Bilbo: That is not how you said you were gonna tell him

Samwise Gamgee - The Giver 🌻

They’d be aware of each other but wouldn’t really have any mutual energy or feelings up until they both make a snarky comment about Bard or something under their breath at the same time and lock eyes like

“Sorry to wake ye, lad,” he says softly. “But ye’ve missed fifteenth breakfast or what have ye and I thought ye might be hungry.”

Sam closes his eyes again and sniffles. “You think you’re so funny,” he says, voice like gravel. But he pries his eyes open again and makes himself sit up, wincing.

Dwalin’s holding a bowl of soup buffered by one of their dish towels. He offers it to Sam for a moment before thinking better of it and instead lifts the spoon to Sam’s mouth.

Thorin would have done a double take, but Sam merely opens his mouth readily, ears pink.

Creamy chicken broth coats his tongue and it’s—good. Really good.

So good in fact—

“Is that my recipe?” Sam asks, blinking.

“Aye,” Dwalin says, dipping the spoon in the bowl.

“I didn’t write that down anywhere.”

“Ye didn’t,” Dwalin agrees.

“You… memorized it?”

“I wouldn’t be much of a dwarf if I didn’t watch my One with his craft, would I,” Dwalin says dryly. He feeds another spoonful of soup into Sam’s gaping mouth.

“You learned it by watching me,” Sam repeats, more to himself than to Dwalin.

“Aye, lad, is it so astonishin’ to think I pay attention?”

“Well, no,” Sam says. “And yes. I mean—I never thought I did anything worth paying attention to.”

He squinches his eyes as Dwalin gently presses his nose with his thumb. “You’re worth paying attention to,” Dwalin says earnestly, and Sam feels himself flush with love. “Now open up. Can’t have ye be skin an’ bones.”

Bonny bastard

Braw fucking prick

Cunt-mouthed rocket