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Chapter Text

‘Pardon me, Mister Gandalf.’

The wizard, enjoying a peaceful moment with his pipe outside their camp, turned on the boulder upon which he was sat to look over his shoulder. ‘Dori, my dear fellow. I hope I find you well this fine morning.’

‘You do indeed,’ gushed Dori, advancing carefully through the waist-high bracken that surrounded them. ‘I like to rise early to catch the cooler air. Very refreshing.’

‘It is,’ agreed Gandalf.

An exhaled wisp of weed-smoke formed a butterfly that flitted away through the dappled light under the trees. Dori watched it, fascinated, before giving a little start when he remembered why he’d come. With what sounded like a lot of effort, he smiled and said; ‘I’ve brought you something.’

Gandalf looked perplexed. ‘Oh?’

Dori produced a small bunch of flowers from behind his back. ‘Succory, yarrow, a spray of meadowsweet.’ He held it out. ‘A posy. For you.’

‘For me?’ Gandalf said, taking the flowers.

‘It goes splendidly with your robes,’ offered Dori, eyes very bright.

‘Err... thank you, Dori. It was kind of you to think of me.’

‘Not at all, Mister Gandalf,’ replied the dwarf a little breathlessly, ‘not at all.’


The day grew late. The company, in search of a new place to sleep, trailed single-file through a shadowy copse where a stream babbled close by and birds sang gaily overhead.

‘Mister Gandalf!’

‘Please, just call me Gandalf.’

‘Of course, of course,’ said Dori, beaming from ear to ear.

‘How may I help you, Dori?’

‘I was wondering where you put that little gift I gave you.’

Gandalf looked down at the dwarf as he trotted alongside, attempting to keep up with Gandalf’s much longer strides. ‘I’ve put it away for safekeeping,’ he assured him gently.

‘Right so,’ mumbled Dori. The wind gone from his sails, he fell back in line behind the wizard. His brothers brought up the rear, Nori eyeing him beadily.

‘Oh, Mis— Ga-Gandalf? I’ve just remembered!’ Dori cried suddenly, breaking into a brisk walk again. ‘This is a little trinket I was given by Bifur. He’s made me plenty, and I don’t really want it,’ – it was his favourite – ‘so I’d like you to have it.’ He produced a small wooden butterfly from one of his deep pockets. Its mechanical wings flapped slowly up and down when a tiny crank was turned, aided by gears and shafts hidden in a carved box underneath.

‘It’s a wonderful little contraption,’ said Gandalf with a chuckle, operating it between his too-large finger and thumb, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t accept it.’ He placed it carefully back in Dori’s outstretched hand.

‘Really?’ said Dori, looking deeply crestfallen.


‘Are you quite sure?’


Dori hesitantly returned it to his pocket.

‘It is too meaningful an object for you to give away so lightly,’ said Gandalf kindly, with a wink.

Dori nodded dumbly and slackened pace once more. Bifur had made it when Ori was born. He chewed his lip, struggling to think. ‘Gan—’

Nori groaned explosively. ‘Great Durin’s stones, give it a rest would you?’

‘Watch your language in front of your brother!’ retorted Dori, bristling.

Ori looked uncomprehendingly between the both of them. ‘What’s he talking about?’

‘Never you mind!’ snapped Dori. ‘And pick your feet up, please. I can’t hear myself think over the infernal scuffing of your boots!’

‘Leave him alone!’ hissed Nori as Ori shrank into the folds of his knitted cowl. ‘I’d rather listen to that than to you harping on at the wizard like some lovesick milkmaid. If I had a choice between watching this charade one minute longer and kissing the Goblin King’s arse, the next thing out of my mouth would be “bend over”!’

Dori gaped at him, horrified. ‘I-I could weep at your manners. I really could!’ He even sounded on the verge of tears.

‘Come now. That’s not what you’re upset about, is it?’ returned Nori mildly, clamping a battered pipe between his teeth.

Dori shook his head and stalked away, muttering under his breath. ‘The things Ori could pick up. Simply atrocious...’


‘Dori? Dori! What are you doing sat all the way over there? You’ll find that it’s much more comfortable by the fire.’

Dori looked up from the damp mossy log he was hunched on, distracted from glumly arranging and then rearranging his knitting needles in their fine embroidered case. The clearing in which they’d set up camp was swamped in evening gloom, but for the yellow tongue of flame he could see through the thin black trees behind which he was hiding. Gandalf leaned on his staff, waiting patiently for an answer.

‘I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting,’ Dori said at last, not looking at him. ‘You must think me a proper fool.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’

Dori took a deep breath as if to speak, held it, and then sighed resignedly, his whole body seeming to crumple slightly under the weight of that which was unspoken. ‘You probably know why,’ he said eventually with a short, humourless laugh.

‘Yes, I do.’

Dori stiffened, mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish that had taken an oar to the back of the head.

Gandalf’s eyes twinkled as he settled down next to Dori, adjusting his heavy robes. He took out a book - small and bound tightly with a leather strap - and opened it. Inside was Dori’s posy, pressed flat between two yellowed pages. ‘This way,’ said Gandalf manner-of-factly, ‘it shall last much, much longer.’

‘I thought you’d thrown it away,’ said Dori, awestruck.

‘I would never do such a thing.’

Dori stared up at him gratefully. ‘You don’t know how glad I am.’ He placed a small hand on the crook of Gandalf’s elbow.

Gandalf looked up at the slither of moon that peered coyly from among the drifting clouds. He spoke carefully, weighing each word. ‘I carry with me the hearts of many. These instances of love are brief, mere drops of rain in the vast ocean of years that I have lived, but the burden is heavy nonetheless. Loathe am I to leave so many unrequited, but that is the nature of my time here.’

‘I don’t know what to think of that,’ said Dori, his brow furrowing. ‘Sounds a bit improper.’

‘Oh, love is never improper,’ said Gandalf seriously, his tone gently admonishing. ‘No matter what form it takes.’

Dori blinked and nodded, looking away thoughtfully. ‘Yes,’ he said softly, moments from the life he’d led resurfacing, previously - deliberately - forgotten. ‘Right you are, Gandalf. Right you are.’ He took another deep breath and stood, offering Gandalf a weak but honest smile. ‘I’ve been silly. Let us forget all this.’

Gandalf rose as well, and touched Dori’s shoulder. ‘We shall not forget it, for memories of love, however unfulfilled, can be useful when one experiences darker times. Know that I will always cherish what you’ve given me.’

Dori smiled again, brighter this time, and patted the large hand as it left him.

‘Doesn’t that stew smell marvellous!’ remarked Gandalf cheerfully, turning to make his way back towards the camp.

‘I always think Bombur uses too many spices,’ piped up Dori earnestly, following close behind. ‘A simple dwarf with simple tastes, that’s me.’

‘You think yourself simple? One could not be further from the truth,’ chuckled Gandalf. ‘I find that you’re full of surprises!’

‘Perhaps you're right. In fact, I hope you are,’ said Dori. The journey ahead would be trodden with a lighter step, and a lighter heart.

Chapter Text

‘It’s a bitter night tonight,’ said Kili, trembling and hugging himself. ‘The air up here bites like a blade.’

Dwalin extended an arm, sweeping open his fur-lined cloak. Kili eagerly let himself be swaddled in its heavy warmth, smiling like a cat at his own cleverness. Dwalin said nothing and returned to gazing over the treetops at the fat yellow moon. Kili placed a tentative hand on Dwalin’s bare forearm. The muscles were as solid as granite.

‘Gods above, your fingers are like icicles!’ barked Dwalin, prising Kili off of his arm. ‘Here, now.’

‘Oh,’ said Kili lightly as Dwalin’s battle-rough hands encircled his own, ‘who knew you had such a gentle way. You’d make a dwarf-maiden blush.’

‘If you value the completeness of the bones in these tiny hands, Master Kili, then I suggest you no longer interrupt my thoughts for tonight.’

‘Understood,’ said Kili cheerily, and shuffled in a little closer, tucking the matted cloak under his chin. Dwalin grunted.

‘The moon looks like a big, shiny gold coin,’ sighed Kili after a time.

‘What did I say about interruptions?’

‘But don’t you think so, Mr Dwalin?’ said Kili, turning his head to look at him, eyes very wide. The fog of his breath on the night air broke against the other’s beard. ‘I can’t stop thinking about all that treasure.’

‘There are other things to reclaim besides treasure. Think on that.

‘One day I’m going to be a King,’ Kili continued in an awed whisper.

‘Have mercy,’ muttered Dwalin.

‘I’m going to sit on a throne and be surrounded by mountains of gold. I’ll be dressed in furs and I’ll have a crown. I’ll eat what I want. Say what I want,’ – the hairs of Dwalin’s beard tickled his lips and the grip on his hands tightened – ‘have whom I want.’

‘What rubbish,’ said Dwalin, looking away from him.

‘Don’t deny me,’ pressed Kili in a hushed voice, laying his head upon Dwalin’s large shoulder, ‘King or no, if you’ll have me for your own then you will be my master forever.’

There was a pause. Dwalin dared a glance at Kili, who gazed up at him with blushing determination.

‘At this moment you remind me of your uncle, many years ago.’

Kili’s hands slipped away from Dwalin's grasp. ‘You mean-’

‘Aye, there was an understanding between us. A great love that went beyond fealty. But we are older now, and...’ Dwalin’s voice faded away. At length, he smiled. ‘It is a long and sorry tale.’ His tone was tender, but melancholy.

‘Oh. Then I must have outstayed my welcome,’ said Kili, sounding a little petulant. ‘I’ll say goodnight.’

‘No, no,’ replied Dwalin, drawing Kili back against him. A deep sigh heaved in his chest. ‘It is... a comfort to have you here.’

‘You're a soppy old fool, aren’t you,’ teased Kili with a grin.

‘Get those blasted cold hands off me, for the last time.’

‘Or what?’

Dwalin glared at him. Kili fell swiftly silent, his face a picture of strained seriousness. Laughter still twinkled in his eyes.

‘It has been a long time,’ said Dwalin, ‘since your uncle has felt any joy. A light has left him. Only sadness lingers now.’

Kili’s suppressed mirth began to wilt.

‘I hope that is not something you will come to endure. A heavy heart would not become you.’

Kili gave a small smile and looked down, a rare show of deference. ‘No, it wouldn’t.’

A finger hooked beneath Kili’s chin and gently tilted his head upwards. Dwalin gazed at him sternly.

‘A King you are not. But you carry with you your uncle’s nobility, his strength, and his beauty. May you never squander it. May it never fade.’

Kili nodded wordlessly. There was a moment of silent, exchanged looks before Dwalin seemed to settle something within his mind.

‘It has been a long time,’ he said again, wearily, as if only to himself.

Kili stared up at him expectantly.

Dwalin leaned down and kissed him.


‘Do you love me now?’ asked Kili sometime later. The coin-moon had sunk partway behind the distant hills. The night was hot inside the curl of fur, in the safety of strong arms.

‘No,’ said Dwalin.

‘You love Thorin, then,’ said Kili, a flash of possessiveness in his eyes.

‘I think I love his shadow,’ sighed Dwalin.

‘Ah,’ said Kili. ‘Then that is good enough for me.’

Chapter Text


Dwalin’s body jerked irritably underneath his blanket.

‘Dwalin, it’s me. Wake up.’

‘What d’you want?’ groaned Dwalin hoarsely, lifting his head and cracking open an eye.

‘It’s me, it’s Ori. Oh do let me in, it’s ever so cold out here.’

With an impatient grunt, Dwalin shot out a broad arm and bundled Ori under his blanket in one swift movement, pulling the coarse fabric over their heads in an effort to keep out the damp chill of the cave.

Ori shuffled up against him quickly, shivering from head to toe. ‘That’s better,’ he whispered, resting his head on one of Dwalin’s impressive biceps.

‘Now go to sleep,’ Dwalin hissed.

‘But I can’t sleep, that’s why I’m here,’ said Ori, looking at him owlishly through the blueish half-light underneath the blanket.

‘Count some sheep?’ Dwalin suggested through gritted teeth.

‘Nope. Tried that.’

‘Then try again--

‘Well - it’s just that - I-I think I know what would tire me out,’ interrupted Ori with a silly little grin. His fingers drew tentative circles on Dwalin’s chest.

‘Gods above. You had this planned all along, didn’t you?’

Ori went pink. He hooked a cautious leg over Dwalin’s knees, and - all the while trying not to disturb the outward stillness of their blanket - wriggled upwards until their noses nearly touched.

‘Hello,’ said Dwalin, raising an eyebrow. ‘This is new.’

‘Hello,’ replied Ori, fidgeting against him. ‘Did you know that your beard is quite tickly?’

‘Ah, no. I can't say anyone’s ever told me that.’

Ori smiled down at him, a secret little smile. Dwalin found that this – coupled with Ori’s infernal fidgeting - greatly fascinated a very particular part of his anatomy. ‘I know we’ve had a little... you-know-what before,’ said Dwalin slowly, ‘but I think that you’d best go back to sleep in your own spot. We’ve got company, you know.’ An explosive snore from a neighbouring dwarf issued forth as if to affirm his point.

‘Don’t want to,’ said Ori, giving him a clumsy little peck on the cheek.

‘You have to.’

A peck on the nose.

‘Why can’t I stay? You like me, don’t you?’

A nip on the ear.

‘Well, yes, I--’

A kiss on the mouth.

It‘s a funny thing, this quest business. Dwalin was a highly respected dwarf, an old hand at adventure. He was huge and he was strong, and on the road he often found himself indulging those who had a taste for such qualities. Men and women, an illicit elf, other dwarves... at an inn, in a meadow, behind a pub, up a tree (that was an afternoon to remember); Dwalin had no care for who or where. One time Fili had made eyes at him over supper, and in reply Dwalin had given him a good old shafting in a ruined barn while everyone else guzzled down their stew not a stone’s throw away, utterly oblivious. It was his secret shame that he couldn’t help recalling the splendid curve of Fili’s bare behind whenever he had to look the other fellow in the eye. No understanding had passed between them since. More’s the pity, Dwalin thought, as Kili impatiently pushed him back down between his legs inside a warm, dusty hay loft. He sees another in Kili’s dark hair and lovely eyes, which takes him back to a long-forgotten tryst with a certain beloved prince... Dwalin hears echoes of Thorin’s pleasure in the ecstatic pleadings of his nephew.

Now Ori, the youngest of their company - tiny in his too-big boots and heaps of silly knitted paraphernalia – had made his own admiration apparent. Dwalin hadn’t known what to make of him at first. He certainly wasn’t a bosomy milkmaid, or the wolfish, lusty Fili, but he had a sweet way about him, and Dwalin had become unexpectedly fond of him in a short amount of time. He rather liked his quietness and modesty, a rare thing in a dwarf. It did not trouble him at all when Ori chanced a kiss with him and was as hopeless and unskilled as Dwalin knew he’d be. But even then they had come to share, under the starlight, Dwalin trying not to crush Ori and Ori keeping a distracted eye out for his brothers. It was quite an innocent affair, with Ori blushing madly and covering his face when pleasure stole over him; but at a point he changed his mind and scuttled away before Dwalin had a chance to spend himself. Dwalin was bewildered and even a bit disappointed, so it was a fortuitous change of events to find young Ori lying so eagerly upon him in the inky early hours, kissing him furtively amongst their slumbering companions.

Ori parted from Dwalin’s mouth and looked down at him thoughtfully.

‘Is that all you wanted?’ Dwalin asked gruffly.

‘Not quite,’ replied Ori. He shifted backwards, the cleft of his buttocks meeting (perhaps unintentionally, perhaps not, thought Dwalin) with the turgid evidence of Dwalin’s newfound lust.

‘What do we have here?’ exclaimed Ori under his breath, low and beguiling so that each word sent funny sparks from Dwalin’s toes to the tips of his ears. Ori pushed down again, this time very much deliberately. Dwalin swallowed. ‘You should stop,’ he said unevenly.

‘I know what I’m doing,’ insisted Ori, sounding equally unconvincing.

‘Well, if that’s the way it’s going, you’d best get under me--’

Ori shook his head emphatically, with Dwalin’s large hands hovering above his waist. ‘Not like that. Like this.’

‘All right,’ said Dwalin uncertainly, after a pause. He felt a cold hand on his bare navel almost at once, slipping into the hair below it, moving down and down... it freed him from the agonising bite of his belt buckle and then closed around his shaft, grip loose and unfamiliar. Things moving faster than he’d anticipated, Dwalin generously wet two fingers and reached between them and up before pressing in. Ori flinched and brought a hand up to cover his mouth. A few minutes later, and no sooner had Dwalin drawn his hand away, his cock - large for a dwarf, a proud specimen most would agree - was being gently urged upwards, steadied, then introduced to a blissfully familiar tightness. Dwalin propped himself up on his elbows, the blanket tented over both their heads. Ori sank down onto him in tiny increments, looking pained.

‘You don’t have to do this,’ said Dwalin in a low voice, genuinely concerned.

‘I’ve wanted to for a long time,’ reassured Ori, fixing him with a watery gaze, ‘'cause I like you very much.’

Dwalin returned the look doubtfully but said nothing more for the time being, letting Ori settle himself properly instead. He realised that he’d never allowed himself to be ridden like this, by anyone - he was unquestionably dominant by nature. All was right in the world when he was happily ploughing away at a writhing lover pinned beneath him. But this was different. The lack of control was frustrating, and yet...

He watched Ori intently. The lad was an odd one, and probably the last dwarf he’d think of bedding out of the many he’d had before. Part of him couldn’t believe that this was actually happening, but then he was rather fond of Ori. He was almost like a lovely dwarf-maiden, if you crossed your eyes. Well, you didn’t need to cross your eyes, not really. He found Ori to be quite lovely anyway.

The delirious grip and slide of being inside said loveliness promptly brought Dwalin back into the moment. Ori was now moving over him, taking him in deep and then letting him slip out again, though he didn't allow Dwalin's length to leave him completely. Dwalin fumbled and grasped him around his ribcage, feeling quite wrong-footed by his usual awkward innocence. Ori’s rhythm was off, but it hardly mattered; the heat increased gradually as he got the hang of it, then unexpectedly spiked when he rocked downwards unintentionally hard - Dwalin groaned unbidden and bit down on his lip to shut himself up. There was a cough and a rustle as someone within the cave tossed restlessly on their own bedroll, but soon all became still again. Dwalin wanted to move faster so very, very desperately. He looked up at Ori, who in turn shied away bashfully. Dwalin noticed that Ori was wearing one of his hideous old jumpers and nothing else. Ori's hands roamed absently over Dwalin’s torso, up to his shoulders, down his arms, all solid and bulging with muscle and criss-crossed with battle scars. His brow was gently furrowed in what Dwalin supposed was concentration, bent low under the blanket, not wanting to alert anyone to what was going on underneath.

Dwalin began to sweat. His thoughts wandered to past conquests - Fili’s peircing eyes glancing over his shoulder, his golden hair spilling down his back, the ruined timber of the barn complaining as they heaved against it, over and over - the sweat shining in the dip of Kili's spine, scratchy yellow hay clinging to his bare thighs and his ungodly yowling that would have made a tomcat blush - Thorin murmuring his undying devotion against the shell of his ear while Dwalin had his way - all of these memories paraded through his mind and then faded, the sensation of the here and now muscling back in, pinning him to the present. It all felt very good - too good.

Another wave of sweat broke on his forehead and down the back of his neck, something like an oath stuck in his throat like a fishbone. Ori’s movements were torturous, carefully measured so that the repeated meeting of their flesh made no sound. Dwalin suddenly grasped Ori’s legs and pushed him back down a little harder, a little more urgently than before. Ori made a startled noise. Dwalin did it again. And again. His hips snapped up greedily and Ori inhaled sharply, the sound of it ricocheting briefly around the walls of the cave.

‘Quiet, quiet!’ growled Dwalin, sounding more forceful than he'd meant to, maintaining a constant surging movement between their bodies that quickly gathered in speed and ferocity. Ori’s hands clamped over his mouth again and he buried his face in the sinewy junction between Dwalin’s neck and shoulder. His half-obscured pants and gasps fluttered against Dwalin’s ear, spurring him on. Dwalin’s fingernails dented flesh as the desire for completion began to burn in his thighs, heightening every sensation into maddening rawness. ‘Let me spill myself inside you,’ he half-whispered, each syllable a chore; ‘come, move for me again.’

Ori nodded weakly and returned to sitting slightly more upright, hips establishing a stuttering rhythm as Dwalin made an effort to still his own. Dwalin hooked a hand around the back of Ori’s neck as the edge approached, faltered, then came closer still - ‘this isn't the first time I've taken you, and nor will it be the last, mark my words,’ he snarled, enjoying the crushed-petal flush over every visible inch of Ori’s skin and the chorus of soft, rapturous noises that were straining in the back of his throat. Then, all at once, it was upon him; he exhaled sharply through his nose and forced Ori’s trembling thighs back down, hard, one last time. He bit his tongue as his muscles convulsed and his release was finally wrung out of him.

Ori looked down at Dwalin, eyes very wide. ‘Did - have you...?’

Dwalin supressed the urge to laugh. At length he motioned for Ori to lie down on top of him, adjusting the position of the blanket over them. ‘I’ve taken my pleasure, but I know that you’ve not taken yours,’ he murmured.

‘Oh, well,’ spluttered Ori, embarrassed all over again. ‘It’s all right. I-it doesn’t matter. I think I’d better go to sleep.’ He attempted to rearrange his lumpy woollen jumper as he spoke, the fabric having gotten bunched up underneath his armpits.

Dwalin placed an impatient pair of hands on the small of Ori’s back and pulled his body forward, then pushed it away, the movement frictionless.

‘Ah,’ said Ori, forgetting his jumper and sagging forward onto Dwalin’s chest. He moved helplessly under Dwalin’s large hands, his arousal caught between them, quickly reducing him to whimpering pleas under his breath with his eyes shut very tight - ‘oh please no more I’m going to wake everyone up if we do this one moment longer I can’t stop please stop no yes please no yes yes yes--’ With a sudden, strangled gasp he went very tense, then slackened, breathing hard. ‘Oh dear,’ he said at last, in a small voice.

‘Indeed,’ said Dwalin, amused. ‘And from now on, if you ever feel the need to count sheep, come to me first, if you’d be so kind...’