Title: Ephemeral
Paring: Dwalin X Hobbit!Reader
Warnings: we've got fluff, we've got angst, we've got a little bit of violence, we've got more angst-
Spoilers: um nope excuse me here's a fanfic where
A) it's set before tragedy and
B) will never ever be a tragedy because I am not J. R. R. Tolkien and I value these Dwarves with my own life and will never let anything bad happen to them ever because I love them,
Requested By: madasahatter03, hope you like it!
Author's Note: I've just done my third week at uni, and in this time, I've written a short essay on Beowulf and got a distinction on it! Oooh and also, my French lecturers are incredible, I love them so so much! Okay, that's enough prattle, you're not here to hear about my personal life, you're here for our favourite badass Dwarf, Dwalin - on with the fic!
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Dwalin, son of Fundin, was a well-reputed warrior. His braids and clips in his beard showed it well, as did the tales of his ventures alongside Thorin. Those tales spread to the corners of the world as they ventured across Middle Earth to reclaim the Lonely Mountain. Before their stop in Hobbiton, never in Dwalin's life had he ever felt the need to be any less menacing in appearance. But that was before he lay eyes on the Hobbit lass, _________.
She had long braids of her own, tied back with cord, and wide eyes and a wider smile. Bilbo was a cynical Hobbit. But _________ perceived the world around her with a different, finding good in almost all she saw. Even, in himself. But he was an older Dwarf; he had spent his youth in battle and had never learned the delicate ways of love. His time had passed for that warmth, yet, inside his heart, he felt things for _________, things he can't ever voice.
"Master Dwalin," the sweet voice of _________ intoned. She had ridden from behind Óin upon her pony, the pack upon her saddle clanking like it were full of pots and pans. "Would it be acceptable to ride alongside you?" She asked, her crisp way of speaking rendering him mute.
How did this lass have such power over him?
"Aye," he grunted.
Moving his stead to allow for her to fall into the formation, he half-expected for her to continue talking, or to hum a tune under her breath. But _________ rode alongside him in silence, apart from the noise from the pack upon her pony. Under his beard, he allowed a small smile to grow, sparing a glance to the Hobbit beside him. While yes, she was like Bilbo in the way she spoke, but, she was in no way the other Hobbit.
For one, he liked her.
Later that night when the company set up camp, he did his share to tether the ponies, and feed them. It was not war work, yes, but the jobs were on a rota. It was why Dwalin was, instead of being on the first watch, tending to the livestock like a common farmer. It was something he hadn't done since he was a young Dwarf, fresh with youth, and it wasn't a skill that faded in time. As his job finished, he made way to the company. It seemed Fili and Kili were cooking up a stew of what they had managed to hunt on the journey that day.
He heard a call, and then his name. "Dwalin," his elder brother Balin waved him closer. He sat upon one of the stones that scattered across the countryside, "I've saved you a seat."
The seat, while was beside Balin, was also beside _________. If she was not close enough to hear, he would curse the old gods. But he didn't, and instead, thanked Balin, and took his serving of the stew, and sat.
Though while he ate, he watched as _________ ate their stew. She pushed her spoon around in the bowl and hesitated before every bite. He was about to look back at his bowl when _________ caught his eye, and she hung her head low.
"Is somethin' wrong?" He asked.
She looked to him, eyes sad. "I'm not used to all this food on the go," she explained. "I miss my pantry, and bread." She sighed, and added, "At home, today would be the day I bake. I bake for the week, and spend the afternoon watching it rise in the sunshine...it's the most wonderful smell." She glances down again. In a smaller voice, she says, "I know we've been travelling for only a week, but don't think less of me because of this."
Dwalin glances at the company. Most of the Dwarves around him are eating their meal or focused on the stories that Bofur is telling. Balin stares into his bowl, as if he could find gold in it, or enlightenment.
"Tell none of this," he utters to her.
From his pocket, Dwalin produces a small loaf of bread, the size of _________'s forearm. While passing through the last village, he'd paid good money for bread, and kept it secret to make sure it lasted long enough to be worth the coin. He breaks the loaf into halves and passes one to her.
"Oh, Master Dwalin, I couldn't –," she squeaks, face glowing red with a blush alike a tomato, "Please –,"
He pressed the half loaf into her chest softly. "Think nothing of it, lass." He spares her a smile, and resumes
At sunrise, the company had made to leave. Already, dirt is over the campfire, the gear gathered. Dwalin can't remember getting a wink of sleep in; he had spent the night sitting up on the last watch. Even before he had been on shift, he had spent the time staring at the stars above his head, head full of thoughts. Thoughts of how he could keep all the company were safe, including the Hobbit _________ who had worked her way under his guarded heart.
"Everyone here?" Thorin called out, astride his pony. "Thorin!" He said his own name, starting the roll call.
"Dwalin," He called his name.
Atop his pony, Balin intoned, "Balin!"
"Kili," said Fili.
"Fili," said Kili.
Dwalin rolled his eyes and stopped listening. His eyes grazed over the countryside where they had spent the night. The sun had begun to rise above the hills to the east, the shadows of the trees and rocks growing as time passed. But Dwalin paused, eyes thin as he squinted at the shadows.
Nearby, Bofur stated, "Bofur."
Dwalin raised his voice, "We're under attack," He steered his pony toward Thorin, and drew his axes from his back. "Orcs, on the hill!"
"Bombur," The last Dwarf called out, but none cared for that task now this was on hand.
Thorin raised his sword and turned to the company. "Dwarves, to arms! Dismount your steads, draw your weapons." He turned to Bilbo, and _________. In the same tone, he instructed, "Go on ahead, as far as your ponies can take you, keep them safe."
Dwalin looked to _________, expecting to see the Hobbit's eyes to be fearful, or upset. But instead, there was a glint of bravery there and instead of a protest, _________ and their burglar departed as soon as they could.
That night, they caught up to where Bilbo and _________ had managed to go on ahead. Dwalin's mind was racing. The battle had been short lived, and none of their own injured beyond what time would heal. But despite this, he could not help but worry for the Hobbits.
"We're here!" Bilbo called out, waving an arm.
Dwalin's breath caught. The ponies stowed upon a low-bearing tree, munching on the grass; they were fine. But Bilbo and _________; their clothes covered in mud and filth, faces too. As they neared, Dwalin's heart all but stopped. _________'s clothes were not only darkened by earth, but blood.
"Óin!" Thorin called, upon seeing the sight, "You need to help the lass. Ori, find water nearby – Glóin, start a fire." He instructed. "Óin, friend? What say you?"
The older Dwarf nodded, ear trumpet in hand. "I can save her. I need to make a poultice and keep her warm. We will need to pitch a tent." Thorin turned to him. But he had already begun emptying a pack of one the ponies which had the canvas. "I'll need bandages, to staunch the wound."
Dwalin did his best to raise a tent with the help of Bofur and Nori, and he could not help beyond that. He watched as Fili and Kili returned with a bowl of water, as the fire was lit. As Bombur tore strips of cloth, Dwalin cursed under his breath. Was this a cruel joke, played by the old Gods? He was an old Dwarf, yes, but nobody deserved to see the one they held in their heart like this.
He heard a twig snap and looked up to see Bilbo sitting beside him. The Hobbit had a sad smile and looked to his hairy feet. "I'm so very sorry," he began in a melancholy tone, "We were making headway from the attack, quite a way from the scuffle." He says, eyes still downcast. "A single Orc came from nowhere and charged at us. I was completely stunned, I couldn't move."
"Gods," Dwalin cursed. "She didn't."
Bilbo placed a hand on Dwalin's knee. "She drew a sword left on a pony and cut the creature through the heart." He recounts, voice shaky. "but...but the Orc had a dagger and struck her chest. It's lucky the company got here when you did, I was doing my best to keep her awake."
He sat there, picturing what Bilbo had told him in his mind.
The Hobbit patted his knee, and then, he said, "She's always been headstrong, back in the Shire. She never let anything get in her way, ever since she was a little Hobbit. Once she had decided, she would never let it go." He looks to Dwalin, "It's why I suggested to Gandalf that she came with us."
He nodded. "Thank you, Bilbo," he muttered, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "I –,"
"She's awake!" He heard a voice call out.
At once, Dwalin made way toward the tent. "I need poppies, and a strong hand –," Óin looked up, and at the entrance of the tent, he saw him. "Dwalin, you need to hold her. If she moves too much, it will aggravate the wound."
He follows the instructions, entering. The tent is lit by a small lantern that Ori uses to sketch by. Óin sits beside _________, who, lain upon a bedroll, is inert by what potions the apothecary had administered. Her chest is bare, revealing the wound. Ever the careful healer, Óin has cleansed the blood that had caked around the cleaved area. He holds a bowl of a poultice in his hands, and motions to him to hold _________ down.
As Óin applies the ointment, she wakes. The pain causes her to thrash, her eyes wide, the noises coming from her mouth like she was afire. But Dwalin does not relent and keeps her held down as Óin works on bandaging.
"Dwalin?" her voice is thin, like the veil around All Hallows' Eve, eyelids drooping.
He makes a noise. "Aye, lass, I'm here." He grunts.
"Thank you," she whispers with a sigh, eyes fluttering closed. "thank you..."
He glanced to Óin, who only gave him a small smile in return. "She'll live," he said, "she needs to stay out of harm's way, not move too much."
He gazed at his Hobbit lass, who, in this very moment, looked as small as a child in slumber. Dwalin nodded. "Of course," he promised Óin.
He moved a stray strand of her hair from her eyes. It was then he noticed that in the melee, her braids had come undone, and were a tangle of filth and blood. He went to reach for his comb and realised it must have been lost in the fight with the Orc pack.
Glóin entered at that moment and paused, blinking. "I'll come back later," he said, and exited the tent without a further word.
Óin glanced to him, withdrawing a comb from his pocket, and passed it to him. "You have a look, in your eyes." He says, with a little smile. "The same Glóin has when he sees his Gimli, his wife." He paused and added voice a whisper so low Dwalin nearly missed it, "It might be good for you to tell her, before anything else happens to her."
He can't remember when he fell asleep, but, as his eyes focus, he realises he's in the tent, beside _________. His mind goes back to what Óin had said. How he had compared him to his brother, Glóin. He can remember when his cousin had fallen in love with his wife, back when life had been simpler. It had been a good time. A peaceful time.
It's then he feels a hand on his and realises that _________ is awake.
Her small Hobbit hands are smooth, tracing over the tattoos on the back of his hand. He looks to her face and sees that the colour had returned to her cheeks.
"Forgive me, Master Dwalin," her face flushes further, looking away. "I – I've never seen pictures in skin before." She confesses.
He shakes his head. "It's no worry, _________," he says, catching her hand as she moves it away. "My people call them tattoos. Mine are for my battles, and valour."
She sighs. "You must be very good at what you do, then," she says.
He shakes his head. "No, lass. Sometimes I'm as thick-headed as any other Dwarf. To think it took me this long to bring myself to say it..."
_________ makes a face, and tenderly touches the bandages over her chest. "You're not what you say, M –," she catches herself, and whispers, "Dwalin. When I met you in Bilbo's home, I could not stop myself but to be near you. You're the hero I'd imagine as a child when my father would tell bedtime stories," She confessed, and added, "Please. Never doubt yourself, Dwalin."
He took a deep breath. "I may be too old, or too rough, _________, but...I've come to realise that despite this, you have earned a place in my stubborn heart." He says.
_________ chuckles softly, her hand placed in his hand. "I love you too, Dwalin."