Chapter Text
The fire hissed, cracked and popped as Bofur eased another log into it’s waning flames. It was another lonely start to his watch, the sounds of dwarven snores keeping him company and keeping him awake. He didn’t mind taking watch, he honestly didn’t, despite not being the bravest of their company, but it gave him time to think while the night waxed on. He could admit that it ended up being a tad boring at times, left alone with his pipe and thoughts. Bofur had taken to carving wood when his thoughts grew dark, thoughts of fire and dragons, of gold lost and needing to be reclaimed… and of a throne needing it’s king. The carvings never turned into anything special, and often he would throw whatever he had made into the flames, as it was just something to pass the time and nothing more.
He was having one such night, lost in the whittling of the wood, when he heard a stirring among their company. Normally it wouldn’t matter much, probably someone needing to take a piss, or if Bombur perhaps having a bite of bread. Although his curiosity was piqued he paid it no mind, until light footsteps drew near the fire, and the log he was resting on dipped with extra weight. His hands stopped their movements as he looked up curiously, only to ease into a fond smile. Seated next to him, wrapped in his blanket, was their young burglar. The hobbit. Bofur could not have asked for nicer company.
“Can’t sleep, Mr. Baggins?” Softly as he brushes off the little mess beside him that he had made during his carving, a wordless offer for the hobbit to move closer, if he wished to. To his delight the halfling did shift closer, either desiring comfort from the fire or from another body, perhaps both.
“Not really, no. Although it’s a miracle I get any sleep at all, what with all the snoring.” Huffed the Baggins, wrapping the blanket around him tighter as Bofur let out a soft chuckle. He couldn’t argue with that, not really, their company had quite the number of loud snorers in the bunch and it must be right dreadful for one who is not used to the company of so many dwarves. Reaching over he gives a comforting shoulder pat and squeeze to the halfling before pulling back to go back to his carving, “well I can’t say no to your company, Mr. Baggins.”
Out of the corner of his eye he could see the hobbit smile and it tugged at his stomach. They sat in silence as Bofur fell back into his carving and Bilbo was more than content to watch crafty hands at work. The silence finally breaking when the hobbit asks him a question, “how do you do that?” His fingers slow as he looks to the halfling with a crooked smile, gesturing to the carving, that was starting to take shape as a simple horse, “what, this? Why… it’s easy.”
Leaning over he plucks up a small block of wood, pressing it against soft palms. “Shall I show you?” But the halfling quickly pushed it back, looking almost shy in his refusal. “O-Oh no, no no no. I am all thumbs, really. I couldn’t ever make anything lovely like you do. But if you don’t mind terribly, I would like to watch you some more.” The latter was said sheepishly with an averted gaze. Bofur could not say no to that, so he happily obliged.
“I reckon I can do that for you, Mr. Baggins. Why don’t you tell me of your home in the meantime? Of your Shire? It’s awful quiet during watches regularly, I would quite like to hear of nicer things.” Bilbo seemed shocked at the request, and he did hesitate a moment before easing in and talking at great length about all the things he missed from home, and what made the Shire so lovely. Bofur didn’t interject much, unless to ask specific questions, most having to do with culture and how certain things differed between dwarves and hobbits. But he was very pleased to learn that both of their people enjoyed a good party, drink and story.
Soon the talk turned to hobbits and their celebrations, on how the halflings would find anything they can to celebrate, being the happy people they were. Bofur took an interest in the party tree, of all things, and of the dancing. Bilbo would humor his questions to his delight, explaining everything in fine detail. It almost made him feel like he was there himself, among halflings, sharing in ale, stories… song and dance. He felt a longing there, in his heart, not just for home in a general sense, but for belonging somewhere. To sit under the party tree with the halfling, sharing a smoke and a story, maybe a song or a laugh… He found himself aching for it, far more than for Erebor, much to his surprise.
He found himself chuckling along with Bilbo, as the halfling told him a rather amusing story involving Gandalf and his fireworks, delighting in how Mr. Baggins’ face would light up with joy at the telling of his home, his family and the things he held dear. And it wasn’t the first time, since they started, that Bofur felt a great respect for their little burglar, leaving all that comforted him to join a group of dwarves and a wizard to partake on a quest that didn’t even concern him. And that he may never even see home again.
Finally only embers were left and Bilbo had grown quiet, either weary from sleep or with homesickness. His watch was nearly done, so he kicked another log onto the fire before he shifted in place, his whittling knife had stopped, but he did not toss the carving into the flames. “Well, Mr. Baggins, it seems like a good a time as any to be getting some shut eye. We have a long road ahead of us in the mornin’, and Thorin likes to keep a steady pace, as you know.” Bilbo only nodded his head and murmured in agreement as he sleepily got to his feet, ready to collapse onto his bed roll for whatever time he had left for a peaceful sleep. But before he could step away, Bofur stopped him.
“Ah, just wait half a moment, Bilbo.” Getting to his own feet and taking a small hand in his own. Bilbo could feel the carving being pressed into his palm and in curiosity he looks, and his entire face softens into one of great fondness. “Bofur…” There was a hint of emotion there as he thumbed the wooden leaves of the tree carving the dwarf had given him. It was, to his great surprise, the party tree. But why Bofur would carve this and give it to him when the dwarf had been burning all others, he didn’t really understand. He poses this question with a look, watching the dwarf carefully.
Bofur just sniffs in response, rubbing at his nose. “I just figured you might like a piece of your Shire with you, is all. I know it ain’t much, but it’s the least I can give you, for staying with us and all. Who knows, it may even bring you some comfort on the road ahead.” Steadying the halfing with a warm and friendly smile.
All Bilbo could do was stare, his neck and the tips of his ears growing pink with how sentimental this was. He takes another look at the carving, with a shy little smile, before he eases up on the very tips of his furry toes, to place a kiss to Bofur’s cheek. “Thank you… I believe it will do just that.” Said softly, and before Bofur could really register what had happened, Bilbo turns on his heel and scurries back to where he was sleeping previously, clutching the carving close to his chest, his cheeks hurting from the wide smile he wore as he drifted off back to sleep.
All Bofur could do was watch, his heart feeling much warmer and lighter as he returned to his seat by the fire. He tugs his hat down, to hide the smile before lighting his pipe.
His watch for the night was over, but he supposed he could let Dwalin sleep in a bit.
He wanted the feeling to linger, just a little longer.