Forever in My Dreams
Summary: Thorin called upon him twice and Bofur knew both times could spell his death. The first time, fate granted him a blessing. The second time, he had to give her and their life together up. Leaving her behind was the hardest thing he'd ever do but as he fights for their future and home; Bofur remembers the past and just why he follows Thorin. Pre and Post Hobbit. Bofur/OC.
Rating: M for adult situations, language and later chapters.
Genre: Drama/Romance.
Pairing: Bofur/OC.
Author's Note: I love Bofur. Next to Fili, Kili and Thorin he is one of my favourite dwarfs. Hope you enjoy a little tale on his past. I have, of course, fiddle with things a little to suit the story, hope its okay. Don't forget to review and let me know.
Bittersweet Chapter Three is almost ready for you lovelies, I am eternally sorry for the wait on it. Loads of one-shots and new stuff is on the way. I just gotta work on them all between writing my original stuff.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Tolkien related or recognised. I own only the original characters and story that does not take place in the Hobbit. No profit is made of this story but the entertainment of its readers.
Chapter One
They had both still been younglings when they'd met. If circumstances had not been like they were at the time, neither would ever have laid eyes upon the other. One was born noble of the Ironhills; the other, descended from the ancient kingdom of Khazad-dum, born in the Blue Mountains, his kin having long been run from their home an age prior.
Kahvi, daughter of Vaan and Kahri, had always known she'd never be like other women of her race. It was her face, bare of any hair along her jaw with a nose smaller than common, that set her apart. Kahri, cousin of Nain, still prayed to Aule to grant her daughter with a beard; Kahvi had long since stopped asking her silent god for such a thing she knew would never be granted. She made peace with the fact that she would ever stand out amongst her kind.
They thought her to be some delicate creature, a true highborn female but her heart spoke differently. As fiery and strong-willed as any; Kahvi's passion laid not in jewellery making as her mother's did but in the aiding of others; a passion that was frowned upon by even her own parents.
She was careful in her studies of healing; she would sneak into the archives late in the evenings, from but fifteen years of age.
Her apprenticeship among the jewellers was always second to her medicines. She could make pretty things; jewellery that any lady of men would pine for but always she reasoned that in the event of a war or sickness what good would jewellery be but to shine and sparkle like pretty stars in the night sky.
One could not heal the sick with jewellery.
And so she had disobeyed the rules of her gender, station and society.
How she had been discovered was more untimely in her opinion than unfortunate. She had been studying late one eve; engrossed in a tome that spoke of herbs to ease pains of old injuries and soreness in the body when she had fallen asleep over the book.
The keeper of the archives; an old dwarf with a beard that reached his feet and a belly four times Kahvi round, had come upon her the following morning.
She had never dared repeat the curses he had thrown her way as he'd seized her by the arm and dragged her out of the archives and home. Her mother had been furious, her father silent. Vaan had simply stood before the hearth; watching his wife as she had scolded their second-born for her foolishness.
Kaan, Kahvi's older brother, had defended his younger sister – once. Kahri had turned her anger upon her son for encouraging his sister to act out of her place to which the young dwarf soldier had recoiled and merely watched on.
Kahvi had tried to reason with her mother, tried to make her understand that a female healer was nothing bad that she could help the women who were too embarrassed to visit a male healer; that the females of their race would be useful as healers rather than seamstresses and jewellers.
Her mother had wanted to hear nothing of it and had ordered her to only leave the house when she was to work for the jewellers and to return home immediately after.
While Kahvi had been hurt by the result, she had agreed to the conditions reluctantly; she had no choice but to. For the following three years, Kahvi had worked with the jeweller and made item after item after item but felt no love for the work; felt no joy when people praised her skill.
She saw younglings injure themselves and wanted to be the one to help them, saw some pregnant females and wished to offer them help with the birthing. It pained her to see another in need of help or in pain.
Her life took a turn however when in her thirty-third year an envoy for the exiled king of Erebor had come to the Ironhills, calling upon their aid in the reclaiming of Khazad-dum.
Bofur had never truly been a brave dwarf; he would always go to the aid of his friends and those in dire need of help but he had never thought of himself as some brave soldier who'd ever lead a charge upon an enemy of greater number than their own.
No, Bofur was simply a miner; hard-working and always cheerful. He was not a highborn of their race nor a smith of any craft that would earn him recognition. He spent the better part of the past twenty years of his life clambering down into the great chasms beneath the Blue Mountains and mining away at the veins of ore found therein.
His lot in life was simple. He lived with his younger brother and cousin in a modest home in the commons that was furnished well enough for the three. Bombur, his brother, always provided good food for the trio – it was a wonder still to most others as to how Bofur and Bifur were not yet as round as their relative.
He enjoyed singing and stories, the children of Belegost always flocked to him in droves when spying him on his days out of the mines; pleading for stories.
Still a youngling himself in the years of the elders, Bofur never entertained the same ideals as they did. His eyes hardly ever lingered upon the females of their race who inhabited Belegost. More so because he knew they would not give him the time of day due to his station as a mere miner or they would have already been taken by another.
Many a times the children he entertained with his extravagant tales would ask him if he ever wanted to go on a journey like the ones he told them, or fight in a great war and die a hero. Bofur always told them that if everyone went off to war and died a hero, who would be left to tell of their stories.
It was Bifur and an envoy from the outskirts of Moria that upturned the young miners life in the end.
That was some five years ago now.