Chapter Text
When the little town of Hobbiton came into view Bofur sighed a big sigh of relief, and it was echoed by the rest of the little gang they had collected on their way along the Baranduin River. Of course, leaving the Blue Mountains it had only been himself, Bombur and Bifur, but they weren’t the only ones to have missed the turn off at the Sarn Ford that Gandalf had instructed them to take; it would have taken them directly to the Burglar’s house. Nevertheless, they continued along the Baranduin and, as luck would have it, met up with Oin and Gloin at the Barrow Downs. It was quite the hike to Brandywine Bridge, but funnily enough, Dori, Nori and Ori, joined by the two Oakenshield nephews, where there at precisely the same time. Before, they had been a weary and overly tired group, and had more than once said ‘hang the burglar’ and wished to just get on with their quest, but after making their way into the Shire they became a merry bunch, laughing and guffawing and patting each other on the backs and overall being the recipients of more than a few dirty looks. The fact that they met Gandalf at the edge of Hobbiton just made them ever more cheerful, even if they had to hear all of Gloin’s stories about his wife and his son Gimli over again. Bofur didn’t blame him in the slightest; Gloin had found his One and none of the others had been so lucky.
Finding the One, and then being so lucky to marry them and bear children, was many dwarves dream, and perhaps the only thing they desired over gold. Of course, finding the One often goes wrong: having them die, not return your love or, in some cases, not even be attracted to your gender, would leave a dwarf broken and lifeless, turning them to gold and jewels for the rest of their days. Those who were pitied the most, however, were the dwarves whose Ones were not of the same species; couplings like this were rare and very few worked out in the end.
Bofur smiled up to Gandalf as they reached the green door but suddenly chaos broke out when Bombur smelled bacon cooking and a kerfuffle began against the front door between the dwarves and suddenly they all fell through. Bofur winced as he struggled to disentangle himself from the pile of dwarf when he suddenly looked up and saw him.
The Hobbit stood by his green door in a frankly charming dressing gown and his bare hairy feet, his hair curling around his ears and the expression on his face as he breathed out the world ‘Gandalf’ purely overwhelmed. Bofur felt his heart shatter, even as he pulled himself up, dusted himself and bowed. “Bofur, at your service,” he said, his voice smaller than usual, and he took off his hat before he was ushered into the dining room by an insistent Bombur, but the pain in his chest was hindering his breathing. The feeling was unmistakable: they had been taught to identify it since they were but dwarvlings.
He was of the pitied, now.
He paid no heed to the hammering in his chest and he played around with the other dwarves, all of which he had met at some point in his life, but every time he saw Bilbo his heart shattered and his spirits lifted and fell at the same time and he just felt very mixed up.
When the hobbit was reading the contract not an hour after their arrival, Bofur felt his distress deep inside, and decided to clarify.
“Think furnace with wings!” He said, and Bilbo’s face didn’t help matters at all. “One flash, then poof! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash.” He thought he was being reassuring, but he had to physically cling to the table to stop himself from running to the hobbit’s aid when the poor lad fainted. Despite his restraint, he got a ‘look’ from Bombur and he felt incredibly exposed. The hobbit retreated into a room with Gandalf not long after they sang their little song for him, and Bofur felt himself lighten up during the chanting of ‘blunt the knives’, because it gave him a chance to play his flute, and there was little he loved more than that.
Afterwards, he and the other dwarves settled and Thorin began to sing and it that type of song you didn’t fall asleep to, so he joined in. He didn’t feel longing for Erebor and piles of gold, though, he felt a desire for the hobbit only rooms away, and he let his sadness play through his voice. They sang their hearts out, and for a while afterwards Bofur let himself ponder the hobbit.
Eventually, the company fell asleep to the soft sounds of night time Hobbiton.
*
Thorin woke them early the next morning but they were all in high spirits, even Bofur, for they were rested and fed, and ready for the road. They prepared quickly and quietly, and Bofur went through the motions – chowing down the bread and cheese and sipping at the tea made by Bombur, tightening his braids, pulling on his socks, placing his dagger in his shoe and tugging them on, making sure that all of his tools were carefully placed in his pack, tying his cloak at his collarbone and securing his hat firmly above his hair. After this, he waited by the door, holding his mattock firmly in his hand, waiting for Fili, Kili and Bombur to finish getting their possessions together.
They were to make their way down to the Brandywine Bridge to collect their horses, before wandering along the East West road (but avoiding Bree), and enjoying the time they had before they reached the Misty Mountains. It was likely they would have to leave the ponies then, perhaps even near Rivendell, and the rest of their journey would likely be on foot – something Bofur hardly minded but Bombur would hate. Only once did he glance back into the house as he waited by the green door, and as Gandalf walked past him into the front yard, he murmured quiet words to Bofur. “Be patient,” was all he said, and while Bofur felt embarrassed that Gandalf had seen through him so easily, his heart lifted.
He stayed with his thoughts as they made their way through Hobbiton in the dim morning light, not yet awake enough to be the noisy crew they had presented to the sleepy village yesterday. Gandalf walked beside him for some of the trip and though they were both silent he calmed Bofur in a way that he hadn’t experienced with anyone else, though it could simply have been the second-hand smoking he was receiving from the pipe in the wizard’s hand. He’d kill to get his hands on some of the stuff packed in there, whatever it was. Thorin called out to him from the front of the pack not an hour into the walk, though, so he squeezed Bofur’s shoulder and made his way to the front of the line. Bombur’s questioning look was interrupted by Nori and Gloin, who both deliberately fell in step next to Bofur.
“Do you think he’ll show?” they asked in unison, and Bofur laughed uncomfortably under his breath.
“Course ‘e will,” he said quickly, “Not a doubt in the world.” Nori laughed but Gloin looked at him cheekily.
“Are you willing to bet on it?” He asked, the two of them giggling. Bofur agreed, and put in ten florins. He ignored the now suspicious look from his brother; he knew Bombur would argue with his conclusion that Bilbo was his One and he felt angry just thinking about it. It was no way to start their adventure anyhow, hobbit or not.
They met a middle-aged hobbit farmer unfortunately named Farmer Maggot on the East Road who told Gandalf, an old friend, that he was heading to a farm called Bamfurlong. He kindly gave them some lemon-flavoured drink from his cart to refresh them before they continued on to the Brandywine Bridge, something they all thanked him profusely for, as it was very delicious and an unknown delicacy to the dwarves, who tended to subsist on mead and the occasional beer. When they reached the Bridge Bofur’s hopes fell quite dramatically; it would take the Hobbit a long time to catch up to them now.
A ranger friend of Gandalf’s who kept his face and his name hidden held the horses and ponies that had been supplied on the far side of the bridge, and before allowing the company to cross Gandalf went over to speak with him. Thorin waited, but only because he didn’t trust the ranger across the bridge; he was itching to go and not enjoying the delay. The ranger and the wizard spoke for quite a time; not quite an hour but not far from it, and then they were allowed to cross the bridge. The ranger continued to keep his face hidden, but as he handed a fair pony over to Bofur he commented idly, “Hobbits are quick on their feet, you know.”
Bofur felt his smile grow and once again felt a mixture of embarrassment and happiness, and he swore he heard the ranger chuckle. He swung on to his horse with renewed vigour and made his way up the group to ride next to Nori. The dwarf had bet against Bilbo, but Bofur felt he needed to make an effort not to hold it against him, if only to deny to his brother Bilbo’s One status.
They picked their way through the gentle forests around Bree and Bofur allowed himself to enjoy the filtered sunlight, even if he found his mind wandering to what it might look like glinting in the Halfling’s curly blonde hair. He didn’t even have to wait to find out; they were not far into the forest when calls of ‘wait! WAIT’ came from an unforgettable voice behind them and Bofur felt like his heart was in his stomach and his throat at the same time. He felt an enormous sense of relief that he knew he had no right to feel, but the hobbit’s presence made the sun shine brighter in the world.
“I signed it,” Bilbo said, and he sounded proud, just as proud as Bofur felt that the hobbit had become an adventurer. He saw Bilbo’s reluctance to ride a pony and couldn’t help chuckling, and though he desperately wanted to offer Bilbo to share his pony, he knew he couldn’t, and he also felt that Bilbo might be a bit embarrassed by it. Oin then called for Nori to pay up little bags of florin began to fly around and Bofur hoped the hobbit saw him catch his. Instead, when Bilbo got upset over the forgotten handkerchief he offered up his torn shirt, and smiled widely at the Hobbit, hoping to convey how pleased he was that he had joined the company. The other dwarves laughed at him, but he found he didn’t care and the hobbit caught the cloth with adequate accuracy.
They ventured on, but Bofur’s smile didn’t waver.