Hello All! Okay, this is a fill for the kink meme over on livejournal, thank you for that, it was so much fun to write. :D
Here is the prompt link: . ?thread=840390#t840390
Now, okay, for some reason my computer is refusing to let me indent, and I am sorry for any mistakes. :P
This is my first Hobbit fic, please go easy on me, but do review, that'd be lovely.
Thanks for stopping by!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from J.R.R. Tolkien's universe, I just screw around with stuff. Please don't sue…
Healing Hearts
Bofur lifted the old hat out of its place deep in the closet with shaking hands. He'd not worn the thing in years, and he had to blow dust off the top and sides to even see the color.
There were many memories with that old hat. Painful memories. He sat down heavily on his bed in the dark next to his travel pack, just rolling the hat's fabric between his fingers. His breath quaked, and Bofur had to squeeze his eyes closed against the tears. He promised himself he'd never cry over this. Over them.
He squeezed the worn leather and wool in his hands, taking comfort in it's warmth as he was lost to memories.
It was June in a merrier time in their quest where more of them ate, more of them talked, and it was easier to laugh. At least, for most of them it was.
Bofur was a happy, bright soul on the worst of days, and on the good ones like these, not a thing could bring him down.
But for some reason on some days he was not happy.
It wasn't visible to the naked eye of just anybody, but his brothers could see it. When he thought no one was watching, the smile would slip off his face like an old mask, and he would sigh.
But his cousin knew.
On this particular day, Bofur was in the back, so he was free to look and do as he pleased without the fear of being noticed, so his smile was gone in place of a sad scowl, with eyes that didn't dare follow the ones he yearned to see, but sought peace instead in the trees and the sky.
Bifur rode up beside him, and scowled at him accusingly with bushy eyebrows low over his eyes.
"What do you want from me, cousin." Bofur grumbled uncomfortably after a while, when Bifur's staring did not cease.
"Amin kazkon hum bartamun densekuz!" Bifur said in his loud, gravelly voice.
Bofur raised an eyebrow at him. "Pining, am I now?" He asked, mocking thoughtfulness, and his cousin nodded gruffly, pointing ahead to the front of the group where two brothers rode.
Bofur slapped Bifur's arm away and gave him a rude gesture, ignoring his cousin's smug look.
Bofur scowled. "Don't look at me like that. So what? Nothing's changed, and nothin' will."
At this, Bifur snorts and rolls his eyes, earning a smack from his younger cousin. "Don't you go scoffin' at me, cousin. Not after the sad months you spent watching that tavern lass back in the Blue mountains."
Bifur's returning rude gesture made Bofur chuckle a bit, and he stopped frowning, but then he looked ahead to see Fili horseplaying with his brother, and his spirits sunk again, his heart stuttering at their laughter and plummeting to the fact that he never caused that laughter.
He ducked his head, trying not to meet Bifur's gaze, and rode ahead so he wouldn't have to face his cousin.
At the head of the group, Fili watched the exchange intently, only just noticing something amiss, and he gestured quietly to his brother before looking back at the old dwarf, who was now gazing up at the trees above.
It was Bofur's turn to take watch the night his pining ended, and he sat on the cliff's edge and swung his feet, just watching the night go by. It was a rather lovely night, with the breeze blowing just enough to cool a body down, and the air was sweet.
He took a deep breath, just taking in the night, and tried to concentrate. Often when it was his turn to watch, he would find himself daydreaming or lost thought. Not always good thought. More often than not he found himself thinking of the two lads he denied himself, and that made him sad.
He tried to concentrate, he really did. But tonight...
Without warning a hand slipped over his mouth, cutting his morose pining short.
Poor Bofur was not expecting this or anything of the like, so he gave a muffled shout and reached for his mattock, but a familiar hand restrained him.
His eyes widened when some stubble and blonde hair came into view, and a husky voice whispered in his ear:
"Now Bofur, you've never been one for pining."
He was about to protest when another voice like honey whispered in his other:
"As lovely as your face is when you do it, we've decided to put you out of your misery."
"And put yours in with ours." Finished Fili, and as the two dragged him off, Bofur gave a sigh of absolute relief as the world lifted off his shoulders.
The following night was probably the best of his life, and there were several more after that that made his top ten.
They were a team of three now, and Bofur couldn't have been more content in all the world.
But it was never destined to last.
The rain poured after the battle of five armies, and Bofur was drenched and aching and bleeding from a bad gash on his cheek, but he couldn't rest. He couldn't. Not yet.
"Fili!" He yelled, at the top of his lungs, and waited only a moment before calling "Kili!"
He stood still for a long moment then, listening for any answer, praying his lovers were alright.
There was no answer, and Bofur tugged frustratedly on his braids. They had to be alright. They had to be.
He wandered the empty battlefield for a while, calling their names again and again, receiving no answer, and getting increasingly agitated.
All of a sudden, he stopped. Everything stopped. Bofur could hear nothing but the blood rushing in his ears, and he could feel nothing but the pounding of his heart.
And he could see nothing but the cold dead corpses of his only loves lying in the empty field.
He stumbled forward, forcing one foot in front of the other, until he found himself standing in front of Fili's broken body, his brother at his side.
The rain blinded his eyes, but he was sure their fingers still touched.
It was the scene that broke him.
Bofur shook himself violently, and abruptly stood. He placed the old hat on the bed and paced for a moment around the room, refusing another thought on the matter. He promised himself he would not cry. He leaned his forehead on the wall and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
Bofur was alright. He was Bofur. He was always alright.
But he still had to leave.
Erebor wasn't his home anymore. He couldn't bare to stay, even in the place he fought to save, where everywhere he turned reminded him of the ones he lost.
It hurt, and all he wanted to do was break the nearest object, then curl up in his room and cry until he had no more tears, and then run until he was far away from that awful place.
He would never allow the first two, for he was Bofur, and he was always alright.
The last though, was the least he could do for himself and his battered heart.
He walked back to his bed and wrapped his pack securely about his shoulders, gave a final nod, and made himself smile.
Then he picked up the hat. He turned to the mirror on the far side of the room with the thing in his hands, and he put it firmly on his head, turning the flaps upside down like he did in his travel days.
A real smile flickered across his face, and he felt just a bit better, if only for a moment.
He turned away, towards his open door, and his journey began.
He walked down to the end of the hall where he and his brothers stayed, and paused at the door for just a moment.
He turned back, and saw his brother in front of his room. Dear old Bifur. Bofur smiled wearily and nodded to him. He knew the old dwarf would understand.
And of course, he did. He nodded back to him and turned round, retreating to his rooms again. Bofur was left alone.
So he left. With not even the knowledge of where he was bound.
The mountain was tall and dark that night, with little beams of golden red gleaming through the little windows and cracks in the gate.
Looking back on it, a song sprang to Bofur's mind. A song he hadn't heard or sung in nearly three years.
And suddenly he knew where he was going to go, and he hummed, deep in his throat, as he walked the familiar road before him.
"Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day to find our long forgotten gold."