Work Text:
“Glóin,” Bilbo whispered, “do you think you could threaten the elves a bit more quietly?” He gave their guards a cautious glance. “I think the one in charge is about to have you gagged.”
Glóin turned a shade of red that clashed horribly with his hair. “I am not afraid of anything these creatures could do!” he sputtered, loud enough that the nearest elves glared.
Not for the first time, Bilbo fiercely regretted the loss of his ring, if only because he wouldn’t have to listen to the muttered imprecations of the dwarves. (If he heard someone mutter tree-shagger again, Bilbo was going to start kicking dwarves in the shins.) Even without the irritation caused by unoriginal sobriquets, he felt almost physically ill at the realization that his ring was gone. If he had just a few more minutes to look, Bilbo was certain he would have been able to find the ring, and then he could have found a way to free the dwarves--now, what would they do?
Lost in a haze of mourning that he did not entirely understand, Bilbo snapped to attention when the dwarves’ voices rose into cries of dismay. He woke from his reverie to see the elves attempting to separate Ori from Dori, who did not want to leave his youngest brother alone. Summoning his nerve, Bilbo moved closer to the elf who seemed to be in charge. “Please, can’t they stay together?” he asked in his most polite tones. “They’re brothers.”
The elf studied him with eerie blue eyes. “The cells are designed for single occupants,” he said curtly. Dori nodded to Bilbo in gratitude for his effort, even as he and Ori were pushed into separate cells. Soon, all the dwarves were locked away, but when a female elf reached out to usher Bilbo into a cell as well, the head elf placed a hand on her arm. “Not him.” He smiled at Bilbo, utterly without warmth. “The hobbit will come with us.”
There was a great outcry from the dwarves, so loud Bilbo could not understand a thing that was said. That same smile still playing at his lips, the elf waited for the dwarves to stop shouting before he continued. “The king will wish to know why a hobbit trespasses on his lands, with dwarves, no less.”
Terrified, Bilbo took one last look at the dwarves he could see--Thorin’s furious face, Bofur’s worry, and Dwalin… who seemed to have no expression whatsoever.
As he was escorted away, he told himself firmly that he was not disappointed that Dwalin did not seem concerned. Ever since the dwarf had saved him from falling off a stone giant, Bilbo had been thinking of Dwalin more and more frequently. He was a good dwarf, fierce and loyal to his kind, and Bilbo had to confess, if only to himself, that his feelings extended beyond friendship. Maybe, he thought hopefully, the burly dwarf was just confident in Bilbo’s ability to handle the elvenking. Maybe Dwalin had every expectation that Bilbo would get them free.
He knew it wasn’t true. The warrior had no confidence in Bilbo’s abilities, was likely expecting him to spill their every secret to the king. Well, Bilbo would show him! He would--
His thoughts abruptly cut off as the elves stopped before a throne. Unable to help himself, Bilbo gaped at Thranduil, taking in the blond hair, cold blue eyes, and extravagant clothes. Thranduil shifted his weight, flipping his cape to the side, and Bilbo bit his lip to keep from laughing at the drama of it all. When the king spoke, it was in Sindarin, and Bilbo only caught the occasional word. Hobbit… dwarves… wood. Why…?
The head elf shifted his weight beside Bilbo, and replied in Westron. “The hobbit was found traveling with the dwarves. He seemed the most likely to be… reasonable.” With a sharp gesture, the elf signalled for his guards to retreat. Before he left as well, he bent down, murmuring to Bilbo, “It will go better for you if you tell the king what he needs to know.”
Affronted at this thinly veiled threat, Bilbo opened his mouth to retort, but the elf had disappeared. He stared stupidly at the empty space where the elf had been for a long moment, until soft laughter from the throne brought his attention back to Thranduil. “Long had it been since we have had a hobbit as a visitor to this realm,” the king observed.
Bilbo swallowed nervously. “Well, I can’t say I would recommend your hospitality to others,” he snapped before he could think better of it.
Thranduil raised his eyebrows. “We have no reason to be civil with trespassers.”
“We weren’t trespassing!” Bilbo replied automatically, his mind churning. “We simply lost the path.”
“Which does not explain why you were in the forest to begin with,” Thranduil noted.
“I wasn’t aware that it was a crime to travel,” Bilbo retorted, lifting his chin. “We are headed for” --don’t say Erebor, don’t say Erebor-- “the Iron Hills.” He had heard mention of the Iron Hills from the dwarves, and knew they had kin there, so this seemed a reasonable destination. It was rather like telling a story, he realized--first you set the place, then you describe the characters.
Bilbo stood straighter, feeling confidence flood his veins. He couldn’t fight Thranduil, couldn’t simply stand before a king in stoic silence, but telling a tale? This, he could do.
Seeming amused, Thranduil asked, “What business does a hobbit have in the Iron Hills?”
“We are going for a wedding!” Bilbo blurted. Elves were terribly fond of love stories. “I’m marrying a dwarf, you see, and he wants his family there.” He tried for a conspiratorial smile. “Wouldn’t be proper without his family present, he says, and I have no close family left in the Shire, so it matters little to me where we wed.”
Thranduil’s expression did not change, providing no hint as to if he believed Bilbo. “You are marrying one of the dwarves with whom you travel?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Bilbo agreed quickly. There was only one dwarf for whom he would be able to feign this sort of affection, and so, with a deep breath, Bilbo continued the story. “I love Dwalin,” he said. “The tall, bald dwarf? With the tattoos?” It was oddly freeing to admit as much aloud.
That got a reaction. Thranduil smiled faintly, distastefully. “He sounds lovely,” he observed, with just a touch of sarcasm.
Bilbo scowled. Something in Thranduil’s haughty tone reminded him of Lobelia, and thoughts of his least favorite hobbit always made him argumentative. “He may not be what you elves would consider handsome, but he’s a good dwarf! He’s loyal, and honest, and isn’t afraid of anything!” He could have gone on, but somewhere around his last word Bilbo realized he was shouting at a king, and decided discretion may be wiser in this instance.
There was a long, terrible silence, during which Bilbo wondered if Thranduil was the sort to behead hobbits for impertinence. Just when Bilbo could bear no more, the king spoke. “I believe you do care for him,” he said, sounding a bit surprised. “I never thought I would see a hobbit in love with a dwarf.”
“Well, now you have,” Bilbo replied, relaxing slightly. “And if you know anything about hobbits, know that we value marriage greatly. So you should let us go, because I promised to wed my dwarf, and the delay is making me quite unhappy.”
Thranduil stared at him. Slowly, he smiled. Bilbo felt a shiver of nervousness at the sight. “I would not wish to stand in the way of love,” the king proclaimed. “Nor would I wish to end such a lovely story.” Bilbo started at this comment, looking sharply at Thranduil, but he did not detect any sarcasm. “I suppose you would want even Thorin Oakenshield released?”
Bilbo blinked. Could it possibly be that simple? “He is part of Dwalin’s family,” he answered. “They’re very close.” He was surprised that he managed to keep his jealousy out of his voice. “And Thorin is supposed to officiate,” he added, because why not?
Thranduil sighed, though a smile still played about his lips. “Very well. Legolas!” he called, and the elf from before appeared in the doorway with such suddenness that Bilbo jumped. “Release the dwarves. You and Tauriel are to escort them out of the forest.”
Eyes wide with shock, Legolas said something in response, but all Bilbo could hear was a rushing sound in his ears as it occurred to him that he was going to have to convince a company of dwarves to play along with his little story… without even telling them anything. Basically, the quest depended on the dwarves’ collective ability to play along.
He might still get beheaded, after all, Bilbo thought glumly.
The moment the elves had disappeared with the hobbit in tow, Dwalin had begun throwing himself against the bars of his cell. This had nothing to do with Bilbo, of course, because Dwalin was not worried about their burglar. Bilbo was fine, so there was no cause for concern. Dwalin was simply impatient, and really, someone should test the strength of the bars.
The other dwarves talked amongst themselves, ignoring the rhythmic thud of Dwalin’s body against the metal, until his brother lost patience. “The only thing you’re going to break is your shoulder,” Balin commented from across the way. “Leave it! There is no way out. This is no orc dungeon; these are the halls of the Woodland Realm. No one leaves here but by the king’s consent.”
“Aren’t likely to get that, are we?” Dwalin retorted, giving the bars one last slam before coming to a rest leaning against them. “Are you an expert on elves, then?”
Balin looked offended. “I should say not! I simply know more than you, as always, my brother.”
Dwalin ignored that jab. “What do you think they’re saying to the hobbit?” he wondered.
“It’s more a question of what the hobbit is saying to them,” Thorin commented from further down the hall. “He’s likely already spilled our reasons for coming in the misguided hope that the king will permit us to leave.”
“Who says it is misguided?” came the question from an elf, and every dwarf strained in their cells to catch a glimpse. Though he tried to hide it, Dwalin felt his shoulders slump in relief at the sight of Bilbo, smiling and unharmed, beside the elf who had spoken. “My father has decided to send you on your way, with an escort out of the forest. After all,” he smirked directly at Dwalin, “we do not wish to stand in the way of true love.”
There was a heavy, confused silence, broken by Kíli. “Wait, what?”
“Thranduil is letting us go so we will be able to have the wedding!” Bilbo piped in, with strained good cheer. “The wedding in the Iron Hills we are traveling for, remember?”
Another pause. “What?” Kíli asked.
“Ah, yes, that wedding,” Thorin said slowly, but loudly enough to drown out any further comments from his nephew. “Good. We did not wish to miss it.”
Bilbo laughed, loud and fake. “As if they could have it without us! Now, Master Legolas,” he added, changing the subject, “I believe it is time to let the dwarves out of their cells.”
The elf laughed, light and airy and thoroughly irritating (in Dwalin’s opinion, at least). “Impatient, are we?” he teased, and moved straight to Dwalin’s cell.
The moment he’d unlocked the door, Bilbo darted inside. “I told you not to worry,” he said brightly, and then, with surprising strength, tugged Dwalin’s beard until he bent closer.
Then, with Legolas looking on as if they were the entertainment for the evening, Bilbo kissed his cheek. Dwalin froze in utter shock, barely hearing Bilbo’s whisper of, “Just play along,” before the hobbit and the elf bounded out of the cell.
Through his open door, Dwalin stared blankly at his brother, leaning against the bars of his own cell. As he was located directly across from Dwalin, Balin was the only one who could see far enough inside his cell to witness the kissing. Balin, the bastard, was laughing, and when Dwalin asked plaintively, “Did that just happen?” his only response was to laugh harder.
The trip out of the Woodland Realm was more than a bit awkward, Bilbo had to admit. The dwarves were very quiet, although occasionally he’d hear a whispered “What is--Ow!” from Fíli or Kíli, as they tried to ask a question before the nearest dwarf could club them into silence. The others, while clearly bewildered, were content to let events play out as long as freedom was gained in the exchange.
Legolas did not seem to mind the strained atmosphere. Much more cheerful now that the dwarves were leaving, he kept up a conversation with Bilbo. “When will the wedding be?” he was currently asking, his blue eyes alight with curiosity.
“Oh, as soon as we get to the Iron Hills,” Bilbo replied. “We’ve put it off long enough, I think!”
“Who’s getting--Ouch!” came from behind them, and Bilbo shot a glare at Kíli.
Thankfully, Legolas, focused on Bilbo as he was, did not appear to notice. “I must say, it’s odd to think of a hobbit and a dwarf together,” he mused, and Bilbo fancied he could hear the muscles of every dwarf groan with effort as they leaned closer, trying to hear better. Oh, Eru, he prayed, just don’t let him say the name of my ‘intended’.
“I suppose we grew accustomed to each other,” Bilbo evaded, searching for an alternate topic. “What is an elvish courtship like?” he asked in desperation, grateful when Legolas took the hint and lectured about the courting habits of elves for the remainder of their trip.
The moment they reached the edge of the forest, the elves bid a fond farewell to Bilbo, a less fond goodbye to the dwarves, and disappeared. As one, the company turned to stare expectantly at their burglar. Grinning lasciviously, Bofur opened his mouth, and Bilbo pointed at him. “No!” he snapped. “I don’t want to hear it. We’re out, are we not? So let’s pretend it never happened! I’m sure you don’t want to think about being rescued by a hobbit, anyway.” It was a low blow, but an effective one, as many of the dwarves nodded in shamefaced agreement. “And look! There’s a town on the lake, just there! We’d best figure out how to get to it, rather than waste our time talking about my little subterfuge, don’t you agree?”
There was a pause. “But who’s getting married?” Fíli asked, and Bilbo put his head in his hands.
Before anyone could respond, someone shot an arrow at them, and Bilbo was secretly thankful for the interruption.
Dwalin did not really remember the trip out of the Woodland Realm, being too busy trying to comprehend previous events.
Bilbo, their burglar, had kissed him soft and sweet on the cheek and whispered in his ear, and Dwalin did not understand.
Just play along. Thinking back on the kiss, on Bilbo’s breath against his cheek and his voice in his ear, Dwalin found that playing along was the last thing he wanted to do.
Dwalin wasn’t a fool. He could add things together, but the sum of Bilbo and him, with kissing and talk of marriage, did not add up. Because it was a lie.
Because Dwalin wanted it to be true.
Once the company managed to sneak into Laketown, break into the armory, and face the Master, they found themselves with a free evening before they left for the Lonely Mountain. The moment supper was finished, Bilbo had fled, likely hoping to avoid more questions or teasing about the events of Mirkwood.
Dwalin hesitated over his glass of ale, wondering if he should follow. He needed to know the truth, but what if it wasn’t what he wished to hear?
Thorin came and sat beside him, and Dwalin let out a relieved breath at an excuse. His king shot him a narrow-eyed look. “You are not one for cowardly inaction,” Thorin said bluntly.
Dwalin scowled. “My brother told you what happened,” he guessed, and Thorin nodded.
“You must clear the air,” he ordered. “We cannot have personal issues clouding our judgement tomorrow.” For a moment, Dwalin hated Thorin, with his obsessive focus on their quest. “And I do not like to see you suffer,” Thorin added, stealing his ire from him.
Dwalin sighed heavily, staring into his mug. “I suppose Balin will be over next to lecture me, if I refuse to speak to the hobbit?” he asked. Almost exuding smugness, Thorin nodded, and Dwalin swore to himself in Khuzdul as he stood and headed for the door.
Bilbo had changed into sleeping clothes and was lying on the soft bed, relishing the opportunity to sleep in something other than his traveling garb, when he heard a knock on the door. For an instant, he considered telling whomever it was to go away, as he was feeling relaxed and sleepy and not in the mood for dealing with dwarves, but when he opened the door all he could do was stare in surprise. “Dwalin?” he asked dumbly, moving aside so the dwarf could enter.
Once the door was closed firmly behind him, Dwalin wasted no time on pleasantries. “You kissed me,” he rumbled, giving Bilbo an unreadable look.
“On the cheek!” Bilbo protested. “In the Shire, that’s how we greet friends.”
“It’s not how you greeted the others,” Dwalin pointed out. “And you told me to play along.” He folded his arms across his chest, and Bilbo’s brain temporarily shorted out at the reminder of how very broad Dwalin’s shoulders were.
“I was, um, that is,” he stuttered, before regaining his composure. “Look, it got us out, didn’t it?” he asked. “So thank you for playing along, and good night!”
He pushed at Dwalin’s chest, trying to get him out the door, but the dwarf was not to be budged. “You told the king you were marrying me,” he said lowly, and Bilbo stilled, pulling his hands away as if he had been burned. “Why?”
Bilbo looked away, studying the wall with great intensity. “I read once that elves love a good love story,” he muttered. “So I told a story about a wedding. I had to be one of the ones getting married, otherwise why would a hobbit be traveling with dwarves?”
“That much I understood,” Dwalin replied, laying a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “But why me?”
His mouth dry, Bilbo looked into Dwalin’s eyes and saw something like hope. He took a deep breath, and told the truth. “Because if I had to say I was in love with someone, I didn’t want to lie.”
Dwalin sucked in a breath as if he had been hit, his eyes widening, but didn’t reply. After a long silence, Bilbo took a step back, raising his hands in a placating manner. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I know you don’t feel the same, but we’re going to face a dragon and I just thought you should know, and--”
He was cut off by Dwalin’s lips landing on his. Even though he was shocked by the action, Bilbo could not help but respond, sighing into the kiss as Dwalin pulled him close. After long moments, Bilbo pulled away just enough to speak. “Not that I’m complaining,” he said breathlessly, “but what was that for?”
“Do you need to ask?” Dwalin replied, his voice even lower and more gravelly than usual. Bilbo gave him a look. “You kissed me, and I thought it was just for show. I didn’t like that,” Dwalin said, shrugging helplessly. “And I think we should wed, not just tell elves we plan to do so.”
Bilbo blinked, dazed by the thought of marrying Dwalin. He nodded, his nose brushing against Dwalin’s to elicit a rumbling laugh. “Okay,” Bilbo said, leaning in for a second kiss. He pulled back at the last moment. “If only because I don’t like lying to kings.”
With a roll of his eyes, Dwalin nodded. “Mahal forbid we tell the elves an untruth,” he grumbled sarcastically, even as he placed a big hand on the back of Bilbo’s neck, guiding the hobbit back for another kiss.
Things were getting heated when, all of a sudden, Bilbo began to laugh. Scowling, Dwalin pulled back enough to glare at the hobbit. "Oh, I'm not laughing at you," Bilbo assured him. "Just... when I was young, my father always told me, 'Son, no good will ever come from telling tales!'" He darted forward, pulling Dwalin down to plant a kiss on his nose. "I always knew he was wrong."
Dwalin ran a hand through Bilbo's hair, admiring the hobbit's beaming face. "It wasn't simply a story," he said gruffly. "Even if you didn't know that at the time."
"It is a story," Bilbo argued, looking at Dwalin with such open fondness the dwarf had trouble meeting his gaze. "One with a happy ending."
It wasn't truly that simple; there was still a dragon to face. But he would not be facing the dragon alone, and that made the difference. Without further debate, Dwalin pulled Bilbo into another kiss, and thought that maybe he believed in happy endings, after all.