Tea, tales and Dwalin’s younger days
Drinking tea with Balin and him telling you childhood stories about Dwalin. The reader is courting Dwalin.
Dwalin x reader, Balin x platonic!reader.
The library was warm and quiet, the flickering glow of the lanterns casting a golden light over the ancient tomes and scrolls lining the shelves. A pot of steaming tea sat between me and Balin on the low wooden table, flanked by two mismatched cups. Outside, the sounds of Erebor’s bustling halls seemed distant, muffled by the thick stone walls.
Balin leaned back in his chair, his hands cradling his cup of tea, and regarded me with a smile that was both wise and mischievous. “You know,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial, “I’m glad you’ve taken a liking to my brother. Dwalin’s not an easy dwarf to court, but if anyone’s got the patience for it, it’s you.”
I smiled, sipping from my cup. “He’s worth it,” I said softly. “But I’ll admit, sometimes he’s as stubborn as a stone wall. I can’t imagine what he must’ve been like as a child.”
Balin’s grin widened, and he set his cup down with a decisive thud. “Oh, I’ve got stories, lass. Plenty of them. You want to know what Dwalin was like as a lad? Sit tight—this’ll be good.”
I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand, eager to hear whatever tales Balin had to share.
“Well,” Balin began, stroking his beard, “Dwalin’s always been the bold one. Even when we were small, he’d charge headfirst into whatever nonsense caught his attention. Once, when he was barely past his bearding years, we found a nest of hawks high up in the cliffs near our village. Most dwarves would think twice about climbing up there, but not Dwalin.”
I chuckled. “He climbed all the way up, didn’t he?”
“Aye, straight to the top!” Balin said, his eyes sparkling with the memory. “And he brought back a hawk’s feather as proof. Mind you, he nearly fell twice and came back with a few scratches, but he was grinning like a fool. He was so proud of that feather, he tied it to his belt and wore it for weeks.”
“That sounds like him,” I said fondly. “Fearless, even when he probably should be more cautious.”
Balin chuckled, pouring himself another cup of tea. “Fearless is right, but don’t let him fool you. He wasn’t always the tough, stoic warrior you know now. When he was little, he had the softest heart.”
“Really?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Oh, it’s true,” Balin said, nodding sagely. “There was this stray dog that wandered into the village one winter. Poor thing was half-starved and mangy as you’d ever seen. No one else wanted to go near it, but Dwalin? He brought it food every day. Called it 'Steel' because of its grey fur, even though it was as scrawny as a twig.”
“What happened to the dog?” I asked, already picturing a younger, gentler Dwalin sneaking scraps to the stray.
“Oh, it followed him everywhere for months,” Balin said with a laugh. “But then one day, it wandered off and never came back. Dwalin was heartbroken. He didn’t talk to anyone for a week, just kept himself busy in the forge.”
I tilted my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. “That explains why he’s so guarded sometimes. He feels deeply, doesn’t he?”
Balin’s expression softened. “Aye, he does. He just hides it well. Always has. He’d rather let people think he’s unshakeable than admit he’s got a heart big enough to carry the weight of everyone around him.”
I sipped my tea, letting Balin’s words settle over me. It was a side of Dwalin I’d only glimpsed in fleeting moments—when he’d softened after a long day, or when he’d helped a struggling dwarf in the lower halls without saying a word about it.
“Another story for you,” Balin said, breaking the silence. “Did Dwalin ever tell you about the time he got into trouble with our mum?”
“No, but I have a feeling this is going to be good,” I said, grinning.
Balin laughed, leaning back in his chair. “He must’ve been no older than ten. There was a fair in the next village, and Dwalin decided he wanted to impress everyone by wrestling the strongest dwarf there. He marched right into the ring and challenged a lad twice his size. Mum was furious when she found out, but Dwalin didn’t care—he just grinned through a bloody nose and a black eye, proud as could be.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “And did he win?”
“Of course not!” Balin said, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “But that didn’t stop him from trying again the next year. And the year after that, until he finally grew big enough to win. Stubborn as a mule, that one.”
“Still is,” I said with a chuckle.
Balin’s laughter subsided, and he looked at me with a knowing smile. “You’ve got your hands full, courting my brother, but I can see why you’re doing it. He may be rough around the edges, but Dwalin’s got a heart of gold under all that armor. He’s lucky to have you.”
I felt my cheeks warm under his gaze. “Thank you, Balin. That means a lot.”
Balin picked up his tea and raised it in a small toast. “To Dwalin, then. And to you—for putting up with him.”
I clinked my cup against his, laughing softly. “To Dwalin. And to his brother, for sharing all his secrets.”
The two of us sat there for a while longer, sharing tea and stories, the library’s quiet warmth wrapping around us like a comfortable old cloak. As I listened to Balin’s tales, I felt a deeper connection to Dwalin forming in my heart—one built on understanding, admiration, and the knowledge that even the fiercest warriors have their tender moments.
