I thank you all so much for being so patient with me while I get this up. I hope it was worth the wait. Enjoy

Bofur lounged sleepily on the cot, still heavily under the influence of a pain tonic, and let his mind wander. Bifur and Bombur had shown up within the hour of him waking and proceeded to fret over him until he feigned exhaustion. He adored them, really he did, but at times they could get a bit mother hen-ish. Unable to properly reign in his thoughts, he found that more and more often they strayed to his rescuer, his prince, his one.

When they first arrived at Erebor, Bofur had been in awe of the great halls and giant statues. Walking along to meet the king and plead for refuge, he couldn't help but fidget with his mattock and the edges of his sleeves. Everything made him feel so small and insignificant. He wasn't a warrior or a great king; he was a miner, storyteller, and amateur toymaker. Stepping into the throne room, his heart nearly stopped and he seemed to forget how to breathe. It wasn't the king that stared down at him and his family, nor was it the radiance that was the arkenstone, though it fought more for his attention. No, it was the dwarf just off to the side of the throne.


As soon as he met those icy blue eyes, Bofur felt his knees start to give and he had to fight hard to remain upright. Studying the prince slightly out of the corner of his eye, Bofur couldn't help the pleased sigh that escaped him. His one had a thick mane of ink black hair with simple braids along either side of his face. His beard was short but it suited his face. Even from a distance, Bofur could tell that the prince had the toughened skin and muscle of a warrior. He hazard to guess that that same skin was decorated with a fair amount of scars from hard learned lessons. In short, the crown prince was the embodiment of the ideal mate. Mentally, he berated himself. What could he possibly have to offer the prince of Erebor? The prince no doubt thought that he was ridiculous. He was a little on the small side for a dwarf, tall but lacking the usual bulk thus considered the runt of the family, and his features were also on the delicate side. His beard, mustache, and even hair, while considered impressive by the standards of men, where bare minimum for a dwarf. His trades would only serve to shame the prince for there was little honour in mining and toy making was only really valued by children and parents. Feeling the prince's eyes on him throughout the entire meeting, he struggled to control his accent and to say something that he hoped would impress. Despite his best efforts, his accent came out as thick as ever and he had no doubt that he managed to put his foot in his mouth more than once.


In the month that followed, Bofur's interest in the prince started to border on obsession. Whenever Bofur caught sight of him in the market, he would follow the prince's every step, simply watching him. He didn't know exactly what but there was something calming about just watching his one go about everyday life. He learned so much and yet so little by just watching him. His family, though, was getting a tad worried about the fixation and Bombur had remarked more than once that it was, in fact, a little creepy.

"Tis the only way I can be close to him and I'll gladly take all I can." He had finally remarked in a somber tone, almost unheard of from the constantly upbeat dwarf. The two had quieted after that, doing nothing more than looking on in pity. Bofur couldn't find it in himself to ask them to stop for even he knew that he harboured nothing more than a fool's wish. He would pine and watch from afar until the end of his days and, when Thorin took a suitable wife as he no doubt would, Bofur would clap and cheer along with everyone else while his heart was shredded piece by piece. When Thorin died, Bofur would follow. Passing to the next life completely forgotten or, if remembered, remembered as nothing more than a fool. He had to laugh bitterly at that. He so often cast himself as the fool in his stories. Fate, it seemed, had a rather cruel sense of humor.


Bofur sighed as his mind continued to remind him of how perfect Thorin was as well as how Bofur could never have him. He shifted around, trying to get comfortable in an attempt to slip back into the drug induced sleep when a frown marred his normally happy features. He smelt smoke and something that he couldn't place. It reminded him of the times on the road when he was younger and had burned his hand while being incautious around the fire. Whatever it was, it made his nose itch and eyes water.


Thorin wasn't really sure how he was going to go about explaining his attraction to a miner to Balin when he had gone searching for him, but he had learned a lot from the elder dwarf and had come to greatly value Balin's input. He had waited patiently until he was sure that he would be able to talk to his old mentor without any interruptions. Yes he considered pacing and mumbling curses waiting patiently, thank you very much. Thankfully, he didn't have to entertain himself for long. Someone, and he was damn sure he knew who, had let it slip to Dis and Frerin about his one and they had proceeded to corner and interrogate him on their, in their own words, future brother in law. For the next hour, he proceeded to tell them everything he knew about the miner, which was, admittedly, not very much. He had only just learned the dwarf's name that morning when he stopped in to see Oin about his condition. Bofur almost seemed like too simple of a name when Thorin thought about the effect that the dwarf had on him but, at the same time, it sounded so perfect. He was grateful that Balin picked that moment to announce to Thorin that they could now speak.


Thorin had only just mentioned what he wished to speak about when they heard it, the sound of the trees creaking and cracking in the hurricane winds. The air, previously pleasantly warm, turned hot and dry, and Thorin and Balin shared a look before rushing out to the battlements. Thorin's voice was a rough whisper as they surveyed the land below the mountain.

"Balin, sound the alarm." Thorin's eyes widened in terror as the two of them ducked down against the stone wall, the gust of wind threatening to throw them backwards; the realization of just what was upon them dawning on him. "Call out the guards. Do it now!" The young prince turned to rush back inside, halted only by his mentor's question.

"What is it?" Thorin's face was grim as he met those wizened, clear blue eyes. His voice a gravelly, anxious whisper as he named the creature that Balin had feared.

"Dragon." He stumbled backwards, before leaning over the railing to bellow the warning to the dwarves going about their lives within the mountain. "Dragon!" As if the word had summoned him, the ground shook with Smaug's roar and a blast of scalding wind hit those along the battlements in the face. Thorin fisted a hand in the soft fabric along the shoulder of Balin's outer tunic and dragged him behind a pillar just as the wave of intense, bright orange flames consumed the battlement and all those along it, tendrils licking at the edges of the pillar the prince and his advisor hid behind. Another roar shook the ground as Thorin rushed to gather the guards and, within moments, the city of Dale was little more the smoldering ruins, the terrified shrieks of any survivors filling the air between the dragon's roars. Thorin had thought Erebor impenetrable for as long as he could remember and never had a belief been more quickly shattered than the moment when Smaug's talons ripped the great doors of Erebor open.


Bofur coughed until he was sure that his lungs were attempting to force their way up his throat. Smoke had filled the corridors within moments of Smaug's entrance into the mountain and it clogged his throat and burned his eyes. The healing ward had taken a chaotic turn when the word of the dragon reached that far, with healers trying to usher everyone out of cots and to the nearest exit as quickly as possible. Bofur had fallen behind after whatever herbs had been given to him caused a wave of dizziness and it was only after it had passed that he realized he had been left behind. Trying to keep as quiet and low to the ground as his injuries would allow, the miner slowly made his way towards the closest exit. Another coughing spell seized him which, combined with the smoke, brought on another spell of dizziness due to lack of oxygen. He slowly slid down the wall, chest heaving and throat burning, as the reality of his fate dawned on him; saved from plummeting to his death by the dwarf created especially for him only to suffocate on the smoky breath of a dragon. He had to wonder what he'd done in a past life to have pissed of Mahal so. Just as black spots were starting to dance before his eyes, he heard it; the sound of frantic boots hitting stone and getting closer. He knew that the odds weren't in his favor. Odds were the dwarf wouldn't even look at him as they hurried by, but some part of him demanded that he try. So, after uselessly trying to moisten his cracked lips, Bofur cleared his throat and called out to the fleeing dwarf.


Nori had never been a dwarf that cared much for anyone beyond a choice few, which consisted of his mother and, though he'd never admit it, his elder brother Dori. So when the dragon attacked, he hadn't bothered with making sure that as many people as possible got out. He had searched only for his family. Some would call him cold hearted but Nori was not about to stick his neck out for someone that he didn't know would have his back. Dori chided him for it often, always saying that it was simply polite to offer a helping hand but Nori, as he always had, ignored his brother. Thankfully, Nori had seen his mother and brother through the exit before a pillar that had been made unstable in the dragon's initial entrance collapsed, trapping Nori and a few dozen other dwarves. Knowing that the beast could come back any minute, the tri-haired dwarf ignored the attempts of the others to scale the debris and instead turned on his heel, making for the stables. Taking a corner so fast, he almost lost his footing; Nori nearly missed the raspy voice that called out to him.

"Help." Nori stopped, chest heaving from exertion and stared at the crumpled form before him. An old brown hat perched precariously atop messy brown hair, half out of their braids and clinging to the dwarf's face with sweat. His green eyes were hazy and drooping, and every breath sounded painful as it wheezed from his throat. Glancing down further, Nori winced in sympathy. Both the dwarf's arms were in slings with almost every finger splinted. Nori scowled and mentally berated himself. The only thing that matter was getting back to his family and this dwarf would be nothing but a hindrance. Despite all his reasoning, however, his feet remained rooted to the spot. "Please." The other dwarf leaned forward imploringly. Nori grit his teeth and, clenching his fists, forced his feet to move.


Thorin was grateful that Dis had taken their grandfather off his hands once they'd reached outside. The betrayal of the elves boiled his blood, taunting his self-control with his deadly temper. He never expected the fair folk to take on the dragon. Smaug had ripped through the greatest fortress in Middle Earth when it was manned by thousands of dwarves. Was it too much to ask, however, for aid with the wounded, elderly, and children? Was it too much to ask for shelter and food? Was it too much to ask for someone to see to the safety of his people so that he himself might focus on ensuring the safety of just one? He was tempted to ignore Oin when the other dwarf approached him but Thorin had learned the hard way that it was always best to be nice to the ones who patched you up, and so, greeted the other with a carefully neutral expression. Oin, however, appeared very troubled.

"Thorin, I…I don't know how to tell you this but…we lost the miner before we got out. He disappeared. I-I don't think he made it out." Thorin could only stare in shock before a force, like one of Dwalin's punches, hit him in the gut and an iron band wrapped around his heart, growing tighter with every beat. His one was dead. The being whose voice was the very song of his heart, whose presence was the stable rock he needed to stay afloat, whose smile was the source of the only light he needed to live, and whose affection was the cure to his heartache. Thorin didn't know when he had dropped to his knees, curling in on himself and howling his agony. All he knew was that he needed this pain to stop and Bofur could make it stop but Bofur was gone, gone, gone. His throat was closing and he fisted his hands in his hair, screaming to Mahal to tell him what he had done to deserve such misfortune, that he'd right it, he'd do anything, just give him his beloved back. In the end, it was Dwalin who hauled the dwarf prince to his feet and herded him off to mourn the loss of the being that held his heart.


Nori hacked as smoke filled his lungs yet again, the arm he had slung around the other dwarf's shoulders tightened as he all but dragged the other along. He could not more explain what made this dwarf with his ridiculous hat special than he could explain why dragons coveted gold. Nevertheless, once the exited the stables, he was more pleased than he would have normally been to hear the dwarf beside him taking in gulps of the fresh air as if he'd never have the opportunity again. They had not spoken while they trudged through the mountain and they felt no need to as they reached the other survivors. Parting with a smile and a nod from Nori to the quiet 'thank you' from the other, they set off in search of their families. Looking back over his shoulder at the other's retreating form, Nori couldn't help but smile. He did believe that he had found a kindred spirit.

'I'll have to keep a close eye on him in the future; don't want anything to happen to a potential friend.'


For days Thorin neither slept nor ate. His father and grandfather, having been made aware of the cause of such sorrow, left him to his grief. His brother and sister, and occasionally Balin, stopped by daily to attempt to cheer him up. It was only after two weeks that Thorin responded. Eyes red-rimmed and burning, yearning to overflow with tears but having none left to give, and voice scratchy and pain filled, he spoke to Dwalin who had remained by his side in silent company.

"I will never love again."