A/N: Written in 2014 for a challenge I don’t remember anymore. I’m sorry giftee, wherever you are.

Dawlin/Bilbo Soul Mate Fic

Whatever Bilbo was expecting when he opened his door, Gandalf, Lobelia, a noisy neighbor trying to intrude on his dinner, he was most certainly not expecting a hulking figure of a dwarf. Bilbo could only stand there, mouth agape as the dwarf turned to him, gave a shallow bow and said, “Dwalin, at yer service.” The tone suggested that the dwarf, Dwalin, was not at his service and Bilbo was instead at his.

Nervously, Bilbo tightened the belt at his waist, suddenly aware that he was dressed only in his dressing gown and coat, and feeling very vulnerable, because a strange dwarf had simply appeared on his step in the middle of the night, acting like they knew each other, and what in the Shire was Bilbo supposed to do?

“B-Bilbo Baggins at yours.” he stuttered out at the stranger (Dwalin, a voice that sounded very much like the late Belladonna Baggins hissed in his mind) as Dwalin, entered the smial with an air of badly concealed suspicion.

“Do we know each other?” He asked cautiously. Dwalin shot him an expression of mixed irritation and surprise.

“No.” He continued to sniff around, peering around corners and glancing this way and that as he stripped off his cloak and –

Bless the Shire! Were those axes strapped to his back?! –

Bilbo fumbled and just managed to catch the cloak shoved into his arms. It was heavy and smelled of grass and sweat and something metallic.

“Which way is it, laddie? Is it down here?”

“Wha- Is what down where?” Bilbo huffed as he hung the cloak on one of the oak pegs lining the hallway.

“Supper. He said ther’d be food. And lots of it.” Dwalin’s eyes glinted in the lamplight, as sharp as his axes.

Bilbo suppressed a sigh. His surprise and nervousness quickly dissipating to irritation and confusion.

He had a feeling it was going to be a very long evening.

~~~~

Dwalin had traveled long and hard from the Blue Mountains. Only this morning had he entered the Shire proper, looking forward to a bed and roof after the rough ground he’d been tramping. However, after one look at their fragile and soft host sputtering at the door like a kettle, Dwalin was convinced that the Wizard had made a great error. Halflings were known to live comfortable lives, with no conflict entering their existence. What use would this creature be on the road to fight a tyrannical fire breathing beast of old?

After Thorin arrived and the discussion came to a head about what to do with their so called burglar, he said as much.

“Aye, the wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.” The Halfling gave a neat little nod in agreement. The assembled Dwarrows muttered, whispering and arguing about the use of a halfling as a thief.

The room seemed to grow dark as Gandalf stood and thundered “If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar then a burglar he is!” Dwalin’s hand went instinctively to the large hunting knife concealed on his thigh. The Wizard seemed to calm himself and sat back. Even as Thorin seemed to relent, Dwalin scowled.

This was already feeling like a very long journey.

~~~

They were days into their journey, and Bilbo was already having second thoughts. He’d never ridden so far or so long before, and was feeling the strain in his back and thighs. The Dwarves were hardly a balm either. Bilbo was either largely ignored, or quietly (or not so quietly) ridiculed. The exceptions seemed to be Gandalf, who was a longtime friend of his family and Bofur, who seemed largely interested in Hobbits and despite being coarse in his manner of speech and learning, was good company to while away the long hours on the road.

The other dwarf who took an immediate interest in Bilbo was the kindly and wise Balin, the older brother of Dwalin. Bilbo honestly couldn’t imagine a stranger pair of siblings. Balin, the oldest advisor of Thrain, the King Under the Mountain, and now the wisest of Thorin’s Company. Dwalin, the battle hardened bodyguard, built much like the mountains that the Dwarves called their ancestral homes, hard and rugged, with much menace.

One night, as the Company was camped at the top of a hill, carefully positioned next to a sheer cliff, the howls of wolves and other unsavory creatures of the night filled the air. Bilbo woke with a start, and looked around fearfully. All seemed quiet yet… another howl cut through the silence, yet none of the dwarves seemed very concerned, most still sleeping or sitting next to the fire quietly.

Bilbo tucked himself into a little ball and tried to ignore the horrible howling and how much it reminded him of the Fell Winter.

He was just beginning to drift back into a warm and contented sleep when there was a thud of heavy footsteps next to his head. Bilbo winced and tried to stay still, hoping that it was not Bofur or Kili, both of whom he knew would not leave until they’d badgered him half-to-death. Honestly, what kind of Dwarf was half so chatty as they two? You’d think they were Hobbits.

Bilbo felt the thud as the Dwarf sat down on a rotting stump near where he’d put his bedroll and blanket. He repressed a sigh and prepared to be kept awake for the rest of the night.

But, rather than the intake of breath he’d expected, there was quite a different sound near his head. A long, slow, high pitched hum filled the air. Bilbo furrowed his forehead trying to recall what the sound was. Rhythmically it sounded, quiet but steady, like the humming of his mother or the quiet patterning of a spring rain. Bilbo found himself relaxing more and more, memories of wolves and blood all washed away by the hum. Just before he lost himself completely to darkness, Bilbo had the brief impression of a large, warm hand touching his head and tucking the woolen blanket more firmly around him.

~~~

Dwalin scowled around fiercely at large open aired area where the Company and their hosts resided. It was just so disgustingly elvish. Everything he looked at reminded him of the cries of hungry children and the long nights spent left to the elements before they’d arrived at the Iron Hills. What in Mahal’s name did the Wizard think he was doing, bringing them to a place like this? Dwalin glanced at Thorin’s face and saw a similar expression on his prince’s face. He furiously looked through the plate of vegetation the Elves had set in front of him and called ‘dinner’ for the true sustenance of meat. It was sorely lacking.

The Halfing seemed to have no such complaints. He was happily chomping through his salad whilst dividing his attention between a dark haired elf on one side and Balin on the other. At the head of the table, Lord Elrond was carefully examining Thorin’s sword, the newly reclaimed one from the troll hoard.

“This is Orcrist, the blade that hew a thousand necks!” He proclaimed, handing the sword back to Thorin, who took it with a nod. Dwalin raised an eyebrow. From further down the table, he heard a gasp. Dwalin glanced down the table and saw that Bilbo had stopped his conversation with the elf to look at the blade with wide amazed eyes, a hand over his mouth.

“The sword of Ecthelion? From Gondolin?” Bilbo said, eyes aglow.

“The Lord of the Fountains, who slew -”

“Who beheaded a thousand goblins, killed three Balrogs, and drowned Gothmog,” Dwalin finished, taking a deep drink from his wine. It was light and fruity, with a light pink color. Give him a good wheat ale any day.

Lord Elrond raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes. Precisely, Master Dwarf.” Bilbo looked surprised and impressed.

“Are you so surprised Dwarves are aware of others’ histories, Master Hobbit?” Dwalin sneered.

“No! I just, I simply, I…” The hobbit stopped and sighed looking down at his plate. The table had gone uncomfortably quiet.

“Excuse me.” Thorin broke the silence, pushing his chair back, grabbing the sword, and making his way towards the accommodations the Elves had given them. The musicians gradually resumed their songs, a lower, more melancholy tone than before. The tall blond elf to the right of Gandalf muttered something to Lord Elrond before leaving the table. The dark haired elf next to Bilbo quickly stood up and with a shallow bow, followed him out.

As the flutist began a new song, Bilbo cautiously moved closer to the warrior.

“Master Dwa- Dwalin. All I was trying to say earlier was that I didn’t know you had an interest in history.”

The large warrior snorted. “Growing up with Balin? The only thing I could do to get him to shut his gob was to read the scrolls and books he dragged home.” In his head, he could still remember sitting with his brother as he studied the history of their people and taught Dwalin everything he could. Their mother coming home late from a meeting with the council as their father finished dinner. Safe and content in their home.

The Hobbit smiled, clearly thinking back on his own family, his own little home.

“My mother, Belladonna Took, she had many adventures before she married my father and many of them were traveling to here, Rivendell. She filled my head with such stories of the Elves and Men of the first age.” Bilbo’s smile dimmed and he looked down at the table. “She, and the tales she told me, are part of the reason I’m here, now.” He glanced at Dwalin.

Dwalin snorted again, swiping the half empty bottle of summer wine from the table as he rose. “My mother was on King Thrór’s council. That’s where she was when Smaug came. Except for the king, none made it out of those rooms alive. My father died while crossing the wilderness to the Iron Hills. I s’ppose then, master Hobbit, that we’re on this journey for the same reason then.” Dwalin glared around at the emptying tables, where a few of the Elves still stared at them, most looking away quickly. A few had barely concealed disgust on their faces. Dwalin stomped away into the shadows. If the Hobbit followed him, Dwalin did not notice.

~~~

After Gandalf had deemed Thorin well enough to make the treacherous climb down the Carrock, the Company started climbing the rough cut steps down.

“We need to make it down before night falls.” Thorin snapped, before breaking into a harsh coughing fit. Bilbo simply concentrated on keeping his feet to the ground and not looking down too much. The last few hours seemed like a blur. The Goblins attacking, that horrible game in the dark with… whatever that pitiful wretched being had been, killing an orc and saving Thorin…

Bilbo’s head hurt and his knuckles were stinging and what he really wanted was something hot and to go to bed for a good long while. Instead, he carefully edged his way along the crumbling stone and hopped down to the next step. The only one who had legs long enough to manage to walk somewhat normally was Gandalf and he was carefully guiding the way. The Dwarves all had various degrees of success, but Bilbo was forced to try and carefully jump from stone to stone. ‘At least this is easier than falling down onto a pile of mushrooms,’ Bilbo thought.

A large rough hand landed on his shoulder, nearly sending him to the ground. He whipped his head around, ready to scold which ever Dwarf had decided to scare the curls of his feet. Dwalin glared at him, hand still firmly on shoulder.

“Master Dwalin?” He asked, placing a steadying hand on the sheer wall of stone behind him.

“‘M carryin’ you.” The dwarf said bluntly.

“What- ” Was the only word Bilbo managed before he was swept up in the very large arms of Dwalin. His shock lasted only a moment before his brain caught up with what happened.

“Put me down!” Bilbo kicked a large furry foot out in surprise and anger. Who did this confounded dwarf think he was anyway? Some swooning human maid? Maybe before, but no more! Had Bilbo not been very clear that he was capable of defending himself?

“It’s faster this way. You’re too short.” The dwarf grunted, tightening his arms around the hobbit a little bit more.

“Master Dwalin has a point, Bilbo.” Kili said cheerfully, leaping down the rocky path, nimble as a goat. He seemed to be one of the few dwarves not having an issues with the path or the height. “You are rather short.”

“That’s not the point!” Bilbo snapped, still struggling. Dwalin stopped walking for a moment to look down at him.

“Master Bur- Bilbo. I simply want to get down this blasted cliff, back on the ground like folk were made to walk, so we can scrape our meal together and sleep. We’ll get down there faster if you stop sqirmin’ about. So please just let me carry you then, if you wish, we need never speak of this again.”

Bilbo stopped and looked up at Dwalin, surprised. That was the longest Dwalin had conversed with Bilbo neither being called a burden, Halfing or Hobbit. It was also the only time in their association that Dwalin had said ‘please’. To anyone.

“Oh, alright. If you insist,” Bilbo huffed and crossed his arms, still a tad grumpy about being carried like a babe. Dwalin resumed trying to navigate down the Carrock.

After some moments, Bilbo relaxed slightly. The day was mild and the sun was shining. If it hadn’t been for how hungry he was, and the fact his head still ached from exhaustion, the entire thing might have been rather pleasant. Dwalin smelled of sweat and smoke, but Bilbo had long grown accustom to the scent of Dwarf.

“I wanted to give you my thanks.” Dwalin’s voice was a low rumble next to his ear. “I am in your debt for saving Thorin.”

“Oh- I, it was nothing. I just did what any of you would have done, really.” Bilbo shrugged awkwardly.

“You truly want us to succeed. Despite have nothing to gain from it,” Dwalin continued, speaking his thoughts aloud. “That is a kindness not many of us have seen in a very long time.”

Bilbo blushed, and patted the fur that stretched across Dwalin’s shoulders.

“I would want nothing less for my friends.” Dwalin looked down startled. Bilbo grinned up at him. Hesitantly Dwalin smiled back. The sun continued to rise over land, and hopefully the worst was behind them.

~~~

The Elves fed them but little else. Which might have been a wise decision on the elves part, because most of the Dwarves were about ready to bite their way out of their cells. Balin quickly put a stop to it though, fearing that someone might do more damage to themselves then they would ever do to the enchanted bars of the Elvenking’s prison.

Dwalin had nothing to do except stew in his anger and frustration. The adrenaline from fighting the spiders hadn’t yet faded and his thoughts seemed to race through his head. He could hear his brother and Thorin talking close by.

“A deal was our only hope,” Balin said, exasperation and disappointment coloring his tone.

“Not our only hope,” Thorin responded, voice close. Dwalin frowned leaning against his cell door. By all accounts his brother had the right measure of the situation. What made Thorin think they had a chance in the Angband of getting out of this accursed –

“Where’s the hobbit?” he blurted out. Several of his kin made shushing noises. Dwalin tried to think back of the last time he’d seen Bilbo. Everything raced, and blurred together in his mind, but the last he could remember was the spiders and Bofur calling for the Hobbit. Was he still out there then?

“Brother, listen to me.” Balin’s voice was close and low, whispering to him from between the bars. “Bilbo might still be alive, and if he is, he will be trying to help us escape. The best thing we can do is to not call attention to ourselves. Alright?” Balin’s voice has firm, but kind.

“How can you believe that? If the burglar is out there, he is by himself, unsupplied and wandering a cursed forest. Do you really think he has a chance of getting to us?” Dwalin tried and failed to sound unconcerned about Bilbo. Since his daring actions with saving Thorin, the Hobbit, with his kind eyes, and good nature, had steadily grown on Dwalin. He was gutsy little thing, to be sure.

“Bilbo is braver than most and as clever as a fox.” Balin said, sounding very confident. “If any of us had to think of a way to get out of this miserable place, I’d put my gold on Bilbo.”

Dwalin rested his forehead on the bars, looking out at the twisting pathways of the caves.

“I hope you’re right brother. I sincerely do.”

~~~

Bilbo had never been quite so relieved to be indoors before. The snow swirled by the frosted windows of the inn the Master had found for the Company as the Dwarves drank, ate and felt at ease for the first time since leaving Beorn’s house. Occasionally, cold air snuck past the doors and windows but, in general, it was very cozy, and none of the Dwarves seemed very bothered. Bilbo had a large portion of roast pig in front of him along with some stewed winter squash, with a nice tall ale. The time they’d spent in the Mirkwood had near starved most of the Company and many were inhaling the portions they’d been given. Bilbo sniffled a bit. His blasted cold had stuck around it seemed, making breathing difficult and speech embarrassing. Bofur was on the table with Nori, singing a Dwarvish bar song about the man in the moon drinking, Thorin had his head bent close with Balin, Dwalin, Fili and Kili. No doubt discussing the plans for reaching the mountain. Bilbo sighed and cast a look out of the hazy window. The mountain was closer than ever, gleaming like an icicle, cold and hard in the darkness.

The party was gradually quieting down. Bilbo noticed Dwalin walking, (very steadily, despite having over two pints of the human ale at the inn) over to a member of the tired and shabby looking band. Dwalin gestured at the instrument he was holding, a violin of some sort. The man looked puzzled but shrugged and allowed the dwarf to take it. Dwalin plucked a few of the strings, his eyes closed and a look of fierce concentration on his scarred face. Seemingly satisfied, Dwalin sat down at a table in the center of the room, drawing the attention of his kin and the remaining Men in the area. The Dwarves crowded in, and Bilbo curiously shoved his way over to Bofur and Gloin.

“If there was a harp around, we’d be in a real treat, Bilbo. That’s what Thorin plays and they were taught how to play together. ” Bofur whispered to him, twirling on end of his mustache around a finger.

“Aye, Dwalin has been playing since before the dragon came. He’s been teaching my wee lad to play.” Gloin puffed up his chest proudly. Bilbo opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it again as Dwalin put the bow to the strings and the notes filled the air. The notes, despite the near scowl on the player’s face, were a quick succession of light lilting notes, reminding Bilbo of butterflies in spring and parties under the ancient oak tree in the Shire. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be swept away. The song dipped for a moment, a slightly slower and more melancholy sound, before being picked right back up into a sweet lullaby of sound.

The notes swirled by him like the snowflakes outside, landing everywhere, but instead of cold, everything was warm as a midsummer night under the stars. Bilbo felt as though some where meant only for him, which was ridiculous because with how well the Dwarf was playing, he must have done this song a hundred times. The music slowly ended with Dwalin carefully pulling the bow across the strings one last time, making them all vibrate in the air, and the feeling of peace that had been in the air all night, artificial as it might have been, lingered.

As Bilbo sleepily climbed the stairs to his room, he heard Balin and Thorin talking.

“I don’t recall Dwalin ever playing that song before.” Thorin said, sounding puzzled. Bilbo halted his ascent, breath caught in his throat for some reason.

“That’s because he hasn’t.” Balin answered simply. “My brother has always let his inspiration come from his heart. He never did learn the traditional songs, he prefers to improvise.”

Thorin paused for a moment. “He must be thinking of home, I have never heard him play like that without thinking of something that he’s passionate about.”

“Yes, being so close to our goal must have stirred his blood.” Balin said softly.

Bilbo quickly crossed the landing to his room and snapped the door behind him, a tad loudly if Bombur’s and Bifur’s sleepy grunts were anything to go by, thoughts racing.

The song was about Erebor. Bilbo was sure. Why in the Shire would it have anything to do with Bilbo? He closed his and tried to ignore the sound of summer nights in his ears, and the feeling that maybe, just some of that had been for Bilbo to hear.

~~~

Balin returned from walking Bilbo down the long dark tunnel that led into the mountain. Thorin was pacing, doing tight circuits around the group. The others had all sat down near the cliff wall and were talking quietly. The air was filled with the sound of dusk. Dwalin sat down on the edge overlooking the desolation. There was a tingle in his spine and hands, much like the feeling he had before launching himself into battle. His throat felt tight and every sound made the muscles in his stomach coil tightly. Balin took a careful seat beside him.

“Out with it, laddie. What is it?” His brother asked bluntly. Dwalin scowled, and did not sigh.

“You have been over here alone, since Bilbo left. What in the Makers name -”

“Thorin should not have sent him in alone!” Dwalin said lowly, glaring at the far off ground. “He is but one Hobbit! By all rights, he should not even be here.”

“Bilbo has proven his right over and over to be on this quest!” Balin bristled. “I do not understand, Dwalin. You thanked him yourself from saving us from Thranduil’s dungeons.”

“That’s no’ the point!” Dwalin’s shout drew attention from the rest of the Dwarves. Nori shot them a curious look, and Thorin barely paused his pacing to glance furiously at them. Balin grabbed his brother’s arm in warning. Dwalin breathed out through his nose, closing his eyes and tried not to picture what was going on in the levels below them. For all he knew, the dragon had already discovered Bilbo and done away with him in a puff of smoke. Dwalin closed his eyes and roughly jerked his mind away from that image.

“Brother.” Balin’s voice was soft. “What has happened to you?”

Dwalin’s voice was little more than a whisper. “I’m afraid,” he admitted.

Balin’s intake of breath was all Dwalin needed to hear. He turned his head away in shame.

“Oh nadad.” Balin laid a hand on his arm. “Is he your -”

“Please. Dont.” Dwalin whispered again, his heart racing. He may be able to come to terms with it in his dreams and his songs, but to hear it said would make far too real.

“Dwalin. Bilbo, he is your One?” Dwalin winced away, but Balin’s voice was firm.

“Yes.” There was a pause while his brother presumably mulled over the confession in his head. His eyes flew open when there was a resounding slap to the back of his head.

“Brother! You fool! Did you even tell him before he ventured into the dragon’s den?” Balin sounded furious on the Hobbit’s behalf. Dwalin opened his mouth to protest, but Balin cut him off.

“No. Dwalin, this is not something you can overcome with your chest thumping. You must tell Bilbo.” Balin grimaced “Too many of our people lost their One’s for you to sit idly by and let him slip away!” Before Dwalin could protest again, the ground beneath them shook, dust falling from the cliff and causing some small pebbles to roll down the steep mountainside.

“Was that an earthquake?” Dori asked, fear making his voice go hoarse.

Balin slowly stood up and faced the tunnel. “That, my lad, was a dragon.” He was pale under his beard. Dwalin realized what a mistake he had made.

~~~

Bilbo realized what a mistake he’d made. What was he thinking, going out his front door?

Everything from Lake Town all the way up to the gates or Erebor had been covered in blood and bodies and things Bilbo doesn’t even want to think about. The King Under the Mountain was dead, and Bilbo’s eyes were red from crying and he still wasn’t sure he could talk. His head ached. All he really wanted was to find a warm dark spot and sleep. Bilbo was done with adventures, and with the destruction they brought. His hand slipped down to his pocket to stroke the comforting coolness of the golden band in his pocket. His head ached.

There were loud footsteps behind him, undoubtedly one of Dain’s men, here to do demand what a Hobbit was doing wandering the battlefield.

“I’ve told you before, I’m a member of Thorin Oakenshield’s company. Find Gandalf, he’ll -”

“Bilbo?” He spun around and found himself facing Dwalin. For the first time since Bilbo had met him, Dwalin looked tired. He had a bandage wrapped around his head, covering his ear, and there was a large red stain spreading from it. Bilbo winced.

“Dwalin, I- I was just,” Bilbo tapered off. Dwalin was watching him, dark eyes as inscrutable as ever. Bilbo sagged. “I just wanted to get away.” He whispered, eyes shutting. The sound of his pulse in his ears made his head throb. There was a shuffling for a moment before a large pair of arms wrapped firmly around his shoulders. Bilbo clung back almost immediately. Everything was such a mess. The Arkenstone, Thorin’s rage, the races nearly killing each other outside of Erebor, the battle…

Bilbo didn’t even realize he was crying until he felt Dwalin’s hand stroking up and down his back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He sniffled, trying to draw away, but Dwalin simply hugged him tighter and started humming under his breath. Bilbo’s breath caught when he recognized it as the song from the inn, it felt so long ago.

“What’s it about?” he asked tiredly against the dwarf’s shoulder, the smell of blood overpowered by the smell of fur and pipeweed. Everyone knew that all the best songs had a tale behind them.  There was a pause, before Dwalin spoke.

“It’s about a dwarf. A dwarf who went a on a long journey, all the way from one mountain to another to find his One. The journey was filled many trials, and it was very dangerous. Some of the dwarf’s companions died. Yet he still sought his One. But by the time he found it he was too afraid that his One may not love him back so instead he made a terrible mistake.” Dwalin’s voice was a low growl in his ear.

“He let him go.” Dwalin loosened his arms slightly around Bilbo. “And almost lost him.”

Bilbo couldn’t hear his breath anymore. In fact, he couldn’t hear much over the roaring in his ears. He stepped back from the dwarf. Dwalin’s head was down but the tense line of his shoulders said more than words ever could have.

“Me?” Bilbo whispered.

“Aye. You, master Baggins.” Dwalin sounded utterly defeated.

“You utter fool of a dwarf!” Bilbo shouted, before nearly hacking out a lung in a coughing fit. Dwalin’s head shot up and he looked at the hobbit incredulously.

“I’ve been waiting since Lake Town!” Bilbo put his hands on his hips, and for a moment, looked so much like the fussy hobbit who was so upset about dishes and doilies long ago that it nearly took Dwalin’s breath away.

“Waiting? Lad what do you -” But Dwalin never got to finish his thought.

Dwalin’s lips were warm and part way open when Biblo kissed him. It was nice to have the upper hand for once, he reflected as the dwarf’s hands settled on his hips and his mouth opened to the hobbit’s insistent tongue. The world melted away for a moment, and it was very clear this was exactly where they belonged. Together. Bilbo was out of breath for the second time that day, and he was sure when he spoke again, his voice would be hoarse.

“Did the dwarf get to keep his One?” Bilbo asked.

“That depends.” Dwalin said gravely, one hand coming up to cup the back of the Hobbit’s head.

“On what?”

“If you want to stay.”

Bilbo did not answer, but instead kissed Dwalin once again.

The world was still in ruins around them, and the road ahead would be long and difficult. So was the road that led them there. They would face it, together.