The Hobbit Imagines

21~ Dwalin

"Y-You," he stuttered.

"I did it!" you exclaimed, bouncing on your heels with unmeasurable excitement. Your body was practically buzzing at that point and the adrenaline brought along with finally getting him was enough to make you ready for another round. For the first time in your weeks of training, you had actually gotten him. Like, honestly gotten him.

His gaze left his chest and settled on you for the first time since your attack had been landed, and he was gaping a little. It was the only reaction that you needed to be satisfied with the progress. Because, as much as he would hate to admit it later when you forced him to get a few drinks with you (you might hate him, but you needed someone to celebrate the achievement with), you had improved: even if the improvement was only the first strike of many.

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Lessons had become bearable. You might have even gone as far as to say that they were actually fun. Once Dwalin came to grips with the fact that you actually had a lot of potential as a fighter, he was willing to put effort into teaching you. His lessons became more and more valuable, and he taught you tricks and steps that would help you bring down an opponent in less than a minute. Though the soreness in your muscles never really went away, that dreadful feeling that used to come along with having to go to a lesson did.

The initial hurtle that came after Dwalin started trying was the subject of your family. You both had spent a whole day talking, no lessons and no clanging of metal on metal, just your voices and bitter comments about each other's family. It was its own kind of warfare in the beginning, but the verbal attacks eventually faded when you had discovered the root of all of the hatred. After that, you were able to have a civil conversation with him and he even succeeded in making you laugh near the end of the night. That's when the real progress began.

Every day came with its new skill and discovery; conversations carried on whenever you took a break to calm your rapidly beating heart or to drink water to cool yourself down. Some days, when the fatigue became too much for the both of you, you would lie down on the grass nearby the fighting circle and talk about everything and nothing. Looking back on it, you figured that that might have been when Dwalin started falling for you.

You had started to suspect it before he even though to confirm it; it was almost painfully obvious in the way that he looked at you whenever you would smile after striking him yet again. There was just too much... fondness. Your suspicions weren't confirmed until the day before the company was going to depart on their quest. Both of your spirits were waning, the reminder that he would have to leave for the long journey to Erebor was always in the back of your mind.

"I reckon you could probably best me at this point," he sighed, picking at the grass by his feet as he tried not to think about how much he would miss you during his journey. It was useless; the thought was plaguing his mind more than it had on previous days.

You shrugged, a frown thinning out your lips, "I don't know; you're still a lot better than I am."

"You bested me the other day," he pointed out.

"You were sick the other day," you replied, tilting your head to look at him with the smallest of smiles. He always liked to give you more credit than you deserved. His eyes narrowed at you in a way that was more joking than malicious, and it was as if he was trying to convince you that he was right. You weren't having any of that, though; you simply shook your head and stood up before holding your hand out to him.

"What?" he wondered, looking at the hand that you were offering to him. He cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head much like a confused dog.

You smiled down at him, hoping that what you were about to suggest would lighten his mood, "We're going to see who the better swordsman is; right here, right now."

The confused from on his lips spread into a wide smile, and he laughed as he grabbed your hand and let you hoist him up onto his feet. Without wasting any time, you both grabbed a dulled sword from the pile near the edge of the fighting circle. "One time," Dwalin started with the rules, "No cheating; whoever lands the first fatal blow wins. The loser buys the drinks tonight."

You nodded before bending to get into the proper stance and start the slow stepping around the circle. Dwalin mirrored you perfectly at that point; by that time you were both fair fights for one another, especially since you knew exactly how the other fought. You had his techniques down to a point, and you had even used some of them against him when you were feeling particularly gutsy. This time, you were focused on making your last duel with Dwalin the most challenging duel he would ever endure. You didn't plan on winning, though.

It was a mess of heavy breathing and loud reverberating sounds of metal for minutes on end. You could tell that Dwalin was distracted; he wasn't focusing on his hits as much as he usually did. However, he was still much more skilled than you were, and you knew that. Though you made a valiant effort, Dwalin was the one that eventually got the fatal blow to your chest. By then, you were both sweaty and too hot to be comfortable, and you dropped the swords on the ground with little laughs escaping your lips.

"I think you could have done better than that," Dwalin laughed, and there was a sort of challenge in his words. It was almost as if he wanted you to pick up the sword again and offer to go for another round (anything to prolong your eventual departure).

You took in a deep breath, trying to get back to the rhythmic pattern that you normally kept. Once you finally regained your complete composure, you shook your head at him, "Nuh-uh, you won that fair and square. I guess I'm just lagging behind you ever so slightly."

He smiled back at you before it suddenly shifted to a frown and he lowered his gaze to the swords on the ground, "I trust that you'll practice while I'm gone."

You nodded, lips taught as you stared back at him, "Yes, and I expect to be better than you by the time that you get back." He couldn't help but to roll his eyes at that; he had told you multiple times about how risky the journey to Erebor would be, and how he might not even make it back. However, you refused to listen to him every single time, simply insisting that he would always make it back. He had to.

Instead of reminding you of the perils awaiting him, he put on a smile, stared at you with so much fondness that it should have been impossible, and softly said, "I don't doubt that you will be."

But it sounded more like I love you.

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Written for FaithLinn. I hope you don't mind, but I went away from the prompt a little bit. Hope you enjoyed and don't forget to message me or leave a comment if you would like a request. It might take a while to get the prompt up, but it will be done eventually; I just started school and I have loads of work but today was a free day so yay.

-cow_queen