Chapter Text
Khagal’abbad, T.A. 2865.
The noise of the cell door thunking shut was rather more final than Nori had expected. The metal bashing against metal made him jump; nearly dropping the rough blanket the guard had shoved into his hands with something akin to disdain.
“You’re not a petty thief anymore,” he’d remarked with a snort. “Burglary means time spent locked up, and you just had to steal from one of the oldest families in these hills. Your brother won’t be happy.”
Dori wouldn’t be. Fuck, he really wouldn’t be.
But what choice was there? Ori had just turned eight, and he already knew the biting feeling of hunger. Dori went without food more often than not these days and it had been weeks since Skirfar had been sober enough to help. The weight, the overwhelming pressure on his older brother’s head… it had to stop.
So, Nori had done something very, very stupid. And now he was paying for it.
Balin, Son of Fundin was too trusting. The lock on his door had barely taken more than a hard shove to break, and all of his valuables had been laid out on display. Ripe for someone like Nori to take whatever he needed.
One thing, one tiny gem from his collection would have been enough, but no, of course he hadn’t been satisfied by that. Even a handful of the jewellery that had been carelessly left out would have fed them all for years, and Nori was so tired of living on stolen snacks. So, he’d taken the lot; every last twinkling diamond.
And then the shopkeeper he’d tried to pawn them off to had seen the mark. Fundin’s crest, stark against the metal of a bead.
How he hated that crest.
Scooting back into the corner of the cot, Nori tried to get comfortable. He had no idea how long he was going to be here after all, and his previous brushes with the law had been the minor indiscretions of a hungry child. But now he was seventy-five, and burglary… well, that would not simply go away.
He was so caught up in his spiralling that Nori nearly didn’t notice the guard approach the bars, but the flash of steel pauldrons caught his eye.
The guard didn’t look too much older than him, if he was being completely honest. His face was free of lines, hair styled in a mohawk that trailed down his back with a thick beard to match. But something in his eyes, a steel-edge of sorts, spoke an entirely different story.
This dwarf was young, but his eyes were far less so.
“It was you? Yer the one who broke into Balin’s quarters?” His voice was this deep, booming thing that filled the air with a crushing weight, making Nori want to curl up ever further beneath the pressure.
He didn’t. Squaring his jaw, Nori sat up a little straighter and glared right back into those piercing blue eyes.
“So what if I am?” He managed to bite the words out without too much of a wobble to them, although it didn’t seem the guard was particularly paying attention to his tone, if the scoff of derision that followed was anything to go by.
“Then I can put a face to the shaik who terrorised my brother,” he hissed.
Oh. Oh no.
It wasn’t enough that he’d done such a stupid thing, but his guard was the victim’s brother?! Nori swallowed against the rapidly building panic that had begun to set in and turned back to the wall. He was in deep trouble now. That was startlingly clear.
Everyone in Khagal’abbad knew of Dwalin, Son of Fundin. He was a war hero, having fought in Azanulbizar and done many feats of valour before he even turned fifty. He was the protégé of the colony; a shining example of where hard work landed you… so long as you were lucky enough to be from an old clan.
Nori had never had that chance.
Dwalin laughed, the sound awful and ringing in the stillness of the cell. “Ignore me all ye like,” he muttered, stepping away from the bars and back into the gloom. “I’m just glad yer getting what ye deserve, thief.”
The last word was spat; venom and vitriol into the gloom. It was so cold, so very cold, and no matter how closely Nori clutched the threadbare blanket to himself, he couldn’t get warm, and that one word was left echoing round and round in his head.
Thief.
Thief.
THIEF.
“-ori. Nori!”
Nori’s eyes flew open, the knife he kept under his pillow in his hand and lashing out before he fully realised what was happening.
It was a good thing Dwalin knew him better than he knew himself at times.
“Just a dream, sakdelê,” he murmured, releasing his hold on Nori’s wrist the moment their eyes met. Gently prising his sweaty hand open, he took the knife from his grip and stowed it back under the pillow. “Ye were thrashin’ a bit.”
Just… a dream.
“A memory,” Nori amended, sighing in irritation as he reached up to scratch his head and felt that his night braid had come undone. “Not a fun one.”
Pressing a light kiss to his forehead, Dwalin reached over, and the sound of a striking match rang out in the quiet of the room. “Ye reckon its anythin’ to do with the move?”
“Probably,” Nori muttered. “I’ll get used to it.”
He would. Sleeping somewhere new was not something he enjoyed, but being as the spacious rooms in the upper city of Azsâlul’abad were where he’d likely spend the rest of his life sleeping, he’d hoped the transition would come easy.
It seemed that was not going to be the case.
Dragging himself upright with a groan, Nori flexed his neck and shoulders, wincing as his joints cracked. The smell of burning oil emanating from the lantern filled the air as the wick caught and finally the room was illuminated with more than the dying embers of the fire.
Everything was exactly where they’d left it. The door remained locked; their abandoned clothes undisturbed over the floor.
Not a sock out of place.
Nori let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding at that, and then the exhale morphed into a contented sigh when firm hands swept up over his shoulders and lightly tugged his knotted hair free.
Keeping Dwalin off his locks had proved impossible. Not that he was complaining, of course. His fingers instinctually knew how much pressure to apply to unpick the knots without pulling, and although Nori had been brought up with Dori’s heavy-handed approach leaving him nervous to let anyone touch his hair but himself, having Dwalin’s gentle digits carding through his waves was nothing but pleasant.
“What memory?” The words were low, but there was uncertainty behind them, and his hand moved to touch Nori’s throat. Just a brush, but it was enough.
“Not that one.”
It didn’t need to be said which memory he referred to. An orc lifting him from the ground by his throat as his broken foot scraped uselessly against the wall. Dwalin’s scream of horror. They’d both relived that more than a few times.
They’d been home for three months after travelling over the course of two. Nori had only been back at work for a handful of weeks; the trauma to his foot keeping him from returning any earlier. It was a little difficult to forget something like that.
The hand laid flat over his bare shoulder blade, and Nori shook his head. “Not that one either,” he murmured, pushing the sound of a knife sliding through his intended’s flesh clean from his mind.
Dwalin didn’t press further. He simply continued detangling his hair; the pop of a cork and the scent of rosemary wafting out as he began combing it through, ensuring every strand was coated before beginning to braid once more.
“Khagal’abbad,” Nori said after a few minutes, feeling Dwalin’s hands still ever so slightly. “When I took… when I stole from Balin.”
“Ah.”
That was all that needed to be said about that. Both of them had done things they’d come to regret.
Still…
“Ori was eight.” Nori’s voice was no louder than a whisper, but Dwalin heard him all the same. He could tell in the way his hands fought to maintain a steady pace, to not draw attention to himself.
Daft fool, Nori thought, his lips falling into a soft smile, despite the heavy topic.
“I’m not sayin’ what I did was right, but Ori was eight an’ starving. I was willin’ to go to prison so he didn’t.” And then with him out of the way, Dori had made meals stretch further. At the end of the day, everyone had won.
Except for Nori.
Naturally, Dwalin somehow managed to boot that thought clean out of the way with his next statement.
“I told Brynja ye were too skinny.”
The name of Dwalin’s old commanding officer, the Captain of the Watch back in Khagal’abbad wasn’t what he’d expected to hear at all. Neither was that statement, and for one long moment, Nori simply sat there and let him braid his hair.
“Was probably through shame at that point,” Dwalin muttered as he secured the end of the plait. “Tiny little thing that ye were, breakin’ into Balin’s quarters with no trouble, save the getaway. Be more believable if it looked like ye actually ate.”
Despite himself, Nori snorted, leaning back to rest the crown of his head on Dwalin’s shoulder. “Thought ya were a pompous prick back then. Looks like I was right.”
“Watch it,” Dwalin chuckled, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and enveloping him in a hug. “Yer about to marry this pompous prick.”
“Oh, so that’s why we’ve got Highday marked off as important. Thought it was for one o’ the lads to look at the plumbing.”
Dwalin’s exasperated sigh rippled straight through his shoulders and deep into his chest. “Shut up, Nori,” he murmured, lips curving up in a little smile as he pressed a featherlight kiss just below his ear.
He did actually quiet at that. Dwalin putting his lips anywhere on him tended to have that effect. Well, maybe not anywhere. There was a reason their new quarters were far, far away from any of The Company, after all. Nori still had a bruise on his inner thigh that had caused Balin to nearly put a hole in the wall with all his knocking to keep it down. It wasn’t any better over at Dori’s either. Poor Ori had probably heard a little too much, and he had no doubt that all three of them were celebrating the couple’s move.
Although as Dwalin’s lips began to take the slow path down the side of his neck, Nori rather felt like celebrating himself. Especially when that lovely hand slipped beneath the covers to trace over the muscles of his stomach. And even more so when, to a breathy moan of assent, his fingers dipped lower still.
Well, that was a decidedly pleasant turn of events.
Dwalin shifted behind him; his legs moving to rest either side of his and bringing Nori’s back flat against his chest before resuming his perusal. A careful trail over his thighs, growing closer and closer to where he was quickly turning liquid and needy, but never touching. Nori shifted, attempting to tilt his hips closer, but Dwalin’s other hand anchored him back.
“Stay still,” he murmured, lips grazing his ear and sending a shudder the whole length of his spine in the process. “Let me touch ye, sakdelê.”
Oh, that bloody nickname. It should be illegal for Dwalin to wave it around like that; a soft purr that resonated through his whole body every time it was tipped into his ear. And Dwalin knew that. He knew that it would tear a whimper from his throat, knew that it would have Nori parting his legs and hooking one knee over his own to open himself wider…
Yes, Dwalin knew that, and he took full advantage of it. The moment his fingers so much as brushed against him, Nori had to bite his lip against the sudden spike of pleasure, but before he could begin to feel any form of relief they were gone once more, and he groaned in frustration.
“We didn’t move all the way up here for ye to be quiet,” Dwalin’s low voice whispered in his ear, and this time Nori didn’t even attempt to choke back the noise that burst past his lips at the words. Especially after what followed.
“That’s it,” his intended breathed, suddenly pushing his middle finger up to the hilt inside him, making him gasp against the sudden intrusion. “Let it out.”
And then he crooked his finger, and Nori’s cry shattered the quiet. He didn’t stop there, and soon enough a second digit joined the first to strike a lazy rhythm.
The moans that poured from his lips were coming thick and fast now; harsh, heavy gasps as the sounds Dwalin’s fingers made turned wetter and wetter, and then all of a sudden the covers were being flung back, his overheating skin meeting the coolness of the air.
“Look at ye, sakdelê.” His intended’s voice was a hair on the smug side, but Nori found he didn’t really care as he turned his gaze downwards to where that wonderful hand worked. There was a tug to his hair as Dwalin wrapped the long braid around his fist and ohh the feeling was something else. His fingers had unerringly found the spot that made him tense around them, and all Nori could do was watch as they plunged back into him, fucking him open.
There were teeth against his neck; a steady rasp from Dwalin’s beard as he ran his mouth down to his shoulder, and then a thumb grazed over his cock, pressure light but still somehow giving him exactly what he needed.
Nori let out a harsh moan as those teeth skated over his skin, clamping down ever so gently as his body spasmed and clenched. Dwalin was so good at this, at making him come so hard he saw stars and then carrying on as if what he’d just done hadn’t been utterly life changing. Even now, as Nori shuddered in the afterglow, he simply pressed yet another kiss to the side of his neck and drew him back into a comforting embrace.
That wasn’t to say he remained unaffected, oh no. The heavy press of his erection against Nori’s lower back proved that quite nicely.
“Better?”
Nori couldn’t really remember what he’d been upset about in the first place. He didn’t think he was even capable of it; not whilst Dwalin’s cock lay thick behind him.
“Mm,” he sighed, lazily tilting his head back so his intended could kiss him. “Much.”
There was no point trying to go back to sleep now. Not that he’d even entertained the notion. There was something lazy in the way that Dwalin’s hands returned to tracing over his stomach, but Nori wasn’t going to let him carry on without a little retaliation. He wasn’t that kind of dwarf.
“Lay back for me,” he murmured, twisting further and pushing forward to nip at Dwalin’s earlobe.
As much as his betrothed liked to take charge, there were some things Nori was particularly good at and getting his way was one of them. Using the hand that wasn’t currently rubbing circles into Dwalin’s knee, he reached back to ghost his fingers over his cock, increasing the pressure with a smirk when he heard a hiss.
Dwalin complied instantly, and after a few shuffled movements where Nori wasn’t entirely certain if his shaky thighs would hold up, he managed to swing a leg over and perch on his lap.
“What d’ye have in mind?” his intended almost growled, eyes flickering down to where Nori lay wet against him. The searing pass of his gaze almost made him groan aloud, but he bit it back with a grin before bracing his hands behind him against Dwalin’s legs and leaning back.
“Nothin’ we haven’t already done before.”
The first thrust had him letting out a choked moan, and Nori’s eyes slid closed in bliss. The slick feeling of Dwalin’s cock against his own aching wetness felt so perfect; the pressure his to control and adjust as he saw fit, and his hips were already canting forwards before he could even process what he was doing.
Dwalin hissed his name, hands clamping down hard on his hips and oh, this was where he was meant to be. This was where he wanted to spend the rest of his life, losing himself in pleasure with his One. Nori’s thrusts grew faster, his moans harsher, and if the wet noises Dwalin had dragged from him before had been loud, they were all he could hear now; the sloppy sound of his own body and their intermingled groans the only thing echoing in the quiet of their room.
Surprisingly, Dwalin came first this time; his spend pulsing out of him in rough spurts, but Nori was so close, so painfully close, that he simply kept going. His attack turned erratic, rubbing through his intended’s come and smearing it further until Dwalin’s stomach was coated in a mixture of both of their fluids… and it was only then that he found his release; head thrown back in ecstasy and a silent scream caught in his throat.
The rest of the early morning passed in a similar manner, and by the time the clock ticked into a more respectable hour, Nori was well and truly wrung out. It probably wasn’t the best idea to exhaust himself before the working day began – especially with a career like his – but Am was scheduled too and the lass could pick up the slack easily. Besides, it wasn’t like anything unusual was happening in Azsâlul’abad. It would all be fine.
Reaching into the jewellery dish beside the bed, Nori slipped the chain with his courting bead attached around his neck, tucking it down under his shirt where it would remain safe and unseen. It really was an ostentatious gem; one big, sparkly diamond set in silver and crowned by Fundin’s crest. A family heirloom that caught the wandering eyes of many.
It had caught his eye too, once upon a time.
That Dwalin had given it back to him, that he’d sat and painstakingly woven the little bead into his hair that night on the borders of the Dead Marshes… it spoke volumes. How far they’d come since the barely-of-age thief met the battle-weary guard. How far they’d come since they stopped referring to each other as such.
They had further to go still, but now their paths intertwined and tangled, instead of simply running parallel. Somehow, it was far simpler, in a strange, convoluted way that made absolutely no sense whatsoever, but Nori rather thought it had something to do with the way Dwalin’s eyes shone as he kissed him goodbye at the door every morning.
*
“And you’re sure you’ll be alright?”
Thorin bit back a chuckle as Bilbo fussed over the boys like a mother hen. He wasn’t the only one amused, if the snort emanating from his sister was anything to go by.
Here was the Ringbearer; champion of Middle Earth and Burglar of Azsâlul’abad… fretting over two adult dwarves that they were only leaving behind for five days. Not to mention the ridiculous straw hat he’d insisted on wearing.
“We’re going on our honeymoon!” he’d proclaimed, plopping the ludicrous article on his head with a huff. “A holiday! That means I’ll dress how I want.”
Apparently, that meant short, rolled trousers, a neat little waistcoat and the hat. It wasn’t even as if there was enough sun in Dale to require it, but Bilbo had insisted, and who was Thorin to say no?
Unfortunately, that had come with a caveat.
The King Under the Mountain was also wearing a hat. Dís found it rather funny.
“You look like you fell into a haybale,” she snorted, sidling over whilst Bilbo was passionately lecturing Fíli and Kíli on the importance of breakfast in his absence. “Have you traded out your crown for a farmer’s garb?”
Hardly. Thorin still wore his (new) thick fur surcoat, although his mail had been swapped for a loose tunic on Bilbo’s insistence. It was his fourth coat; the first one confiscated by the elven jailers of what had once been Mirkwood (and subsequently lost), the second buried in a shallow grave atop Ravenhill, and the third now lay beneath ash and igneous rock. He would not see any of them again, nor did he desire to.
This new coat was finer than all that had come before. It was a wedding present; one commissioned by Bilbo himself and painstakingly stitched together from gleaming warg fur that seemed as if it had been brushed every day of the creature’s life. Now that fine materials were finally making their way back to the mountain through trading caravans from across the continent, Dori had far more to play with and it showed in the tiny, embroidered oak leaves tucked just inside the lip of the pockets. A secret detail only a select few were privy to, much the same as the scarlet B.B. on the left lining, falling directly over his heart when the coat was fastened shut.
Although that little detail was unknown to even Dori. Thorin rather suspected that the only two souls privy to that specific addition were himself and the one who had sewn it in.
So no, Thorin did not look like a farmer. But the hat added a strangeness to his appearance, nonetheless.
“Bilbo asked,” he muttered. “I would not deny him this.”
Dís sighed but her face remained twisted in a smirk. “You, brother dearest, are whipped.”
She was right, of course. After returning from their little excursion to Mordor and putting an end to Sauron’s machinations for good, Thorin had only grown more attached to his husband – if such a thing were even possible. They still bickered relentlessly, but it was more for sport than out of any real frustration. His Bilbo would not be the same if he were any less argumentative after all.
Regardless, things had been good. Better than Thorin probably deserved… but he was working on why he felt that way and Bilbo was helping each and every step.
“Are you certain things will be alright without us here?” he murmured, not missing the way Dís’ brow raised at the statement. “Fíli is to be acting king, and-”
“I can handle my own son,” Dís muttered in response, clearly mildly agitated by the suggestion. “Besides, he will do well. You know this.”
He did. Thorin really did. That did not mean he wasn’t nervous about leaving him in charge, especially after the trauma he had suffered.
After Bolg.
Shooting a small glance over to where the two boys stood laughing at Bilbo’s exuberant goodbye, he sighed. Even now, five months after the fact, Fíli was quieter, more withdrawn than the cheerful young dwarf he’d once been.
“He will be fine, nadad,” Dís murmured, gently nudging him. “Fíli will do well with a challenge. Something to set his mind on. Enjoy yourselves and do not worry for what remains behind.”
“… You are right,” he conceded with a sigh, turning his attention back to his sister. “I have no doubt that whatever issues may arise, Fíli will handle them competently. And if not, who other than the Queen Regent of Khagal’abbad would be equipped to assist?”
Dís snorted, nudging him once again. “An astute observation. I am more than qualified to support him, as is known to all. Now go, or I am afraid your husband will wait no longer.”
Shooting a glance over to where Bilbo stood tapping his foot by their cart, Thorin suspected she may be correct in that. He was a ball of energy, keen to be off and tracking down the road to Dale where the sanctity of private lodgings away from prying eyes and ears awaited. They would return before Dwalin and Nori’s impending nuptials but – for a while, at least – it would only be them.
No interruptions. No sudden calls to duty. And, most importantly, a locking door. And no Balin.
Thorin suddenly found he was rather impatient too. Giving Dís a quick squeeze, he strode over to where Fíli and Kíli waited and drew them in close.
“I entrust Azsâlul’abad into your capable hands,” he proclaimed with a grin. “And I entrust you into your mother’s.”
“We’ll try not to burn the whole thing down while you’re gone,” Kíli said cheerfully, hugging back.
“Or get involved with a coup,” Fíli mumbled, cracking a rare smile.
“Or blow anything up- wait, I’m pretty sure Dwalin should be the one promising this. You know, since he already-”
“And off we go!” Bilbo announced, cutting through what was sure to turn into the endless list of Things That Dwalin, Son of Fundin Had Done. It was probably for the best that they left now before Barad-Dûr was mentioned in any capacity. Thorin still wasn’t sure how either he, Nori or Tauriel had managed to survive that. Regardless, he was not here to ponder.
Shaking the confusion-induced stupor off, he gave the boys a final squeeze and hopped up onto the cart, taking his place behind the reins. Bilbo turned to shoot him a glance of amused adoration that even now sent a slow smile winding over his face.
“Are you ready love?” he murmured, leaning over to rest his curly head against Thorin’s shoulder, straw hat knocking the collar of his coat.
Thorin found he was. Utterly and completely.
“I am, âzyungelê.”
As they pulled away from the mountain and into the sunny plains that had once been the Desolation, Thorin realised the only emotion currently running through him was contentment. It had been some time since they’d been able to spend more than a few hours together; the difficulties only increasing after their return. There were protocols that had to be followed, treaties that had been redrawn. The huge influx of trade deals with Rohan had only added to complications, and Bilbo was still awaiting word that his fellow hobbits had made it back to the Shire. There was simply too much to do… but now, for the next few days, they would have no such concerns.
This was a time for them. To celebrate what they had become, what they had achieved together.
Besides, the mountain was stable. Nori had been listening for malcontent and found none. Azsâlul’abad was relishing in its newfound health and peace, and there wasn’t a single threat that could change all that in merely five days.
No, Thorin would enjoy his honeymoon. He and Bilbo would have a much-needed break from it all, and when they returned, everything would remain well within the walls of their kingdom.
So caught up in the bliss at having his husband all to himself, Thorin did not notice the figure watching from the battlements.
Or the pony that followed them.