A/N: Before you even begin, yes. I did fiddle with timelines and and birthdates and geographical origin. In the info for the films, it is said that Bifur was born in the West, but says nothing of Bofur and Bombur. It also says that they were descended from the dwarves of Moria, but Moria was abandoned in TA 1980 due to the awakening of the Balrog. (Nerd out complete.) This makes this a bit AU, as I have all three of them living from a young age in Erebor and witnessing the sack of Erebor by Smaug. Everything else is really speculation.

Warnings: Spoilers for the book; mentions of blood/violence; canon character death.

I was young when Smaug the Terrible came for Erebor, only ten. My cousin Bifur was watching my little brother Bombur (only three) and I while our parents were out in Dale, trading for goods. Bifur had a knife and a block of wood and was attempting to show me how to carve it properly as Bombur napped nearby. He laughed kindly as I turned the block into a strange lump before carefully teaching me to whittle a simple horse. We were having a wonderful time, enjoying the company of family, when the alarms sounded.

Bifur got up and ran to the door. Outside, I could hear the other dwarves screaming in terror about a dragon. My cousin swore loudly and came back, saying, "Bofur, grab your brother! We have to leave!"

"Leave?! But what about Ma and Da? What if-"

"Now, Bofur! Come on!"

No longer leaving it up to me, he grabbed Bombur and took my hand, dragging me out of my home. I kept a tight grip on his hand as we joined the throng of people rushing to get out of the mountain. The commotion woke Bombur, who started to cry loudly, adding to the din. While Bifur kept his eyes ahead, seeking the way out of Erebor, I scanned the nearby faces to see if our parents were among them. Bifur urged me on, not wanting to stop or slow for any reason. I told myself that Ma and Da would find us outside.

We streamed out of the mountain, many beginning to run as soon as there was room, and we ran with them. Before us were the smoldering ruins of Dale. Fires raged through the destroyed city, thick smoke curling up to the sky. I could see Men fleeing alongside Dwarves. I am not sure how I didn't lose hope right then.

By nightfall, the peoples of Erebor and Dale were halfway to Laketown (called Esgaroth properly). The Men largely decided to move on to Laketown, but the Dwarves were still unsure. Bifur took Bombur and me through the dwarf camp, looking for our families, for his parents had been with ours in Dale. When midnight neared and we still had not found them, we decided to bed down for the night. Bifur placed Bombur, who was now crying from hunger, in my arms and told me, "Stay right here, Bofur. Don't move for any reason, do you understand? I'm going to see if I can round up some food for us, especially your brother. Stay put."

I watched my cousin go into the dark, and my heart filled with fear. I clutched Bombur tighter as he wailed with renewed vigor. Thankfully, Bifur was back before long with some bread and cheese. He and I broke some of it into small pieces for Bombur and fed him first so we could put him to bed. Once that was done, Bifur pushed the rest of the food into my hands.

"But, Bifur," I asked, "what about you? Don't you want some food?"

"I'm alright, Bofur. You go ahead and eat up. You need it more than I do. Go on, eat up and then go to sleep, for I don't know what tomorrow will bring."

"Where will we go?"

"I don't know. Maybe Moria, maybe the Blue Mountains. Either place is far from here."

I moved closer to Bifur, curling up beside him, and whispered, "I'm scared, cousin."

"As am I… but we have to be brave. Can you be brave for me, Bofur?"

"I can try."

I heard him say, "Atta boy, Bofur," above my head as he put his arms around me. Not long after, he began humming a lullaby in my ear, one my mother would sing Bombur. My thoughts drifted to her before I fell asleep. It was a final moment of peace before our lives were turned completely upside down.

The next morning, word came around to us that Thror decided we would be moving on to Moria, Khazad-dûm, and the trip was a colossal undertaking for a group so large. Nonetheless, Bifur packed up Bombur and me, and we set out with the remaining Dwarves of Erebor for Khazad-dûm. Only days later, we were informed that we were now orphans, both our parents and Bifur's killed by the dragon in Dale. Being only ten, I took it very poorly. I cried for what felt like hours, until all my energy was spent. Bombur was upset purely because I was, not fully understanding what it meant for us to now be homeless and parentless and penniless. Bifur put on a brave face for us, pulling us into his arms and singing until we fell asleep. I never saw him cry, but I'm sure he did when neither of us could see.

My peaceful nights devolved into nightmares. I would routinely wake up screaming and crying, haunted by visions of my parents being burnt alive by the dragon. Bifur would wake without fail to comfort me, holding me close and whispering, "You're safe now, young one. Safe and sound. I've got you."

"You'll die, too, one day. You'll leave me and Bombur all alone."

"No, I never will. I will always be there for the both of you. No matter what. I promise you that."

"You can't promise that, Bifur."

"Maybe not… but I can try," he replied.

That somehow comforted my ten-year-old mind and set me at ease enough to sleep. I have no idea how my cousin held up during that time, feeling likely ashamed or unable to grieve in front of the only people that could help him, all the while working to feed two children he had only the barest idea how to care for. However, we managed. Life went on. Bombur and I grew up in the tender care of our cousin Bifur on the long journey to Moria. Bifur taught us mining and toy-making, the only two ways he really knew how to make money, and he taught Bombur what little he could about cooking, my brother's only real interest or talent. Meanwhile, Bifur was also helping defend our people from bands of wandering Orcs that could attack at any moment, thinking us an easy target. He had never really been a warrior, but Bifur was most definitely a fighter. His biggest test, though, came at the Battle of Azanulbizar.

We dwarves looked forward to reclaiming the great halls of Moria, and many died during the quest, for the Orcs of Moria were fierce and held the caves well. We had already lost our king Thror in T.A. 2790. I had been thirty at the time and Bombur twenty-three. Nine years after that came the terrible Battle of Azanulbizar, out in the valley before the Gates of Moria. Bifur ordered Bombur and me to stay far away from the battle, so we huddled together in our tent, waiting for news of the battle's end.

Later on, we would hear glorious tales of Thorin Oakenshield and the defeat of Azog the Defiler and the bravery of many a fine dwarf, but the first news we received was of the wounding of our cousin Bifur. They would not tell us the extent of his wounds, and that frightened me more than anything. Bombur, always a worrier and the gentlest of souls, grabbed my hand as we walked the battlefield, headed for the hospital; I clutched his back tightly. My heart was pounding in my chest. Was Bifur's wound serious? Would he die? I thought back to the silly promise he made to comfort me when I was ten. He couldn't leave us yet. He promised he wouldn't.

My knees nearly buckled when I finally saw my cousin. Bifur was white as a sheet and covered in blood, sporting a thick bandage around his head that carefully avoided a large bit of axe stuck in his skull. Bombur let out a cry beside me. I rushed forward, shouting, "Why the hell is that thing still in his head?! Get it out!"

"We can't, Bofur."

"Can't! What do you mean 'can't'?"

"If we remove the axe head," the Healer explained, "he will die. Leaving it in ensures he lives, although we cannot promise you what kind of life he will have."

"I don't understand."

"This wound is going to change him, there is no denying it, but until he wakes, we cannot know how much. Only time will tell, Bofur. I am sorry."

His calm tone only fueled my rage. I stormed out of the tent, ignoring my brother's call, and I just ran until I found the edge of the forest and collapsed under a tall tree. There, I pulled my knees up to my chest and buried my face in them, trying not to cry but crying a great deal anyway. Change him? Of course he was going to change! He was just in one of the most awful battles ever fought by dwarf-kind and now had an axe embedded in his skull! The only question was how. How would it change him? My cousin had always been kind and gentle, a good soul, always willing to help out anyone in need and only becoming angry or fighting when it was absolutely necessary. Would he become awful and violent now? What was to become of our tiny family? I wept like a child.

"Have you lost someone dear, as well?"

I looked up. Before me stood my prince, Thorin, son of Thrain, covered in blood and carrying a thick oaken branch like a shield. I merely replied, "Sire, I do not know if I have or not. My cousin Bifur, who raised me and my brother… he is gravely wounded. We do not know if he'll survive, or what he'll be like if he does."

"You must have hope," Thorin told me, sitting beside me, "He is still alive, after all. That is more hope than I have for some of my kin."

I could see tears filling his eyes and falling, and I felt strangely honored to bear witness to him unburdening his soul. I asked quietly, "What happened, my lord? Perhaps speaking of it will help your grief. I believe it's said that a grief shared is a grief halved."

"I fear saying it aloud will only make the grief more raw."

The prince mimicked my position, and I suddenly remembered that he was only a year older than Bifur, only fifty-three, not even fully an adult by our reckoning. He and I were still practically children. Finally, he muttered, "My brother… my little brother Frerin… he is dead. Slain by Orcs… they… they gutted him like a pig on the field of battle. I… I just… why?"

His face crumpled and as I had done earlier, he buried his face in his knees and sobbed as if he never had before. Without thinking, I put my arm around him. I could never begin to understand his pain, the pain of seeing my younger brother slaughtered in front of me. Tears sprang to my eyes once more as I thought of Bombur. Unsure if it was to calm only myself or the both of us, I began to hum one of the tunes Bifur used to sing for me when our parents died. We were, in that moment, no longer a prince and a subject but simply two dwarflings mourning and in need of comfort.

After a long while, he picked up his head, saying thickly, "Thank you, my friend. I shall never forget you or your kindness. What is your name?"

"Bofur, my lord."

"Bofur… thank you again. You should go to your wounded cousin. I expect you're wanted there."

I bowed my head and got to my feet, mumbling, "Of course, sire."

"Please… call me Thorin."

I could not respond. I simply bowed my head once more and walked away, picking my way back to the field hospital. Bombur was at Bifur's bedside, gripping one of his hands. When I entered the tent, he jumped to his feet and rushed over, embracing me and muttering, "I thought I'd lost you, brother!"

"Can't lose me that easily, Bombur. Don't worry. I just needed time to myself is all," I replied, "Come along, let's sit with him. He'll be glad to see us when he wakes."

"Are you sure he will wake?" Bombur asked tearfully, "The Healer said there was little hope."

Remembering the words the prince had spoken not long ago, I replied, "Nonsense. Bifur's alive. That means there's hope."

We took up a vigil at his bedside, Bombur taking Bifur's hand and I his. Several days passed before Bifur finally woke, and I had never been happier in my life just to see someone look at me. He blinked up at us, likely unsure of where he was and only remembering the battle. Bombur and I soon found that Bifur was reduced to speaking only broken Khuzdul and a great deal of Iglishmêk (our dwarvish sign language used in the noisy forges) to communicate with us, but we didn't care. We didn't care that he became more cautious and bit more feisty, or that he sometimes looked at our familiar surroundings with a great deal of confusion, or even that he occasionally hurt one of us (mostly me) in the throes of a nightmare. All that mattered was that Bifur was still was with us. It was simply our turn to take care of him.

Bombur made sure our cousin ate enough, cooking as well as he could on our funds, and I kept him fit and able to work and fight, and I always spoke with him about the happenings of our world. It was not long after the fateful battle that Thrain and Thorin decided to abandon their dreams of Khazad-dûm and move on to Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains far to the West where there had once been the great dwarf kingdoms of Nogrod and Belegost. So, once more, we packed ourselves up and moved on.

Along the way, like most dwarves in our company, we did odd jobs for the Men we met along the way, fixing their farming implements in exchange for food and other goods. Unfortunately, there was not much work for Bifur. Many people, Men and Dwarves alike, assumed Bifur had been rendered simpleminded and useless because of his wound just because he had trouble communicating. Of course, Bombur and I knew otherwise, so it was difficult for us. Thankfully, Bifur discovered that he could still do one job that he needed no one to hire him for: toy-making.

He saw me carving one day and took both knife and wood from my hands to fix whatever I had done wrong in his eyes, revealing an amazing dragon in the wood. It looked better than anything he'd ever done. Thus, toy-making became Bifur's profession. I would go with him into the villages we passed through to translate so he could sell his wares. Men even came to respect his work and pay fairly well for it, but he wasn't above selling something cheap if a poor child became attached to a particular item. He was even known to give some away.

It was a great relief to finally reach the Blue Mountains, a place we could call our own. Our people settled in the Northern Range, above the Gulf of Lhûn and the river that fed it. There we enjoyed a pleasant life. Our people built homes in and around the mountains, traded with the nearby villages of Men, raised families. (Among the three of us, only Bombur was lucky enough to find love, but with only a third of our kind being women, few were.) Still, it was quite nice. There were fewer Orcs to bother and attack us, the Men were friendly, and our leaders were great. We did have to contend with the sudden disappearance of Thrain, but his loss made Thorin Oakenshield our 'king', and that was not so bad.

I saw him a few times around our new home, as we set up a small shop stall for Bifur to sell his toys, until one day in T.A. 2869 when he approached us. Bifur tensed, as he often did when those he did not know came near too quickly, but I calmed him in a hurry.

"It's Bofur, isn't it?" Thorin asked, "I feel many ages have passed since we spoke."

"It's not been that long, m'lord," I replied.

"I do at least recall telling you to call me Thorin."

"Yes, of course, Thorin…"

"And this must be your cousin that was wounded at Azanulbizar."

"Indeed, the very same," I said proudly, "This is Bifur. Bifur, this is Thorin Oakenshield."

I signed the last bit for him in Iglishmêk, and he nodded fiercely, bowing his head. Like anyone, Thorin stared briefly at the axe embedded in his head; I imagine they all wondered how he was still alive.

"So, Bofur, I have heard your cousin is second-to-none in the craftsmanship of toys."

"Aye, it's true. Whatever you can imagine, Thorin, he can make. Bifur can create anything, from wooden weapons to toy animals to small play forts and armies."

"Will you be here tomorrow? At about this time?"

"Yep, we will. Nearly every day."

"Excellent," Thorin said, "Tomorrow, my younger nephew is turning five, and I want to get him something he may be able to take care of. Whatever it is must be hardy."

"He's about that age where throwing things has become a great pastime."

"That is certain. Very well then, I shall see you tomorrow, Bofur. And you, Bifur. Good day."

Thorin even signed in Iglishmêk for Bifur; he was a good man. The next day, as promised, he came back with his sister Dis and her boys, Fili and Kili. They were both wonderful children, if a bit mischievous.

"Fili, Kili," their mother said calmly, "This is Mister Bofur and Mister Bifur. They are friends of your Uncle Thorin's. You must behave for them, understood?"

We received a chorus of hello's from the two boys before the youngest spoke up, asking, "Why has Mister Bifur got that bit of metal in his head?" in his high little voice. Dis looked mortified, Thorin angry, and the boys merely curious. I simply knelt down in front of them and explained, "Well, my cousin Bifur fought with your Uncle Thorin long ago at the gates of Moria. A big nasty Orc attacked him and left that bit of axe in his head."

Their eyes went wide.

"Really?"

"That's an Orc axe?"

"Oh, aye. But it left him with a little bit of trouble speaking Common, so you'll need either Khuzdul or Iglishmêk to talk with him."

"He looks mean," Kili whispered.

"He's not mean at all. In fact, Mister Bifur is the kindest Dwarf you'll ever meet. I promise, Kili," I told him, "Now, I hear it's your birthday. That means you get whatever you want."

"Really?!"

I nod, and he's off, dragging Fili around to look at everything. Their mother trailed after them, making sure they were being gentle with everything. Thorin moved closer, saying, "You have a way with them."

"It's the toy business. I have to be, really."

"It's more than that, I think."

I shuffled my feet, then replied, "They remind me of Bombur and me at about that age… just a bit. Bombur was always excited on the road, loved meeting new people, seeing new places. I always had to watch out him, and so did Bifur."

"He raised the both you, did he not?"

"Yes, after the dragon took Erebor. My parents and his died in Dale. I was ten, Bombur barely three… and at twenty-three, Bifur had to drop everything and care for us. Though, I suppose he didn't have to, but he did because he was so kind… is kind. Then there was Azanulbizar, and well… many were lost at that awful place… including most of my cousin and caretaker. But we've managed, we have."

"You have done well for yourselves, especially Bifur. Many would have given up, both in his place and yours. You are fighters, the both of you… the three of you, really."

My face turns red from his praise. The great Thorin Oakenshield called me a fighter when I could fight no more than a tree. I wanted to rebut him, but then Kili cried out with joy and rushed over with his choice of gift.

"Uncle, this one! Please! This one, Uncle!"

His gap-toothed grin shone over a bright, articulated dragon. Thorin's face softened impossibly as he told the boy, "Of course, Kili, if that's the one you want."

We told them to take it, that it would be a gift from us as well, but Thorin and Dis both flatly refused and left us a rather ridiculous sum in payment; I had to physically stop Bifur from trying to return it to them.

I felt deeply privileged to know Thorin and his family during our time in Ered Luin. They even trusted Bifur and me (mostly me) to watch over the children on occasion when both needed to be away or simply needed to have their hair free of the little terrors. Fili and Kili were always good lads for Bifur and me, doing as they were told and not being too rambunctious or too curious. Unfortunately, one night they were present for one of Bifur's nightmares.

The thunderstorm outside had brought it forth, as usual, and as soon as I heard him, I woke and ordered the boys to stay put. I hurried to my cousin to find him thrashing violently and crying out in Khuzdul.

"Mister Bofur? What's wrong with him?" Kili asked.

"I said stay put!" I barked.

Turning back to Bifur, I moved closer, kneeling beside him and taking his face in my hands murmuring to and shushing him and trying to remember one of the old songs he would sing me. It did not stop him from striking me hard in the face. I felt my cheek split open and blood dribble down my face. Not intimidated, I kept my hands on his face, muttering, "Bifur… come, Bifur, you're home now. I've got you. Bofur's got you… safe and sound. You're alright. No one can hurt you now. I've got you. You're safe," until he finally woke and came to his senses.

The dark eyes were wide and soon filled with tears when he saw he had hurt me. I could easily see he was upset by what he had done to me. I simply rested my forehead on his, praying he knew he was forgiven as soon as it had happened. A noise from the doorway made me return to the present. The boys were still there. I explained to Bifur I'd be right back before putting the boys back to bed.

"What happened, Mister Bofur?" Fili asked.

"Bifur has nightmares sometimes," I told them simply, "He's seen a lot in his time."

"Like what?"

"Like dragons and battles and loss."

"He's lucky, though," Kili said.

"Oh? In what way, little one?"

"Why, he's got you to look after him, of course."

I could not find the same faith in myself that Kili had, but I bid the boys goodnight and returned to my cousin, who had taken up carving some new item. Years of practice told me he was still upset, but whether it was from the nightmare or hitting me, I could never be sure. In any case, he would tell me in his own time. I just sat with him until then.

The years passed peacefully in Ered Luin. I resigned myself to my life, mining and selling toys to make enough money to care for myself and my cousin, not wanting to bother my brother for any help when he had his own family to care for. Really, though, I could not complain. Our life was good, at least as good as it could be for us, in any case. There were days where, like anyone else who could remember, I wished that Smaug had never come and had never killed our parents, and wondered why Fate had so cruelly crippled my cousin and yet had not crippled him at all. I longed in those moments for the life I could have had in Erebor, lamenting what my life had become instead. Any sane person would, I should think. Toy-making and mining for iron just barely supported us.

I just wanted to go home.

Then, one day, Thorin came to me and offered a chance to do just that.

"A quest? To reclaim Erebor from that devil Smaug? And you want me to come?"

"I can think of no one better to join our company, Bofur. You shall be a great help on our quest."

"Well, I'd love to join you!" I replied, "I want nothing more than to free the Lonely Mountain… but I cannot leave Bifur. He needs me. He cannot live with Bombur and his family."

"He should come with you, then. Bifur is a good warrior, a true fighter, and I would be grateful to have him. And your brother Bombur is welcome, too, if he wishes to join us."

"I shall tell him, Thorin, but... I have to know… why us?"

"What do you mean?"

"We're no warriors," I explained, "Bifur was once, but he's a bit addled now. You can't deny that. No one can. Bombur, well, Bombur's never been a fighter. He loves hearth and home and family and food. Then you've got me… and I'm not good at very much of anything."

"Now, I must contradict you, for you could never be more wrong. The three of you may be the strongest beings in all Middle-Earth."

I looked up at him, confused. He continued, "You are all warriors, Bofur, all fighters. Most importantly, you are the most loyal person I have ever known. I can see it in your care for your cousin. You've given up much for him, to make sure he would have a good life. And I can still remember a day long ago when even though you were hurting, you offered comfort to me in my moment of need."

"You lost more than I did that day."

"Many lost even more."

We fell silent for a moment before he put his hands on my shoulders, saying, "Please, consider my offer, Bofur. I would love to have you," and leaving. I found him the next day, and a few weeks later, Bifur, Bombur, and I were off to a place called the Shire to meet a burglar.

Little did I know how our quest would end, back in Erebor, with Beorn bringing us our fallen king, the great Thorin Oakenshield, wounded and dying, his sister-sons fallen defending him. I am sitting with him when he wakes, his eyes fluttering open, his gaze unfocused.

"Bof-Bofur… Fili and K-Kili… wh-where… m-my nephews…"

Tears roll down my face in rivers as I try to smile and tell him, "Don't you worry about Fili and Kili, now. They're-" dead, cold, gone, "-together, Thorin… safe and sound. You'll see them soon enough."

I haven't the heart to tell him outright that his beloved nephews are dead, but he understands my meaning.

"Together?"

"Aye, Thorin. The lads are together… as if they could ever be parted."

Then he urges me to find the Halfling, and I perform the last task my king will ever ask of me. At the tent, I must offer comfort to Bombur and Ori and Balin and Dwalin and everyone else there, including the hobbit. It is hard, trying to soothe everyone else when I am so in need of soothing myself. It must be how Bifur felt when we were all so young after the death of our parents. I want to grieve the death of my king and princes, but I cannot when everyone is falling apart around me.

Later that evening, I finally separate from the company and find a tree to sit under, pulling my knees up to my chest, just crying as hard as I can, like so many years ago. Great sobs wrack my body, ripping from my throat, tears streaming down my face in rivers. As such, it is not long before Bifur finds me and, putting his arms around me, hums his songs of old, trying to take care of me once again.

Just close your eyes

The sun is going down

You'll be alright

No one can hurt you now

Come morning light

You and I'll be

Safe and Sound

Hoo boy... well, there it is. That was a longer one! I hope you enjoyed, especially as 1st person POV isn't always my first choice.. Reviews/concrit would be greatly appreciated!