured, and rescued by his best friend, but to be rescued, he, oh this seems so silly now-"

"Ori." Nori carefully pushed off the wall and landed in a crouch, nearly falling over on his stump but correcting just in time. "What is it?"

"...he lost his hand, too." Ori said, determined, lip pushed out in a stubborn pout. "And he was called Maedhros the One Handed and after he lost his hand he led armies and killed orcs and did all sorts of things and no one called him useless and he didn't kill himself over the hand so please don't kill yourself Nori please."

Nori opened his arms and his brother fell into them. Ori's shoulders shook with his sobbing and Nori rubbed his brother's back, setting aside the book.

"Thank you, Ori." he said.

---

The worst days were the ones where he woke up and felt his hand.

It was there, as whole as it had ever been; yet when he went to make a fist it closed on empty air and he remembered with a sudden rush of adrenaline and pain that he did not have two hands anymore, that he was a mockery of a dwarf, lopsided and wrong, a statue crushed under a dragon's feet.

After a full day of being bruised by Dwalin, chortled at by Balin, and trying (unsuccessfully) to pick pockets in the marketplace, he was normally too tired to feel the hand that wasn't there anymore.

---

Fili's kisses were hot as coals and Nori groaned beneath him, struggling to move. "Your majesty-"

"None of that." Fili was quick with the toggles on Nori's shirt. "I've been 'your majesty'd all the way to Ered Luin and back."

"Your majest-"

Fili shoved his tongue in the thief's mouth. Nori sucked on it for a few moments before reversing their positions, pinning Fili to the wall and lashing out with a booted foot.

The dwarf who had been sneaking up on them with a dagger raised dropped like a stone, the hidden blade in Nori's heel having torn his throat open.

Fili stared at the twitching body. "Mahal's hammers!" he swore.

Nori stared, too. He somehow thought his first kill after losing a hand would be more…climactic than that.

And now they had to find somebody to clean the damn mess up.

---

Maedhros the One-Handed was a pussy.

Nori decided this as he straddled the would-be assassin, stump-knife at his throat, and listened to the sound of Thorin Oakenshield's footsteps coming up behind him.

"My King?" Nori asked, and everyone in the corridor held their breath. There was a gentle shuffle- not dwarves boots, but hobbit feet.

Bilbo put his hand on Nori's shoulder.

"…my Consort?" Nori asked, recalling the pale wash of Bilbo's face, the way Thorin had thrust himself in front of the hobbit.

"Make it quick." the King's Consort said in khuzdul, and Nori obliged.

---

"If you don't like it I can melt it down and try again." Fili sounded so unsure.

Nori looked at the cloak pin. It was a golden hand, held palm-out. It matched the small beads Fili had braided into Nori's beard. Outside they could hear the nobles and
servants all streaming towards the great hall for the stroke of midnight- the official beginning of Durin's Day.

"It's perfect." Nori said, and with elegant skill he fastened it to his shoulder one-handed and twined his fingers with those of the heir of Erebor.

"A King can love a thief." Fili said suddenly, catching his eyes and grinning fiercely.

"Even a one handed one?" Nori asked.

"Especially a one-handed one." Fili retorted. Nori gave a full bodied shrug- to be sure all his knives were in place- and followed his crown prince and lover out the door.

Chapter Text

Nori of Ri had learned much from his uncle.

Of course, he had learned thieving. There was always a thief in the line of Ri, and the older Master always taught the younger Apprentice, in preparation for the executioner's axe or the hangman's noose or even something so simple as a disease caught wading through a river to avoid detection. Orla was angry about it until the day she died but Sori put his foot down and so rarely did he do so that Kori had no choice but to bow to his older brother.

Nori was a natural at it, as every thief of Ri before him, chosen over his brother for the impish light in his eyes and the wild hurricane of his laughter.

Theirs was a long and honored history of hidden daggers, fallen kingdoms, and treasures beyond imagining, a story that Sori taught Nori in the knots of the banner that he kept carefully hidden away in his shack. It was the second such banner; the first had been touched by dragon's fire.

Nori had created one of his own, and if pressed could recreate the history of Ri down to the last luck knot.

He had learned these things also: how to bow, and to court, and agree without really agreeing. He had learned how to spot a merchant playing at noble and an actual noble (a lesson knotted into the banner by Gori of Ri, some five hundred years before; Sori wasn't sure but he told Nori he was nearly positive there had been a 'hand of the fair maiden and half the kingdom' involved in THAT mess.)

Nori knew how to knit, how to sew and how to tan leather. He knew the proper chants to dim lights and how to call a pony. Nori knew how to change the way he looked with the subtlest of touches. He knew how to knock on a chalice and discern immediately its worth. Nori spoke languages beyond khuzdul and ishglimek, variances of westron and elvish and the secret tongue of magpies, which no good dwarf learned. Nori could dance and talk and watch every exit and entrance in a room. He knew how to beg a favor from an elf, how to charm a king, and how to escape (almost) any prison.

Nori learned how to tell if another dwarf was a guardsman in disguise. He learned how to follow knotted maps like he could read knotted banners. He learned the secret songs of Eugenides and the elegant script expected of a scribe and the grooming manners of a prince.

Nori learned the signs of Gold Sickness. He learned of the fevered glow, the manic joy, the sudden and spiraling depression. He learned that the best cure for Gold Sickness was simple; lose the gold.

The second best involved something sharp, and a dark corner, and a swift means of escape.

Nori learned that few dwarves were willing to give up their gold, even if it meant saving their lives. Sori sat over the fire, chest wracked with the coughs that had stopped his thieving, and told his nephew of the Line of Durin, and the Ring, and the way it gleamed on Thror's thick finger.

Laying between his brothers and Thorin Oakenshield in the guardhouse of the ghostly Erebor, Nori of Ri, the twenty first thief of Ri, kept his eyes open in the dark. He held a blade close at hand.

Murdering kings, too, was something he had learned.

Chapter Text

"It wasn't your fault, Nori."

The dwarf who was pacing back and forth on the wide veranda overlooking one of Rivendell's numerous waterfalls did not stop his movement. As he turned his braid lashed out and cut the air sharply before falling back to his back. It was a fine silvery-gray now, as was the rest of his hair; that was the only sign of age to be found on Nori, son of Kori.

"Nori…you didn't know."

"That's no excuse!" the dwarf said, stopping with an ease that was almost elf-quick and glaring at the hobbit sitting on the bench, who showed his own years much more readily than any of Durin's Folk. "That's no excuse, it's not…"

He put one hand over his face. "What have I done to you, Bilbo Baggins?" he whispered.

"Nothing I did not encourage." Bilbo said sternly, sounding for all the world like he had at fifty three instead of his true and impressive age of one hundred and eleven. "Foolish dwarf, come here."

Nori obeyed his King Consort and sat down beside Bilbo. Bilbo gently patted Nori's back. "It will all be set to rights." he assured the Spymaster of Erebor. "Elrond will see it done."

"Every time." Nori whispered hoarsely. "Every time it leeched a little more of you away. How can I look at Frodo again knowing that? How can I face Thorin knowing if I'd found a way around it, you wouldn't need to be here?"

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Mahal save me from the stubbornness of Dwarves." he said. "Nori, I am old, for a hobbit. Very old. Thorin and I discussed this at length before I left. You are not responsible for every disaster in Erebor, nor are you responsible for the actions of others, much as you try to be. You never made me do anything. You asked only ever as a last resort and we both know it. Stop being so pigheaded."

"Now you just sound like Dori." Nori muttered.

"And it's good that I do, for he is by far the most sensible of the House of Ri." Bilbo said wisely. "Now, you listen to me, Nori Korison. You've saved my life so many times, Nori. Mine, Thorin's, Frodo's. You did all you could with all the equipment you had." Bilbo stroked one of the dwarf's braids affectionately, as though 'equipment' didn't refer to the embodiment of all evil. "We didn't know. We do now. That's all there is to it."

"Frodo.." Nori's words caught in his throat and Bilbo felt his own chest constrict. Frodo. Bilbo's dear nephew, the child of their Company, who had joined his dwarf and hobbit cousins on this trek, bearing a family heirloom that could- had- caused destruction the likes of which no hobbit could even imagine.

"Frodo will be fine." Bilbo said, sounding more sure than he felt. "He has his Sam, and Merry and Pippin too, for all they're a Brandybuck and a Took and more likely to fall over mushrooms than fight off orcs."

Nori managed a laugh at that, pained as it was.

Bilbo gently brought his forehead to Nori's. "What's done is done, old friend." he said. "There is nothing more to say."

There was, Nori wanted to argue. There were so many more things to say- about that blasted ring, about how they had used it and when, and how miserable Thorin had been ever since Bilbo left for Rivendell to be treated for what wasn't treatable, about how they'd already fought their damn war and nearly died and had their mountain and wasn't that enough? What more could middle earth want from them?

He didn't say those things. Bilbo knew already- always knew more than any Consort had a right to, and Nori attributed that to their shared profession, though perhaps the hobbit would argue on his part that it was 'just a hobby'.

Nori leaned on his friend and though he did not cry, his shoulders shook with grief.

What was done was done.

And the price would have to be paid.

Chapter Text

When Thorin Oakenshield leaves Ered Luin, he does it in the company of twelve other dwarves. Some are family. Some are loyal. All have willing hearts, and eleven of them say 'At your service' to their King in Exile.

His sister Dis watches Thorin leave with her sons and his axe, and when he is gone over the horizon she turns back to the little wooden kingdom he has left behind and does not cry.

---

Golden Fili and Onyx Kili playfight more than is proper, but no one has the heart to stop them. They are young and this is an Adventure. They do not yet realize what they face; no one in the Company is willing to explain it to them, not even their Uncle who broods as the shadows grow long about their campsite.

Nori the thief is a favorite target of the brothers. They listen to his tales and attempt to snatch his pipe and coinpurse. They always land on their arses and he laughs and helps them up.

Nori's brother Dori watches this and wonders.

---

In Rivendell Thorin Oakenshield sits beside Nori of Ri and asks him what he will do, once the mountain is reclaimed.

Nori says he is not sure. Maybe he'll travel to the East, where the winds are warm and the bodies warmer. Maybe he will go to Rohan, or perhaps to Gondor.

"Would you stay, and take up post by my left side?" Thorin asks. It is a dangerous request; the Left Side of the King was not filled in Thror's time, or in Thrain's. There is bad blood on the left side of the throne. Nori is not loyal to him.

"Would you ask it of me?" Nori responds. Thorin says he will think about it.

---

Nori is indispensable. Finding safe paths, knowing hidden dangers, speaking with and sometimes killing thieves and all of it done silently, without a care for those who would naysay. Thorin is impressed. Dwalin is annoyed.

Nori does his job and remains silent.

---

They bury King Thorin Oakenshield, and his nephews, one week before Dain Ironfoot is crowned King. Ori sees his second-oldest brother cry for the first time in years, head bowed before twin coffins, and watches as the determined set of his shoulders lays firm.

Nori approaches Dain King under the Mountain after the ceremony, in the quiet of the chambers that should be Thorin's.

He stands the next day on the Left Side of the King.

He does not ever say 'at your service'.

---

Erebor swells and grows and becomes prosperous again; dwarves from across Middle Earth come to see its wonder and hear its story and watch and gawk as nine dwarves try their best to go about their lives.

It is hardest for Nori; he has much to lose. He knows each hidden tunnel in the mountain, where it goes and where it doesn't. He has eyes and ears and mouths all over and not a whisper of a possibility of a barely white lie passes that he doesn't know about.

His brothers worry for him, quietly; they watch as he broods, and waits, and plans.

---

Nori approaches Balin first, then Dwalin, then Oin.

They are surprised, and yet they are not. They are humble, and guilty, and relieved. Dwalin picks a fight and gets one. Bruised and bloodied, he adds his signature to the paper Nori carries, which already bears the names of Balin and of Oin.

---

Dain Ironfoot dies in his sleep.

It is a gentle death, caused by a trauma of the heart that Oin cannot heal. There is mourning in the kingdom; fifty long years of prosperity brought to ruin by a silent sleep.

Nori is careful to burn everything, from the needle to the shoes to the ring he wore. Nori is a thief and does not believe in coincidence.

He offers up his own apologies to the dead and waits.

---

Two months later, resplendent in mourning she has not cast off since the magpie came to her with death in its beak, Dis daughter of Thrain rides into Erebor. Her people bow to her, row after row, this last scion of Durin, this steel-haired Queen.

Balin crowns her, despite whispers of contention to the throne; how could three strong and capable dwarven men all abdicate? Why let a woman lead at all?

Dis holds her back straight, looks out over her kingdom, and in that moment her bearing is so like her brother's that the nine who remain have trouble looking at her, so achingly bright is her inner light.

---

That night, in her chambers, a dwarf comes to her. He wears a cloak of black and purple and into its hood is stitched her personal sigil.

He bows to her, and she smiles and offers her hand and he kisses it, as he did before she ordered him to follow her sons and brother.

"Well done, my Thief." she says, and Nori of Ri's eyes glitter with the sorrow and the joy and the untold years and says, "I am as always, my Queen, at your service."

Chapter Text

The first time Bombur fed the strange homeless man was because there was just so much left over, and he didn't want it to go to waste.

The man was crouched behind the diner, smoking a cigarette. He didn't talk to Bombur, wasn't muttering to himself or jerking. He didn't have any carboard signs, just a bag which was closed. He was staring at the wall when Bombur, red-faced and stuttering, offered him the plate. The man had beautiful green eyes.

"It- it seems a waste." Bombur said, and couldn't look at the man because he would explain then how he KNEW how it felt to be starving, and how he couldn't imagine anyone else going through that and spent time at a soup kitchen every sunday to be sure he never forgot.

The man looked at the plate and looked at him and for a moment Bombur thought he was going to refuse.

The plate was taken.

"Thanks." he said, and he had a nice voice, sort of sweet.

Bombur turned even redder and fled as quickly as he could.

---

The second time Bombur offered the man food was many months later, and it was because he was hiding on the fire escape.

The man looked down at Bombur like a cat who had been caught mid-stretch. Bombur was positive that the bag beside the man held things that didn't belong to him.

Bombur bit his lip. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

The man nodded.

"…come on in."

The diner was closed and quiet but Bombur made a sandwich while the man sat, twitchy, at the bar top. He kept one hand on his bag at all times.

"Here." Bombur offered the turkey sandwich and pickle. The man ate it quickly and with a nod of thanks.

"Nori." he said when he was finished. Bombur blinked for a few moments, confused, wondering if the man was asking for seaweed-

"Bombur." he said, once he realized that it was his homeless man's name.

"Do you have family, Bombur?" Nori asked thoughtfully.

Bombur nodded. "A brother. A cousin."

Nori smiled. "They're really lucky." he said, and when Bombur turned to put the plate in the industrial sink he slunk out the back door.

---

The third time Bombur met Nori, he was with a large, tattooed man and nudged him.

"Lunch is on him." he said to Bombur, and the tattooed giant grumbled. The words 'parole officer' and 'deal' and 'what do you mean you haven't had the turkey sandwich here it's amazing' were tossed around. Bombur did what he did best. He served food and stayed quiet.

---

Bifur was worried about Bombur.

-I don't think I like this new friend of yours,- he said to his cousin. Bombur flapped his hand even as he blushed. "He's not a friend, Bifur, he just eats at the diner." he said.

"Only ever eats when you're working, though." Bombur's brother Bofur pointed out from his workbench. Bombur rolled his eyes. Plenty of people only went to the diner when he was cooking; he was a good cook, and he patted his stomach to prove it.

-I don't want you to get hurt feeding stray cats.- Bifur said.

"I won't." Bombur assured him.

---

Stray cat was a good description for Nori. He came in haphazardly, when he did at all. Sometimes he was with Dwalin his parole officer, sometimes with Dwalin's older brother Balin who probably had a badge and an office somewhere with a mahogany desk. Sometimes Nori was with other people who called him by another name and Bombur made sure to stay away from the tables during those times, just in case he gave away something he shouldn't. When he had the time Nori stayed for long hours and they talked and laughed and sometimes Bombur tried out new recipes on Nori, if only to save his family from his experiments.

Nori began joining him at the soup kitchen, when he could. He couldn't often, but when he did everything seemed brighter.

From the outside looking in, Nori's life was a fractured mess of danger and excitement. Nothing like working as a short order cook.

Bombur just hoped Nori stayed alive long enough to appreciate a good chocolate frappe. He didn't let himself imagine Nori drinking it. That normally went places Bombur tried very hard not to go.

---

One night, on a night when the diner is nearly empty save for Bifur who is waiting for Bombur to finish his shift before getting a ride home, Nori came stumbling in.

He looked dazed, and he was bleeding from a cut on his head, and Bombur yelped and went around the counter to help him, grabbing the first aid kit from beneath the counter.

Nori waited until Bombur was close enough, grabbed the bigger man's not-inconsiderable (but always carefully braided) red beard, and kissed the breath out of him.

"You," he slurred to a shocked and scarlet cook, "are my angel."

he passed out right there before Bifur could get his hands on him.

---

Bombur did his best not to encourage Nori. He studiously ignored the other man when he came into the diner, didn't respond to notes left in the diner's box. One night Nori waited until Bombur was taking the trash out to talk to him and pinned and panicked Bombur yelled at Nori, told him that there was no way Nori felt anything like he thought he did because people didn't feel like that for Bombur, for fat, slow Bombur who could cook well and would probably die of some heart disease and wasn't worth anyone's love.

Nori had taken both of Bombur's hands in his. Bombur's were large, calloused in some places, soft in others; Nori's were all scar and callous.

"I." he said slowly. "Fucking. Love. You."

He said it with such conviction that Bombur burst into tears.

---

Bofur watched Nori, flipping a wood file over in his hands. Beside him, Bifur was a silent wall of muscle and barely-contained rage.

"If you hurt a single red hair on his head," Bofur said, "we'll kill you. No one will find the body."

Nori, eyes wide, nodded.

"What are you three talking about?" Bombur asked as he came with their drinks.

"Oh, nothing." Bofur said cheerily. The wood file was gone.

---

It took two or three tries before Bombur could make it through intimacies without shaking or crying or panicking.

Nori never scolded, or got angry. He held him and soothed him and kissed his shoulders and whispered every amazing thing about him into his ears. He understood, and he told Bombur why he understood and the trust there was so fragile and so perfect that Bombur couldn't help but kiss Nori all the harder for being given it.

The look on Nori's face, when Bombur filled him to the point of near-pain, was one the cook treasured, but didn't think about often.

He couldn't go around with a face that was as red as his hair.

Curse his blush.

---

Bombur decided he didn't like Dori.

"Get OUT." he brandished his boning knife, standing solidly between Nori (who had just come off of two back to back stakeout shifts with Dwalin, damn it, he was too tired to deal with this) and the well dressed man with Nori's eyes who had done nothing but sneer from the moment he walked into the diner.

"I beg your pardon-"

"Get out!" Bombur growled, and with a shake of his head Dori went. Bombur felt Nori's hand close on his shoulder and though it was shaking, there was a smile in his words as he said,

"You wouldn't have really stabbed him, would you?"

Bombur huffed and turned. "He'd have made a nice gravy."

---

Bombur liked Ori much better.

Nori had sometimes spoken of Ori; a smart kid, a good kid, studying at the university nearby. Ori was enamored of Nori and Bombur could tell when they sat down for lunch.

When Bombur came to bring them their food Nori caught Bombur's apron string and pulled him in. "Ori, this is my angel. This is Bombur."

Ori's eyes were wide and worshipful. "Really?" he asked, in the tone of one who had heard so much about a person, and in seeing them had all expectations met.

Bombur flushed as Nori said, voice unashamedly affectionate, "Really."

---

Durin's Day was an Affair.

They held it at Balin's house, because Balin had inherited a large house that would fit everyone. Ori brought himself and Fili and Kili, who were the nephews of Thorin who was Dwalin's best friend and Nori's sometimes, so of course with Thorin came Dis and her husband Firi and Bifur and Bofur came and so did Bifur's wife and their two children, and Bombur's old schoolmate Bilbo Baggins came with HIS nephew, and Dori was allowed to come if he was on his Very Best Behavior and didn't start a fight with Nori.

Everything outside the kitchen was noise and chaos. inside the kitchen there was order, and peace, and Bombur cooking and Nori watching him.

"I think we should get a cat." Nori said.

"A cat?" Bombur asked, distracted by the green bean casserole, and Nori came up behind him and squeezed his plump sides and sighed in a way that let Bombur know that later tonight one or both of them would be making the filthiest noises.

"Yes. You're very good at feeding them."

Bombur chuckled and it shook his whole body and Nori felt electrified from the top of his head to his feet.

"Yes," Bombur said, "I suppose I am."

Chapter Text

Nori was brushing Dori's hair.

Dori had such hair. Most dwarven men grew theirs long, of course; but the men and women of Ri had always taken it a step further. There wasn't a Ri in the history of Durin's Kind that hadn't had a long, flowing mantle. There were songs sung about the beauty of Biori of Ri's hair, and how it had so captured Durin the Deathless. Of course they weren't songs one sung in the presence of one who was legally descended from Durin the Deathless, but they were beautiful all the same.

Nori kept his in its three peaks for various reasons, one being practicality (though you couldn't tell Dwalin that, because then you'd have to explain the picks in it, and that would just get awkward.) Dori's was always carefully brushed and coiled. At the beginning of the quest he'd done a tighter weave and sourly told his brothers that he wouldn't be taking it down, as it was 'too damn hard to deal with on the road'.

He didn't say he was vain about his hair, and neither Ori nor Nori had called him on it. Dori was so sensible about everything else that that one small vanity- the keeping of his braids- was due him. After all, Nori had not cut his. Ori wasn't old enough yet to decide if he wanted to grow his locks long, though Nori was willing to bet that he would, now- he'd be a true scribe of Ri, scribbling all through the night with a thick braid wound about one arm to keep it out of the ink.

Dori's hair put even Gloin's wife's to shame, Nori thought. So soft and white and silver, flowing down his shoulders and back. There was a gentle sort of a wave to it, when left to its own devices. It would fall into a perfect curl. Any lover would bury their fingers in it and pull and Dori loved that though he would never admit it, not in a thousand years if he had them.

"Nori?"

Ori stood in the doorway. His eyes were red.

"It's almost time." he whispered. Nori nodded and Ori left, shoulders tight.

Nori felt a smile cross his face.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" he whispered to Dori. "You could have had anyone. Anyone at all. You could have had the king and no one would have called you a harlot ever again."

He'd knifed the first person he'd heard using that word to describe his brother. It didn't happen around him anymore; he was certain it still happened.

"I suppose this is revenge." he said. "It's a good one. You got me. I admit it. You know I don't know the first thing about being a damn Patriarch?"

He leaned forward and examined a snarl in the pristine mantle that may have been just his imagination. There was no way to get silks or velvets or any of the cloth that Dori deserved, with his overly sensitive skin; but no snarls would be allowed.

"I'll try not to screw it up." he said. "Find a good match for Ori. Make sure there are some kids. I'm not having kids can you PICTURE me with kids, Dori?"

He was babbling and he knew it. He picked up the black comb again and ran it through snow-white locks, admiring the contrast of dark and light.

On the slab of stone, Dori son of Kori, Patriarch of Ri, breathed no answers. His hands were folded before him, his eyes closed, his mouth set in a secret little smile. Beneath his thumbs lay a Thief's Lamp, knotted the shade of maroon he had preferred all his long life. There was not a single sign of the spear he'd taken in the name of Thorin Oakenshield, of the years of untold shame upon their house he had erased at the cost of his life.

It was too high a price, but not something Nori could have stolen.

Nori of Ri brushed his brother's hair.

Chapter Text

"And you're positive that this is the one you want, Lord Smaug?"

The great red dragon looked down his long muzzle at Thrain. "I am sure." the dragon replied, in a dainty sort of manner- which looked very interesting on a creature of his size.

Thrain looked at the tiny bundle of squirming dwarfling, held by his mother who did not dare look up at either King or drake. Her husband was not much better, keeping an eye to their backs and the guards there who had hauled them out of a sound sleep in their modest lodgings, as befitted a disgraced house of Erebor, and down to the deep treasure horde.

"So be it." Thrain said. "The Consort is Chosen."

Orla made a sound in her throat that might have been a sob. Thrain couldn't be sure.

"Bring forth the Consort." Smaug said, and Orla would not. Her husband gently levered the baby out of her arms and carried him to Thrain. The two dwarves looked at one another and there was a hatred in Kori's eyes, deep and banked.

Thrain took the child and laid him down before Smaug.

The dragon brought his muzzle down close. Small hands immediately came up and grabbed at his nostrils.

Smaug chuckled, and breathed.

Fire engulfed the boy but he did not burn; instead he laughed and clapped his little hands together, even as his blankets and smallclothes fell to ash around him.

"It is done." Smaug said. "Nori of Ri is Consort now."

And there was very little anyone could do about it.

---

Dori remembered the years before the House of Ri came back into the honor of the King as a dark time, a time that was best swept out the door and forgotten. He learned his manners and his bows and several different languages. He was always very careful to look nice, to be elegant and gentle and deserving of the titles his father had been given back when Nori was born.

Which was, of course, more than could be said for Dori's brother Nori.

Nori was a terror, running about with the breezes that filtered in from outside the mountain. He spent more time in lowtown than any twenty year old had a right to and no one would stop him.

Because, after all, one didn't say no to the Consort of the Dragon.

Dori feared Smaug, as any dwarfling in their right mind would; Nori, however, was not in his right mind.

"He's just a big old lizard, Dori." Nori would say as he worked a snarl out of his hair. "And he's got no sense of humor."

Nori would know, because the only thing he did right on a regular basis was visit his Dragon, down on the bottom floors. The guards were forever chasing him home to get back pieces of the horde, which Nori only seemed to keep to spite them.

Dori was the oldest of the House of Ri, and therefore would someday be Patriarch. He attended his lessons, he made friends with those dwarves he knew would be useful later, he bowed and wrote and learned the arts of war.

Even as he did this, he hated Nori.

Because Nori- who did nothing right- would be the one that everyone remembered. His mother and father insisted that this was not true, but Dori knew it in his bones. Nori was going to be great.

It wasn't fair.

---

The night was dark and the mountain cooling when Nori came bouncing down the stairs. "Smaug! Smaug!" he jumped off the last step of the treasure room and onto a pile of coins, sliding down them, looking around for the dragon. "Where are you?"

"You are very loud." Smaug's great form shifted, and a huff of breath gave away his sleeping place beneath a mound of gems. "Should little troublemakers not be asleep?"

"I can sleep later." Nori scolded, coming around to Smaug's head. "Ma had the baby! I'm a big brother!"

He flung his arms about Smaug's muzzle. "Isn't that GREAT? Now I can boss someone around like Dori bosses me!"

Smaug stared at Nori, at the arms around him.

Smaug had not been touched by a Consort in over five hundred years.

"Yes." he said at last, something warm curling beneath his scales. "Yes, it is."

---

"Do you have any idea the trouble you're in?" Fundin growled at Nori. The young dwarf growled right back.

"You started a fight with King Dain's son." The Captain of the Guard said, hoping that if he repeated himself some of what he said would stick.

"He's an ass." Nori said.

Fundin turned an interesting shade of red. "Be that as it may-"

"I can fight my own damn battles!"

Fundin blinked. "What?"

"He called my father a son of whores." Nori said. "He called my brother a cowardly slattern because Dori didn'ty want to dance with him. And when I told him where to get off he said he wouldn't fight me because I wasn't worth it and maybe Smaug had gone blind and deaf. I don't need Smaug to fight my battles and I don't need no whelp from the Iron Hills telling me my family's worth because Smaug picked me. So he can take his fancy title and his mithril war axe and shove them BOTH up his jacksie for all I care because in the end I've got my brother and I've got my dragon and he ain't got either."

Fundin stared at Nori.

"What?" the dwarf asked.

"Mahal save me he might be one of the good ones." Fundin muttered to himself.

Dain's son Thorin never did quite recover the use of his left eye; Thrain's son Thorin asked Nori to teach him the trick of it.

Nori was more than happy to oblidge.

---

Dori stared at the great red sides of Smaug the Golden. Nori sat between the beast's paws, Ori in his lap, telling the dragon all about their day as though Smaug couldn't simply sneeze and destroy them all.

Dori had not wanted to visit Smaug.

Nori had insisted on introducing Ori.

Dori would not let him, not without a chaperone.

"And then Dori- Dori get over here! Smaug this is Dori, the great git."

Smaug laughed. Actually laughed.

"Ah, yes. The illustrious Dori. I have heard much about you."

Dori swallowed hard and tried not to pay attention to teeth as long as swords.

"At your service," he said, and gave the politest bow of his life.

---

Smaug was not always a dragon.

Sometimes he was a bird, sometimes a wolf. Sometimes, like now, he was something man-shaped, holding Nori close in a room off the horde, where none would dare bother him. Nori ran a hand along the growth of golden red scales that still swirled over Smaug's chest, his back, his cheeks.

"Will you remember me?" he asked suddenly and with little warning, as he did all things even after his coming of age. "When I'm dead and you've picked another?"

Smaug ran a hand up Nori's back as he shifted his hips. The dwarf groaned low and Smaug murmured against his neck, "I remember every consort that I have ever had. Their names, their faces, their likes and dislikes. Yes, Nori. I will remember you."

---

"Help him." Nori begged.

Surrounded by the dead and the dying Oin son of Groin touched the gaping arrow wound. Some fell beast had learned Smaug's secret, before the orcs dared march on the stronghold of Erebor. One of them had fired an arrow, before the Elf-King Thranduil turned the tide.

The sound that the Spymaster made when Smaug fell out of the sky would haunt the dwarves for years to come.

"I don't know if I can." Oin whispered.

"You cannot." Smaug said.

"Shut up!" Nori yelled at him. "you shut up." He pressed his face to Smaug's belly, thick with gold and precious stones.

"Please." Nori whispered. "Please, you great stupid lizard."

Smaug brought his great head down and Nori seized it, crying, engulfed in gentle dragonfire and not caring in the slightest.

"I love you." Nori whispered in the tongue of dragons.

"Nori, son of Kori." Smaug's breath was a chuckle. "I love you, too."

---

Nori son of Kori was the last consort of the Dragon.

In the wake of the death of Smaug, a new house was formed- the house of the Dragon, which took for its crest the Golden Beast with his wings spread wide, teeth like swords bared sharp against all foes. Nori was great, in his manner, Left Hand and Spymaster of Thorin Oakenshield, who became King upon the death of his father Thrain. The last Consort lived to a respectable age, and when he died his body was burned, and his ashes spread upon the same winds which had taken the corpse of Smaug after the failed attack of the Goblin King's army.

Perhaps it is said in the great delve of Erebor that ever after, when enemies approached, before them came the scent of sulphur and the sharp bark of a dwarf's laughter on the wind, a warning; but one cannot be sure. The dwarves do not easily share such tales. Long are their memories, long are their loves.

As long and as passionate as a dragon's great wings, bearing him up into the sky.

Chapter Text

"Nori you're starting to worry me." Dori said over the pot of tea bubbling on the fire. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"I haven't been sick in decades." Nori told his brother from his own position at their wide stone table, glaring at various maps of Erebor and marking out hidden passages. "Besides, I've a good, lawful job now, aren't you happy?"

Dori pursed his lips. "Nori, I'd hardly say sneaking about for the King is lawful-"

"Aye but it's the King that requests it, and it's needful. Runs in the family." There were more dwarves pouring into the mountain daily, each of them a potential assassin. Thorin Oakenshield was in no fair shape to fend off attacks on his life; neither were his sister-sons. Dwalin had organized trustworthy guards from those of Ered Luin but Nori's network was altogether more...subtle.

"Yes he might and I understand." Dori sighed. "But it's not JUST the work, Nori. You've been hunting through your portion of Smaug's gold every night. I- I worry."

Nori put his mug of tea down and looked, really looked, at his brother. "Dori come here."

Dori obeyed the command without comment and Nori stood, hugging his older brother tightly. Before their haphazard quest and the suicide charge that was the battle that lay behind them, an embrace like this would have been impossible. Nori thanked all of his stars individually and by name that he'd agreed to take Thorin's deal.

"I'm not being taken by madness, Dori." Nori said. "I was just looking for something. And you needn't fret, because I found it."

"Something so important you went without sleep?" Dori asked, hands falling on his hips. "Was there perhaps a second Arkenstone no one told me about?"

Nori's eyes went dark at the mention of the stone but he shook his head. "No, Dori. Just something Uncle used to tell me about, that's all."

Dori snorted. "If Uncle told you about it it must be shiny." he said.

"It is." Nori admitted, and that was the end of the conversation.

---

Kili and Fili were together in their chambers, which Thorin had insisted on when Kili- waking first- had discovered he was nowhere near his brother and had ripped open three wounds trying to get to him. It saved the healers time and it saved the brothers pain. Nori came up as Oin was leaving.

"How are they?"

"Loud." The healer grunted.

Nori chuckled. "Getting better, then." he saluted the older dwarf and slipped inside.

"Nori!" Kili exclaimed. "Help me, Fili cheats!"

"No I don't YOU cheat!"

Nori took in the scene before him. Someone had made the mistake of leaving random bits and pieces around the two princes. Kili seemed to have constructed some kind of miniature catapault out of leather and a couple wooden bits and was flinging rolled up wads of clean bandage at Fili, who had erected a fortress of pillows and was evading the attack.

There were many things Nori could have said to their childishness. Certainly Dori would have told them to stop wasting bandages. Bofur probably would have some hilarious anecdote that took their minds off the little war entirely.

"What would your mam say if she could see you?" Nori asked.

"She's not here yet!" Kili exclaimed, letting fly another bandage-boulder which Fili again blocked with his pillow. Nori chuckled and grabbed a chair that sat between the two beds.

"How are you feeling, lads?" he asked.

"Better." Fili said. "My leg still aches but Oin says it might for forever."

"Swordsmen and their scars know the coming rain." Nori said wisely. "I've a bit of a gash on me left arm that mentions when it's snowing in Harad, myself."

Kili laughed and began flicking bandages at Nori. "We're fine." He said. "And you can say that with a straight face, you don't even have to lie!"

"I hope to never have to lie to your Mam." Nori said seriously. "She'd cut my bits off without a second thought." He ruffled Kili's hair and knocked foreheads with Fili. "In a couple more days, you'll be up and moving. Try not to terrorize the whole place, alright?"

"Alright!" they chorused, though it was clear from the looks on their faces they had no intention of keeping their promises.

Nori didn't mind. If for even a moment the shadows of battle could lift from them, he would be glad for it.

---

Mahal and Yavanna, but Dis was a beauty.

She'd gotten Thorin's bearing; regally she sat in the carved chair and regarded him with eyes of a lighter shade than Thorin's, not cobalt but nearly ice. The braids in her beard were fine and woven together to form a waterfall that rested against the gentle swell of her chest beneath her tunic. Nori had eyes for no one else in the room. Not King Thorin Oakenshield, not Dwalin and Balin sons of Fundin, not Fili the Heir under the Mountain nor his brother Kili. Even Nori's own brothers were merely backdrop to this moment.

He wondered if everyone in the parlor could hear his heart hammering inside his chest.

"Once," he said, watching her and no other, "I asked for the hand of a dwarrowdam in marriage. As was her Right of Courtship, passed down from the Allmother, she asked of me three favors."

Dori was making that outraged cat noise that he managed when he thought he was about to be publicly embarassed. Nori was grateful that Ori had a tight hold on him.

"The first," Nori said, "was that I present to her an heirloom of my House, recovered from the horde of Smaug the Golden."

He placed before him on the piece of green velvet he'd spread on the floor a mithril pendant, lit up with starfire from its adamant center. Any ner'do well in the room could have told the gathered dwarves that it was the Thief's Lamp, the universal sign of acknowledgement and safety amongst the cut throats and scoundrels of Middle Earth. Never before had they seen one so fine, though Nori had knotted them on more than one occasion. The knowledge required to make the pendant had long since been lost to the dwarves.

"I thus present the Knot of Biori of Ri," he continued, "forged for her by Durin the Deathless, stolen by her brother Vori, and passed one thief to another across our generations, as we served the line of Kings. Lost to Sori, coveted by Smaug, and now reclaimed by Nori."

Dori had stopped making the noise; had Ori gagged him? Dwalin appeared to be turning an interesting shade of purple.

"The second favor," Nori said, "was that I take up arms in the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, and guard with my life and my knives and my name Fili and Kili, sons of Firi."

He laid his two curved knives down beside the mithril pendant. He had not cleaned them; they were still black with orc blood.

"The third favor," his voice began to shake as he removed something from his belt pouch, "was to find and destroy the Arkenstone of Thror."

The damnable jewel glinted beautifully as it was tipped from the black leather pouch, to land beside his knives with a solid thunk.

Getting it out of the royal treasury (where Thorin had banished it) had been easy.

Keeping it hidden from Dori? Another matter entirely.

There was a great amount of noise then, the creaking of chairs and the unsheathing of weapons and Nori ignored it all, keeping his eyes on her as she stood and said, "Enough."

The parlor fell silent.

Dis, daughter of Thrain, crossed the floor with all haste and dropped to one knee before Nori of Ri. She took hold of his chin in warm fingers and lifted his eyes to meet hers.

"Once," she said, "I lost a husband, and met a dwarf who loved me with all the might of a hurricane. He taught my sons to fight and kissed me behind my brother's back and always fled before my cousins came to visit but he returned, each and every summer, and asked me for my hand. Finally I tired of it, and I asked of him ridiculous things, impossible things, heartbreaking things, to prove his worth when he did not need to, not to me or to any king or guard or god in all of Middle Earth."

She let her hands drop and squeezed his tightly. She hauled him to his feet and he went. They were nearly the same height, and she ran her hands up his shoulders and smiled.

"I will take you to husband, Nori of Ri." she said, voice heavy with tears she would not shed because, after all, she was a princess, "the Arkenstone be damned."

---

It was said that despite his marriage, Biori of Ri had loved Durin the Deathless, enough to bear her sons who carried their blood through countless generations. Merchants, scribes, thieves; whatever work needed doing, the line of Ri did it in the name of a house they only knew by the wrong side of the blanket.

Nori of Ri had never expected to survive the expedition to Erebor, nor had he expected to survive his presentation of favors.

Looking now at Dis, utterly resplendent in her wedding finery, he said, "We could just kip out the back and wed on the road."

"No, my thief." Dis said. "No."

And it was the most wonderful thing anyone had ever said to him.

Chapter Text

Nori watches his youngest brother sleep.

Ori is a deep sleeper. Hair still wet, bundled up in wool and cotton he dreams, little hands clutching a quill even as he tries to sketch out what he sees as he slumbers.

Nori has come in through Ori's window, which is never locked, despite Dori's insistence every time he leaves that he will not be returning. Ori's home studies are on the cheap wooden desk in the corner.

He is skilled. His illuminations are things of beauty. Nori is glad to see the colored inks from the South are getting use. He wonders if Dori has tried brewing any of the tea that comes in the packages.

They aren't much by way of apology, but Nori can't apologize, even though he knows he should.

Ori stirs a little and Nori strokes his forehead. Ori is getting so big. Someday soon he will cross the coals and be a full adult before Mahal.

Someday, but not yet.

Nori watches his youngest brother sleep and wonders if there will be a time when he can walk down the streets of Ered Luin arm-in-arm with Ori. A time when the price on his head is lifted and Dwalin son of Fundin stops dogging his shadow.

A time when Ori realizes that his older brother's adventures do little more than hurt other people for less than honest gain.

Nori leans back in his chair. He wants to light his pipe but he knows the scent of the smoke will wake Ori and so he doesn't. Instead he watches the night close in around them both.

In another room he knows that Dori is sleeping. Dori does not sleep enough. Dori works far too hard to support them both even with what Nori sends.

Nori never sends enough.

He tries, of course. Makes a great, hard effort.

It kills Dori a little more every time he has to pay for something with stolen gold.

That is what Nori is doing, really, killing his brothers slowly; one through his inability to stay, to be permanent instead of transient, to become earth instead of air. The other he kills with his absence, always too far away, having adventures, being alone.

Adventures.

What a strange word.

Come morning, Ori will wake to find Nori sleeping in his chair. He will be excited. They will share breakfast and Dori will grind his teeth and serve them tea and give Nori a look that is both love and hate in equal measure. If Dwalin has realized he is back in town, he will come knocking on the door; Nori will be out the back window before he can drop his heavy fist, and they will run pellmell across the pits of Ered Luin.

Maybe he will be caught.

More than likely, he won't.

He'll be off on another road- north, perhaps. It has been a while since he has gone north. When he gets to a town he will write and send a package, assuring them he is fine.

When the package makes it to Ered Luin Dori won't open it. Ori will, and in his own way he will be happy, though an old pain will stab at his heart.

Nori will be simultaniously so very sorry and not sorry at all, and he will loathe himself for it.

For now, he watches his youngest brother sleep.

Everything else can wait.

Chapter Text

Dwalin looked down at the box in his hands. It was made of interfitted pieces of gold and silver. The top, if turned in a certain manner, would unlock the mechanism within; a puzzle box, the kind given to lovers. He looked up at Nori, who studiously looked everywhere but at him.

A strange thing to give a dwarf you'd just gotten into a fight with.

"Nori?" he asked.

"Three left." Nori said. "Three left, one right, down and to the cycle of the sun."

Dwalin's brow furrowed. "You're not supposed to give me the combination, thief." he said. Nori didn't respond. "Nori what is this?" He asked.

"Open it." Nori said.

Dwalin looked at the box again, annoyed at it, annoyed at Nori, annoyed at everything that had brought them to this room and this moment and this lover's quarrel, all brought on by a discussion of who would merge to whose household.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?"

"Open it." Nori had never sounded like that before, angry and sad and hopeful all at once. Dwalin sat down on their bed and held the box, so small in his large hands.

"Alright." he agreed. He touched the many tiny dials on the top, moving them with a fingertip. Three left, one right, down, and... he made the largest dial circle, east to west.

There was a click and smoothly the box opened. Dwalin caught the edge and pulled the lid up.

Contained within was a beautifully molded silver and gold bead, a full two inches in length, made for the central braid of a beard. Dwalin was certain he had seen it before, braided into Nori's beard at the coronation of Thorin Oakenshield.

He'd seen it before then, though.

In the beard of a hollow-eyed dwarf who had coughed far more than was normal, and who had seemed to slowly waste away with years until his small house on the edge of Ered Luin's pits burned down. Presumably, he had been inside of it; there had been nothing left. Oin had been able to tell with his fire touch that the blaze had been set, but fire was a cleansing element and no arsonist was ever fingered for the death.

Dwalin had always privately thought it a mercy. The old pauper had been so miserable.

"Once," a voice said, and Dwalin realized with a start that it was Nori, "There was a thief." Nori was pacing. "He was a thief of a line of thieves, stretching back for generations, and sometimes he served the King of the realm where he stole and sometimes he didn't but there were Rules he had to follow and the most important of these was to never fall in love with a noble."

This...was not their story. Dwalin watched Nori pace. It was hypnotic to see.

"The thief knew this, because he was a noble, but only in name. His was a disgraced House and he didn't care for any of the nobles of his kingdom. He thought them all shallow, putting on airs and being foolish. He thought he was safe." Nori's swallow was audible. "He wasn't.

"The thief met a Guardsman- the captain of the Guard, the greatest of the great. The guardsman chased him when he stole and got closer than any other guard had, and the thief began to fall in love. The guardsman was a friend of the Crown Prince and so sometimes, when need was dire, they worked together, because that was what the thief did, when he was called; he served the King. And they became close, and were friends, or something like friends, even when one had stolen and one was giving chase.

So the thief did what any dwarf would, when faced with their One. He found the money- and it was all earned, not stolen, or lifted, or forgeries- and he made the bead, and a beautiful box to put it in, and he went to give them to the guardsman, who had the most beautiful black beard the thief had ever seen."

Nori was quiet then. Dwalin broke the silence. "What happened?"

"The Guardsman told him no." Nori said. "Because they were different, because the thief wasn't noble in deed, just in title. He told the thief that he wasn't capable of loving anything save the gold he'd stolen to make the beads. So the thief left as gracefully as he could, and the guardsman found a beautiful dwarrowdam whose nobility matched his own, and the thief watched his merchant brother marry and was alone.

He'd have died alone, but for the dragon. When the dragon came, he went to find his Guardsman, because he loved him so much. He found him in the rubble of the gate, and dragged him out of the mountain and into the cold and to his wife and his two small sons."

Dwalin remembered his mother's tears. He remembered the blackened hair, done up in three limp peaks; the silvery eyes, bloodshot and bright. The coughing.

"The thief never stole anything else after that." Nori said. "because the dragon's ash stuck in his chest, and he couldn't stop coughing. So he followed his brother and his law-sister and his nephew and when they had a second child, the thief knew that he was going to be a thief too, because there always had to be a thief of their House. And he saw his guardsman, sometimes, and his heart ached, but it didn't matter.

"Then the war started."

The war of orcs and dwarves. Azanulbizar. His father, blood slick in the mud, surrounded by the green of the trees, eyes wide and glassy.

"The guardsman tried to get him to join the army, to fight the orcs. The thief refused. He begged the guardsman to stay, and the guardsman called him a coward. When word came that the guardsman had died, the thief mourned. For seven days and seven nights he mourned."

Nori took a deep, shaking breath and Dwalin realized that tears were falling and gathering in the other dwarf's beard. Nori took a drink off the dresser and continued.

"He was never whole again. As his nephew grew, he became a shadow. And when the time came to pass over the rights of their House, the thief did so, and told his nephew about where he'd hidden a box years before, in a city that became a dragon's treasure horde. And he gave his nephew a bead, twin to the one in the puzzle box, and said to him 'never fall in love with a noble'."

"And then?" Dwalin prompted.

"He died." Nori whispered. "His soul gave up and his fire went out and bereft of everything, from his title to his thieving to the dwarf he loved, he died alone and heartbroken. His nephew found him and his nephew burned him, to spare him the humiliation of a pauper's funeral. The nephew became the thief, and he kept one thing close to his heart as he went where the road would take him."

A touch to Dwalin's face.

"Never- ever- fall in love with a Noble," Nori said, "because they'll take everything you are and demand everything you can't be, and when they aren't satisfied with that, they will say you do not love them enough."

Then silently, he turned and left the bedroom, leaving Dwalin- and the courtship beads that should have been Fundin's- in the growing dark of the mountain hall.

Chapter Text

Dwalin loved his father.

Fiercely, completely, as any dwarf child loved; with a flame that burned hotter than the stars in the sky.

He had known his father was not happy.

Oh, Fundin loved their mother, of that there was no doubt. He called her his darling Freja, and when they danced and she laughed his smile chased most of the shadows away from his face.

Some shadows remained.

Dwalin could not put a finger on a single time his father had said to him to be wary of loving for status, but he had been quite forward with Balin.

"I did not love your mother when we married." he told his oldest son, on the eve of the battle that would take his life. "I grew to love her; and perhaps when you find one you will marry, you will grow to love them too."

That there was someone else Fundin had loved had crossed Balin's mind, but he had not asked questions. Perhaps Fundin had wanted him to.

Then the dawn rose bloody red and there was no more time for questions, only for slaughter.

Balin never told Dwalin about the odd conversation, not out of a sense of respect for his brother's image of their parents' marriage but simply because they had lost so much already. Freja was four years dead. Thror their king was gone, Thrain missing, Thorin brave but untried in ruling an exiled kingdom alone. Years passed and Balin did not think on it again, not until his brother came to him in Erebor reclaimed, holding a puzzle box and looking lost.

Balin remembered Sori of Ri, from before the dragon came.

He recalled a quick-fingered thief with a knifelike smile, whose ability to escape the jails was legendary and whose knife had saved the King's life no less than ten times, none of which were known to anyone save their father and Balin, whose ears were always too sharp for a young dwarfling. Disgraced the house of Ri might have been, but the Thief of Ri remained.

Balin remembered Sori bringing their father out of Erebor, coughing and hacking, pausing just long enough to tell Freja that her husband was alive before stumbling into the steaming mists, calling for his brother and his law-sister.

Balin remembered his father's tears, and it took only a few moments of speaking with his bewildered, hurt brother to know who his father had loved when he married Freja daughter of Freyar.

"Find him." Balin said. "I will make excuses to Dori. Find him."

The House of Ri was disgraced no more, and Dwalin was not Fundin.

Balin did not wish to see Nori like Sori had been, in his final days- hollow eyed, gaunt cheeked, staring at nothing. Already dead, yet still breathing.

---

Dwalin had run all over Erebor when he spotted the thief.

"Nori!" he called, but the thief did not turn.

Cursing Dwalin ran up the steps to the part of lowtown that had been built deep into the walls of Erebor, filled with twists and turns that had yet to be cleared by the masons and the surveyors. The thief didn't stop, didn't slow, moving through the tunnels at an alarming pace, like he knew where he was going, but how could he? Nori had not been born in Erebor; he had never been inside the mountain until it had been reclaimed.

Dwalin just moved faster.

The thief turned a corner and when Dwalin turned it he nearly bumped into him. "Nori-" he reached out to grab the cloak.

He missed, stumbled, cursed and righted himself.

When he stood firmly on his own two feet again, the thief was gone; but there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Dwalin followed it.

He emerged into a cavern home, filled with treasures. Great and small, they were piled against walls and on the rotting frame of what had once been a bed and a dresser.

Nori stood there, looking at himself in a warped silver mirror.

He caught sight of Dwalin in the reflection and turned, a furious look on his face and it didn't take long for Dwalin to realize that this had been Sori's place, his secret den, his hideaway. Safe from the dragon all the baubles he had taken remained, plunder and dowry for the next Thief of Ri, who stood before the son of Fundin with trembling hands.

Dwalin took the puzzle box out of his belt pouch.

"I am not my father." he said, defiant.

He took the bead, held it up for Nori to see, and began braiding it into his beard.

Nori was on him in seconds and their mouths met with all the fierceness that they had once thrown into outwitting one another. They went to the ground and the gold and the silver, and Dwalin fucked Nori atop strands of pearls and Nori fucked Dwalin between a chest full of emeralds and an elvish tea set.

Nori threaded the bead into Dwalin's beard.

Dwalin took the matching bead from where it was hidden, in the third peak of Nori's hair, and did the same for him.

Curled up together they fell asleep, not caring who might be looking for them or how worried their brothers would inevitably be. All that mattered was the way their hands fit, and the soft sound of their breathing as it meshed in the still air.

---

"Will they be alright?"

"They'll be fine. They're smarter than we ever were."

"Speak for yourself, I was plenty smart enough."

"You were never smart enough to catch me."

"You were just too fast."

"So I was. Would you like to try your luck?"

"Would I- no, no I would not. Sori- SORI DAMN IT GET BACK HERE! THIEF!!"

Chapter Text

"You know, they made a movie about this."

"Did they?" Balin asked, pushing his reading glasses up with one hand. The body draped across his lap shifted and sleepy silver eyes met his.

"Yeah. They did." Nimble hands began to toy with his beard.

"What was it called?" Balin asked.

"Pretty Woman." his companion said.

Balin snorted. "I am hardly Richard Gere."

"You don't have to tell me. If you were I'd have taken you up on your offer sooner."

Balin sniffed, though he set his book aside in favor of gathering his lover into his lap. "I guess I can forgive that."

"You'd better." The hands moved down, tracing the shape of his chest through his shirt. "You know that it had an alternate ending?"

"Oh?" Balin asked. "And what happened in the alternate ending?"

"He kicked her out because of the drugs. She went to Disneyland."

It was quiet in the room for a moment. Balin took hold of his lover's arm, kissing up the pale wrist, down the scars- the newest some months old. Knife scores, bullet holes, track marks- all of them making a symphony on the skin, music to a life lived on edges, until now. "That's not a very good ending." Balin said as he made it to his lover's shoulder.

"No." the other man breathed. "No, it's not." He closed his eyes as Balin paid special attention to the area behind his neck. "What are you doing with me, Balin?" he murmured. "I'm a wreck."

"What are you doing with me?" Balin countered. "I'm old."

"I'm just in it for the money. Like your brother keeps insisting."

"My brother is an idiot." Balin replied. "I love him dearly, but he has a head made of stone."

"Yeah, can't argue with that." His lover stretched out. "Balin?"

"Yes?"

"...I'm glad you didn't throw me out of the car. Even if it was just you trying to save the poor princess."

"You are not a princess, Nori."

"No? Then what am I?"

"You're mine." Balin said. "and for the record, I would throw you over for Julia Roberts in a heartbeat."

Nori giggled and the sound was worth every terrible moment Balin could ever remember. "That's okay. I would, too."

They fell silent again, Balin's hand stroking Nori's auburn hair, and the night closed in around them, shutting out all disapproving brothers, relations, and old mistakes.

"Balin?" Nori whispered.

"Yes?"

"I love you."

Balin smiled. "I love you, too." He said, and maybe they were close to the moment when Nori would truly believe him when he said it.

Chapter Text

"Tell the boys to blunt the knives."

Dwalin stood over a corpse and remembered Nori's words, not ten hours before outside the tavern. One of his underlings- Hrar?- had emerged from the darkness and given his report. The rebel leader had been taken into custody, as per Dwalin's orders; the rest were trash.

"What do you want us to do, boss?"

Nori had examined a knife he'd been balancing on a fingertip, looking thoughtful.

"Tell the boys to blunt the knives." he'd said.

Hrar had nodded. "Yessir." he'd said, and disappeared into the dark like any good member of Nori's Hidden Mountain could.

Nori had turned to Dwalin then. "I don't know about you, but I'm fucking tired." he said. "Let's go home."

And after nearly two weeks of tracking down the culprits, tailing the princes, quelling rumors, and running countermeasures that were far more suited to Nori's ilk than to his, Dwalin was more than ready to agree with his lover. They had left the rest in the hands of their capable underlings and had gone home to the house they shared on Lazuli Way, where Nivor had already prepared dinner and turned down the bedcovers.

There had been fourteen other members of the rebel plot, not counting the ringleader and his immediate second. They were blacklocks, mainly; an ostrisized clan, full of old hate and vinegar. A few stiffbeards, an ironfoot or two. They wanted Dain to rule Erebor, wanted his son Thorin to be in charge of the Iron Hills. Dwalin hated them because he had to, because he had fought and bled and nearly watched people he loved die to win back the mountain and it would be a cold day in Mahal's forges before he let anyone take Erebor from the Line of Durin again.

They had died quickly, he could tell. Cuts to the throat, quick stabs with an extra twist to the back. Nori trained his people well. There were longer, more painful ways for dwarves to die, the hardiest of all the races of middle earth.

They were unrecognizable, their faces and hands obscured by hearty dashes of corrosive salt. Expensive stuff; Nori had argued with Thorin for four hours about his budget for it. Even if the bodies were returned to their families, they would not be interred with their faces uncovered.

Nori had said it so casually, so callously.

Blunt the knives.

Something about it niggled him. Moving amongst the bodies, telling his men where to put the personal affects and what evidence hadn't been gathered the night before, Dwalin chased that stray thought for an hour or more.

It wasn't until he was filling in the unofficial version of the report- the one he would give to Nori, to be kept in the archives of the Hidden Mountain- that he finally caught a hold of it.

It had been on the road, to reclaim Erebor. There had been an incident with men. Ori had been injured. Thorin had ordered Nori to get back at them; he'd asked Bifur and Dwalin to help. Nori had scaled the tavern wall like a lizard and Dwalin waited patiently with Bifur beneath the window. Five minutes went by, then ten, then fifteen; twenty minutes later the first stolen pack came out and they started to load up. Annoyed at the wait, at the night, at the fact that they were stealing and had fallen so low Dwalin demanded to know what Nori had been doing.

"I was blunting knives." he'd said.

That night Nori grabbed Dwalin's hand. "What's wrong?" he asked. It was pointless to try and argue that nothing was wrong; Nori was as perceptive as Dori, moreso, even though he wasn't nearly as vocal about his observations.

"You killed those men in that northern town." Dwalin said.

Nori rose one braided brow, inviting him to continue.

"The ones who hurt Ori." Dwalin clarified.

A dawning look of understanding crossed Nori's face. "I did." he admitted.

"That's what blunting knives means. To you." Dwalin was feeling like a whole new world had opened up in front of him, and it wasn't one he liked. "Blunt the knives, bend the forks- what does that song say to you, Nori?"

Nori ran a hand up Dwalin's arm and when he wasn't rejected, he laid his head on the bigger dwarf's shoulder. "The version they sing in the Iron Hills ends 'that's what my old mother hates'." He said. Dwalin didn't say anything, clearly waiting for more. "There's another version." Nori admitted. "And it ends, 'that's what every guardsman hates'."

Dwalin remembered Nori's look of surprise when they began to sing, that first time in the hobbit hole.

"Cut the cloth, trim the fat, leave the bones on the bedroom- Mahal we were singing about murder." Dwalin said.

"No," Nori said, "You were singing about fucking our host. Iwas singing about murder." He kissed Dwalin's cheek. The guard wrapped an arm around Nori's slender waist.

If Nori had not ordered the rebels killed, they would have been executed. It would have been painful; Thorin would have had no other choice than to be as brutal as the old laws would allow. Hanging from the neck until dead was a curse, for dwarves had thick bones and the coming of the end was slow and excruciating; burning was just as bad, because dwarves had skin that resisted fire, as Mahal had made them.

Dwalin closed his eyes. He was no spy, no assassin. He was a soldier. He did not make these decisions.

He was glad he did not have to.

He was sorry Nori did.

"Stop thinking." Nori murmured in his ear. "Just..stop."

Dwalin gladly did; and he never sang the knives song again.

Chapter Text

It was the single hardest thing Dwalin had ever had to do in his entire life.

Facing down the orcs at Anazulbizar? Bloody, desperate, heartbreaking but doable. Fighting goblins, wargs, trolls? Entirely okay. Escaping the fortress of the Elven King via barrel? Sure, why not. Breaking into a mountain occupied by a fire-breathing wyrm? Piece of pie.

Sitting down for a discussion of terms of courtship with Sori of Ri...

Fundin was probably rolling about in his grave.

Dwalin's lunch partner was clearly enjoying his state of distress. "You need to relax." he said. "You look like you expect a knife."

'You don't?" he retorted. His companion snorted. "'course I do. S'why I wear a plate on my back."

Sori son of Vori was unspoken King of the Emerald Fissure tavern since his return to Erebor four years prior. He held respect by sheer virtue of his age- nearing three hundred golden years, if rumor was to be believed. A great age for a dwarf; an amazing age for a thief. He lived in a suite above the Emerald Fissure's common room, having turned down the apartments offered to him, though he'd taken the Royal pardon when he had arrived. He spent his afternoons and evenings sitting in his throne like chair in the corner, entertaining the children of the streetwalkers, pickpockets, and other various ner'-do-wells that began their work as the sun sank in the sky.

The Guardsmen of Erebor, sworn to protect and serve the citizens of their mountain, avoided the Emerald Fissure like the plague; only Dwalin could say he had set his feet inside, and that had far less to do with Dwalin and his impressive warrior's history than it had to do with Dwalin's paramour, best friend, quickest adversary, and closest confidant.

Namely, Nori of Ri.

Sori's nephew.

Dwalin watched as Sori took another sip of his ale. He was feeling distinctly naked. On the advice of old Yulani, one of the vast underground of Erebor who didn't inform to Nori, he'd foregone his normal attire for everyday wear, and leaving off his axes had only a long dagger and his knuckledusters. This, Yulani claimed, would prove to Sori that Dwalin respected his ability to keep the guard safe in his domain while informing all those who looked at Dwalin with less than scrupulous attentions that he was plenty capable of busting heads.

It had made sense at the time, and Sori's approving look when Dwalin had sat down for their meal was worth it, but without Grasper and Keeper he was still a little lost.

"I've come for a reason." the guardsman said at last.

"Oh?" Sori rose his braided eyebrows. "and here I just thought you liked the clove pie."

Don't let him distract you. "I've come to seek your permission to court your heir, Nori of Ri, in the honor and manner of the House of Durin."

What little chatter there had been in the tavern stopped. Even the dust in the air seemed to freeze. A buxom dwarrowdam with a gorgeous ginger beard looked at Dwalin as though he were simultaneously the bravest and also the stupidest dwarf she'd ever met. In the corner an old miner had been taking a drag on his pipe and he began to cough harshly, smoke caught in his throat.

Sori slowly put his mug of ale down. He lifted one long-fingered hand and gestured.

"Out." he said.

The tavern emptied. Dwarves went for whatever exit was closest. Some went out the windows, some kipped through the back. The bartender made himself scarce in the back storage room, the ginger dwarf and her lady companions retired to their rooms up the stairs. In less than five minutes what had been a busy afternoon in the Emerald Fissure was a quiet, deserted common room, populated only by Dwalin and Sori.

As though he hadn't just rendered them unobserved with a wave of his hand Sori said, "Do you think he will accept you suit?"

Dwalin thought of long russet hair, and clever fingers. He thought of perfect lips forming the words 'yes' and 'more' and 'harder you bastard'. He thought of heavy sighs of contentment and a tongue gliding up his spine and the way his bed felt when there were two people in it.

"Yes." He said. "I am."

Sori chuckled. "Truly a son of Fundin." he said. "And tell me, Dwalin the Honorable, Dwalin the Surehearted, Dwalin the Arm of the King, what happens the first time you must face my Nori across a court slab?"

Dwalin's brow furrowed. "I don't understand-"

"Yes, you do." Sori said. "The Thieves of Ri are not above the law, Mister Dwalin. In serving the Line of Durin we might bend it, we might break it, we might flaunt it but in the end, we are punishable by it. It is your sworn duty to uphold the law. So tell me- what would you do?"

Dwalin knew that Sori was right; Thieves of Ri had died at the top of the basalt tower before, simply for saving the lives of their monarchs, or doing what had to be done, sacrificing their honor in the process. There was a reason that the House of Ri had been so minor in Erebor, for all it carried within it the most important secrets of the mountain. Dwalin had wondered the answer to this question himself, on dark nights.

He was surprised, and happy, and scared, that the answer came so readily and so true to his lips.

"I would lay down my axe and I would stand for him."

Sori snorted. "You. Lay down your axe."

Dwalin growled at the besmirchment of his honor. "I stand by my words."

"You mean to tell me that you would defy Thorin Oakenshield?" Sori asked, incredulous and reasonably so. "Your Shield Brother, your King, your blood? You would throw all that away in the name of an unrepentant thief?"

Don't lose your temper. Don't.

Dwalin knew what Sori was doing, for Nori had done it before; and of course he had, for he had learned it from Sori, who learned it from Vori who learned it from Hori all the way back to Biori of Ri.

"I do." Dwalin said. What he wanted to say was that things were different now. Now Nori was not just the Thief of Ri. Now he was the Spymaster. He had legitimacy, protection, the Rights of the King. Thorin would not execute Nori; Thoin would abdicate before he executed Nori.

Wouldn't he?

Stop that he's trying to unbalance you don't let him DON'T LET HIM.

Sori gave him a careful once over. "What about children? Nori cannot give you those."

Dwalin shook his head. "I have no need for children." He said. "I helped to raise the Princes, and I am as much a father to them as Thorin is. The line of Durin is secure."

Sori examined one hand. "I had not heard that Lord Balin was courting." he said.

"My brother has no desire to wed." Dwalin said.

"I suppose not." Sori glanced up. "You'll change your mind, you know. The very first time a pretty beard walks by."

It was just enough to cause Dwalin's very sensible thoughts to take a not-so-sensible turn. The table was overturned and Dwalin was on his feet with his knife out before the roar of outrage had finished exiting his throat. His knife work was nowhere near as beautifully stealthy as Nori's but he'd managed to get the tip at least slightly close to Sori's throat, which was more than he could say for many others who might have faced the wily old fox.

Wily, indeed, for Dwalin felt the telltale prick of steel near his side.

"You're a hundred and fifty years too young to be pulling a knife on me, Mister Dwalin." Sori said.

They remained frozen for another few moments before Sori said, offhandedly, "I fucked your Da, you know."

All the rage and fire went out of Dwalin in a rush. He was lucky he hadn't knocked his chair over in his haste to get to Sori; it caught him when his legs gave out.

"What?"

"Once or twice." Sori neatly sheathed the long blade back into his boot. "We Thieves of Ri, we have a type. Normally, the type that's not very good for us at all. It was fun, while it lasted." Sori's smile was small and warm. "Then he met your Ma, and that was that."

Dwalin stared.

Oh.

Oh.

Sori gestured towards the table. "Pick that up, will you, lad? I'm old."

Orders, Dwalin could process. He picked up the table and righted it, retrieved the (thankfully mostly empty) ale mugs and plates. He'd carried them to the counter and returned before he finally managed to catch up with himself.

"Did you love my Da?" He asked.

Sori closed his eyes. "Fundin was my Lamp." he said.

Dwalin felt his heart leap to his throat. Nori had called him that once, only once. My lamp, he'd said, laughing and kissing Dwalin's bald crown. My thief's lamp.

"Promise me." Sori caught Dwalin's gaze and held it, his eyes like silver ice. "Promise me you will give him everything he deserves for every shite hand Mahal ever dealt him. Promise me you'll love him and keep him when everything is dark and it seems like there is no light left. Promise me you won't let my boy see another dragon."

Dwalin couldn't promise that; no dwarf could. He reached across and grabbed Sori's hand. "I will try, with all my strength, until Mahal takes me back to stone." He said.

Sori squeezed Dwalin's hand. There was power there yet, though it was going; three hundred he might be, but Sori of Ri would soon join the others of his line in the Heart of the Mountain, following the lamp of Eugenides home.

From within his jacket Sori removed something wrapped in paper. He undid the paper one-handed with ease and when he broke their clasping grip he put something in Dwalin's hand. The guardsman opened his palm curiously.

It was a knot, the same shade of emerald green as the painted sign of the tavern. Dwalin could not read it. It was oblong and intricate.

"Put that in your beard when you go to speak to Dori." Sori said. "He should give you marginally less trouble." Marginally, of course, because they both knew that Dori was more likely to suddenly turn into a wrathful bantam hen and try to peck Dwalin to death than he was to let anyone near his younger brother.

Dwalin took his eyes from the knot. "Then you give me permission?" He asked.

Sori snorted. "Lad, if you'd planned on courting Nori only after I gave permission, he'd never have you. It will get you points, though. He'll think it sweet."

Dwalin was more of the opinion that Nori would simply start laughing at him, but perhaps Sori was right. After all, he'd practically raised the boy.

"Thank you." Dwalin said. He bowed. "I'm at your service."

"Oh don't go telling me things like that, an old dwarf is liable to take advantage." Sori said. "Go on. I'll take care of things here."

Dwalin nodded and stood.

"And Dwalin?"

The guardsman looked back at Sori. The smile the older dwarf gave him was anything but kind. "If you hurt him more than is considerable between idiots in love, I will make what Dori could do to you look like picnicking on the mountainside." Sori leaned back. "Clear?"

Dwalin had once seen Dori behead an orc with his bare hands.

Dori couldn't get into locked places without being heard.

Dwalin nodded, eyes wide.

"Good."

Chapter Text

Thorin was still looking gaunt-eyed and a little hollowcheeked when Nori cornered him in his personal chambers.

"You are, without a doubt, the biggest idiot I have ever met, Thorin Oakenshield." The Spymaster told his King. Thorin glared at him. "I could have you beheaded for that." He replied.

"Oh, and make Balin go crawling through the sewer system with my lads? No, you won't. Thorin look at yourself. You're barely holding together. Go to him."

"I can't." Thorin sounded feverish. "I can't, there's too much to do- the Ash Mountain is sending a workforce and Dain's coming with Dis in less than three months' time. I have a duty here, Nori. I cannot leave."

"A duty that's making you more miserable than Dwalin at a court party." Nori said. "What's the bloody use in being a King if you can't tell people to piss off so you can do what you have to?"

"What I have to do is here."

"What you want to do isn't," Nori replied, "and to be frank, your stone-headed highness, it's something you need to do, too."

"It has been three years, Nori."

"Not so long."

"Long enough."

Nori resisted the urge to bounce his king's head off a wall. Just barely. "Well if you WON'T do something about it will you give me permission to?!"

Thorin looked horrified. "Nori you are NOT kidnapping my hobbit!"

Of course he'd jump to that. "One time, Thorin. ONE TIME and it worked out perfectly for all involved. No, I have a plan that is completely kidnap-less."

Thorin looked suspicious, but intrigued. That was good. "Oh? What does this plan require?"

"Our fastest, sturdiest ponies, some trunks for said ponies, and enough time for me to get to the Shire, stay a week or two, and return."

"Alone?"

"It will be better that way."

"Nori there are still orcs crawling all over the place."

"I can deal with them." Nori said firmly.

"If your brother finds out I let you leave Erebor without a guard-"

"Tell Dori I ran off, he'll believe you." Nori said. "Just don't go hiring anyone else t'take my place. My lads can hold down the fort while I'm gone and they'll report to Balin."

Come on, you oaf. This is your last chance.

Thorin sighed and scrubbed at his face with one hand.

"Will it work?" He asked.

Nori grinned. "Oh," he assured his King, "It will work. I can gaurantee that."

---

Bilbo looked about as good as Thorin did.

"Of course you can stay." He said to Nori. "Tell me about Erebor? How does it look? Have they cleared all the blasted rubble from the gate yet?"

Nori told Bilbo about Erebor. He told him about the forge fires being lit and and the ridiculous party they had thrown. He told the hobbit about Kili learning to shoot with one finger less and Fili managing to run again at last. He told him about the cleanup. "Mounds of dragon dung, Bilbo. Like you wouldn't believe thankfully most of it is flammable or we'd be in bloody trouble-"

He told him about Dwalin training new recruits and scaring the pants off of them, about Ori taking control of the library with an iron fist that had surprised everyone but his brothers. He described in great detail the moment Bombur's children had seen him again, and the way Dori drifted through the halls of the palace like he was on air, freaking out about every little hazard that came with being the Master of Decorum and loving every second of it.

"Did Bofur give Ori the bracelet?" Bilbo asked.

Nori laughed. "Oh aye, he did. Then Dori chased him clear to Emerald way. Dwalin had to rescue him. Ori said yes, of course. I think Dori pretended to be blind on the quest, or else he'd have noticed far sooner than he did."

"And how is Bifur?"

"Happy as all getout. We found the gardens on the top level. He's been going at them with a will. Has a little following now, you'd love it, Bilbo. Nothing but trowels and tomato plants as far as the eye can see. He told me he wanted to come visit the Shire, maybe steal away a farmer or two."

Bilbo laughed but the laugh was watery. "They certainly wouldn't appreciate it!"

"No, I guess they wouldn't." Nori said.

It took a week to investigate Bilbo's claims and will, a week to get Bag End into something like a position where it could be locked and left for a while. Hobbits, thankfully, did not see the need for bribes, nor did they wonder at odd questions; when Nori inquired of Mr. Hamfast Gamgee who had looked after Bag End while Bilbo was gone on the quest the hobbit had replied, without thought to the sensitivity of the information, "why, me, Master Dwarf."

"That was very good of you." Nori blew a smoke ring. "Right neighborly."

"It's my job!" Hamfast said proudly. "I'm Mr. Bilbo's caretaker an' that's no mistake. Though it's getting harder to take care of him. He won't take care of himself."

"Really?" Nori asked. In this way he was plugged in to all the hobbit gossip; that Mr. Bilbo had come back a changed hobbit, that he ate only three meals a day, that he rarely laughed or sang or attended the parties he was invited to.

"There's somethin' powerful wrong with Mr. Bilbo, Master Dwarf." Hamfast said. "an' to be honest I don't think it was the adventure what did it."

"No," Nori agreed, "No, I do not think it was the adventure at all. Thank you, Master Gamgee."

---

On the last night of his stay, Nori dosed Bilbo's tea. It wasn't his usual modeus operandi, but he recalled that Bilbo was a light sleeper and as good as he was, he was going to be moving a lot of stuff. Normally a heist like this called for an entire crew.

Or just one very determined Thief.

The trunks, when packed, were very heavy, but Nori was a dwarf. He managed admirably. He hauled the last one out, loaded it onto the pony, and after double checking that the note was in place he climbed up. He looked towards the little round door he knew belonged to the Gamgee family and was only slightly surprised to see Hamfast in the soft gray of dawn. The hobbit looked at the trunks, looked at him, waved and went back inside.

Nori grinned. He loved the Shire.

---

'To the most esteemed Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End,

You'll never catch me.'

Bilbo stared at the note, written in Nori's slanted cirth. He then stared at his empty silver drawer, and at his nearly empty bookshelves.

All the books on history, maps and herbs were gone, as were a few of elvish lore. Some remained, of course, but they were not the important ones.

"NORI!"

---

Nori arrived at Erebor one week before Bilbo, brought along by a Ranger who had been riding to Dale. The furious hobbit ascended to the gate of the dwarvish stronghold and when asked his business called the guard something exceedingly rude. When the great gates swung open Bilbo stalked inside-

to come face to face with a very shocked Thorin Oakenshield, in the midst of inspection, surrounded by a small herd of advisors and guards, several of whom recognized the hobbit at first glance.

One could hear a pin drop.

Then a very dirty, irate Bilbo Baggins was swept up into the sable-trimmed arms of the King of Erebor and kissed as though he were the only hobbit alive.

Nori was lounging by a stone column, cleaning his nails with a small knife. He was sitting on one of the trunks filled with Bilbo's belongings.

"Told you it would work." he said.

Chapter Text

There had to be some Firebeard in Gloin's family line.

That was the only explanation for the way his roar echoed as he smashed through the oncoming enemy like they were paper dolls. His axe was a whirlwind, biting every tender place it saw and forcing the creation of a few where none had been before. Beside him Oin was a dervish of weighted staff.

Pinned to the wall, Nori gestured with one of the knives that was dripping red.

"THE KING!" he roared. "GET TO THE KING!"

Nori could see the cogs in Gloin's head turning, weighing the time it would take to fight through the assassins to the amount of time Nori could survive fighting with a gaping wound in his side.

The mental abacus was out, and beads were clicking: one, two, three, four. Taken away, pushed back.

Gloin handed off his second axe to Oin, repeated Nori's order at a volume Oin couldn't help but hear, and threw himself bodily into the fray.

---

Nori had stolen from Gloin son of Groin once.

The merchant caravan had been right there, and so pretty, and so unguarded. Really, it was just a pity that all that silk was lying there. It was practically begging to be stolen.

So Nori had done what he did best.

He fenced it the next morning and, happy with his haul, made for the White Mountains, intent on larger gems.

He'd realized someone was following him that night.

Three days they had played a cat and mouse game. Nori was no stranger to the world and the terrain was his to command but his pursuer was no slouch. Nori was convinced he'd lost the other dwarf in a gulch and had taken up refuge in a tree, seeing as it was the one place no dwarf would look for another.

He woke halfway through the night to the solid, ringing thud of an axe hitting wood. His mistake had been picking a tree that stood apart from its fellows. This made it easier to climb, but far harder to escape from.

By the time the sun rose in the sky the tree fell, and Nori found himself face to face with a beard as red as fire and eyes as black as coal.

"Well." the merchant he'd thieved from said. "You're no squirrel."

Nori had fought, and fought hard. He wasn't gifted with his mother's strength, not like Dori and Ori; his skill lay in moving quicker than a greased weasel. Gloin seemed to know it and he weilded his walking axe like a housewife would a rug beater, knocking the sense out of Nori until he awoke trussed up and in the back of a cart.

Nori swore at Gloin for a little bit until that lost its appeal. There were no guards; this concerned him. Gloin had someone see to him, an older dwarrow with graying hair and this was how Nori met Oin and learned Gloin's name.

He was fed but he was not untied. That evening Gloin sat him down in front of a fire and said, "There's no use asking you where you took it; I know thieves. You hardly look worth your weight. Still, you took from me and I'll have what I'm due. A season of work."

"...what?" Nori asked.

"You." Gloin said. "Hauling, chopping, watching for other thieves and if you take something else- and mark me, I will know- I'll cut your hands off."

Nori stared at him. "That's blackmail!" He said.

"What are you going to do about it?" Gloin asked. "Call the Watch?"

Well.

He had him there.

Gloin's caravan was constantly on the move and in this way it wasn't so different from being on the road. True, there were more chores to be done, and under the iron gaze of Gloin's paid workers Nori did it, grumbling dark threats all the while. Truthfully, it was a light sentence; work for a season? Learn all the weaknesses of a merchant caravan as well off as this one? It would take patience but Nori was nothing if not patient.

The first time they encountered orcs on the road he stunned his fellow workmen by getting up close and personal, blades flashing in the twilight. They called him brilliant and crazy. Gloin had been furious.

"You could have gotten yourself killed and I'd be out a working hand." he'd said.

He'd presented Nori with the mace the next day. "Learn it." He'd spat.

"Why?" Nori had asked.

"You're of no worth to me dead."

"I'm no worth to you at all." Nori shot back. "Some merchant you are, I'm a loss. It's not like you're paying me to eat your food."

Growling and sputtering, Gloin walked away.

"Don't worry, lad," said Fror, who handled the food cart and was constantly worried about Nori's birdlike eating habits. "That's just how he shows he cares."

Nori was of the opinion that Gloin was a penny pinching tight bearded old stiff, but he liked Fror and the other lads well enough. He didn't slip away when he could of, and there were opportunities. New experiences, and all that.

Nori watched Gloin carefully, and he learned. He learned how to tell when a merchant was going to be tight, and when they were willing to negotiate. He learned when to lose his temper- which Gloin did in a spectacular fashion.

Then Nori met little Gimli, and he learned how to change a diaper and watch a child and retrieve the little toy axe that was constantly being thrown with a gurgle towards unsuspecting goats that apparently looked much like orcs.

Nori felt a deep appreciation for Dori, then. He wondered how his brothers were doing.

The season came and the season went. Nori found himself patting Gloin on the back, drinking ale with him, calling him a stiff bearded penny pincher to his face. Gloin just laughed and told him to calculate his own worth before judging the worth of others, but he stroked his fine red beard and looked appraising, measuring. Nori could hear the abacus in his head sliding around.

One night, near the border of Gondor, things went bad.

The orcs had been hiding beneath the deep rushes where the watchmen didn't see them. Carts were burning, dwarrows were shouting, and Gloin was leaning on his walking axe, bleeding heavily.

Nori thought of Gimli and diapers and stolen cloth. He thought of Gloin's abacus with its fine bronze beads, clicking. He used the mace until his arms could not take it, and when he was done he brought out his knives.

When the sun came up, they had lost five good dwarrows, and two carts. Nori called for Oin and Oin came, cursing his brother's temper and seeing to Gloin with shaking hands.

Once they reached Gondor, Nori was gone. All that was left in his sleeping berth was a knot- made of red silk he'd taken from the wagon, tied ever so neatly around the abacus that Gloin locked up faithfully every night with a key he kept in his beard. The merchant had roared with laughter and on the rim of his calculator the knot had stayed, muffling the sound of the beads.

Nori had been surprised to see it, when t he quest began. "You kept that thing?" he asked.

Gloin had only glowered at him and stroked the knot in a proprietary fashion. Nori laughed and rode his pony onward. mace balanced on his saddlebags, knives at the ready.

---

Gloin stayed by Nori's side as the last of the betrayers were carted away under Dwalin's bristling gaze.

"Hang on, lad." Gloin said roughly. "Oin'll see to yeh, the old deaf git."

Nori laughed and winced. Laughing bad. Pain.

"You should have gone to the King." He said, biting his lip against the inevitable darkness that would come upon him once Oin came with a stretcher. Gloin snorted like a bull and cuffed Nori across the back of the head.

"HEY!" Nori exclaimed.

"After all this time," Gloin said, "You still don't know your worth."

Those black eyes like coals glittered.

"Good thing one of us does."

Chapter Text

Way, hey, over the hill, the fox he sleeps and the crow is still, but does the magpie care a whit? not for the dark, no, not a bit.

---

"You aren't Nori."

Nori- or, rather, the creature masquerading as Nori- rose a braided eyebrow at Dwalin son of Fundin.

"You brought me out to the wall to tell me that?" He asked.

Dwalin felt his heart clench. He gazed out into the darkness, towards the distant lights of Dale. In the daytime one could see the slowly rising stone walls, the bustle of carts and workmen as the town was renewed; at night it was a delicate collection of gems strewn across velvet, and far away.

"You don't deny it?" The guard asked.

"Do you want me to?" Not-Nori asked. He peered at Dwalin. "...you do. How very curious. How delightful!"

"What are you?" Dwalin demanded.

"What am I not?" Not-Nori said.

"I did not bring you here to play a game of riddles!" Dwalin replied.

"No, you didn't." Not-Nori said. "but you won't kill me, either." He ghosted up to Dwalin, leaning on his shoulder. "You can't."

Dwalin wanted to throw him off; everything in his body tensed. Not-Nori danced away.

"You're the first to catch me," Not-Nori said, "In a very long time. That means you get a boon, you know. If you want."

Dwalin eyed him warily. "I don't trust anything you might offer."

Not-Nori chuckled. "Wise beyond your years, Dwalin son of Fundin, but there is something you desire, and I'll hear it from your lips."

For a moment the only noise on the great outer wall was the wind.

"When?" Dwalin asked. He sounded so broken, so small. Not-Nori perched on the wall.

"From the very beginning." Nori said. "The moment I walked through the door of Thorin's home."

Dwalin gave a long, slow breath. It was raspy, and broken.

"Dori doesn't know." Dwalin said.

"No." Not-Nori said. "He doesn't."

"How? Why?" Dwalin's blood was pounding in his ears.

"Are you sure you want to know?" Not-Nori began walking down the wall on his hands, fearless of the drop not four inches away from him in the dark. "Some caves are best left unexplored, and all that."

"Tell me." Dwalin whispered.

Not-Nori sat down a little farther away and seemed to contemplate him. Then the thief stretched out on the wall like a cat. "Those of us Arda dreamed into being," he said, "we aren't bound by the same rules as the great ones are. We have a little more wiggle room, as it were."

He sat up and looked out at the lights of Dale. "We pick favorites, for one. Only as strong as those that love us. Not like those smarmy bastards across the sea. They exist whether they want to or not. They don't know what it feels like to be hungry or bleed."

"You do?" Dwalin asked.

"I do." Not-Nori said. "I know pain, Dwalin son of Fundin, and I know joy, and sorrow and regret, though they are farther away than they were when I had a mother and a home."

"I have a hard time believing you ever had a mother." Dwalin said.

"So do I, sometimes." Not-Nori confessed. "But, where was I? Ah. Favorites. Nori son of Kori was a favorite. Such a good boy, so devote. For every two opals he stole, one wound up on my altar. If ever I were to have a high priest I'd have picked him in a moment. Such clever hands, such a quick mind. Then he had to up and get honorable at the last moment. Even I can't argue with Mandos when he opens his gates. Not at all wise to try- gives you a headache that lasts for decades."

Dwalin stared.

"You're a god?" he asked hoarsely.

Not-Nori looked insulted. "Well don't seem so surprised," he said.

"You are no god." Dwalin said, hands tightening so hard the lather of his knuckle-dusters bit into his palms.

"And why can't I be?" Not-Nori asked. "What makes you judge of who is a god and who is not?"

"Gods do not impersonate thieves!" Dwalin roared, his temper finally rearing its head. "They do not follow kings on suicide missions, they don't pretend to be someone they're not-"

There was a finger over his mouth.

"Oh, Dwalin." Not-Nori murmured. "You're so very dangerous for me, did you know that?" He slid his hands down Dwalin's shoulders. "So honorable. So true. How many of my acolytes did you slay, while they were in prayer? How many times have you cut off words that might have saved a cut throat's life? How many times have my people begged me to hamstring you, to rust your axe, take your fingers, blind your eyes?"

He leaned forward and kissed Dwalin's earlobe. "I've lost count." he whispered. "So tell me, Dwalin Fundin's son, do you know me now?"

He pulled away. Dwalin, dazed, rocked on his feet but did not fall. In one hand Not-Nori gathered pale red fire.

"He died with thirteen arrows in him." Not-Nori said. "That was how many it took to kill my Nori, in the golden sands of Harad. His body lies interred with Kings."

"You're lying."

"They placed a sapphire on his breast and left his weapons in his hands."

"It's a lie."

"The tribe whose prince he saved calls his name in prayer. Soon, perhaps, he will be like me."

"It isn't true."

"And when he stood before me, on the thief's crossroad, I told him I owed him a boon." Not-Nori swirled the fire in his hands. It seemed to be taking on a shape- like a sphere. "Do you know what he asked me for, Dwalin?"

Dwalin shook his head, one hand tight to his mouth, hiding the soft noises that so wanted to escape.

"He told me to look after his brothers. To be sure they were provided for." The pale red sphere seemed to branch out sporadically, taking on the shape of a flower, then a flame, then a running animal before becoming a sphere again; from his pocket Not-Nori brought forth a long black pole and some string. He began to tie the sphere to the pole.

"So I took his shape. Not hard; joined your little quest. Also not hard. Surviving, now, that was the difficult part. Your lost King was out of his mind. Do you know he prayed to me? To me. That's when I knew things were going south."

"No." It was the only word Dwalin remembered, the only word that mattered. If he kept denying what was in front of him, then somehow it would be made false; he would open his eyes and his Nori would be back again, all red hair and knifesmile and the flash of stolen goods around a corner.

"Yes." Not-Nori said. He slung the lamp over his shoulder. "You've found me now, Dwalin. The game is up. Dori and Ori of Ri are seen to; their hands run with gold and truly, they are well provided for. I have upheld my part of the bargain. It is time to get, while the getting is good."

"you can't leave!" Dwalin blurted.

"I beg your pardon," Not-Nori said, "but I can. And I must."

"I love you." Dwalin's whisper was harsh, throaty. Not-Nori shook his head. "No, you don't. You love a shadow, a figment of a dead dwarf." He said, not without pity. "Turn back now, Dwalin. The road is far too dark for those like you."

"Dori and Ori will never stop looking!" Dwalin said, desperation rising up hot in his chest. "They will hunt until they find you."

"They will mourn, and wonder, but Nori never planned to stay They will realize that, and come to peace." Not-Nori said.

"I will never stop looking!" Anger, hot and fierce. "I will chase you, thief, and I will FIND you, no matter the face you wear!"

"Ah, but is it me you chase?" Not-Nori asked. "Or is it the scrawny thief you never knew you loved, until it was too late?" He smiled as he climbed up onto the wall. "He wished for you, in his last moment."

Dwalin roared and swiped at Not-Nori; the dwarf danced nimbly away, and when Dwalin righted himself he was staring at Not-Nori standing on air, that damn lamp bobbing about behind him.

Not-Nori gave a bow. "Farewell, son of Fundin." He said. "Nori is dead, and I doubt we shall meet again. May your beard grow long and your axe never dull; and you can tell people that you have the blessings of a thief upon you, for all the good it shall do you in the end."

Not-Nori turned, took a step forward, and was gone, lamp and all.

When the Watch came upon the wall they found only Dwalin, yelling threats and curses out into the night.

Of Nori, son of Kori, of the line of Ri, there was no trace.

---

Way, hey, over the hill, castle quiet, guard is still, and magpie flies back to his nest to give his nestlings ruby rest.

Chapter Text

"Ow! OW! What in the name of Mahal- get this thing off of me!"

Dwalin tried to keep a straight face. He did. He had every intention of helping his lover/friend/thief escape from the mad beast that had taken offense to his person but this was- it was-

It was perfect.

"DWALIN STOP YOUR DAMN GRINNING AND HELP ME!"

Dwalin hadn't wanted to travel south. If Dain had not requested him specifically he would have bowed out and even then he had considered it before learning the whole story as to why, having finally gotten a mountain to live under, he was being asked to come back out to the world above.

"I am going to make you into a stew, do you hear me?! A STEW, you- Augh!"

A group of Blacklocks had requested a parlay at the edge of the desert of the haradrhim, where a good deal of them travelled in their long, sinuous caravans after leaving the Orocarni for their wander-decades. Normally the Blacklocks as a whole were of little concern to the Longbeards, save that this particular caravan was led by a friend of Dain's, who had heard of the battle for Erebor and wished to come visit with a mind to formally mending the alliances that had been broken after Azanulbizar.

"How does it JUMP so high? DWALIN!"

Of course Dwalin wasn't going in the name of politics. That was Balin's job. Dwalin was going as Balin's guard. Balin wisely decided to bring Dori, whose ability to smooth ruffled feathers with a cup of tea was bordering on legendary. As the head of the Hidden Mountain intelligence network and Dori's brother, Nori had declared that he was going and if Dain didn't like it he could stuff the arkenstone somewhere unspeakably painful.

Which of course led them to this moment, in the scruff and shrubs a few miles off from where the negotiations were taking place in an impromptu tent-city. They were meant to be hunting for dinner.

Dinner was having a disagreement with Nori.

"Maybe if you ask it nicely?" Dwalin offered from his position on a low boulder. Nori told Dwalin several unkind things about his mother and ducked another powerful kick, lashing out with the two longer knives he carried over his shoulders. The creature hopped easily out of reach and then bounced a few times, clearly trying to find the best angle at which to knock the sneaky dwarf over.

"Bloody- rodent- I am going to-"

Nori never got to say what he was going to do, because in the fraction of a second he'd paused to adjust his knives the creature jumped and kicked him so hard in the head he was knocked ass over teakettle into the dust.

Looking entirely miffed, it turned and hopped away into the scrub brush, ears back.

Dwalin bit his lip as Nori struggled to get up. He would not laugh, he would not laugh, he would not-

"FUCKING GREEN KANGAROOS!"

He laughed.

Chapter Text

"He's started a brawl AGAIN?"

"Damn it get around- get around and block the street off-"

"He's trying to get out the back!"

The Watch Master growled, fist clenching in iron-backed gauntlets. "He won't get far." He turned. "NORI."

In the dark of the roof columns something moved.

"GO."

There was a whisper of movement, then nothing. The Watch Master turned back to his squads. "Come on, let's clean this mess up before Thrain has all our beards."

"Yes sir Dori sir!"

Dori rubbed his forehead. "I need a cup of tea." He grumbled. "A pot. A kettle. A cauldron."

Bad enough he'd have to make a report to Thrain and thus Balin son of Fundin in the middle of two other major investigations- but he'd had to send Nori.

Maybe he'd get lucky and his little brother wouldn't act like himself for once.

---

Dwalin son of Fundin didn't make it more than five streets over before he was tackled to the ground. A sharp knife was pressed to his throat and a voice purred in his ear, "There are easier ways to let me know you're back in town."

"Oh, aye," the massive mercenary said, "but none of 'em are any fun. Let me up."

The smaller dwarf pulled back and Dwalin sat up. He grinned at the lithe dwarf in the Deepling uniform. "Doing your brother's dirty work, Nori?" He asked.

"There've been four attempts on Dori's life in the past two weeks. I don't suppose you'd know about those?"

Dwalin held up one massive hand. "I swear on Mahal I don't."

"Good. I'd hate to have to slit your throat." Nori grabbed the other dwarf's leather bandolier and pulled him forward. Their kiss was more teeth than lip and Dwalin's hands on Nori's hips gripped hard enough to bruise. "You didn't tell me you were leaving." Nori said when they separated.

"It was good money." Dwalin said with a shrug, unrepentant. Being a mercenary suited him- good ale, fine hours, fighting and travel. He couldn't spend all of his time in Erebor. He'd wind up arrested far more than was proper, and he was getting tired of bending jail cell bars and listening to his older brother talk about the decline of the family name.

"Did you bring me a present?" Nori asked.

"Don't I always?" Dwalin said with a leer. "It's at me house."

"Your hole in the wall, you mean."

"Oh, the venerable second son of Ri has something against holes in the wall, now?"

"Only when something comes crawling out I have to knife."

"The only thing that will be crawling out in the morning is you." Dwalin rumbled against his ear. "You won't be able to walk."

Nori's smile was dangerous in the murky dark. "Promise?" He purred, and that purr made a shiver run up Dwalin's spine.

"I promise." He said.

"Good. Let's go."

"What about your brother?"

"He's wearing all of his armor tonight. He'll be fine."

Nori stood and looked pointedly over his shoulder at Dwalin. Dwalin grinned.

Someone trying to kill Watch Master Dori, a good old fashioned brawl, and sex with the single best lay in all of dwarfdom.

It was good to be home.

Chapter Text

Hidden Mountain Archives

Scroll 8

Paragraph 2

The Green Dragon Incident

On the evening of May 13, in the year --- of Shire reckoning, Agents Thraell son of Therell and Vegtram daughter of Vegdra of Company Onyx arrived at the Green Dragon Tavern, having accompanied the royal consort on a seasonal trip to Hobbiton in the land of the Shire. Standard procedure at the time called for agents to check in with the guardsmen posted at Bag End once in the evening and once in the morning, leaving general protection of the royal personage to the King's Guard.

The agents arrived at the Green Dragon, where rooms had been prepared. The log of guests informs that they arrived at seven in the evening.

At eight thirty, Agent Thraell went down to the common room. Agent Vegtram did not join him until nine, having been performing routine maintenance on her gear. The guest log of the week in question includes many hobbits, some other dwarves, and one elf.

Stiffbeards couldn't hold their liquor.

This was a generally accepted fact amongst the seven kingdoms of the dwarves, though no one was foolish enough to mention it when a Stiffbeard was about. Of all the children of Durin, their was the worst constitution for hard liquors. Stiffbeards were master stonemasons, excellent miners, but good drinkers? No.

Vegtram daughter of Vegdra was trying her best to remind herself of this as she pulled the seventh ale on their tab away from her churlish companion.

"I think you've done enough drinking, Thraell." She said. Her compatriot glared at her.

"Not. Nearly. Enough." He growled. Vegtram rolled her eyes. Thraell was the second-best lockpick she knew (the first, of course, being the Boss) but he didn't do well in social situations, which was why he was never assigned undercover work or let out on a guard detail alone. Vegtram, who was a Stonefoot from her hair to her toes, had been his babysitter since they left Erebor, and it didn't look like she would be getting a reprieve any time soon.

"If you get any more into your cups you'll be dead weight and I'll leave you on the floor for hobbits to wipe their feet on." She told him.

"I am fine!"

"No, you're depressed and drunk, you stiffbeard lunatic." Vegtram finished the ale for him in four gulps and wiped her face on her sleeve. "There. Now let's get some food into you before you do something really stupid."

"It wasn't stupid!" Thraell retorted, face ruddy and words a bit slurred. "You're stupid!"

"Thraell, you told a hobbit lass that you liked her honied buns." Vegtram said.

Thraell fell silent.

"In front of her husband." Vegtram added. "If the Boss knew-"

"But the Boss isn't going to know because you are going to keep your mouth shut!" Thraell said.

Vegtram shook her head. "Doesn't matter, Thraell." She said. "The Boss'll find out. The Boss knows all. Now really." She patted her partner on the shoulder. "Let me get you some water and a good plate of chicken and we'll head up to bed, okay? Long day tomorrow."

"Oh, aye, gazing at the posies and askin' about the weather and listening to sermons on the nature of bread rising." Thraell grumbled, but he nodded anyway and Vegtram, relieved, stood to go seek food.

She was gone all of ten minutes.

Official inquiries put the time of the incident's beginning at nine forty five. Eyewitness accounts corroborate that after Agent Vegtram stopped her partner's drinking and went to retrieve dinner, Agent Thraell took umbrage to the supposed 'leering' of the single elf guest. This elf is noted in the logbook as one Haldir of Lorien. A verbal disagreement ensued.

"What, you ain't never seen a beard before?!"

Vegtram froze, having just traded coin for dinner. oh no.

She turned and, sure enough, Thraell was out of his seat and pointing one of his slender fingers at the only elf in the entire mahal-cursed place- a too tall, too stretched looking fellow who was all over pale and lifeless, save for his cheeks which had the curious look of a chipmunk. Bit broad in the shoulder, too, for an elf, but what was important was the finger pointing. Vegtram snarled at her partner's idiocy and stalked her way over to the table. She put the chicken down carefully (why waste the coin if you were going to throw food about in a rage) and grabbed her partner's shoulder.

"Thraell, shut up." She turned to the elf and gave the shortest bow she could. "Apologies, my companion has had a long day."

"I imagine all of his days are long." The elf said.

Vegtram stilled. "Why would you say that?" She asked, suspicious.

The elf didn't look malicious or irate, but she didn't like the way he smiled.

"Well, when one smells of that much alcohol, it is safe to presume that time moves slower. I've heard it said that men who imbibe perceive time differently. Is it not the same for dwarves?"

Vegtram felt cold. "My partner is not a drunkard." She said. "He has had a bad day."

"I would hate to see him on a good one." The elf said.

In her grip Thraell twitched.

"Master elf," Vegtram tried one more time, "I apologize for my friend's crass actions. Good night."

"I suppose it will be a good one, once you're as inebriated as him." The elf said thoughtfully. "Is it given to dwarves, to lay with one another in drink?"

Vegtram, who had been engaged to marry for two years, looked at the elf.

She let Thraell go.

She hefted her axe.

"Thraell," she said, "I see a tree needs cutting."

Thraell burped and fell over a stool, grabbing at his scimitar on the way down.

At ten pm, a physical altercation began between Vegtram and Haldir, which was exacerbated by other guards of Erebor who witnessed the initial confrontation. A few hobbits (please see footnote 1 for full list and family geneology as provided by Royal Consort Baggins) entered the fray with the intent of breaking up the fight. They were unsuccessful and at ten twenty one, a small fire broke out after an oil lamp fell from a rafter, which-

"-LIT THE GREEN DRAGON ON FIRE?!"

Vegtram winced. Thraell didn't even bother looking up. The Boss was twisting one of his favorite knives between his fingers- the long one with the rippled edges and the golden handle.

"One elf." The Boss said, in a manner that was far too kind and conversational, "One. Elf. You couldn't ignore him?"

"Sir he was-"

The knife slammed into the wood of the desk, point first, handle humming. The Boss sat back and steepled his fingers.

"Vegtram I did not ask you to answer me."

"Yes sir."

The Boss stood. He circled them like a shark. "Do you know how long it took to build up enough trust within the Shire for dwarves to be accepted at the Green Dragon?" He asked.

Neither of them answered.

"Years. It took me ten years to assure the hobbits that we were not murderers, not kidnappers, not mind-washing dragon mad pillocks. Do you know what you just undid?"

Again, Thraell and Vegtram were silent.

The Boss sighed. "And here I thought you'd keep a lid on his idiocy, Vegtram."

"Sir," Thraell protested, "it ain't Vegtram's fault! That elf- what he said-"

"I KNOW WHAT THEY SAY." The Boss's eyes lit up. "They say we are ugly. They say we are deformed, we are unwanted, we were never meant to be and yet, Thraell son of Therell, we are still here. Despite all odds, we are still here and why is that?"

"Because we didn't accidentally burn down our allies' taverns, sir?" Vegtram offered.

The Boss sighed deeply. "Precisely." He turned, back to them, facing the large map on the wall of his office. "I should sack the two of you and hand you over to the Watch, but I won't. That's exactly what Thorin expects me to do. I have not managed to keep this mountain secure by doing what Thorin Oakenshield expects me to do at all times. Furthermore, the Royal Consort has informed me that despite the incredibly rude comments you made to Mrs. Cotton, Agent Thraell, she has advocated to him that you are 'not so bad'. After you burned down the tavern, mind."

"Sir?" Thraell asked.

"You are both banned from future trips to Hobbiton." The Boss said. "The repairs to the Green Dragon will be paid equally out of your paychecks and our fund. You will both write personal letters of apology to the owners AND the Thains of the Shire. Then I'm sending you to Ered Luin and you'd best thank your lucky stars, Agents, that Lorien doesn't trade with or care for dwarvish realms."

"Ered Luin?" Thraell asked. "Why?"

"A few of Dain's nobles have been making noise. It occurs to me I've been remiss in not forcing you out of here more often, Thraell. You're festering like a rotten mushroom."

Thraell looked like he had something to say to that, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"When do we leave, sir?" Vegtram asked.

"Two months. You're copper merchants. The dossiers are waiting for you in your homes. I've already informed your betrothed, Vegtram. Get ready, and get out of here."

"Yes sir." They chorused and bowed, backing swiftly out of the office before the Boss could turn around and change his mind. Legend had it he'd taken the ear off an agent with that knife once.

Once they were up and out of the deep catacombs, Thraell looked at Vegtram, pale.

"I don't know about you," he said, "but I need a drink."

Vegtram punched him.

Chapter Text

Thorin thought it was a bad idea.

Dwalin was as steady as a drum, level headed, honorable.

Thorin thought it was a mad passing fancy.

Nori was shiftless, guiltless, and always escaping by the skin of his knifebright smile.

Thorin thought it was odd.

The prison never managed to keep Nori in. No matter the locks, the keys, the guards, always the thief escaped.

Thorin thought it was foolish.

Dwalin only ever acted like a hormonal lad of fifty again when he was roaring after Nori, disturbing vegetable carts and causing collateral damage that made him the talk of the town.

Thorin thought it was shifty.

Nori could escape from any cell, from any guard. So why did he pick Dwalin, time and time again?

Thorin thought it was a bit too convenient.

Dwalin demanded that he be allowed to cut the thief's head off once and for all, to hell with a pardon for going on the Quest, and when asked "Will you really cut his head off, friend?" The Captain of the Guard couldn't answer.

Thorin thought it was ill timed.

The King knew that Dwalin and Nori fucked in Rivendell, long and hard and on every surface imaginable. Fili and Kili told such horror stories and Thorin gave his old friend a look that was meant to censure. Dwalin just grinned like an idiot back.

Thorin thought there were advantages.

Nori passed out knives in Mirkwood, jaw set, eyes bright, standing between his brothers and Dwalin, refusing to let himself fall to his knees in spite of the spider venom pulsing through his veins.

Thorin thought it was industrious.

Dwalin worked easier with Nori at his side, moving stone, barricading the walls.

Thorin thought it was unfair.

They looked at one another with such tender love, easily hidden and easily denied. Fili and Kili would imitate their looks when they didn't think Dwalin would catch them, not knowing that it was the shadows and the knives within them they really had to worry about.

Thorin thought it was strange.

Strange that a thief and a guard could hold one another in reverence while screaming obscenities back to back, jamming knives in throats and bashing skulls with war hammers.

Thorin thought it was wonderful.

And he thought, watching Dwalin lift Nori over his shoulder to cart him away through the catcalls and hollers of the wedding guests, that perhaps he was jealous, too.

Chapter Text

Nori knew for certain when he visited on midwinter eve.

Everyone was talking over everyone else- Dori was serving and fussing and Fafnir was trying to convince her husband to 'just sit down Dori we hired help for a reason' and underfoot Nori's nieces and nephews were a wave of motion and sound and little beards. Dwalin drank his ale and laughed at Dori's expense as Ori and Balin kept well out of the way. Somewhere there was a list of other mansions under the mountain they needed to visit and did anyone know if Bofur and Bilbo were ready for company yet?

Controlled chaos, that was what it was. Nori sat serenely and took it all in, thinking privately of the muffled dark outside the mountain.

That was when he saw Jori do it.

Dori's middle son was quick and clever, always moving between his older brother and younger sister with a liquid grace that Nori had kept a careful eye on. He'd watched as Jori approached his twentieth year, waiting for the perfect time, waiting to be sure, because if he wasn't it would be his head meeting Dori's fist at very high speeds.

Nori watched as, unnoticed, Jori son of Dori came up beside Balin and, without asking, without really thinking about it, palmed a few of the hard sweets the old dwarf always kept in his pockets. Balin, talking to Dwalin, was none the wiser.

No one in the room had seen it, save Nori.

He watched as Jori scampered about the room, distributing his ill-gotten goods to his siblings. Hori just grinned at his little brother and nodded in thanks. Fori blushed and kissed him on the cheek with delight. Both had perfect angel faces on when Dori rounded on them for not having helped set the table.

Jori, looking very pleased with himself, got up into his seat across from Nori at the wide table which was set all over with good things to eat, none of which were very heavy for they had plenty of family to visit across Erebor.

He looked up and he caught his uncle's eyes. Under Nori's piercing, icegreen stare Jori was frozen solid, holding his breath and waiting.

Jori had Fafnir's beautiful redbrown eyes, and dark chestnut hair that had once been Dori's, before the stress of being Ri Patriarch to brothers like Ori and Nori had turned it white.

Nori reached into his hidden belt purse and pulled out a silver coin.

He danced it over his knuckles and Jori watched each movement. Someone shifted a serving platter and Nori flicked the coin. It flew in a perfect arch across the table into Jori's outstretched hand. Jori's long, elegant fingers curled around the coin and in the space of a moment it disappeared. Nori looked down, so did Jori.

No one had seen anything, save the Thief of Ri and his new Apprentice.

---

Dori, as predicted, was Not Happy.

"You are NOT dragging MY SON into a life of, of criminal mischief!"

Nori stood his ground. "You know just as well as I do, Dori, that there's-"

"I don't care!" Dori said. "I don't. Care, Nori. I did not get married and have children and build a family so that we could, could continue that outdated idiotic tradition!"

Nori's eyes narrowed. "So what I do isn't important?"

"What you do is very important, brother, but what you do on the side is not only illegal it is unsafe!" Dori protested. "Your position in court is earned, and I know that. I do, Nori, but there is no reason for there to be a Thief of Ri anymore. We have our mountain. We have our people, our family. We have enough gold to buy three more mountains if we wanted."

"That's not the point."

"Then what IS the point?" Dori demanded.

"How did we get our mountain back, Dori?" Nori asked. "With sneaking. With a thief. There are some things good dwarves can do. Good dwarves can operate within the law, can help the realm, can serve the King, but sometimes it takes a thief, Dori."

"I am not letting my child follow you into that life, Nori." Dori said. "Not after Sori-"

"DON'T YOU SAY HIS NAME."

It was sudden and vehement and took Dori entirely by surprise.

"Don't stand there," Nori said quietly, "and tell me it was all pointless, and then say his name. You didn't know anything about him."

"He was a criminal, Nori."

"he was patriarch of our House, and the twentieth thief of Ri." Nori snapped. "And maybe that doesn't mean anything to you because you're still stuck in that daydream world where you can deny the fact that our house was built on the back of a whore who spent one night with Durin the Deathless but I haven't forgotten, Dori, and I don't plan to, and I'm not going to put on some fancy mask and dance around like an idiot when there's work to be done and that work is in my blood, like it's in Jori's."

Dori's teacup snapped to pieces in his hand, the delicate china standing no chance against the full force of his grip.

"Get out." Dori whispered, and for a moment neither of them were in Erebor but in Ered Luin, facing one another over a splintery table, and somewhere in a room above Ori was quietly crying.

Nori spun on his boots and marched out, slamming the door behind him.

---

"Tough day, huh?"

Jori son of Dori looked up at the dwarf who had come to sit beside him at the pebbly shore of Forlorn Lake. Jori had never seen him before. He had dusky skin, black hair, a beard that was intricately braided into a lattice and studded with gold and ruby beads. His eyes were orange.

"Yes." Jori said. "It has been. I'm sorry, I'm-"

"Jori, son of Dori, of the line of Biori." The dwarf said.

Jori stared at the dwarf, one hand clenching in the fist his father had taught him to control his strength, to be sure that when he hit, he hit first and last.

"How did you know that?" He asked.

"I know everything about you, Jori." The dwarf said with a smile. "I know that at night you dream of sneaking through dragon hordes. I know you lifted a set of your Uncle's lockpicks and you've been working on every lock in your house. I know last week you stole a bag of silver coins off an insufferable noble from the Grey Mountains and you're still waiting to feel guilty for it."

"Are you a demon?" Jori asked.

The dwarf chuckled. "No, boy. I don't consort with demons. Nasty things."

"A wizard then?"

"Wizards and I don't get along." The dwarf said. "Think, Jori. Think hard. You know me. You know me very well."

Jori gazed at the dwarf. He closed his eyes and he thought.

When he opened them again, they were wide and slightly horrified.

"Eugenides." He whispered.

The thief-god stood, took an imaginary hat from his head and bowed. "That's my name, sweetling. Don't wear it out."

"Wha- how-" Jori made to back up and only wound up on his rump in the pebbles. Gen laughed.

"I wanted to come size up my newest recruit, is all!" He said, circling Jori. "you're bigger than Nori was. Not that that's hard, he was always a sneeze. Oh, and you're strong, yes that's very good. Bit heavy on your feet but nothing practice won't improve. You've got the fingers, is the important part."

Jori looked at his fingers, then up at Gen. "What do you want?" He asked.

"Nothing, yet." Gen said. "There's very little you can offer me, as you are. Though I am curious." Gen sat down beside Jori once more. "Will you be mine, Jori son of Dori?"

"I..." Jori stared up at the distant ceiling of Erebor. "I don't know."

"Of course you don't!" Gen snorted. "Between your father and your uncle it's a miracle you've been allowed to make any choices on your own."

"Is that why you're here?" Jori asked. "To influence my choice?"

"No." Gen said. "I'm here to ask you a question."

"You already did." Jori pointed out. "You asked if I would be yours."

"No, that was not a question for you. That was more an aside inquiry. This question is for you, as you are so rarely asked it."

Gen leaned over and whispered in Jori's ear, "What is it you want, Jori?"

Jori closed his eyes. "I don't know." He said.

"Liar."

"I am not lying!" Jori sat up to glare furiously at Eugenides.

The god was gone.

Jori stared at the spot he had been in for a moment before reaching into his pocket and taking out the silver coin he had gotten four months ago. He recalled how it had flipped through the air, and his Uncle Nori's sharp-toothed smile when he caught it.

---

"I forbid it."

"Then I'm leaving."

"Jori-"

"Father," Jori said, wanting to reach out and touch Dori's hand but refraining, "this is my choice. It is my life. You cannot live it for me."

"Do you know what you're walking into?"

"Yes."

"No, you don't." Dori said. "You don't know the kind of things Nori has done, continues to do."

"Father this is who I am."

"No, it's NOT." Dori's raised voice echoed through their home. "You are not some, some back alley scoundrel or cutpurse, you are my son! You are a noble of Erebor!"

"I'm also of the House of Ri, Da." Jori said with all the even temper he had inherited from his mother. "and the House of Ri must have a thief."

"Why?" Dori asked. "Tell me why, Jori, if you are so aged and world weary, why must we have a thief?"

Dangerous ground. The wrong word and his father would truly lose his temper. Jori didn't think Dori would hurt him, but he knew they would do damage to the walls before they were done.

Jori instead pulled from his pocket the mithril tea strainer, in the shape of a bird. It was kept locked in the cupboard in their father's study. The lock had five sets of tumblers.

"Because not all sworn soldiers wear armor, Da." Jori said. He gently put the bird down on the table and left the house he'd been born in, the sounds of his father's sobbing following him out the door.

---

Jori gazed out over the mountainside. In the distance, the fires were burning- the orc camp. Underneath his dark clothes the silver coin on its leather thong was a cold, heavy weight.

"You're seriously going out there?"

Jori turned, knife already in is hand, and stopped just short of Eugenides' neck. The thief-god raised his hands and his eyebrows.

"The King needs to know the numbers," Jori said. "and plans of attack, if there are any to be found. The men of Dale need information as well."

"This is suicide, you realize." Gen said, taking up a tailor-seat in midair. "That's an orc army. Big, nasty, full of bad smells and blunt poisoned blades. You're one dwarf."

"One dwarf can get in and out faster than ten." Jori said tersely. "Why are you here?"

"You did leave me an offering before you came out." Gen pointed out.

"I wasn't aware leaving tribute to your patron gave him leave to bother you as he wished." Jori said, pulling up the scarf that obscured his face.

"Oh, I'm not here because you left tribute." Gen said. "I'm here because your father did."

Jori went still.

Gen gazed out. "Well, this is a fine way to go, I suppose." He said. "Fighting for the greater good, as you wished." He gestured. A ball of light began to form in his hand, a fiery globe. He pulled from a pocket a long, thin rod that definitely would not have fit were he not a god and began tying the globe to it with thin line.

"Here, Thief of Ri." Gen said. "You'll need this."

Jori gazed at the globe and then at Gen. The thief-god grinned.

"I'll just tell your uncle you said hi, shall I?" He said, standing, feet finally touching the ground again.

"Will we win?" Jori asked, taking the pole and the Thief's Lamp that dangled from it.

"Seeing the future is given to greater gods than I, Jori son of Dori." Gen said. "But I can tell you this." He grinned. "There will always be a thief of Ri."

"And how is that supposed to make me feel any-" but Gen was gone.

Jori sighed, adjusted his face mask one more time, and disappeared into the darkness, Lamp bobbing before him and shining a light that only thieves could see by. Far away, other battles were being fought- for Greenwood, for Lorien, for Minas Tirith.

The battle for Erebor would not mention the name of Jori, son of Dori.

Precisely as a thief would want it.

Chapter Text

Oin son of Groin stared at the bleeding dwarfling on his doorstep and said, "Mahal save me from idiots."

"Ha ha ha shut up and help Old Man." The dwarfling grumbled.

"Does your brother know you're out at this hour?" Oin asked, even as he moved aside.

"No," the dwarfling said, "and if you've got a lick of sense you won't tell him, Old Man."

Oin grabbed his staff from where it sat beside the door and rapped the dwarfling on the head.

"OW!" The child glared at him. "I'm injured!"

"You're a brat, Nori of Ri, and I am not yet old." Oin replied. "Now, what happened?"

---

That Nori would grow up to be a criminal had never been a doubt in anyone's mind.

Poor Dori and Orla were run ragged just trying to keep him out of trouble, and when his fiftieth birthday came and he didn't come home for dinner, his older brother threw up his hands and declared he was done with the whole business.

Oin got a little more warning. He came home to Nori raiding his apothecary.

The two dwarves stared at one another.

"Gonna call the watch?" Nori asked at last.

"Dwalin would never make it in time." Oin pointed out. Nori chuckled.

"Do you even know what to pack?" Oin asked.

Nori shook his head. "A little bit of everything?"

"Mahal above you're going to get yourself killed before you make it to Bree. Move."

When Nori left Ered Luin it was with a little leather satchel, filled to the brim with the supplies a single dwarf might need for a life on the road.

He also had an aching knot on his head.

---

Oin turned the scales over in his hands.

They were beautiful work, these scales; made of copper and gold, edges studded with emeralds that made up the eyes of the large dragonlike creatures that were etched into the reeds. A set of medicinal scales, clearly, for the weighing of willowbark and poppy seeds and dried kingsfoil. The maker mark on the bottom was not one Oin recognized.

There was a note.

'For the refills.'

Oin looked at the locked window of his apothecary, then at his ravaged store cabinets. He snorted, lit his pipe, and went to have dinner with his brother.

---

Oin didn't ask what the woman's name was, or why she was traveling with thieves, or why she had risked leaving home so close to the end of her pregnancy. He passed no judgement on the cave that she had taken refuge in. He made sure his hands were clean and adjusted the cloth he'd laid out underneath her.

"Bring the lamp closer." He requested over her cries, and Nori did, mouth a thin line. The woman's beau had been drunk, and was not amiable to bringing an unknown medic into their den. Where he was now, Oin wasn't sure. He only knew Nori had returned with a satisfied look on his face, tucking away two of his innumerable knives.

The woman screamed and Oin did not shush her.

"Help her, Old Man!" Nori cried.

"I am trying." Oin replied, and sent up a silent prayer.

The babe was neither weak nor stillborn; Oin carefully cleaned him. "A boy." He told her, putting the child on her chest. "A strong young lad."

She smiled up at him, but did not say thank you. Oin didn't expect her to.

"Get me home." He said. "It's past my bedtime."

"Sure, Old Man." Nori said, voice sounding watery.

Oin never saw the woman again, though he appreciated the little sapphire earrings that he discovered two weeks later, along with another note. He recognized the handwriting; perhaps the mother couldn't read.

'She named him Gen'.

Oin shook his head and went out for a smoke.

---

"I know you know where he is." Dori said to Oin, as politely as ever he had addressed one of higher rank than he, though the spark in his eyes spoke volumes of his temper.

"What'd you say?" Oin gestured with his hearing trumpet.

"I said you know where my brother is!"

"I know what a feather is? Of course I know what a feather is, Master Dori! Do you need any feathers? I've some blue spot tails in from Harad, they're very good for vitality."

Dori threw up his hands and walked out.

From beneath the carved stone sink, Nori said, "I can't believe he thinks you're deaf."

"What?"

"Shut up Old Man."

---

"Apply pressure." Oin said faintly.

Nori nodded and pressed the wad of cloth tighter to the wound on the older dwarf's side.

"We need something to hold that in place. Do you have a belt?"

Nori swiftly undid his one-handed. "Your brother is going to kill me." He said as he buckled the compress on. "He is going to kill me and leave me on a pike mounted at the front of his bank."

"My brother isn't in charge of avenging me." Oin sniffed. "I am older and do not need the help." He winced. "In my bag- big green glass bottle."

Nori dashed over to the bag, stepping over the orc corpses to get there. He found the bottle and returned, pulling the cork. Oin took it from him and drank.

"What was that?" Nori demanded.

"Well," Oin said, "it was either an antidote for whatever was on those blades, or brandy. Either way, I feel better."

"DAMN it, Old Man!"

Pale as he was, Oin laughed.

---

Midnight had come to the healing tent, and Nori kept one arm draped about Oin's shoulders. The elves had come and they had gone; now, aside from a few pained groans in the night, all was still.

"I couldn't save them." Oin whispered.

"They were too far gone." Nori replied, heart tightening.

"They were younger than me." Oin replied. "They should have lived."

"Don't be an idiot." Nori said.

"I'm so tired."

"Then sleep." Nori said. "Tomorrow's another day."

"I feel so old, Nori." Oin murmured.

Nori swallowed. "Don't." He said. "You're not old, Oin. You're not old at all."

The shadows grew longer in the healing tent. Oin son of Groin went to sleep and he dreamed. Nori of Ri lay awake, and watched as every shadow moved.

Chapter Text

Nori liked how this one tasted.

Normally he wasn't very picky about his meat. If he could catch it, or scavenge it, he would eat it. Dori was forever nattering at him about the fact that he bit first and asked questions later. Nori could usually get him to shut up by pointing out that he was the one with the serrated teeth in the family and therefore, he was the one who was supposed to bite first.

He was lucky to get this nice big one. There had been a feeding frenzy once word had gotten out. Whenever those great ships went to war, there were always those who fell overboard, or were cut, or mangled. A few had to be drowned but that wasn't Nori's preferred way; it was Dori's. Food had been scarce in the winter months. The clash of the ships had been a blessing and a curse; it was a battle to get the best choice in meat, but there was plenty to go around.

Thinking this Nori gazed down at his meal. In life, probably a handsome enough fellow. Big, broad. He'd died of a belly cut long before he hit the water. That was unfortunate- Ori loved the soft parts, and those had all floated away to be consumed by smaller fish.

Nori had learned to grade his meat. This one was a warrior, with corded muscle that had a nice chew. His skin had paled out to something only a little lighter than the water around them, and it made the black marks- tattoos- that much more stark.

Nori ate around the tattoos. He had a collection going. One day he swore he was going to swim south to the far reef and find one of the artisans who would give him his own mark with a little hammer made of sharp mako teeth dipped in squid ink.

Dori, of course, threw an utter fit whenever Nori mentioned it.

Spoil sport.

Really, though, dinner must have been quite the thing when he was living.

"If you were a merman," Nori informed him, "I'd have swum on my back for you any day."

Dinner didn't respond. Nori took another bite from the shoulder, jerking his head so that his teeth could do their work.

After he finished that mouthful, Nori drew from around his waist a rope that he had made of twisted kelp. He would drag his find back to the family grotto for his brothers. Ori would help him cut the tattoos away, and Dori would add the bones to their garden, to nourish the coral.

"I bet your bones will make beautiful coral." Nori murmured.

As he fashioned the harness, Nori kept a sharp eye out. He wouldn't put it past their neighbors to try and horn in on his bounty; they were more than willing to try and cut the three brothers out of anything that might help them survive. A few testing tugs and Nori was sure that his prize wouldn't slip away to the deeper parts of the water, where things bigger and meaner than him swam.

Nori settled himself and scented the water. Dori and Ori were nearby- possibly over the next trench, with their own finds. Ori especially loved looking after the artifacts that drifted down to them when a ship was sunk. Nori would help him swim about the wreck, and Dori would screech at them so loudly he'd disrupt the echolocation of any passing dolphin.

Oh!

Nori looked at the axes. They had fallen with the food. They were pretty things. Ori would like them. Nori grabbed at them, and then looked at his meal.

"I need that," he said uneccessarily, and removed from the body the bandoleer that had held the axes in life. One cloudy white eye (Nori had eaten the other one immediately) gazed at him as he fastened the bandoleer about his chest and slid the axes into the holsters. "Oh, this is handy!" he exclaimed. "but it'll drag.."

No matter. He wasn't so vulnerable now that the frenzy had stopped, and with drift he had wound up feeding closer to home than the others had. So long as he could avoid sharks he would be fine.

Sharks had a tendency to avoid Nori; they knew a Tail of Tooth when they saw it.

Nori chuckled at that thought and, heartened by the meal and by the ease of the coming days, he flexed his powerful tail and began to swim home, dragging food behind him.

Chapter Text

There were lace curtains.

Hand-tatted lace curtains, blowing gently in the breeze of the summer afternoon.

Very nice, Dori had thought, following Bofur up the cast-iron steps into the diner. A quaint touch, like something he would have done himself. The entire place looked homey. The food had been described to him as 'what your mother used to make, if your mother could cook.' He'd told Bofur that of course his mother could cook, thank you very much, and he would be the judge of what was good around here! Bofur had just laughed, kissed his hand, and said of course, darlin', but let me tell you...

It wasn't quite a fifties diner, wasn't really a down-home place but had a nice mixture of the two; Dori had to admit that the smell of good things cooking permeated the place. The booths were all upholstered in a blue oilcloth that he found fetching. They watched the willow plates. Old plates, clearly- all scratched and dinged. Still, clean and well loved, which spoke volumes of the kind of people who came to a place like this.

It seemed odd to Dori that Bofur would risk bringing him here. Their relationship wasn't brand new by any means but Bofur had always tried to treat Dori, quote, 'like a Queen', with the mistaken perception that that meant his lover preferred always the finest things. Dori had socked him for it, since his definition of 'finer things' was a bit different than Bofur's, but it was easy to admit that he appreciated being showered with attention sometimes. That they had come to one of Bofur's favorite places to eat, in a city far from the one where they both lived and for an expo that only Dori was attending, spoke volumes to Dori. Those volumes had wedding bells.

When they sat down they were seen to by a girl whose nametag proclaimed her to be Vedris. She was shapely, black haired, and seemed surprised to see Bofur. "I didn't think I was going to see you for another two weeks!" She said.

"I had the time, the inclination, and for once, the business isn't mine, it's his." Bofur said with a grin, putting his arm around Dori. "Vedris, meet the missus."

"Hello, dear." Dori said. "I'm Dori. I'll punch him for that later."

Vedris laughed. "I just bet you will. So, what can I get for you? Specials are-"

Everything on the menu looked good, and some of it rang familiar to Dori. There were dishes he cooked often and others he'd tried over the years. It was certainly an interesting series of choices for a diner. They ordered and Vedris told Bofur she'd go tell the Boss he was here.

Dori surruptitiously spied around as they waited. Plenty of patrons on a weekday afternoon, which pointed to good business practices. The pies in the case looked good. The countertop was clean.

"Does it pass the test?" Bofur asked with a lop-sided grin. Dori whapped him gently before observing the salt and pepper shakers, which were small and shaped like birds curled together.

"Let me try the food, then we see if it passes the test." Dori told Bofur. Bofur just smiled that impossibly wide smile and spotted someone coming over Dori's shoulder. "There he is. Hey, Nori! C'mere I've got someone I want you to meet!"

Nori.

Nori..?

Dori felt time slow to a crawl as he slowly, slowly, turned his head.

One flash of russet braid and Dori was up, nearly knocking all the cutlery to the floor as an old instinct propelled him forward. Around the counter, up and over? No, he would feint for the register, best to catch him there. Dori timed it just right and flung himself into space as his target backed up and rounded for the register. Flailing, the target grabbed a napkin dispenser; they fell to the floor in a clatter of springs and stainless steel plates and ivory-colored napkins.

Hand-tatted lace curtains, and Dori's had been the hand that tatted them. They had gone missing seven years ago.

So had his best cast iron pan.

And one of his recipe boxes.

The eyes that shined up at him were entirely unrepentant.

"Hello, Dori!" Dori's shiftless middle brother, who Dori had assumed to be dead in a ditch, patted him on the forehead. "Would you like some tea?"

"Dori what are you doing?!" Bofur was standing over them clutching his had in a panic, and coffee had been spilled on the tile in front of them as another waitress had jumped aside. Vedris was laughing, a bald and tattooed man in a sheriff's uniform was heading for them with a face dark as an oncoming hurricane, and Dori was remembering that of course the shepherd's pie looked familiar it was his recipe.

All Dori could think of to say to his brother- who was not in fact dead in a ditch, if his stained apron gave any indication- was "Yes, I would like some fucking tea."

Chapter Text

It was hard to tell that the newcomer was a dwarf at first, for his beard was cut so short.

The good hobbits of Tuckborough figured it out, after a fashion.

They weren't sure what to make of the fellow; he was quiet, and asked for work in return for food. A good system, readily honored; and though they weren't to be trusted as a rule (for anyone taller than three feet was surely untrustworthy), it was good to have a dwarf about for the heavy lifting.

He set up camp at night in a little covered cart that had once been painted red, but had since started to weather and chip. A few of the housewives worried about him at night, what with it being so cold. Their husbands kept a close watch on him. The little fauntlings had no problem running up to the cart in the morning and banging on the sides with sticks, for they were mostly Took children and adventures were second nature to them. They loved it when the dwarf grumbled something in words like marbles crushing against gravel.

Soon enough, what work needed to be done was done, and one morning the dwarf woke, packed up his little stove and his washtub, and travelled on.

He was seen in other towns; Michel Delving, Bywater. Word spread from the Old Took himself that this dwarf, while strange, was a decent enough sort. While the words of Old Took held no sway with the Proudfeets or the Bracegirdles, the Brandybucks were more than willing to keep an eye on the road for the chipped red cart.

Redcart, in fact, became his name; it was what he answered to most readily. Somewhere or another he found a small bell which he affixed to one of the handles of his cart, and so the hobbits always knew he was coming.

Redcart didn't interact with other dwarves. Sometimes a few would come through for fairs or carnivals. Covered in leather armor and bristling with weapons they forged, and Redcart disappeared. Some of the hobbits wondered but by and large it was decided that not knowing was better.

Then, one day, Redcart passed by a round green door. Before the door sat a hobbit smoking a pipe.

There was nothing particularly special about this hobbit, not to the untrained eye. Like his fellows he was short and pleasantly round, with thick curly hair on his feet to match the thick curly hair of his head. His waistcoat was clean, his buttons shined. He blew a smoke ring, looked at Redcart and the way the laces of his tunic were tied, and said, "Gen smiles."

Redcart went stiff as a board. He turned tired tawny eyes to the hobbit and his green door. His gaze fell to the buttons of the waistcoat, shaped in an eloquent series of knots, and said, in a voice that wavered only a little, "Gen laughs."

The hobbit put out his pipe, and stood, and bowed.

"Bilbo Baggins." He said. "At your service."

"Redcart." Redcart said, and Bilbo did not challenge it.

"I've heard tell, Master Redcart, that you are a bit of a tinker." Bilbo said. "Is that true?"

"It is." Redcart hooked calloused thumbs in his worn leather belt.

"I've some hingest that need mending." Bilbo said. "Dratted things squeak day and night. I'd be happy to lend you a room while you work, if you're amiable."

Redcart watched Bilbo Baggins for a moment like a cautious wild dog watched an approaching man. Then he nodded, once.

"Be happy to help." He said.

---

Many of the things in Bilbo Baggins' fine hobbit hole weren't his. In fact, many of them weren't from the Shire at all. Over hinges and bent nails, stubborn pothandles and crooked window boxes, Bilbo shared the stories of his possessions. Some were great tales full of adventure, others less interesting and more opportune. A few days turned into a week, then a month. Three months into working for Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, Redcart unloaded his cart and hide it away underneath a covering in the back garden.

This struck the neighbors as strange and many of them whispered about it, particularly Bilbo's cousin Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, who dearly wanted Bilbo's fine hobbit hole for herself. Redcart seemed to relax a little bit. He smiled once or twice. His normally scraggly beard, while still cut short, was neatly cleaned and trimmed. He did the shopping during the week. Extra apples and tomatoes sometimes found their way into the baskets. Bilbo would see this and smile.

Six months after taking up one of Bag End's rooms (and constructing a bed that would better hold him) Redcart sat before the fire and said, "Are your burgling days done?"

Bilbo, who was writing at the desk, countered, "Are yours?"

Redcart watched the fire snap and crackle. "Maybe." He said. "I like it here."

"Why?" Bilbo asked, for he loved the Shire, but a part of him- the part that was his mother, a Took through and through- loved the road more.

"It's quiet. It's calm." Redcart leaned back on his palms. "It's somewhere green."

Bilbo thought about that. He put his quill down and came around to sit beside Redcart on the floor. When he leaned against the dwarf Redcart did nothing to stop him.

"Yes," Bilbo agreed, "it is very green."

---

A year after Redcart came to stay in Bag End, he followed Bilbo to Bree. Ostensibly it was just a short holiday.

The stolen set of silver was just a bit of a bonus.

Gazing at one another as they fled into the night, Bilbo was delighted to see a fire in Redcart's eyes where once he had only seen sorrow and a hint of an old laugh.

They took another holiday.

And another.

On holiday number nine they ran into trouble; Men, not happy to be outfoxed by a halfling and a dwarf. Bilbo knew how to run and how to hide, but fighting- real fighting, save for the quick slice of a knife and dash into darkness- was beyond him.

Thankfully, it wasn't beyond Redcart.

In the heavy silence once the knife was dropped, hobbit and dwarf gazed at one another with wide and wonderous eyes.

Bilbo firmly told himself that as a hobbit approaching the prime years of bachelorhood he was far too mature to let a little thing like being rescued from certain death perk him up like a young lad.

Redcart's ability to kiss, on the other hand, was a solid and reasonable argument to the contrary.

---

Bilbo Baggins was respectable, after a fashion.

His Redcart wasn't respectable at all, and that, they felt, was what made it all so much fun.

A twisted iron knot was hung over the door of Bag End. No hobbit could confess to knowing what it was, though a few passersby stopped to wonder over it. How, they thought to themselves, did a Thief's Lamp come to be in this quiet growing place?

Whatever they wondered, it was likely far from the truth.

---

When Gandalf arrived, Redcart lurked behind the door. When at last the Wizard left he cursed at the gray robes and caught Bilbo up in a fierce embrace.

Bilbo, alarmed, stroked his back. He murmured into Redcart's ear that he would tell the wizard no if it meant that much to him.

That night someone came knocking.

"I'll get it." Redcart said, looking uneasy.

Bilbo had just finished tying off his bathrobe when he heard the roar of rage, and the clang of steel, and the telltale scrape of boots on wood.

"NORI!"

Bilbo did not know the voice.

Soon enough, he knew the name.

"Nori?" He asked Redcart, who nursed a busted lip. "It's a bit.."

"Flowery?" Redcart- Nori- asked.

Bilbo smiled through his worried tears as he glanced back at the unconcious dwarf tied up in the entryway. "Something like that."

---

The night did not go well.

Redcart had brothers, two of them; and a King, a handsome, scowling fellow who stalked about so much he was more cat than dwarf. References were made to family honor, a failed theft, a cut beard. It took Bilbo all of ten minutes to decide that he wanted these dwarves out of their house and away from his Redcart. He told them so, at top volume.

The last one to leave was Ori. Ori took Redcart's shaking hand, and embraced him, and said goodbye.

---

"Why are we doing this?" Redcart asked Bilbo.

"Because we can't resist." Bilbo said with a sigh. "Maybe Gen laughs."

"Oh, he's laughing." Redcart said darkly.

Three ponies ahead and still nursing a headache, Dwalin son of Fundin glared at the road.

---

Redcart stared at the glimmering jewel in Bilbo's hands. They crouched behind a broken piece of wall, hidden by the ring- the clever ring, which had grown large enough for two fingers. (albeit not comfortably.)

"If I give it to the Elven King," Bilbo said, "Maybe we won't die. We can barter with it, buy our lives."

Redcart shook his head. "Thorin's gone mad. He won't listen to reason no matter what happens."

"Do you have a better idea?" Bilbo demanded, and Redcart remembered where it was his lover came from.

"I do." Redcart said. "But it's going to require a lot of luck."

Bilbo pressed a finger to Redcart's lips. "Gen smiles." He murmured.

Redcart grinned in the hopeless darkness. "Gen smiles." He repeated.

---

Breaking the Arkenstone was no easy feat.

Still, Dwalin managed admirably, with Ori helping to guide his hammer.

Thorin stared at the shards and then at his Company.

"NOW!" Yelled Redcart, and Bilbo ran with quick hobbit feet and, tossing a rope to Kili, they trussed the King under the Mountain like a turkey.

Balin took a deep breath. Over the King's swearing and sobbing and threats of violence he said, "Fili."

Fili, lion-proud and terrified, stepped forward.

"We've some negotiations to do." Balin said. "To the wall."

To the wall they went.

---

There is no mention in the history books of the two thieves who fought in the Battle of Five Armies. There exist today no whispers of Redcart and Shadow, who broke the Arkenstone, who freed the Line of Durin.

No words were written to tell of the formal pardon of Nori son of Orla of the Line of Ri. None dared put to paper the long and arduous weeks after the battle, where a hobbit taught dwarves how to farm, and two thieves promised a respectable teashop owner and a budding scribe that as soon as a child was born with the knack for it, they would train up a suitable Spymaster.

There were none who recorded the long journey home, taken in a bright red cart, filled with treasure and decked with tinkling bells, drawn by two stout-hearted goats. No elvish songs were sung of the stay in Rivendell home of Elrond, or the returned silver spoons and the wide impish grins.

Those hobbits who had wondered at the abnormally long holiday saw Redcart and Bilbo Baggins returning to Bag End and shrugged their shoulders. All was as it should be, in the always pleasant, rarely changing, rolling land of the Shire.

A place that was always and eternally green.

Chapter Text

"We must away ere break of day..."

---

It was solid fact that only Nori son of Kori would go after Dwalin.

Nori, quick as smoke, agile as a cat. Nori, Thorin's left hand dwarf. Nori, who bristled with knives, and seemed to enjoy with reckless abandon the inevitable chase when Dwalin son of Fundin returned to town.

People wondered if Nori wasn't a bit touched in the head. His underlings certainly wondered, but they never dared ask. Afraid of what he'd say, maybe.

No one else was insane enough to chase Dwalin. Dwalin was big, the biggest, and his hands belonged to a killer. Dwalin, it was said, had done in orcs at Azanulbizar without once lifting an axe.

That was what the gossips preferred to focus on, when they spoke of Azanulbizar.

It was a lie, of course. Nori could have told them that, but like asking why it was he chased Dwalin no one dared.

Because if they did, they would know.

And in the world that the dwarves of Erebor lived in then- knowing was too painful.

So here they were again, Thorin's King's Eye and Dwalin son of Fundin, the drunk, the lout, the rioter, the sell-axe, the blackmailer, the troll in dwarf clothing.

"You were slow." Nori said, leaning against the wall outside the cell. "Is your leg bothering you?"

"Fuck my leg and fuck you." Dwalin growled.

"That's not how I remember it." Nori lit a pipe. The embers caught his right eye, lighting it up tawny; they brightened the emerald that had become his left, when the one he was born with was blinded by an orc blade. "Why did you come back, Dwalin?"

"I like the view." Dwalin sneered.

Nori sighed. "Do we have to do this every time?" He asked, sounding not like a Guardsman interrogating a criminal but more like an exhausted kinsman. "You used to trust me, you know."

"That was a long time ago."

"Was it?" Nori asked. "You used to trust Thorin, too."

He was met with stony silence.

"Dwalin you killed the Firebeard Patriarch." Nori said. "They're demanding your beard, your head and your hands and they don't much care what order they get them in."

"He was sabotaging the mines." Dwalin said. "People were dying."

"Do you have solid proof of that?" Nori asked.

"I'm not the King's ruddy Eye am I?!" Dwalin roared, throwing himself against bars that had been forged to hold angry dwarves.

"No." Nori said, still calm, still smooth. "But you used to be something else."

Dwalin's laugh was short, barking and full of pain.

"We were going to arrest Trachar next week." Nori said.

"You were too slow then."

"Dwalin, Balin can't save you. It's murder out and right."

"I never asked him to."

"You're going to face the axe."

Dwalin shrugged. "Won't be the first time."

Nori put his pipe down. He strode forward and reached through the bars. Dwalin grabbed his wrists but not before Nori got a hold of his lapels, dragging him forward.

"If you wanted to die so badly," Nori hissed, "you should have done it outside of my jurisdiction!"

Dwalin's grin showed bloodied gums and the loose tooth no one had seen to yet. "but then I wouldn't be able to tell you goodbye, lover." He said.

Nori stared at him, face slowly crumbling.

"You never loved me." He whispered. "Don't lie."

"Didn't I?"

"If you did you would have stayed." Nori said. "You would have stayed when Frerin-"

"Had the audacity to die in the name of our mad king before he made you a proper dwarf instead of the castoff of a courtesan?" Dwalin asked.

Nori jerked away so fast Dwalin couldn't keep a hold of his thin wrists; a moment after he freed himself a knife went whistling through the bars, slicing by Dwalin's cheek and embedding itself in the far wall.

"You were meant to keep an eye on him." Nori said in the cavernous silence.

"You mean like you did?" Dwalin asked.

Nori turned his back.

"Thorin is mounting a quest." He said, calm veneer back in place.

"Thorin is mad." Dwalin said. "As mad as his father, as mad as his grandfather, as mad as that idiot who never deserved you."

"You will go on this quest." Nori said.

"Like Mahal's bloody beard I will."

"You will go on this quest," Nori said, "because if you do you're pardoned, and your clan ties dissolved."

Dwalin's eyes narrowed. "Making room for new blood?" He asked.

"Like you ever wanted to be a Longbeard." Nori said.

"Not as much as you." Dwalin crooned, and Nori flinched ever so slightly. None of his men, be they officially trained or his wide network of thieves, would have noticed; perhaps not even Nori's brothers would have noticed.

Dwalin had trained with Nori from the moment they were both old enough to hold weapons. They had slept together, eaten together, fought together. They had passed their Royal Guard exam together. They had run from dragonfire together. They had wept over piles of corpses at Azanulbizar together.

Dwalin noticed.

"If I don't go?" The behemoth asked.

"I've been ordered to kill you should you refuse." Nori turned, and tawny and emerald caught Dwalin's earthy brown eyes and held them.

"Dwalin." He whispered. "Please."

Dwalin snorted. "Should I expect the knife the first night, or the sixth?"

"Do you want me to swear an oath?" Nori asked.

"You wouldn't have the guts to do me like you do your crime lords." Dwalin sneered. "You love me too much. Or maybe it's just my cock, I never really decided which."

"Will. You. Go?" Nori asked, hands clenched tightly.

Dwalin thought about it.

"I'm in." He said. "What the hell. It's only a dragon. Do I get a kiss for luck?"

Nori silently stalked out of the area, closing the door with a resounding ring behind him. Dwalin slumped back against the wall. He looked at his hands. Big hands, a killer's hands.

He roared and punched the stone until he bled, and was sworn on to the company of the King he'd once served with his life with bandages tinged crimson.

---

"...to find our long forgotten gold."

Chapter Text

Nori was not comfortable.

He didn't like this jeweled belt; it hadn't been properly altered after it was stolen and it pinched. Still, he didn't move.

It was important that he not move, Sori had said.

"Brave face, Nori." He'd said, tugging on his nephew's sleeves and adjusting his little dagger. "Brave, handsome face. It's an important day."

A very important day, Nori knew, and he kept an eye on the Court to amuse himself. Hirja was tossing knives to entertain a few newcomers from the north, and Dalgo was looming by the door. There wasn't a guard in sight; of course there wasn't. Fundin wouldn't dare.

Not today.

There was an impercetable shift in the crowd by the door, and Nori watched as knives were tucked away and dice were slid into bags, purses returned sheepishly to their annoyed owners.

Dalgo looked to his right. His sister Dirni nodded and stepped forward. Clapping her intricately tattooed hands once- twice- six times she said, "From the Land of the Shire, Her Ladyship Belladonna of Took, Ninth of Gerontius the Old, Thief of Green."

Nori watched the woman who smiled at Dirni with rapt attention. She was shorter even than a dwarf, and she didn't wear shoes. His uncle had told him about the hobbits- the odd little halflings from the Shire, who could walk unseen by most if they chose but didn't leave their homelands for anything, not war nor famin nor the open road.

Only the Tooks were different.

For the Tooks had the Thief of Green.

Belladonna had a kind, round face, and lovely golden hair. Nori could see that the knots she wore to hold her braids were solid gold. Thieves' knots- risky, arrogant.

Brilliant.

Yet it wasn't Belladonna in whom Nori was the most interested. Dirni began to draw her next breath and as their crier once again started her introduction, Nori focused on its object, holding his mother's hand with his curly head held high.

"Sir Bilbo of Baggins, First of Belladonna, Heir to the Thief of Green."

Bilbo was short, even for a youngling, and his feet were as bare as his mother's. He was properly dressed in a hobbity little waistcoat and trousers, but there were glints here and there- needles, Nori realized, both concealed and revealed as was polite in this court. He had graygreen eyes that seemed to sparkle, and though he kept his head facing foward, those eyes were darting all about with a keen curiosity.

Suddenly, wearing the belt that pinched didn't seem so bad.

Nori's Uncle stood from his chair and Nori took this as his cue. He also stood, and silently shadowed his Uncle's footsteps. Dirni faithfully recited, "Sori, son of Rori, of the Line of Longbeard, Twentieth Thief of Ri. Nori, son of Orla, Heir to the Thief of Ri. All Hail the King."

"ALL HAIL THE KING!" The dwarves around the massive stone chamber roared back, and laughter began. Belladonna smiled and beside her Bilbo giggled. Sori grinned, showing a flash of broken fang.

"It all seems a bit ridiculous, doesn't it?" Sori asked her.

"Just a bit. You haven't lost your flare for the dramatic, Sori."

"Perish the thought, my dear Belladonna!" Sori scoffed. "I wouldn't be half the dwarf I am were it not for pomp and circumstance-"

"And those fingers of yours." Belladonna said.

"Aye, and those too. So this is wee Bilbo." Sori got down on one knee. "You know I once fought your Da in a duel to the death?"

Bilbo giggled. "No you didn't." He said.

Sori rose one arched brow. "Oh?"

"No. Mama says you told Da you would steal her, so Da built Bag End so you could never get in!"

"He did, he did, alas the very day he did." Sori said. "Still, all's fair. Bungo won out in the end. How is he?"

"He is well, and wishes you good fortune." Belladonna said. "And this must be Master Nori."

Nori bowed carefully. "My Lady." He said, in awe.

"I'm no Lady, Master Nori, just Belladonna." The hobbit lass said. "And really, you shouldn't get used to calling your mother in law Lady. We tend to take advantage!"

Bilbo and Nori looked at one another askance.

"You seem quite confident." Sori said.

"Sori, my dear friend, you are a King, but I am a hobbit. We know far more about such negotiations than you!" Belladonna laughed, and Sori laughed too. Nori had never seen his uncle so free with anyone save his brother Kori, and perhaps sometimes Fundin, when Fundin wasn't jumping up and down and swearing.

"Well, then." Sori said. "Let us leave my court to get up to their mischief, my dear Lady Green, and have ourselves a good old fashioned negotiation."

The Twentieth Thief-King Under the Mountain and the Lady Green nodded to one another and left the celebration behind, taking their small kin with them.

---

"Do you want to marry me?" Nori asked in the rock garden.

"I don't know." Bilbo said, skipping a stone across the surface of the artificial pond. It skipped twice. "Mother says it's a good idea."

"Uncle loves your mother." Nori said.

"I think my mother loves your Uncle a little bit, too." Bilbo confided. Nori nodded, then thought of something.

"Will I have to steal you?" He asked.

"Not if I steal you first." Bilbo said.

"That's not right!" Nori protested. "The King's supposed to steal his bride."

"But I'm a boy hobbit, so I'm not a bride."

"Oh, that's right. What would you be?"

"A consort, maybe?" Bilbo asked. "A...friend?"

"Maybe you're a wingman." Nori offered.

"If we're married we have to sleep in the same bed, though." Bilbo said, skipping another rock. "Do you snore?"

"No. My sister Dori does."

"You have a sister?"

"I have two siblings. Dori's annoying and she whines a lot. Ori's just a baby. He smiles and laughs."

"I don't have any brothers or sisters." Bilbo seemed sad.

"That's okay." Nori said. "If you're my consort wingman friend, you can share mine." He leaned back on his palms. "Uncle says this marriage is for the good of both of our courts."

"That's what Mother said." Bilbo flopped down beside Nori. "Do you mind?"

"What, getting married?"

"Being stuck." Bilbo said. "Mother's afraid of being stuck."

Nori shook his head. "I'm a thief. We're never stuck."

"You're not a thief yet," Bilbo protested. Nori grinned and held up a hand. He had in it two of Bilbo's needles.

"I'm not?"

"Hey those are mine!" Bilbo jumped on Nori and Nori wriggled away from him. Laughing, the two chased one another around the garden. Bilbo stole Nori's belt (and Nori didn't mind all that much). They collapsed into a giggling heap.

"Nori?" Bilbo asked.

"Yes?"

"I think I'll like being married."

Nori looked up at the artificial sky in the ceiling, made with shards of diamond and dark blue enamel. "I think I will too, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire."

---

All was fire, and ash, and ruin.

Nori ran.

He did not think of jewelled belts pinching. He didn't think of Dirni, wrapped around Dalgo in the doorway. He didn't think about the emeralds he had been choosing, infinitely small to be set in needle eyes. He did not think of burning scrolls and screams.

Nori thought only of running, and leaving the dragon far behind him.

---

"You said you were afraid of getting stuck." Nori said.

Everyone else had long since gone to sleep; the fire had burned down. All of the light seemed to come from Bilbo's pipe, which occasionally flared and showed the green in those eyes.

"What business is it of yours?" Bilbo asked.

"What happened to you?" Nori asked. "To your mother?"

"She died." Bilbo said.

"So did you." Nori replied.

"You have no right to say that to me." Bilbo spoke steadily but there was danger in his voice.

"You're right, I don't." Nori said.

"What do they need a burglar for, if they've got you?" Bilbo asked. "You're the thief."

"I'm not the kind of thief they need." Nori said.

"And I am?"

"You were once." Nori said. "Before the doilies."

Bilbo said nothing. Nori sighed and stood up.

"I'll be having my silver spoons back, please." Bilbo said.

Nori chuckled and slipped them from his pocket, placing them on the small side table. "Tell me something, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire." He said. Bilbo watched him silently, and Nori continued, "Would you have done it? Would you have married me?"

"It was arranged, Nori." Bilbo said. "Arranged, and then burned."

Nori gave Bilbo a look that was simultaniously so hurt and hateful that the hobbit almost recoiled. Silently, the thief slipped away towards where his brother and sister were resting, leaving the son of Belladonna Took to smoke in darkness.

---

After the troll horde, and the wargs, and the dinner, Bilbo was happy to collapse onto a bed.

He wasn't happy when Nori dropped something beside him.

"What's this?" He demanded, eyeing the item. It was a pendant- an emerald, set in soft yellow gold.

"The trolls had good taste, for a bunch of filth-ridden mongrels." Nori said without looking at him, leaning on a wall.

"Nori." Bilbo sat up. "What is this?"

"A return on your investment." Nori said. "I can't give you the jewels your mother brought. Smaug has them. Seems only fair, what with us annulled and all." He slipped off into the night, leaving the bewildered hobbit holding the emerald behind him.

---

"He doesn't talk about it, you understand." Dori said to Bilbo at Beorn's. "It's a painful spot for him. It's rare we are arranged so young, but that Court...did things differently."

"Did it?" Bilbo asked.

"He never told me about the girl." Dori said with a fluttery little sigh. "Only that he never saw her again after she and her mother left. Iron Hills, I suspected. Sori had strong ties there."

"Did he?" Bilbo asked.

"I think he wanted to be married, to be honest." Dori confided. "Raise tiny little hellions to carry on his dirty work. At least the Dragon took care of the whole unsavory affair."

Bilbo avoided Dori until they left.

---

There weren't enough barrels and Bilbo was drowning.

Water, so much water- it was going to grab him up like a huge fist and smash him against the rocks, it was going to pulverize his body into pieces, it was-

He felt hands grab his, half-dragging him up to the rough ropes of the closest barrel.

"Hold on." Nori's voice was a waterlogged growl. Behind them Bilbo could barely hear the sound of wargs coming. "Hold on, Bilbo."

Bilbo, for once, did as he was told.

---

"Here."

Bilbo looked up as something was draped over his shoulder- a jeweled belt, made for a small dwarfling.

"...you found this?" He asked as Nori settled down beside him.

"Smaug couldn't move around much of the gold in the Court's ruins." Nori said without looking at Bilbo. "I might be able to find your brideprice, if I look hard enough."

"Nori you don't have to do that." Bilbo said.

"It's yours." Nori said. "It was an arrangement, remember? One that never came to fruition." He laid back on the gold. "..I want to restart the Court of Thieves."

"Under Dwalin's nose?" Bilbo asked. "It'll be impossible."

"Not impossible, no." Nori said. "Just difficult. The fun kind of difficult. Imagine it, Bilbo. Thieves from all seven dwarf kingdoms. A horde containing spices and silk and thread and copper pots and golden beads. A web of communication from here to the Orocarni, from here to the sea. That was my Uncle's dream."

"Is it yours?" Bilbo asked. Nori chuckled. "It has to be. I've no dreams left of my own."

---

Thorin Oakenshield was going to live, the smarmy bastard.

Nori staggered against a tent pole. Ori tried to steady him.

After all that, he was going to live. He was going to get his stupid mountain and his nephews and his legacy.

Well if Thorin Oak-up-his-Jacksey got what HE wanted...

"Get off." Nori whispered, and Ori did, but he didn't leave his brother's side. Silently and with purpose Nori made for the far side of the camp, to where Bilbo Baggins sat quietly, gazing out over the ruin.

"All of this," Bilbo said when he heard Nori approach, "All of this because I didn't want you to die."

Nori shook his head. "It's okay, Bilbo."

"No it's not." Bilbo said. "No it's-"

"Marry me."

Bilbo turned and gazed up at Nori- one eye gone, leaning on a crutch, hair back in one healing braid instead of three peaks.

"What?"

"Bilbo Baggins, of Took, First of Belladonna, Barrel-Rider, Luck-Wearer, Thief of the Arkenstone, Lord of Green, marry me." Nori let his knees give out, as it brought him to precisely the right height to take one of Bilbo's plump, clammy hands in his own. "Be my Consort, my friend, my fellow Thief. Build a court with me. Find new dreams with me."

Behind Nori, Ori had turned white and squeaky.

Bilbo looked contemplative for a moment.

"Nori," he said, "Twenty first Thief of Ri, baptized in dragon fire, arrangement-redeemer, troll horde raider, one eyed thief- I will."

---

It was in the history of the Court of Thieves the first and the only wedding officiated by the King Under the Mountain, and attended by the Captain of his Guard.

(the after party was another matter, but if there had been a smaller celebration before that involving thirteen dwarves, one hobbit, and copious amounts of Mirkwood's best wine in repurposed barrels, well- no one was going to say anything.)

Chapter Text

The card was simple, a creamy stock. Printed on the front in a serif font were three characters- 4DC.

Printed on the back, in the same font only smaller, was the phrase 'dirty deeds, done dirt cheap.'

Beneath that, a phone number.

Kili turned it over and over in his fingers. Fili had thought it was a bad idea.

Fili was normally right about these sorts of things. It was this annoying habit of his.

Asking Uncle Thorin was entirely out of the question. As well meaning as he was, sometimes Thorin could be obtuse. Thorin didn't even know that Kili knew what the word obtuse meant, was the problem.

What could possibly go wrong?

There was a chance that Kili's hunch was off. He hadn't heard from anyone in that family in years, not since he had disappeared and the other two had moved away. If Kili was wrong, and this wasn't what he thought it was- if it was just a cleaning service or a phone sex line or a plumber- then what was the harm? He said wrong number, he hung up and buried himself under the covers for a little while.

If he was right, well.

Kili looked at the phone in his hand, and then at the card.

Oh come on, Kili. It's not like the guy used your computer to embezzled hundreds of thousands of dollars out of Grandpa Thror's company and then disappeared into thin air without actually saying goodbye.

He sighed and made to dial.

"What are you doing?"

Kili looked up. Fili leaned in his doorway, eyebrows raised.

"Nothing."

"You were gonna call that number." Fili said.

"No I wasn't."

"Bullshit. Kili- the guy's a scumbag. Beyond that you got a weird card in your box at work with absolutely no trail. Do you know the chances that you're about to call a maid service?"

"Well, this place could use a maid."

"Shut up. Kili.." Fili sighed and entered the room, closing the door behind him. He sat down in the leather chair by the book case. "He dated you for half a year and stole from us. He was too old for you then, assuming he's still alive he's too old for you now, and if Uncle Thorin ever sees his face again he'll punch it from here to the Iron Hills."

"You didn't know him like I did." Kili said, and hated himself for sounding like a child.

"You didn't know him at all." Fili countered.

"Well what if I could?" Kili asked.

"By doing, what, phone interviewing him?" Fili asked.

"I don't- maybe?" Kili groaned. "Fee I don't know what I'm doing."

"I know." Fili said. He moved to the bed and looked at the card. "It's your choice, Kili." He said. "Just make sure it's the right one, okay? And if it's bad, well, I'll work damage control."

"That's not fair." Kili said. "You always work damage control."

"Someone in this family has to." Fili said. "Look, don't do it tonight, okay? Try and get some sleep."

He stood and left Kili alone with the card, and the phone, and the number.

Kili traced the letters and the numbers. He flipped the card over once, twice, three times.

He buried his head under his pillow and groaned.

---

"Nori?"

"Yeah, Ori?"

"Your phone has, like, eight missed calls."

"Any voicemails?"

"Not a one."

Nori closed his eyes and leaned back against the cool glass of the balcony window.

"Leave it, Ori." He said. "Just..leave it be."

Chapter Text

Each of the Valar had a temple in Erebor.

Some were more popular than others; Mahal's temple was of course the biggest, with its amphitheatre for Durin's Day plays and the great golden anvil. The temple of Mahal's wife Ivon was tended to by her Blacklock priestesses, the flowers and small trees that could grow in the mountain soaking up the sunlight from the mirror shafts and forming a soft green cave. The Black God had his pillars of Onyx and his deep-robed acolytes, the Lord of Dream had his mirror pool.

In some corners, there were other temples. They were not so easy to spot. One was for the Lady of Winter, Mother of Wolves- an old empty hallway leading to a dead end and a single stone block upon which her statue sat. For the spirits of bronze and gold, copper and iron, there were small shrines scattered about- in forges and teashops, in hallways and bedrooms. Tryptechs of the Three Virtues hung in crystal windows.

And, of course, there was a temple of Gen.

It sat within sight of the Basalt Tower, though no good dwarf knew where it could be found. If you were not a good dwarf, you followed the Lamps- carved into doorjams, hanging from red lanterns, grown into the twists of hardy shrubs. Down a set of twisting steps, through a door made of iron that had once belong to a jail cell it was a deep cave beyond a passageway of traps and tricks and illusions.

Eugenides had but one priest; and he gave communion only to those who could reach him.

Dwarves do not, as a rule, discuss their faith. It is to them a deep and personal thing. These children of adoption, these misplayed notes in the song of Eru, knew better than most that Gods are fickle creatures.

After the dragon, they knew it with far more certainty.

---

Nori knew that Thorin would come to him.

He knew this as Sori knew that Thror would come, and demand the blessings of a God of Thieves upon the Arkenstone. He knew as he knew that that evening fifteen silver buttons would go missing from a leatherworker's shop on Bonegirdle way, and that if they were recovered, a young woman would die. If they were not, she would bear a son, and that son would go to Gondor.

Still, knowing these things as he did, Nori did not lift his head from his quiet prayer as the last of the traps between his temple and the outside world was ripped down.

The door was jerked open so hard the iron groaned. There was a stiff, unnatural silence before Nori said, "Must you?"

"You did not respond to summons, priest." said Dwalin, son of Fundin.

Nori smiled beneath his cowl. "Was I summoned? I'm afraid I didn't hear."

Dwalin growled and Nori turned. The beautiful, ice-hearted king held up a hand. "That's enough, Dwalin." He said, and the Guardsman backed down.

"If you've come for a reading, I'll need what you stole." Nori said. "If you've come for redemption, you're at the wrong temple."

"I come for neither, Nori son of Orla." Thorin said. "I come for you."

"Do you?" Nori pulled down his cowl. "Any why, I wonder, would the crownless King of Ered Luin come to me?"

Thorin was not put off by the fire-orange eyes, by the soft, dangeorus smile or the gold-capped, sharp teeth. "You know why I am here, Nori."

Nori nodded because he did know. He had known before Thorin.

"I am asking for the Right of Sight." Thorin said and beside him Dwalin stiffened.

Nori rose one braided eyebrow. "The Right of Sight was never granted to you, Thorin." He said.

"No," the King agreed, and removed a packet of raw green silk from his jerkin. "but it was granted to Thrain my father, and thus fell to me." He unwrapped the packet and pulled forth the knot.

It was a beautiful knot, made of woven purple cord mixed with fine threads of silver and gold. A tight core blossomed out to fire on all sides, suspended from a long black silk ribbon. Nori was nothing more than a child when he had last seen it, on an altar far finer than the one from which he served his God.

Nori approached and Thorin did not move, did not blink, even as the priest of Gen brought their cheeks very close together. Blue met orange, and in the depths of Nori's eyes Thorin saw clouds turning in a swirling storm.

The knot was plucked from his fingers, and Nori slid away easily as a cat. "Well," he said, "that's a horse of a different color, as the Men say." He gestured. "Come, Thorin. Sit."

Thorin sat one one of the mats before the rough stone altar; Dwalin did not sit, but stood at the door, watching Nori with his axes in reach.

Nori sat on the other side of the altar and prepared the jasper bowl, dropping in the herbs and the ground up lapis. Last he dropped the knot, and picked up the magpie dagger.

"Your hand, Thorin." He said, and the King offered it without qualm. The cut was quick and shallow. A few drops were all that Nori needed. A strike of the tinder, a few soft words that no good dwarf knew, and the knot began to burn.

It made far more smoke than should have been possible and that smoke hovered about their heads, dense and thick as a cloud. Thorin was gone and Nori stood alone, a globe of fire on a pole in his hands.

Reading the future is no easy task. Nori followed the flitting images, walked down path upon path. Each brought him to Erebor, and dragonfire, and the cold glint of a cold stone beneath mountains of gold.

Danger, was the whisper in the smoke. There is danger here.

There is also great reward.

Nori looked from path to path.

Thieves do not fight for Kings.

There is no one else to fight for him.

Fire, death. A pale orc rising-

A door. Round and green, with a symbol glowing gently in the darkness. A little overcoat, a glowing knife. A crown and a battle cry, loss and gain.

The world turned on stolen things; things stolen from Great Gods, things stolen from bad men. A dragon stole a mountain and it was beneath the notice of the Great Ones.

I am not so great.

When Nori opened his eyes the smoke had gone and Thorin, red eyed and exhausted, sat before him. The candle in the corner said that three hours had gone by. Dwalin had not moved an inch.

"What does it mean?" Thorin asked.

Nori shook his head. "Don't ask a thief to explain the future, Thorin." He said quietly, with affection that Thorin had not heard since they were children. "If you go..."

"If I go?" Thorin asked.

"The beast's reign will end," Nori said, for that he was certain of. "but if it does, old friend, I fear you will wake and know the sickness of Thror."

"I must take that chance." Thorin said. "I must, Nori."

And Nori saw as he sometimes did the path before him, made crystal clear.

"Then I am coming with you." He said.

And that was that.

---

It was a miner, a baker, a toymaker, a banker, a healer, a scribe, a statesman, a tailor, a guardsman, two princes, a king, and a Priest of Gen who departed from Ered Luin. Hardly a group of heroes, barely a group of warriors. Nori looked at the threads before him and how they knotted and hoped he was right.

Gen was a fickle God, but he was not cruel.

Nori was more certain at the green door. He was positive when he saw the soft little face and the gentle auburn curls.

He kept himself to himself, and performed his rituals in private. They were quick, of course. A priest of thieves didn't have time for showmanship.

---

The hobbit kept things interesting.

He wanted to know about how dwarves saw the world, and the others were more than willing to show him. When Bilbo came to Nori, he said, "Your brother says you're a priest."

"I am." Nori said.

"Of who?" Bilbo asked.

Nori gave Bilbo a long, considering look.

"Someone good dwarves don't know." He said at last.

Bilbo did not ask again.

---

The arkenstone had been stolen, and Gen was laughing.

Nori was positive of it.

As he shed at last his cowl and his long coat, and took up arms alongside a guardsman, he could hear the Thief-Lord chuckling.

When the goblins and orcs came crashing down in a black wave Gen sniggered.

When Fili and Kili died holding hands, Gen snorted.

When Thorin Oakenshield fell on Azog's claw, Gen howled.

When Nori son of Orla buried the magpie knife into Azog's eyes, Gen giggled.

When the sky dawned bright and clear and blue over a field of death, Gen was silent, and satisfied.

---

Each of the Valar has a temple in Erebor.

Mahal's is the biggest, with its golden anvil. Ivon's is the calmest. The Black God has his onyx pillars, the Lord of Dream his mirrored pools.

Deep down a set of stairs, within sight of the Basalt Tower, there is another temple.

The hallway is full of traps and tricks and illusions. It is tended to by only one Priest. He plans to train his secondborn nephew, when the time comes; but that time is not yet.

On his plain altar there is a jasper bowl, and a magpie knife. There are globes of clear crystal formed in the years before the loss of Tumunzahar, which hold everburning fire.

There are treasures piled high and worn mats for worshippers.

There is a crown, and there is a stone of beauty unrivalled.

It is not a place good dwarves know about.

The priest tends it always, returning home rarely. His brothers try to understand.

The priest sees threads, and sometimes hears his God laughing.

Or is that anguish?

Nori does not know.

Chapter Text

Bilbo knew when Nori Crooksmile showed up at his door that he would be off on another adventure.

Of course, normally Crook didn’t bring a whole passle of other dwarves…

"Nori, this is a bad idea."

"Think of it, Bilbo." Nori begged him. "Think of it.”

"A dragon, Nori." Bilbo said. "A genuine, fire-breathing dragon."

"And the biggest haul of our lives." Nori said.

"Stealing from a Ranger or an elvish caravan is different than stealing from a drake. I don’t care about the money."

"I know you don’t but Bilbo. An entire. city.” Nori took Bilbo’s shoulders, a fire in his silvery eyes. “The heist of our careers. The heist legends are made of, Bilbo, taking a horde from under a dragon, resitting a King on his rightful throne.”

"Like a song." Bilbo said thoughtfully.

"The songs they sing in taverns from here to Harad." Nori agreed. "You remember Harad?"

Bilbo’s smile was slight but it was there. “I remember.”

"And so does the Tribe of the Two Headed Snake." Nori said. "Bilbo, this is bigger than the Two Headed Snake. This is bigger than the silver run through Dunland."

"Bigger than the Firebeard ruby job?" Bilbo asked, taking a pull on his pipe.

"So much bigger." Nori said.

Bilbo licked his lips. He looked out the window at the enclosing darkness of the Shire. His smial was warm and cozy and-

boring.

"You get to spend time with my brothers." Nori needled. "And learn all kinds of embarassing things about me as a dwarfling."

"You’ve told me every embarassing story you have."

"We can pickpocket a king. AND a prince or two."

"They don’t have enough in their pockets to make it halfway worthwhile."

"I’ll share Dwalin."

Bilbo purred. “Tempting.”

Nori grinned. “AND we’ll make off in the night with the prettiest gems. As soon as we take care of the dragon.”

"Assuming we can take care of the dragon." Bilbo pointed out.

"I heard a we." Nori said.

"I didn’t say we." Bilbo sniffed.

"Yes you did." Nori said. "I distinctly heard ‘we’ in that sentence."

"You’re delusional."

"You said that right before we raided that trader’s camp in Gondor."

"And I was right."

"Well, yes." Nori said. "But I’m the very best kind of delusional, aren’t I?"

"You are." The grin that spread over Bilbo Baggins’ face would have done his mother proud. "Is the dragon alive?"

"No one knows." Nori replied.

"What’s between us and the mountain?"

"Oh, you know. Orcs, a great forest full of weed eaters, a moody King."

"So I should pack Sting, then?"

"And the good silver, of course." Nori said piously. "The road goes ever on, after all."

Bilbo Baggins grinned and tugged on Nori’s beard. “Yes,” he said, “I suppose it does.”

Chapter Text

Ori brought home fine paper and pen nibs from the raid, his special part of the treasure (he insisted on using the word treasure, though his brothers always pointed out that it was loot.)

Dori had carefully selected only the best china from the shop he absolutely would not let anyone destroy.

And Nori?

"MFGRMGFF!"

Nori brought home a bride.

Not a traditional one, no; a warrior of the town they had sacked, a soldier's braids in his beard and his hair cut into a fierce mowhawk. He'd made the mistake of attacking all three brothers when they were separated from their gang. Ori had been all for doing him in, but Nori had protested. Surely such bravery should be rewarded?

This wasn't the kind of reward most people would go for, but Dori had long ago forgiven his brother's odd tastes. Nori had gotten the man into the boat and that was that.

"You think he’ll look pretty in a dress, Ori?" Nori asked, trying on one of the many golden necklaces they had lifted from the ruins of a jeweler's shop. Ori looked up from where he was drawing the trussed, burly warrior stashed near the barrels of pickled herring.

"Maybe." Ori said thoughtfully. "Silk perhaps?"

"I could make a silk dress," Dori said as he tied off a line, "but you’ll need to keep him from ripping it."

Nori grinned, showing teeth- three of them capped in gold. “I think I’ll manage.”

"MRRGRRFF!"

"Oh do be quiet, wife." Nori said. If looks could kill, he would be dead; but they couldn’t, and Dori set their boat to sail home.

Chapter Text

Winter was a thief killer.

Nori couldn't count the number of people it had snatched from him- men and dwarves, good and bad. Frozen in hidy-holes, drowning in their own blood after swimming through icy streams, buried alive beneath sheets of snow knocked loose by dogged persuers. Nori had a healthy fear of winter, and a good dose of respect for it. He didn't hold with the idea of the wintersmith as some dwarves did, but when the wind cut through his bones he thought perhaps he could hear the echoing crack of a dwarrowdam's hammer on the high mountain peaks.

When the quest began, it was not winter, but Nori knew it was coming. They all did. The late seasons had never been kind to the refugees of Erebor, even after their settlement in Ered Luin. Bofur watched the sky constantly, seeking flakes that weren't going to fall for months. Bombur kept them stocked, kept worrying over his soups and his meat pies as though keeping them fed would keep off the inevitable cold.

Nori thought that the Shire never saw a winter. Not a real winter, anyway, the kind where you had to dig a grave in frost.

(but he was wrong, he was so wrong and it took a brave hobbit to tell him so, in a regal dark room where a dark regal dwarf was laid to rest)

He'd stolen silver spoons with primroses on them and had been a bit sorry to see the Shire go.

The year had trod on endlessly and of course it was coming on winter when they approached the mountain, that only made sense. Why would the desolation of the dragon not be peppered with dried, icy grass and the kind of air that could trim a beard? If Nori had an opinion on the matter it was that Smaug was somehow in league with the clouds and the snow.

The elves, curse them, didn't feel the cold, not the prince in his buckskins nor the lady in her soft green uniform, certainly not the king in his armor worth more than anything Nori had seen before, besides the ghostly horde upon which they sat. Strong to endure, so it was said, yet Nori had to cofess that if Mahal had planned for some of his children to be cutpurses and home invaders and other good gentlefolk he perhaps should have given them a hardier dose of the endurance than everyone else. That was only fair.

When Thorin (oh Thorin, true Thorin, good Thorin, Thorin without that madness in his eyes) asked them to follow, the cold didn't matter anymore.

Then it came back.

The ice was cracked, stained like rusty iron. There were bodies everywhere but only three mattered.

Nori felt the cold shoot down his spine, and somewhere the wintersmith was forging.

Damn her.

There were no shallow graves for the Line of Durin. Even in the embrace of the earth Nori could not fight off the ice that gripped him. Dori made him quilted tunics, Ori knit him scarves, but still the water rushed and the blood flowed and there was Fili and there was Kili and there Thorin, poor Thorin who had been himself in the end, a good dwarf, the best of dwarves.

Nori picked a house with a truely gargantuan fireplace, and declared that he would never travel in the winter again; for winter killed thieves and kings and love, and Nori wanted nothing to do with it.

Chapter Text

Rule 1: I pick the time and the place of our meetings.

Nori examined the sketch. It was well done, for an elf. No doubt he had been thinking about it for- well however long elves did. A million years or something like that.

"You are nothing like I expected." He said icily, and Nori wondered if he was capable of speaking in any other way.

"Am I not?" She asked absently, turning the sketch, memorizing it as only dwarfkind could. "You're not the first to say that."

He would doubtless not be the last.

"You do realize," she said to him, "that if it's discovered this has gone missing, and made its way back to you..."

"It will not be flaunted, don't you worry." There was bitterness there and she almost smiled to hear it, because the Woodland King wanted to flaunt it, to wave it in the air like a jaunty banner, to declare that he had won at last.

Doing so would jepoardize his relations with Erebor.

And Erebor had become too important.

Nori liked that.

She handed the drawing back to him with a nod. "Give me two years." She said. "You'll have your bauble. And if I show up at your city and wind up in the tender comforts of your dugeon again..." she smiled, showing the overlarge canine teeth that she had inherited from her mother. "I'll show you how dwarves break diamonds."

The elf king likely had some kind of snappy response, but he didn't get the chance to fire it. The moment after she finished her sentence the thief was gone, already under the tent flap and into the night where the smells of battle had not yet abated, making her way unseen with eyes that worked best in darkness to the camps of her people, leaving the Mirkwood Contingent behind.

Rule 2: My methods are a trade secret.

There were bound to be sticky fingers amongst the dwarves who came to rebuild Erebor. Who could resist? The dragon had laid on the gold for a long time, and even if he had not, this was all that was left of their peoples' history. Elves and Men had their scrolls and books, their oral traditions. Wouldn't you know it, every time a dwarf tried to write something down, the paper got burned in some kind of calamity.

Gold, though, silver, iron and brass- those stayed. No they did not have volumes on the works of their forefathers, they had the works themselves, and merely touching them brought comfort to many.

Nori made herself indispensable in the treasury. "Like calls to like," she said to Dwalin son of Fundin, who let her roam amongst the sorters and pick out those who might pocket a coin or three. Some she brought to the foreman, for while their fingers were sticky their hearts were pure, and those dwarves were set to deeper sorting, to finding names for helms and daggers and crystal music boxes, salvaging what knowledge they could. Some just wanted to get rich, and normally Nori could scare them off with a smile and a knife; for those who wouldn't be scared, she got mean.

Once and only once had she called Dori to help her, for a particularly stubborn Stiffbeard lad who had a thing for copper pots, of all the horde. Dori had taken one look at this dwarrow, who stood more than four inches taller than herself, and grasped him firmly by his sensitive, whorled ear.

"You're coming with me!" she snarled, and when last Nori saw him the Stiffbeard was pentiently helping Dori clean out the two story building that she had claimed for her workrooms and tea shop.

Finding the necklace was easy.

Convincing herself to finish the job was hard.

Nori had remembered where Thorin threw it, for Nori remembered all routes and all possibilities, which was why she worked on commission and was even taxed for it, much to poor Balin's horror when he finally finished threading his way through the paperwork.

Nori remembered Thorin picking it up. She remembered him declaring that an elf king would pay a pretty price for it, then throwing it back to the table where it had lain.

Nori knew then that something was wrong. She had watched Thorin Oakenshield deal in copper, brass, iron and gold. She had watched him handle things of ugliness and beauty, items of hobbit make and dwarf make and even elf make. Regardless he had treated them all as a proper son of Mahal, with the deep respect that craft deserved.

He had thrown diamonds onto a table with contempt, and Nori knew that they were in for it.

It's not, she told herself as she concealled the necklace in her hidden padded pocket, as if I am stealing it just to fence it.

I am stealing it to return it to its owner.

For a price, of course.

She made it through the pat down as she did every evening.

Perhaps I could pull an old Bilbo Baggins and claim it as part of my share.

Even as she thought of it the joke turned to ash. Bilbo, upstairs helping where she could and fighting back tears, did not deserve even the gentlest jokes.

Besides, the shares of the treasure were being worked out with Dain Ironfoot and a whole passle of bankers and financiers, headed by Gloin. They were all very rich dwarves now, and there was no point in keeping the money. Indeed, the brother and sister Ur seemed determined to get rid of as much of it as possible. Nori herself had dedicated a large sum to a school in lowtown, by the edge of Forlorn Lake. It felt weird, doing good.

Weird, but also very nice.

In the privacy of her own home, which she had picked because she could read the thieves' signs carved into the posts that no one else could, Nori examined her prize.

Rule 3: Should your comission be in a poor condition, I reserve the right to improve it, if I believe it will increase its value and thus, my fee.

Nori had to hand it to the elves, they did know beauty.

The necklace with its flowering sections would lay across a lady's collarbone, winking in torchlight. The diamonds were the purest of white, save a few accents which sparkled blue. The work meant to be completed upon the necklace was long since done. Nori could see what an elf could not- places where the delicate chain had been strengthened, the karat of diamond switched out for those of better quality. The drawing given to her by her client had been precise, but it was nowhere near this glorious.

A quick polish was all it needed before Nori sequestered her comission into a wooden, velvet-lined box.

She ate a meal with her sisters, and listened to Dori mutter about the state of the streets and Ori wax poetic over the deep archives that Smaug's ruin had not touched.

"What about you, Nori?" Ori asked in a lull. "Anything interesting happen today?"

Nori thought about the necklace.

"I found a set of emeralds that Da cut." She said, and her sisters breathed in as one.

"I've already brought them to Gloin." She confirmed. "He'll keep them safe for us."

This in turn led to stories about their parents, and then their childhoods.

Before bed Nori checked on the necklace again. It was beautiful, but far too flowery. Perfect for an elf, of course, but she was no elf.

Still, she tried it on. She liked how it draped.

In her mind's eye she changed the lines, cut some of the drops, switched the fine cuts and sizes of the diamonds. White was fine, but there had to be more blue in it- blue for bluebells, blue for smoke, blue for the eyes of kings, both elf and dwarf.

Nori put the necklace away and took out a drawing pad.

Rule 4: I am never early, neither am I late. I arrive precisely when I mean to.

The road into Mirkwood was much better defined now that it was regularly travelled. Barrels, of course, were still the main mode of transport for goods, but the security upon them, for understandable reasons,had been tightened up.

A lone dwarf riding a stout pony was cause for alarm still and Nori was counting on that. When the arrows started to point from bows she hadn't been aware were around her, she neatly put out her pipe and took down her hood.

"I remember you." She said to the redheaded warden.

The elf said nothing, but elves were not so clever in the concealment of their eyes as dwarves; there were tears there yet unshed.

"I've business," Nori said, more gently than she would have had this been any other elf, "with your king."

"What business would a dwarf dare claim to have with the King?" Asked another of the elves, one of the innumerable blonde ones.

"It's a bit private, lad." Nori said. "Trust me. Tell him it's one dwarf on a pony who grins too much and he'll wrinkle his nose at you and gesture grandly for me to enter his holy presence."

A few of the wardens cracked a smile at that. It heartened Nori a bit to see it.

She was led (at arrowpoint, of course; propriety and all that) to the Undercity of Thranduil.

He was not thrilled to see her and Nori was a bit miffed at that.

"You are late." He said, in that cold voice that Nori privately felt was a lot like a dragon's. "Is it the habit of dwarves to keep their clients waiting?"

Nori examined him. "You don't want to know about our other habit where clients are involved." She said at last, and she knew she'd hit a nerve at how his eyebrows knit. This negotiation was unlike any she had before undertaken and so without any more talk or circumstance she laid the box on the table, which she could see over by only a few inches.

"Your order, Your Majesty." She said, and undid the catch.

If there was warmth in Thranduil Oropherion, no dwarf could claim to have seen it. Things changed in that moment. Nori of Ri of the Line of Longbeard saw warmth in Thranduil's face, warmth touched by misery and an old, old ache.

He swallowed hard and as if each word were tearing out a tooth he said, "Well met are the crafting hands of dwarves."

"It hardly needed much." Nori said. At that point she would have been cleaning her nails with a knife, had all her visible weapons not been taken. "A buff, a polish. Bit of brightwork, really."

The elf king looked at her and while he could conceal the warmth a bit, Nori could see it now, and that meant she had an advantage. "We spoke not of proper terms."

"We didn't have the time." Nori said. "We do now." She stood with her arms locked behind her. "The necklace's worth is not what I desire, nor what I need."

Thranduil rose an eyebrow at that and Nori rose an eyebrow back.

"What would you have then, Master Thief?" He asked.

"Your good faith with the House of Ri, and their craftings." Nori said.

Thranduil laughed. "Shrewd." He said, "to sell me something cheap for something priceless."

"Hold your tongue." Nori said sharply. "The House of Ri is many things, Thranduil King, but it is no longer disgraced, and it was never cheap. Soon we will begin our work again, work in textiles and teas and items of useful merit, I assure you, and when that happens I expect a healthy commission from the Royal House of Thranduil." She batted her eyelashes. "Unless you want me taking my story up with Dwalin Fundinson, Head of the Royal Guard."

Thranduil did not seem cowed by her threats, but intrigued. "You would reveal yourself a thief in the name of your 'not cheap' family?" He asked.

"Oh Dwalin knows I'm a thief." Nori said. "That won't be a problem."

Thranduil laughed.

He laughed.

Nori waited for him to finish, questioning whether or not running was a good idea. A laughing elf had never, ever, been good for her kind.

"A thief you are indeed," Thranduil said, "a thief three times over. Theft of barrels, theft of a mountain, theft of these gems; yet you ask for nothing aside from the regard of my house. Truely, dwarves are unfathomable people."

"Well," Nori said, "if it's something solid you want I wouldn't mind a few diamonds."

Thranduil blinked at her.

"Long ones. Blue." She said helpfully. "I'm having the most awful time finding some that match your eyes. Thorin was easy."

Thranduil seemed to have become a statue. Nori grinned at him. "I'll just go talk to your treasurer, shall I?" She asked. "You gave me this handy token, I might as well use it." She waved about the horn disk that let her into the royal fortress.

She was halfway to the door when he asked, "What need have you for such gems?"

Nori turned and grinned at him, that sharp-toothed grin. "I guess you'll just have to see at the Midwinter Festival, won't you?" She asked.

Rule 5: I get the job done. No questions asked.

The Midwinter Festival was the first time in a long time that Erebor was full of music.

Tense as the atmosphere was, what with the elvish contingent, there was still laughter and song. The nobles mixed with the tinkers and the miners, for indeed nobles could also be these things. While the elves were as a rule politely ignored or spoken to only at pains, one- the redhead named Tauriel- was quietly cut from the herd and sat with the Lady Dis, at a roaring fire where a mother gladly told stories of her sons.

The Sisters Ri were each resplendant, in their own way. Dori in her fine purple dress, Ori in her Master Archivist's uniform, and Nori in an unapologetically low cut tunic and jerkin which showed off a necklace of no little beauty. Only a few knew the design on which it had been based, but gone were the flowers of the elf queen; this was a piece of hanging stalactites, bones of rough and cut diamond in shades of blue that caught and held fire in their depths. Gone were the slender chains, in their place thick snakelinks lying flat against Nori's well formed collarbone, guiding a viewer's eyes down and down again.

There was some talk about where Nori had gotten the diamonds, for none of their size and color were known to be in the horde of Smaug the Golden. There were whispers that she had stolen them, for not everything had been defended from thieves; no, some of the great works were gone, and so too were the jewels that once belonged to the Elf King of Greenwood, who had been surprisingly understanding about their loss.

That kind of talk was quickly hushed up. A thief was a thief, and a hero was a hero, and Nori of Ri was both.

It was Nori's necklace that caused a stir for years to come, for someone heard, from the very mouth of Thranduil the Elf King, these words:

"A beautiful piece, for a beautiful liar."

And it was said, and sworn up one end of Erebor and down the other, that Nori of Ri- who would one day be the Thief-Queen of Erebor, mistress of Intelligence and dwarrowdam of no little infamy- only smiled.

Chapter Text

Nori claimed it all started with Dain's iron foot.

Of course the second name was meant to instil terror into the hearts of dwarves and orcs- mainly orcs- but there was a grain of truth to it, as there was a grain of truth to nearly every second name. All Nori knew was that his new King had lost the foot in the battle of Azanulbizar, and that was the kind of injury you Didn't Ask About.

It was a very nice iron foot, with its weight distribution system and careful etchwork. Dain had more than one but the fanciest was the one he wore to official court business. In the past perhaps Nori would have been tempted to nick it, for the gold inlay and the many tiny faceted sapphires. He wouldn't have, of course; he knew better. You didn't take a prosthetic from its owner, especially when that owner was a dwarf. One of Nori's mates had learned that the hard way. Nori was pretty sure she was still spitting out teeth.

Nori just thought, watching Dain move around with that ominous tapping of metal on stone, that it was a shame all that iron going to waste.

He brought it up one evening over a cup of tea and a plot. This was, by and large, how most of the talks between King and Eye started. Amazing, how many people thought they could just murder willy-nilly in a brand new mountain.

"You know you could mount a knife in it." Nori said.

The King had squinted at him. "A knife in my what?"

"Your foot." Nori had gestured with his tea. "A little short one, mind, if you want it poppin' out at the toesies."

"What would I need a knife there for?" Dain asked.

"Oh use your imagination." Nori had replied, and Dain had grinned at him and said he'd think about it.

Dain had a bright grin, inherited from his mother. It was broad and threatening and showed plenty of teeth, not quite the Durin snarl but a much cheerier version. Nori liked to see it.

The plot was foiled, as plots tended to be. Nori was almost depressed at how easy it was, though he knew better than to think he wanted a challenge. The last time he'd had a fool thought like that he'd wound up on a suicide mission involving a dragon. It had turned out okay, arguably, but he wasn't in the market to try his luck again. Let the noble morons from the Line of Durin talk about their past glories and future battles, Nori just wanted to make sure all the damn doors were locked up tight.

It wasn't rare that Dain and Nori spoke together and in private. There were all kinds of tunnels meant for it.

"Lace tunnels," Nori had said the first time Dain started at him popping out from behind a tapestry. "Courtesans and ner'-do-wells can't do without them."

Thorin would have scowled, had Thorin been alive; Dain just threw his head back and laughed, sending the beads in his read hair to clicking.

"Next time come wrapped in silks and lavander," the King had said, "and go out the front!"

Nori had snorted and informed Dain that he wasn't Dori, thank you, and that had resulted in another bout of laughter from both of them. Dain couldn't look Dori in the face for a week without chortling and the poor eldest Ri had begun to question the King's health.

The next plot rolled around, nearly as regular as clockwork, and Dain came to one of their secret meeting rooms with something in a burlap sack.

He dropped it on the table and it made a suspicious clinking noise.

"What is that?" Nori asked.

"My foot." Dain said.

A quick check showed that yes, Dain was wearing his second-best everyday iron foot.

"Alright. Rephrase. Why, your stony majesty, is your foot in a sack on my map table?"

"Because you're gonna put a knife in it."

"Me?" Nori asked.

"Well I can't ask a trustworthy dwarf, can I?" Dain replied. It was so reasonable a response that Nori had no comeback, settling instead for ignoring the sack and returning to their dubious business. The meeting dragged on for nearly three hours and at one point they had to bring Dwalin in, grumbling and sleepy and still smelling a little like the chamomile Dori used to scent Ori's bedsheets.

"Just tell me who to behead." She said, and Dain told her.

"Wait a couple of days though." Nori said, and Dwalin had growled half-heartedly at him and tried to escape, only to be trapped by her King's arm around her shoulder.

Nori immediately put two silver on Dwalin taking Dain's thumb off but luck was not with him.

At the end of the meeting Nori almost got away without taking the bag.

Then Dain all but threw it at him. Nori staggered under the weight and stared first at it and then at Dain, who waved to him and headed down the corridor, singing a drinking song off key.

A popular myth about dwarvenkind is that they are all born smiths.

Nori had pointed out, more than once, that this simply wasn't the case. They might all have an affinity for metals, yes. They might know a little bit but not all dwarves chose to become smiths. Some became cooks, others caravan drivers. There were weavers and bakers and scholars and pony-herders, musicians and cobblers and gardeners and thieves.

Nori then had to admit, almost immediately, that he did know a little bit about smithing.

He had a workshop, a well hidden one. It wasn't anyone's business but his own, really, and if he paid a merchant in the market place to sell a few copper and bronze lover's lockets and small, vicious belt knives, well, that was all legal. Anyone could look up his maker mark if they wanted, he had one registered!

It was hard to craft when you were stealing things but Nori hadn't had to steal anything to survive in nearly twenty years. Sometimes he thought he was getting soft.

He set up King Dain's iron foot and for the first time, got a good look at it.

It was beautiful. A perfect blend of form and function. There wasn't much decoration to be found but there didn't have to be. This was a foot made to get a dwarf places.

Nori immediately put it away and didn't look at it again for nearly a month.

The plots were not so plottish as to require his attention at all times. Nori's underlings- small, quick dwarves, some with shadier pasts than others- were learning the ropes just fine. This left him and Dori and Ori and sometimes Dwalin in their house on the Street of Sapphires, kicking around, getting in one anothers' way.

Nori examined old books and did not look at the foot.

He took a trip down to the large smithies, finally fully operational, and did not look at the foot.

He laid out each knife he owned and cleaned them and sharpened them and did not look at the foot.

Sometimes he could feel Dain watching him. It was like pinpricks in his back, burning worse than even the eyes of a guardsman while Nori was trying to hit a mark.

It was three months and a day before Nori took the iron foot out from the cabinet where he had stored it.

He looked from the foot to his hands.

Such a dichotemy there. A foot built for a hero, to replace what he'd lost at an age so young it was unthinkable, beside hands that never did much aside from cut and lift and pick locks.

(Being told this story later Ori would protest that it wasn't true, that Nori had made many things, beautiful things, and Nori would shush him and say that perhaps he had but it wasn't the same, it didn't count.)

The iron foot was heavy. Nori's work would make it heavier.

Nori thought of Dain's too-wide grin and went to light the forge fire.

--

When the next plot came around Nori brought the iron foot in its sack and Dain brought a plate of meat buns.

"I tried to escape," he said, "but Bombur caught me on the battlements."

Nori nodded sagely. One did not simply refuse Bombur's cooking.

"Okay." He said. "My intel says.."

On and on it went, King under the Mountain and Eye of the Mountain going over possibilities, nixing them, sharing information, calling one another liars. Dain threatened to bring in one of the stuff-cheeked advisors and Nori threatened to club him to death with his iron foot which was 'a mite more pointy than it was before if you catch my meaning'.

This lead to a presentation of said foot.

"It activates with this nub here.." Nori did his best impression of Dori trying to sell a new tea to a customer, ignoring the burning pinpricks of Dain's gaze.

The King came forward and took the foot. He examined it, running his fingers along every alteration and making a noise not unlike a delighted squeal when the toe-knife popped out.

"Careful, the trigger's tetchy." Nori said. "I didn't have much time to tweak it. So if you could, you know, stab a couple people with it in the next week or so I can make the adjustments. I've got a list of potential victims if you need it."

Dain laughed. Dain laughed like a fireball, big deep noises that filled the room with heat and warmth.

"This is brilliant!" He exclaimed. "So brilliant I could kiss you! In fact, I will!"

"Well I wait a minute WHAT"

And then, as Nori said, things- well. They just happened.

Chapter Text

Hi guys.

I can hear all of you now. "What? Are you kidding? Bitch it's been three years did you seriously just ping my inbox for a fucking END NOTE?"

Yeah, I did. I'm sorta sorry, but not really.

When I started Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap I had no plan. Eventually I settled on an arbitrary and lofty goal of 200 shorts. And here it sits, my little thiefy masterpiece, at 117 even.

That’s where the chapter count is going to stay.

It is time for me to let go of 4DC. At the time I started, it was the most prolific fanwork I'd ever produced in terms of both word count and posting speed. Still is, if you examine the shifty publishing schedule of my current fics.

There's a reason for that.

When I wrote the bulk of 4DC I was far away from the place I was born. I was stressed, financially trapped, and very depressed. All my social media sites are testament to that- I was miserable and my posts showed it.

Writing fic and being a part of the community that sprang up around the new material overnight was euphoric. There were people who liked me, who wanted to hear what I had to say, who wanted more. It pushed me to writing heights I haven't achieved since.

The Hobbit became my escape and Nori my guide.

He did such a good job. The best job. That starfish-headed fool and this fic saved me from a pit I hadn't even realized I was sliding into.

All that being said, I'm in a better place now. It's not better by MUCH- but I've never been a very demanding person. I have a job that doesn’t stress me out, a place to call my own, transportation and food. I’m closer to my family and I’m rediscovering myself again.

So it’s time I put 4DC to bed, stuck a fork in it and called it done, put the chairs on the tables and hit the lights when I leave.

What does this mean for my involvement in the Hobbit fandom?

Absolutely nothing. I don’t drop fandoms- they just start to hibernate. I could begin producing material again in six months, in a year, ten years from now, tomorrow. It will come back when I need it, like everything I love.

This fic has done so many things I didn’t even think were possible- weren’t possible, when I started writing as a wee sprout many moons ago. It has contributed to a ship I adore, to popular fanon, to the idea that building off a world you love doesn’t have to be plotted in advance and doesn’t have to be a 78 chapter epic.

Sometimes it can be too many ideas and not enough ideas and a single character who is never early, nor late, but there precisely when you need them.

So in the future, maybe 4DC will hit that mythical 200 chapters. Maybe it won’t.

Whatever it does, whatever I do, please remember two very important things:

1.If you think it, write it. Write badly, then write a little better, then a little better, until you think you’re done.

2. If it isn’t nailed down- steal it.

Thank you all so, so much. From me, from Nori, from Eugenides and Yori and everyone else. For a very dark time you made getting out of bed worth it and that is priceless.

You can still find me if you need me, of course.

Tea is at four. Don’t bother to knock.