Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

This is a gift for adventurouskitten, who won first place in my 100-follower contest on Tumblr, and asked for cutesy Dwaggins.

Food connoisseurship was not a trait that was particularly common to dwarrows; indeed, most of them believed that food was merely the body’s fuel, and their main concern was typically to have enough of it at any given time to continue their work.

This general lack of attention given to the importance of food was one of a great many shocks to Mr. Bilbo Baggins, Esq. when he was coerced into departing on his unexpected journey with thirteen dwarves and a wizard to retake the Lonely Mountain. Though, perhaps the greatest shock had been falling in love with a certain bald, tattooed warrior dwarf on the way there. Let it not be said that a Baggins wasn’t adaptable; after the Mountain was reclaimed, Bilbo had found himself integrated into dwarven life with surprising speed. He had been adopted by Bofur’s family (and weren’t Bombur’s children the cutest little things) shortly before his marriage to Dwalin, and so had found himself with a mass of family to meet and deal with when not caught between his duties assisting Ori with the libraries and Bombur with the kitchens.

 The introduction to Lady Dís had been … particularly enlightening.

But now, almost two years after the reclamation of Erebor, Bilbo was settled in quite nicely, thank you very much. He had found a nice rack of lamb at the markets, and he was doing it up with garlic and rosemary to have a nice, quiet, private dinner with his husband. He had gotten some baby potatoes too, and some nice zucchini and tomatoes – though the Dalemen’s tomatoes would never be as good as his prizewinners.

Bilbo’s timing was, as usual, impeccable, as Dwalin arrived scant moments after the table had been laid. Bilbo’s husband was almost constantly busy, advising Dain when he was not helping rebuild Erebor’s armies. This, combined with Bilbo’s own busy schedule, meant that a full-length sit-down dinner where neither of them was in a hurry or worrying about a task that needed finishing was something of a rare event, and one to be savored on several levels. Bilbo was dedicated to this evening of no responsibilities with a fervour that would have seemed odd to anyone unfamiliar with his ways.

Dwalin – who was used to Bilbo’s ways – shed his arms and armour by the door, carefully placing them on the stand set up for that purpose. Bilbo kept a strict policy of no obvious weapons at the table (or in Nori’s case, the removal of at least four of his obviously-placed hidden weapons, with the understanding that Nori wouldn’t play with the rest during mealtimes). Dwalin had in return insisted on at least two weapons being (tastefully) integrated into the decoration plan of each room.  

The burly dwarrow then followed the delicious smells to the kitchen, smiling as he saw Bilbo fussing over the already impeccable spread. Seeing an opportunity to at least moderately surprise his husband – food was one of the only things capable of distracting Bilbo from noticing heavy-booted dwarrows, and his back was currently to the door – Dwalin managed to creep up on Bilbo and pick him up, dropping a kiss on Bilbo’s cheek as the hobbit gave a great squeak and half-heartedly kicked out.

            They quickly settled down to their meal (after a snogging session that Bilbo cut short because apparently dinner getting cold wasn’t worth its weight in kisses), and began discussing their respective days. Bilbo had spent a good part of his extracting one of Ori’s apprentices from the hidden room into which she had fallen; the find included a very useful set of Khuzdûl-Sindarin dictionaries, and the apprentice had managed to get away with only a broken finger and mild bruises. Dwalin had spent his day terrorizing the newest batch of recruits.

            After dessert – something that Bilbo called a ‘parfait’ and resolutely insisted that Dwalin eat – came paperwork and quiet reading. Dwalin huffed his way through his paperwork, sure that a great deal of the propaganda associated with the retaking of Erebor was the quiet elimination of any mention of the reams of paperwork that would be required once the actual retaking was done. His complaining must have been particularly efficacious, as it was followed by a cuddly hobbit with a sour expression climbing into his lap to kiss him senseless in order to stop the complaining. As Bilbo was picked up his by husband and carried towards their bedroom, he decided that he would insist on having more sit-down dinners, since they obviously produced results.

Chapter Text

The House of Ri was good at quiet.

Dori said that it was a trait developed through many generations of providing service. He used the skill to good effect at his teashop, his customers not noticing him until he was almost gone, lifting their refilled cups to their lips as Dori sashayed away with his arms full of empty plates and bowls.

Nori said that people just didn’t look. Nori, his clothes and his bags full of other people’s possessions, was good at finding all the places that people didn’t look to take advantage. It was a skill that had kept himself and his brothers warm and fed through many lean years.

Ori thought that most Dwarrows were just so used to seeing others of their kind as loud and boisterous, and tended to ignore anyone that wasn’t. He learned a great deal by being carefully ignorable, much of it more to Nori’s tastes than his own – but still useful.

oOoOoOoO

            Dori had had a long but satisfying day at work. His employees had done well, the day’s baking for the shop had gone over without a hitch, and his customers had been unusually well-behaved (though that might have had something to do with how he had thrown out that one dwarrow at breakfast time … by his braids). And to top it off, Balin had come to visit him to share a pot of tea.

            Balin was kind enough to stop by at an opportune moment – past closing time by enough of a margin that the restaurant was clean and most of the staff were gone, but not so late that it would be unsafe to venture home when they were done. Although Erebor was safer than Ered Luin had been, there were still unsavoury characters. It was better not to take chances. And nighttime was such a good time for a little get-together, as both Balin and Dori had found that they needed less sleep as they grew older.

            As Balin settled into the nice corner booth, Dori set out the fresh pot of tea, cups, and the cake that Dweris had baked seemingly for just this occasion. Dori did not know how Dweris knew to make some sort of sweet suitable for taking with tea for the nights that Balin stopped by – for Dori never usually knew when Balin would arrive until he knocked politely on the front door – but, somehow, the treats were made. Dori suspected his brothers; he wouldn’t put it past Nori to have one of his people tailing Balin, and Ori might well pick something up from his mornings spent working side-by-side with Balin, managing the scribes and librarians.        

            Dori set the food and drinks on the table and sat comfortably before serving the tea. He and Balin had established a comfortable routine for their little get-togethers, and as per their routine, the two sat in contented silence for several minutes with their tea before striking up a quiet discussion of their relative days. One of Dori’s employees had announced impending parenthood (always a joyous occasion), and Dori and the remainder of the staff were already planning a baby shower and making a schedule for helping the family once the baby arrived – taking over premade meals, running errands, and the like. Balin told an anecdote about one of Ori’s apprentices having broken through the floor in the library to discover a hidden room full of Khuzdûl-Sindarin dictionaries; the room had obviously been hidden to protect the tome from Elvish detractors, but had (like many parts of the Mountain) become destabilized by Smaug’s rampages. 

            Once the cake was gone and the teapot emptied, was it any surprise that Balin and Dori indulged in some discreet snuggles (peppered by the occasional kiss) while they continued conversing. It was not like anyone was there to see th-

A loud cough belied Dori’s belief. He turned his head – not letting the rest of his body leave the comfortable curve of Balin’s arms – to see Nori and Ori by the doorway to the kitchen. Dori coughed politely (a lesser dwarrow would have sputtered), and asked in a choked voice, “How … how long have you been there?”

Nori cocked an eyebrow. “Five minutes? You didn’t come home for supper, or send a runner home like you usually do when you’re … delayed.”

Now that their ruse was discovered, Ori was giggling into his scarf, his face red as a beet. 

Dori scowled.

oOoOoOoOo

Two weeks later, Dori ghosted into his middle brother’s kitchen. The aforementioned brother and his husband had been away for three weeks on Business (i.e. sneaky things that Dori did not want to know about), and were supposed to come home in two days. Dori had come over to make sure that Nori and Dwalin’s servant had come in to keep an eye on the place while they were gone. What he found, however, was his brother on his knees in front of Dwalin, who was pressed up against the cabinets on the far wall.

Dori sighed. Dwalin looked up, his face a sudden study in astonishment.

Dori went home. His late-night cup of tea was fortified with a heavy dose of brandy.

oOoOoOoOo

Dori and Nori were planning a party for their youngest brother’s hundredth birthday. It was going to be a small party, because Ori didn’t like having too many people around. The surviving members of the Company would be there with their families, as well as a few people from the libraries and scribe offices and some of Ori’s other friends.

On the day of the party, Dori and Nori had gone to fish Ori out of the archives – he had forgotten about the party entirely (of course). When they arrived at his office, it was firmly closed. The noises coming out of it were female and distinctly breathy.

Dori looked at Nori. Nori looked at Dori.

“We’ll come back in half an hour?” signed Nori.

Dori answered affirmatively, then began walking down the hall to the small kitchenette in the common area.

oOoOoOoOo

The House of Ri was good at quiet.

Chapter Text

Elrond had forgotten how active human children were.

It had been some decades since the last human child had been in Imladris, and apparently he had managed to repress the worst of the memories. Because now there was distinctly less cooing and cute mangling of words and more crying and whimpering.

                Lindir was in a huff because apparently little Estel had gotten lost (again), and apparently the (three!) patrols that had been redirected to find the boy had been unsuccessful. So Elrond had fobbed off his afternoon meetings on his assistant – they were just routine supply issues, nothing that required him specifically – and gone hunting for human child. Long experience with his brother’s descendants had given Elrond some insight into their habits. As he considered the possibilities, one particular spot leaped out at him as being particularly appealing to a small human boy, especially one who had only been in Imladris for a few short months.

                As suspected, little Estel was hiding in one of the fish ponds, watching the fat red-and-white fish swim around lazily. This pond was out of the common routes by a fair margin, as well as designed to appear heavily overgrown, hence why the boy had managed to evade capture for so long. Though if any of the patrols had included elves who had spent time in Lorien or the Mirkwood, Estel would have been out of luck – something to consider when the patrol members were reassigned next.

                Estel was so caught up with the fish that he didn’t notice Elrond’s approach until the elf coughed politely. The child let out a squeak and jumped a good foot into the air, landing in … the pond, at which point he promptly burst into tears. Elrond sighed. This was not the most fortuitous of meetings.

                Elrond fished Estel out of the pond and got him out his wet clothes, wrapping him in his tunic. The lad was apparently in something of a crying mood, so Elrond obligingly held him until the tears stopped and the sobs slowed to the occasional whimper and hiccup. Once Estel was lying against his side in an exhausted fugue, Elrond tilted his chin up.

“Will you tell me what is wrong, child?” he inquired gently. From his experiences with his own children, Elrond knew that childish issues tended to start small (from an adult’s perspective), but could grow to significance if left unchecked. Estel burbled, and soon a whole litany of small troubles came to light as Elrond cuddled the small form close. By the time that they were done, the sun was setting, and Estel was dozing off. Elrond looked down and smiled.

“Feeling better?” The little dark-haired boy nodded. “Does supper sound like a good idea?” Another nod.

“Well, then. Let us go, and hope that Lindir has left us a tray, and has not decided to leave us in favor of the Mirkwood.”    

Chapter Text

Dori was tucking Ori into bed when he saw it. The little wrinkle in his youngest brother’s nose that meant he was trying to remember something important, and with the little bum-wiggle that meant that it was probably honestly important, and not whatever met the criteria for importance for a six-year-old.

“Dori?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I … ” Ori yawned hugely, obviously fighting sleep. “I told Ms Bianca that I would bring cupcakes to school tomorrow for after the play.”

Not again.

“How many cupcakes, dearest?”

“Seventy … Seventy-two.”

“That’s lovely, dear. And what are you going to be in the play, again?”

Ori’s eyes fluttered. “A kittycat. A yellow kitty with white paws. You’ll have my costume ready in the morning with the cupcakes, right?”

Dori gritted his teeth.  Concentrate on the cute.

“You know it, love. Now go to sleep.”

“Alright, Dori. Love you.”

“I love you too, Ori.”

As simple as that, the little boy was asleep. Dori stood, and carefully crept out of Ori’s room, mindful of the toys. Closing the door, he rested his head on the frame, mentally planning what needed to be done. His lips moved silently intermittedly, and he occasionally counted on his fingers and nodded.  Striding downstairs, Dori found Nori in the kitchen, hunched over a hot chocolate.

Dori fished out the list of allergies in Ori’s class from the kitchen desk, and turned to Nori, who was looking at his determined scowl with anticipation.

“Wash your hands, Nori, we’ve got work to do.”

**

Little Ori woke up to Dori’s voice outside his room, as he always did. He rolled over and mumbled, as he always did.

“Come on, Ori, or your costume won’t be ready in time!”

Ori blinked, smiled, and stretched as far as he could in his bed. His costume! He would be the best cat in the play!

Ori tumbled out of bed, into his clothes, and downstairs into the kitchen. In it stood several containers of cupcakes, several varieties in evidence. Red velvet and vanilla swirl and – Ori’s favorite – chocolate Nutella.  Dori was looking over a mass of yellow-orange material. Seeing Ori, he swept it around and pulled the top part over his head.

                The yellow tunic went down to mid-thigh, and had darker orange stripes that looked wonderful to Ori. The little white mittens had yellow claws on the ends, and a yellow mask with whiskers and ear-tufts finished the ensemble. Ori was in raptures, and ran over to his oldest brother to give him a strong hug.

“Dori, you’re the best big brother ever!”

“Thank you, dear, though Nori helped.”

Ori turned to Nori, giving him a hug as well. “Thank you, Nori. Love you.”

“Love you too, little carrot.”

Chapter Text

Bifur was curious about the coffee shop across the street from Bofur’s toy store. It was new, had only opened a few weeks ago. Bofur – cheerful, talkative, Bofur with his easy laugh and quick fingers, had been in and out of The Golden Peach since its sign had first turned to “Open,” and was full of stories about the kind proprietor and staff, but Bifur hadn’t been in yet. It was a quiet Monday afternoon, the shop was quiet, and Bofur was fiddling with a color palette while keeping an eye on the door. So Bifur ventured out the door, clucking to Lettuce to follow him as he crossed the road and entered the little shop’s vibrantly purple door.  

                At this time of the afternoon, the shop was almost empty, with only a few students tapping away at projects or reading in the corners. Bifur went up to the counter, and stared at the boards with the drinks. If only the words would stop moving around so much! Lettuce, always well-behaved, sat quietly next at his feet, alert and ready if she felt she was needed.  

The shop clerk, an earnest-looking young man with overlarge glasses and a great many freckles, asked him if he had made up his mind. Bifur shook his head.

 “A few more minutes, please. I’m still making up my mind.”

The young man – his name tag read ‘Ori’ – smiled. “Take your time. Feel free to ask about anything – Dori always insists on using the Italian names for everything, as if plain English wasn’t enough.” He moved away from the register area, unobtrusively scrubbing at some non-existent dirt while Bifur puzzled out what he wanted, eventually getting a café mocha with extra whip cream.

Bifur took a seat at the counter while he waited for his coffee, Lettuce curling around his chair contentedly. The coffee looked delicious, practically overflowing with whipped cream, a pretty layer of shaved chocolate on top. Ori blushed as he put a teaspoon on the plate the coffee came on.

“I wanted to finish off the bowl of whipped cream.”

Bifur chuckled. “You don’t use spray cream?”

Ori looked scandalized.

“Of course not! Dori wouldn’t hear of it. Beating the whip cream is one of the fun jobs, though. Much better than cleaning toilets.”

This Ori was kind of cute – his nose scritched up something fierce when he joked. Bifur smiled. As Ori went back to the register, he turned back to Bifur.

“Do … you want anything for your dog? Maybe a bit of water?”

Bifur nodded. “A bit of water would be lovely. Thank you.”

Lettuce wagged her tail as Ori brought the water, and allowed him a few gentle scratches under her chin. Bifur smiled, then took a spoonful of whipped cream – delicious. He would have to come back here, and soon.