Written for the Hobbit Kink Meme Prompt: ho bbit - kin k. livejournal 4373 . ht ml? thread= 8701717 #t12221973

2. Oh I try to hide away

Bofur is smiling.

Although he does not often feel like it he has not forgotten how to do that, but remembering seems to be getting harder with every passing day. By now a little more than four months have passed since Bilbo's departure (Bofur is counting the days) and he has gotten used to not being able to sleep and to give everyone a forced (but well enough counterfeited) smile. That is not too hard to live with. However, something else is. He had gotten up today, looked in the mirror and found himself unable to wish his reflexion a good morning. He had done so for the past few weeks, practising his smile and trying to sound convincing as well as making sure that his voice is still there, maybe not as cheerful as he would like it to be, but good enough. Today… today it had been different. The chill in his bones had frozen him when nothing more than a whisper had left his lips, instead of the (forced) merry shout he had expected.

It has already been overdue, he thinks, darkly. Only very few dwarves have just reached step three after more than four months. Mother was already lying dead at that time. He is torn between being relieved that he is hanging on so strongly – this is what he wants for his family, as he tries to remind himself – and being frustrated. There is nothing left for him in this world, not with Bilbo gone, so why linger? Why endure that pain that is eating him up, leaving him hollow and empty, longer than necessary? Everything is lost anyway, so why-

No.

Bofur squares his shoulders. He cannot lose himself in those dark thoughts, not today. Not when the speaking has finally overcome him and his friends, his family, are bound to find out. He has to try and be strong, for his brother and cousin. The dwarf stares at his reflexion – he has not turned away from the mirror for more than half an hour now, not since finding out – and forces the corners of his lips upwards. By habit he opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it close a second later. Great. Now he has to put that smile on again.

It takes him five more minutes to adjust the smile and the hat – the circles underneath his eyes are rather alarming by now, and all strength seems to be seeping out of muscles, the sleeping taking its toll, but he is still standing upright (it is really amazing how much the body of a dwarf can take) – and then he leaves for breakfast. Everyone will waiting for him by now, he is terribly late (and he has been so a little too often during the last weeks), thus he hurries towards the royal quarters. The company is usually eating in a small but comfortable room next to Thorin's premises, along with the sister of the King and Gloin's wife and son, as well as Bombur's wife. Quickly he slips into the room, smiling apologetically and sliding into his chair between his brother and Balin. Thorin, clearly impatient, clears his throat and starts eating, thus allowing everybody else to do so as well. The two princes, who had already been complaining loudly, are digging into the food immediately (and rather unceremonially), which earns them a scolding from their mother. Bofur's smile is honest now, at least partly, but he is rather reluctant to load his plate himself. This may not be the eating, not yet, but he is not exactly hungry. Not after finding out what he did in front of the mirror.

Balin's eyebrow is raised, concern showing in his eyes. "Are you okay, laddie?"

Bofur – of course – only nods, forcing himself to grin. It has been a long time since he has been called laddie by anyone but Balin, who seems to be addressing everyone except his own brother like that, even the King. However, what really gets to him is the fact that he himself had used to call Bilbo 'lad' (among other names) and, under the heaviness of the memory, he feels the emptiness spread a little further still.

Balin does not really seem to be convinced but turns his attention back to his breakfast anyway, shooting the King a fleeting glance in the process, and Bofur exhales slowly. How long will he be able to continue like this? To hide the absence of his voice? He makes himself eat something, not really realizing what it tastes like, and answers a few of his brother's questions by nodding or shaking his head. He has been talking uncharacteristically little in the last few weeks, maybe no one will notice… at least not today? Maybe he can keep his fading secret just a little longer, for the sake of his family? He will volunteer to help with the clearing work in the mines as he often does, it is usually rather loud there (they have already restarted mining and forging where it is possible) and no one will want to have a conversation.

His plan actually works and nobody starts to ask questions during the day, however, he does have no excuse for staying quiet during dinner. Fortunately some of the others have already left – only Ori, Dwalin, Balin, Thorin, Oin, Bifur and Bombur remaining – but there is no way of keeping his condition from those present. He knows that his secret will not be secret for much longer when he hears Ori call his name, across the whole table.

"Master Bofur!"

He looks up, makes himself smile and stares at the young dwarf expectantly. Maybe…

"You know, that book that you mentioned to me last time – what was it called again?"

Crab. For a moment he considers acting like he has forgotten the name (although he will never forget it, for it is a book that Bilbo has told him everything about, since it seems to contain some of the hobbit's favourite legends and fairy-tales) but scraps the idea. Still he hesitates for a few seconds but then decides to simply get it over with. The others will find out anyway. Moreover, he has discussed some of the stories in the book with Ori (yes, he has actually found the book in Erebor's vast library and read it, although it has taken him some time) and mentioned the title repeatedly, claiming to have forgotten it would be rather suspicious. Once again he forces his lips into something that he hopes resembles a smile and opens his mouth. "The Book of Lost Tales." His voice is nothing more than a whisper and Ori shakes his head, cocks its.

"Could you repeat that, please?" It is loud in the room, the rest of the company talking and cheering and still throwing food at each other, as usual. Nobody is paying attention to the fact that the young scribe cannot hear the answer – well, almost nobody. From his place next to Ori, one arm always wrapped around the younger one possessively (oh, how Bofur had wished he could have sat like that with Bilbo!), Dwalin is staring at the dwarf with the flap-eared hat, his eyes squinted.

Bofur sighs and repeats his words, forcing them to be as loud as he manages, but still he can draw nothing more than a raw whisper from his throat. He feels the emptiness settle in the tips of his fingers when he realizes that he will never again be able to hear his own voice. Well, obviously it had not been good enough for Bilbo, as every part of him, so what does it matter? He pushes those dark thoughts back (he will have many a long, sleepless night to let himself be tortured) and tries to concentrate on the problem at hand. It seems that by now he has aroused the attention of Balin and Oin as well. Great.

"Say it again," Dwalin commands and Thorin looks up, along with Bifur.

Bofur gnashes his teeth and clenches his fists, but knows he does not really have a choice. "The Book of Lost Tales," he repeats, his voice failing him once again.

Oin turns his ear trumpet in his fingers, shakes his head. "This is not me being deaf," he growls and it gets him the attention – at least partly – of Bombur, who is still munching away happily.

"What?" Thorin asks, obviously confused. Bofur shakes his head. His condition is obvious – how can he not understand?

Balin runs a wrinkled hand over his face, suddenly looking terribly old and tired, more than Bofur has ever seen him before. The gesture makes Bombur forget the buttered rolls on his plate, so now everyone present is staring at Bofur, his brother as confused as the King. Balin sighs heavily, and his eyes are dark. Just for a second the advisor allows himself to look at Thorin, then he turns back to Bofur. "Who is it?"

The dwarf shakes his head. They do not have to know that. (He ignores the fact that there is nothing he can keep secret from this company, not when they really want to find it out.)

"Who is what?" Thorin asks and now Oin is shaking his head, unbelievingly.

"Tell us," the healer growls. "Otherwise we won't be able to distract you properly."

Bofur freezes. Distract him? But what- … he thinks about the emptiness that is making the tips of his fingers numb and that is spreading whenever the thoughts about Bilbo pain him in order to soothe the burning ache in his heart. He thinks about the lonely, black, sleepless nights that make everything worse, and he thinks about the fact that he wants to live, for his family. For this company. He gulps and looks at Oin. "How are ye plannin' to distract me?"

Ori is frowning. "Why is he whisper-" Dwalin shakes his head vigorously, glaring. His own face is showing the worry that only Oin, Balin and Bifur are sharing so far. The latter one is shaking his head as well, disbelievingly.

Bofur remembers that his cousin had seen his One fade, when he had changed too much after the incident with the axe. Bifur had been suffering, desperate to help her but unable to give her what would have saved her. It must have been agonizing – knowing that you were what she needed, and knowing that you could not give it. It is what fighting does to the warriors and their families. There is nothing that has so many dwarves and elves fading as war. Battles change them, in one way or the other. Battles are what rip them apart. Bofur thinks about the Arkenstone, and Bilbo, and forces the tears back. He is not going to cry. Not now, not ever.

"Keep you occupied," Oin finally answers, his eyes never leaving Bofur. "Keep you company all the time, especially through the nights. But you have to tell us who it is, otherwise we might talk about them and make everything worse instead of better."

Bofur is still reluctant. He did not want to let them know about his misery in the first place, and even more so does he not want to tell them that Bilbo is the reason for it. He would never admit it, of course, but maybe he is afraid. Just a little. Afraid that they will laugh about him and tell him how stupid it had been of him to ever think that that relationship might work. That he should have known that he could never have been good enough for the hobbit. (Of course he knows that they would never say those things, even if they were actually thinking them, but there is nothing he can do against the demons). He forces himself to raise his head and looks at Balin, whose eyes are as knowing as they always seem to be. It appears that they have seen each other's secrets. The old dwarf smiles sadly and nods. "Tell them," he murmurs. "Let us try to hold you here. Even if it is egoistic."

Egoistic it is indeed, trying to keep him in this world longer than necessary, but Bofur remembers his mother's fading all too well, and how much he had wanted to do in the beginning, until it had gotten really bad. Thus he squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath. "Bilbo," he whispers, his eyes once again fixated at his plate. There is no way he is going to look at the others now, not after this confession. The demons are strong.

Bifur is still shaking his head. "But… that has been more than four months ," he rasps in Khuzdul, his voice breaking.

Bofur is still unable to look at him, not wanting to see the look in the broken dwarf's eyes.

Balin opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by Ori. "Will somebody finally tell us what in Durin's name is going on here?" He sounds surprisingly annoyed and impatient, considering the usual demeanour of the shy scribe.

Dwalin's face grows dark. "This is not-" He is interrupted as well, but by his King.

"We don't understand," Thorin says, his voice soft. "Half of us. Tell us. Please."

Dwalin shakes his head, not looking at him, and Bofur has to suppress a bitter (voiceless) huff. That they do not recognize the signs… he wishes he could have been like them. Not knowing. Never having seen somebody they loved wilt like a flower without water in the cruel midday sun. He wishes he could have been in Bombur's place. Being the one protected, instead of protecting. Being the younger. Still, he would do it again – if he could. Save his brother the experience. He wishes he could do it again. He wishes a lot these days.

Balin wrings his hands and his voice is sad, tired. "You should not have to ask," he says, softly. "You know the signs. Everybody knows them."

"No." Bombur is shaking his head disbelievingly. "No. He can't be… no. Bofur," he turns towards his brother, he eyes pleading. "Tell me you're not. Fading. Tell me you're not."

Bofur worries the hem of his tunica and closes his eyes.

He hears Bombur draw in a shaking breath, still whispering the same words. He wishes he could tell him otherwise. He wishes…

"What?" Ori's voice is too high and shrill and has Bofur look up. "But… it… it's the speaking ! It's the third step! What… what about the… the dreaming and the sleeping?" He seems to be looking for an alternative explanation desperately.

This time the smile is honest, although it is a sad one. "I stopped dreamin' the night Bilbo left," Bofur whispers softly "and I haven't slept for about two months."

Bombur is still shaking his head. "But… why didn't you…"

"He wanted to spare you the pain," Dwalin grumbles and Bofur starts to wonder whom the warrior and his brother have seen fade away. Reluctantly he lets his eyes run over the rest of the company, or rather the part of it that is present. Those who were the first to realize have that sad look in their eyes, while the others are showing disbelieving faces. Ori is gasping for air and Bombur has not stopped shaking his head. Thorin is the last one Bofur looks at and he is surprised to see something he did not expect. The King appears to be shocked as well, but there is something else, something dark and regretting and guilty. What-

"So… we'll make a schedule," Oin interrupts his thoughts. "Someone will always be with you. And I have a few herbs that may make up for the damage done by your sleep loss. However, I must warn you, they taste horrible."

Bofur actually snickers at that. It is a tiny, dry, voiceless snicker, but it is one nonetheless. "I can take that," he whispers and Oin nods, satisfied.

"Good. Is there anyone who volunteers to go with Bofur until I have prepared the schedule?"

Bofur thinks about refusing – he is no dwarfling who needs supervision all the time – but scraps the idea a moment later. He knows that this is necessary, if he wants to survive a little longer than he could do without their help. And yes, he wants that, and the others want it as well, even if it will be hard, for all of them (he remembers how relieved he had been when his mother's suffering had finally been over). The demons are telling him that everything will be easy once he is gone, once he can feel no longer… that it is the only way to escape the pain. However, there is this tiny, persistent thought that is stronger than the demons most of the time. I want to see Bilbo again, he reminds himself. Even if it's just a glimpse. And if he is really honest with himself he wants to talk to the hobbit. To ask why. To ask what he had done wrong, what he could have done better. He knows that will make everything worse, but he needs to know. This is what he is (still) breathing for – what has kept the speaking away until today, what has kept him alive for so long. And he assumes that the others are hoping that Bilbo will be coming back, and retaking his rejection. That this is why they will make him deal with the pain longer than necessary, why they will take up with keeping him alive, for he is sure that Oin knows how hard it is for those watching.

"I will," Balin speaks up and Dwalin is coughing.

"Better be careful, Master Bofur, you're going to have a hard time now," the bald dwarf warns. "He can be really persistent when he wants something."

Bofur and Balin both shoot a glance at Thorin, but the others are chuckling, even if Bombur and Bifur's laughter may be rather strained.

"Can we… not tell the others, unless they find out themselves? Please?" Bofur asks and everyone else is objecting, trying to talk him out of it – "How are we supposed to keep them from saying anything wrong if they don't know about it?" – but they finally give in. They stay at the table well into the night, joking and telling stories – but not singing – and Bofur knows that they are doing this for him, but he does not mention it and loses himself in the distraction, relieved. Not being alone… this makes everything so much easier. Finally, when all the others have gone to bed, Bofur follows Balin into the chief advisor's rooms. They are situated between the royal chambers and the Grand Library, and although Bofur has seen them during the clearing work, they had been nothing compared to what they are now, furnished and decorated for the King's best friend. Balin smiles at him and motions for the young one to make himself comfortable while he goes and removes the mirror, as well as two pictures and a few books from the huge shelves that are lining the walls, barely leaving space for the doors. He does so swiftly, not even having to think about which things to take away, and Bofur already opens his mouth to ask – who is it that he has seen fade? – when Balin takes a seat as well and stares him down.

"Now tell me. How did you find out?"