Matchmaker
Chapter 3: Bifur & Óin
The Plot
"Melekûn!"
"GAH! Bifur, you gave me a fright!"
Bilbo was minding his own business, quietly admiring the beautiful Rivendell scenery from above behind a balcony. A small breeze gently ruffled his hair. He watched with an observant eye as a fair Elf gardener below tended to the beautiful orange rose beds in Lord Elrond's magnificent garden. This certainly made a change from running from foul Orcs and ferocious Wargs through a thorny wasteland (thank goodness for Elven bath salts – it worked wonders for my poor feet!).
Lord Elrond had spoken to him a few minutes before (such a decent, intelligent Elf. Thorin had no right to be rude to him when he's being so hospitable towards us), and now he was quite alone, savouring this moment of peace.
In fact, I do believe it's going to be a peaceful afternoon.
Until Bifur pounced on him out of nowhere, almost giving the Hobbit a heart attack.
Aaaaaand there goes my peaceful afternoon.
Bifur suddenly let loose a stream of Khuzdûl.
"Jemut men, achrâchi gabilul. Kahomhîlizu –"
"Bifur, I don't mean to sound rude, but I can't understand a single word you're saying."
"My apologies for scaring you, Master Baggins," signed the axe-embedded Dwarf in Iglishmêk, not looking at all sorry, "but I need your help. Dori said you were good."
"Good? Good at what?"
Although the Hobbit had a slight suspicion as to where this conversation was going …
Here, Bifur looked down at his feet, his cheeks flushing red. Very slowly, he signed: "Helping those to court others."
Oh, for goodness sake, not you too, Bifur!
"Dori thinks highly of your talents. He was insistent that I should come to you if I had any problems with courting, seeing as you're a Hobbit who knows about things like that."
Bilbo sighed, rubbing his temples. "I'm flattered that Dori thinks so, but as I've tried to explain to him and to Dwalin at least a thousand times, just because I am a Hobbit, that doesn't mean I know everything there is to know about love –"
"You helped Dwalin to court Ori?" cut in Bifur, his eyes widening.
He took a step towards the startled Hobbit, grinning in absolute joy. His eyes were sparkling. "Then you must really be good as Dori says you are!"
"Uh," Bilbo coughed, glowing pink in embarrassment in light of the compliment.
At the same time, a rather sensible, Baggins-ish voice sounded in his mind:
Now, Bilbo, don't give into him. Bifur's trying to get you to help him by flattery. Be firm and just say 'no'. After all, what did Thorin say to you? Even if the bigoted idiot claims you're jeopardising this quest (which you're not, obviously, because Thorin is just being impossible and miserable to deal with – don't even think about him! Or his eyes! ), you need a break from this matchmaking business. Think about yourself for once! Say 'no'! And for goodness sake, ignore Bifur's puppy eyes. Resist, Bilbo, RESIST …
"So will you please help me, Master Baggins?" Bifur signed, a hang-dog expression on his face.
At the same time, he blurted out, "Kahomhîlizu?"
Please?
Can those bloody eyes get any bigger?
"Alright, alright, I'll help you!" said Bilbo finally, letting out a growl of frustration.
It's not as if I had anything better to do today!
Bifur beamed like he was the happiest Dwarf alive, and he ruffled the (protesting) Hobbit's brown curls gratefully (and affectionately – not that he'll admit that he liked Bilbo; after all, it was so much fun to frighten the living daylights out of the Hobbit).
Smoothing his hair, and grumbling under his breath, Bilbo pulled himself together and got straight to the point (the sooner I help Bifur, the sooner I get to putting this entire matchmaking business behind me): "Okay, Bifur, now who is it that you're wanting to court? … Bifur? Bifur, are you listening to me? Bifur? Bifur!"
Bifur was, evidently, not listening. The axe-embedded Dwarf's eyes were not on the Hobbit. Instead, he was standing stock-still, staring over the balcony, his brown orbs seemingly focused on something down below. Two pink spots slowly appeared on his cheeks.
Altogether curious, Bilbo followed Bifur's gaze.
Long, grey hair … a matching beard, which consisted of a fine moustache and two very intricate braids curled upwards … twinkling brown eyes as its owner looked about in wonder, taking in the beautiful sights … a wistful smile as the figure held an instrument to his right ear, listening to the sounds of the birds chirping and the breeze rustling the leaves on the trees …
Óin?
Yes, it was Óin. Lord Elrond, being a most hospitable host, despite the rowdy behaviour of his guests, allowed the Dwarves to wander around his home at leisure. He had even granted permission to Óin, their kindly yet ever-so-feisty healer, to walk around in his gardens and pick out whatever herbs and flowers to add to his medical supplies.
Bilbo watched as Óin approached a flowerbed of white peonies – a common flower in the Shire, and, if he remembered correctly, a favourite of his mother. Lowering his ear-trumpet, the grey-haired Dwarf reached out with a gloved hand, gently picking a peony off its stalk. He breathed in the fragrant scent of the white-petalled flower with an appreciative sigh before placing it into his satchel. Picking out a few more and putting them away, Óin moved farther and farther away to inspect a bed of lavender in the distance until he was gone from view.
The Hobbit looked back at Bifur, who watched the healer closely until he was out of sight. The black-haired Dwarf met his gaze and blushed again.
And then, in that moment, Bilbo understood.
"You're wanting to court Óin, am I right?" he whispered.
Bifur nodded, his cheeks still blazing red.
Bifur and Óin … hmm, I would never have thought about them being a pair. They don't seem to suit each other …
But now that the Hobbit was dwelling on the matter, it began to make sense. The healer and the axe-embedded Dwarf were quite close, going beyond a relationship of that between a doctor and his patient. Throughout the journey, Óin made it his duty to regularly check Bifur's head wound. In turn, Bifur would help him search for herbs. The grey-haired Dwarf, being partially deaf, and the other, unable to speak in the common tongue, would sit side-by-side on some nights away from the others, signing together in Iglishmêk about goodness knows what. Bifur came off as unhinged and feisty but he turned out to be surprisingly gentle; Óin, on the other hand, was generally kind but was actually, too, quite feisty, prone to cursing when it suited him.
Hmm, looks like they really do suit each other.
Bilbo could now remember that night, when Dori approached him for help to court Balin: Bifur sitting beside Óin, vying with Glóin for his attention, only to have the healer stomp off in frustration …
"You care a great deal about him, don't you?" he said softly.
"Yes," Bifur signed with another nod. "I've tried many times to tell Óin how I feel, but it's difficult to … express myself, especially in Khuzdûl and Iglishmêk."
The black-haired Dwarf sighed, almost sadly. "It's even harder when you're trying to tell him the words that come from the heart …"
Profound words, indeed, thought Bilbo solemnly.
An image of Thorin Oakenshield suddenly drifted into his mind –
Wait, WHAT? Why are you even thinking about him, Bilbo? Damn it, concentrate on Bifur, you silly goose! After all, what's that bloody Dwarf got to do with any of this?!
Sighing inwardly in annoyance, brushing aside all thoughts of the majestic Dwarf, Bilbo reached up to pat Bifur's shoulder sympathetically. "I shall certainly be glad to help you, Bifur. I'll let you know when I come up with an idea. Are you alright to wait in the meantime?"
Bifur smiled, patting Bilbo's hand before signing, "Yes, Master Baggins, that's fine. I appreciate your help, I really do. Dori was right in suggesting that I come to you."
Standing back with a bow, Bifur said in Khuzdûl, "Dôlzekh menu", before turning on his heels and leaving the Hobbit at the balcony.
With yet another sigh, Bilbo looked down at the garden once more, resting his head on his arms on the balcony. There was a marvellous array of flowers and herbs, but the orange rose beds were certainly a sight to behold.
They also grow abundantly in the Shire. Mother liked them, too, especially since they represent –
Bilbo's thoughts came to halt.
Wait, what exactly did Mother say that they represented?
When the answer hit him, the Hobbit realised that an idea had hit him, too.
Tomorrow, all I have to do is to approach Lord Elrond …
"Good morning, Lord Elrond."
"Good morning, Master Baggins. I trust you had a good night's sleep?"
"I did, thank you very much for asking. It's certainly much better sleeping in a warm, comfortable bed in my own room than in a bedroll outdoors with 13 Dwarves. Uh, not necessarily in the same bedroll, of course." A blush.
"I understand. But, judging by the look on your face, Master Baggins, I'm assuming you are wanting to talk about something else rather than sleeping arrangements, correct?"
Another blush. "Er, actually, I do want to ask you a favour. You see, you've allowed Óin – our group's healer, you know – to collect flowers and things from your garden. Could you – could you, perhaps, give permission to another Dwarf to pick flowers as well?"
An elegant raise of an eyebrow. "What flowers does this Dwarf have in mind?"
"Erm, well, you see, Lord Elrond … the orange roses you have grown look utterly spectacular … and I recall my mother saying that orange roses are representative of … um, passion and desire, without being crude … enamour … new beginnings …"
Yet another blush, but now redder than red.
The raise of the other eyebrow, albeit in amusement. "Your mother was correct, Master Baggins. Orange roses are indeed indicative of those powerful emotions."
A pause.
"This Dwarf has my permission to pick those roses."
"Thank you, Lord Elrond."
A smile. "It seems that being a matchmaker is much more befitting of your talents than that of a burglar, Master Baggins. Unless, of course, the Dwarf in question is not really a "Dwarf" at all, but the object of his affections is …"
The Elf retreated, leaving a madly blushing Bilbo in his wake.
Just what did he mean by that …?
When the Dwarves finally woke up for breakfast, Bilbo quickly pulled Bifur aside the moment he stepped out of his room, to the surprise of Bofur and Bombur.
When the brothers were well and truly gone, Bilbo said to a perplexed Bifur, "Bifur, you'll be pleased to know that I came up with an idea on how to court Óin."
The axe-embedded Dwarf's eye sparkled, bursting into a babble of Khuzdûl before the Hobbit interrupted, "I assume that means you're happy, right?"
Looking sheepish, Bifur signed (quite fast, I see), "Sorry. I didn't expect an idea so soon. So, what do you have in mind, Master Baggins?"
Bilbo smiled. "They say flowers are a good way to express yourself …"
The Results
"Baknd ghelekh."
"Ah, good mornin', Bifur! Have you come to have a look at the flowers? 'Tis a pity that we don't get such stunnin' varieties back home. These ruddy Elves are lucky, to be sure!"
Here, Óin reached out to lightly stroke the white petals of a lime blossom flower that hung on the lowest branch of the blossom tree. The two Dwarves were standing at the very end of the beautiful garden, near to the lavender beds that the healer inspected yesterday. The morning sun was higher in the cerulean-blue sky; in fact, it was nearing the afternoon.
Bifur, his hands behind his back, watched as Óin picked off a few lime blossoms, popping them into his satchel as he said, "They're good for fevers and infections."
He smiled at the black-haired Dwarf. "And they're also good for headaches. Speakin' of which, you haven't had any headaches lately, have you?"
"Not as much," signed Bifur with one hand, at the same time thinking, My heart, on the other hand …
"And this flower," exclaimed Óin, bending down and deftly picking some buttercups, "is best for treatin' nerve pain and blisters."
"You know a lot about flowers."
Óin smiled in light of the compliment. "Well, flowers have their uses, where medicine is concerned."
"Do you know what they mean?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Flowers. Do you know what they mean?" asked Bifur in Iglishmêk, suddenly taking a step forward. His eyes, Óin noted with surprise, were shining brightly.
The healer's cheeks darkened considerably.
"Er, well," he coughed, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, "if you mean in a symbolic sense, then I can say that I do, though I'm not the world's greatest symbolism expert on every flower and herb that comes me way. Why do you ask, Bifur?"
The axe-embedded Dwarf did not answer.
Instead, with a fluttering heart, he brought his other hand from behind his back to the front.
Óin gasped.
Roses.
In Bifur's hand was a bouquet of roses.
And a stunning colour they were, too: a brilliant, blazing orange colour, like that of the sky when the sun descends on the horizon; like that of a glowing fire that promised warmth and comfort …
But the mere fact that they were roses was what really caught the healer's attention.
And every Dwarf and Dwarrowdam, young and old, and not just healers like him, knew exactly what roses represented …
When Óin looked up at him, their eyes locking, his cheeks a bright pink colour, Bifur – his heart thudding away at a furious pace and his stomach filled with butterflies – knew that his message had been received.
The words of my heart:
I love you, Óin.
Silently, Bifur placed the bouquet into Óin's hands. He very gently touched the Dwarf's gloved fingers with his own, which tingled at the touch. He watched as Óin looked from him, breaking eye contact, to down at the roses that were now his hands. The grey-haired Dwarf stroked the bright petals of one of the roses in silence. A thoughtful expression graced his features.
Bifur patiently watched him.
Waiting.
Finally, the healer looked up at the axe-embedded Dwarf. His mouth curved into a small smile, and his brown eyes shone brightly.
"They're … they're beautiful, Bifur," he said softly. "Magnificent, they are. Although …"
He frowned, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Although what?" Bifur signed, looking worried. At that moment, he could feel his heart threatening – beginning – to drop …
Looking down at the bouquet once more, his frown deepening, Óin said, "They're orange roses. I know for a fact what roses mean, but orange roses? It's quite befuddlin', as I've no idea what they represent. Like I said before, I'm not an expert."
Then, he looked up at the other Dwarf from under his dark lashes. A teasing grin appeared in place of the frown now.
"Unless," he whispered, "you can tell me what they mean, Bifur?"
The black-haired Dwarf, relief instantly flooding his body, felt his face grow warm at the healer's low tone.
But by Mahal, he recognised a challenge when he saw one.
With a grin of his own, Bifur leaned in towards Óin, his mouth close to the healer's right ear, and, in a low whisper of his own, explained the meaning behind the orange roses.
When he withdrew slightly, he was pleased to see a wide grin on Óin's face.
He was even more pleased when the healer gently pulled him forward on one of his braids to plant a kiss on his lips.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Bilbo and the Dwarves were eating lunch – or rather, Bilbo was trying to eat his lunch whilst Dori was arguing with Ori and Dwalin, and Thorin was off somewhere with Gandalf.
Good grief, just when I need Thorin to stage an intervention.
Dori was telling off Ori about his "night-time visitations" to Dwalin's chambers, arguing that the scribe should not be doing such things, especially since he and the warrior Dwarf were not yet married, and saying how disgraceful it all was, and that he was not going to let his youngest brother "get loose" whilst he was around. Little Ori was indignant, claiming he was old enough to make his own decisions, and anyway, if it was such a disgrace between two unmarried Dwarves to sleep together, how come Mister Balin spent his nights in Dori's room? In a (blushing) fury, the eldest Ri roared that Balin wouldn't have to if Ori didn't sneak into his room every night, which he shared with Dwalin – besides, they never did anything they weren't supposed to. Then Dwalin piped up, "How do we know that?". The argument escalated from there, and poor Balin, expected to take the side of either his One or his brother, merely suffered in silence (I'd hate to be in his boots).
Kíli and Bofur backed up Dwalin and Ori, whilst Fíli, Bombur and (surprisingly) Nori were behind Dori (Fíli and Bombur, I can understand, as Fíli is slightly more responsible, and Bombur is married; Nori's probably only backing up Dori because he's not that enthusiastic about Dwalin courting his younger brother).
Surprisingly of all, Glóin was on the fence. On the one hand, Glóin was a married Dwarf, and it was a strict tradition to wait until marriage to "take things to the next level" ("And it's well worth waitin' for," he said gruffly). But, on the other hand, because he was a married Dwarf, Glóin missed his wife and son terribly – would they ever see each other again? Therefore, Ori and Dwalin, as well as Balin and Dori, should have a chance to celebrate their love before it was too late.
At that moment, Bifur and Óin walked in, stopping the argument dead in its tracks.
Bilbo noticed a few things – and, judging by their stunned expressions, the others noticed these things, too.
For one thing, the axe-embedded Dwarf and the healer were holding hands. Another thing: Óin held a bouquet of bright orange roses in the other hand. The last thing? Óin's grey hair was braided into a plait and – to everyone's immense surprise – a few of those orange buds were actually interwoven into his braid.
It was dear Balin that broke the short silence.
"Óin … Bifur … what's going on?" he asked, voicing the same question that lingered in everyone's mind.
The plan worked, right?
The two Dwarves smiled at the advisor.
"You and Ori are not the only ones who are bein' courted," answered Óin, squeezing Bifur's hand.
SUCCESS!
The entire room erupted into cheers and congratulations. Bofur and Bombur embraced their cousin and his One, welcoming the healer to their family, and thereafter Bifur bound up to Bilbo, hugging the proud Hobbit tightly and whispering "Dôlzekh menu" in his ear.
Only Glóin, Bilbo noticed, had yet to do anything. The fiery-haired Dwarf sat in his seat, looking deeply shocked in response to the events that unfolded before him. His mouth was gaping slightly.
Must he look so shocked? But then, if I had a brother who was being courted by someone with an axe in their head, I'd also be worried a bit.
Bofur tugged on Óin's braid, flicking an orange rosebud. "Why's yer hair done up in a braid, then, Óin?"
The healer smiled, blushing faintly as Bifur adjusted a rosebud in his hair; the black-haired Dwarf's locks unsuccessfully hid the blush that crept to his own cheeks. "My hair got a bit … dishevelled whilst we were in the garden. Bifur did it up nicely for me."
"Glóin, are you feeling alright?" asked Bilbo, for Glóin's skin seemed to turn a shade of green. "You look ill …"
"I'm fine," he muttered, swallowing hard. "Give me a … few seconds … to collect m'self …"
Looks like you need more than a few seconds …
Just then, a tall figure appeared in the doorway – it was Lindir, Lord Elrond's assistant.
But it was obvious that something was terribly wrong with him: the fair Elf looked absolutely pale – paler than usual, anyway. He was breathing heavily and trembling somewhat.
When he laid his eyes on the Dwarves – on Bifur and Óin, specifically – his eyes widened, and his face contorted as his skin, too, turned a shade of green. With a loud groan before slapping a hand over his mouth, Lindir spun on his heels and ran out, his hair flying out behind him.
A short silence occurred.
"What's wrong with him?" said Kíli, looking highly confused.
Here, both Bifur and Óin looked at each other, and their cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
"He, er, caught the two of us in, uh, Elrond's flowerbeds," the healer eventually said. "It was quite, um, a shock for him …"
They didn't …!
Bifur could only grin sheepishly in response, flicking off a purple flower petal that was caught in his hair.
The penny dropped a few seconds later, and the Dwarves and Bilbo just stared at each other in silence for several seconds.
They did.
Finally, Bofur broke the silence with a casual, "Ah, now that gives a new meanin' to the word "flowerbed"."
Crash!
The sound of Glóin falling to the ground in a dead faint made everyone jump.
As Bifur rushed to help up his future brother-in-law, with Óin on his heels, all Bilbo could think of was:
Looks like Glóin will be backing up Dori now.
The stars shone brightly in the Rivendell night sky. Their luminous glow lit up the garden, which only served to enhance its beauty (save for a couple of wrecked flowerbeds). The sounds of the nearby waterfall proved soothing to the Hobbit's ears as he made his way up to his quarters, passing by the balcony.
Of course, Bilbo stopped when he overheard Gandalf and Lord Elrond talking about Thorin a little farther away from him.
But he didn't expect to turn around to find the Dwarf in question standing behind him.
Good grief, now you decide to make an appearance?
Their gazes locked momentarily, but Thorin's eyes darted back to the two figures below as they spoke about – what was it? – the madness in his family; his orbs hardened somewhat.
It mustn't be easy to hear all of this.
When the voices of the Wizard and the Elf could no longer be heard, Bilbo inwardly sighed as he turned around.
The dark-haired Dwarf's head was bowed slightly. His ice-blue eyes were cast downwards, yet they still managed to catch the light of the stars.
And though Bilbo was reluctant to admit it, they looked very fine …
Blue, my child, he could hear his mother's voice saying, encourages communication and peace, with yourself or with others, and it also speaks of how we feel …
"Thorin?"
Thorin looked up. He narrowed his eyes at the Hobbit, who gulped in response to the Dwarf's hardened expression.
"Are you alright?" he asked, hesitating.
Thorin didn't reply immediately. Instead, he took a large step forward …
… and Bilbo took a step back, until his lower back was pressed against the railing of the balcony.
"I didn't intend for you to hear those things, Master Baggins," said the dark-haired Dwarf in a low tone. "I would rather you had heard it from me."
"I-Is that why you were standing there behind me?" asked Bilbo softly, trying to contain his trembling. "Y-You wanted to speak to me about all of that?"
"No … I wanted to talk about something else …"
A pause.
"I heard that Bifur is courting Óin now," said Thorin, frowning, "and if I'm not mistaken, despite my warning the other day, I assume you had something to do with it."
Oh, for the love of everything …!
Bilbo let out a sigh before he could stop it. "Look, Bifur asked me for help. I couldn't just refuse –"
"Did I not say before that the only reason you're here is because you are a burglar?" Thorin barked, the Hobbit flinching at his words. "You are here only because Gandalf has faith in your thieving abilities! Instead, I find myself speaking to someone who is posing a serious threat to this Company! This entire matchmaking business of yours is making everyone lose their focus, and it's maddening to think about!"
"What? Now wait a moment …"
But Thorin took another step forward, leaning down into the Hobbit's face as he whispered dangerously, "This isn't some sort of bonding trip, Master Baggins – this is a serious quest to reclaim Erebor and the treasures that lie within that mountain. But you don't seem to care. That would not bother me in the slightest, if not for the fact that the others are now starting to think the same."
"They're not," Bilbo said softly, mustering up his courage to look Thorin dead in the eye. "They still support you, but they also just realised that there's also more to risking their lives for the sake of treasure."
He paused. "And you're wrong, you know … I do care."
Thorin stared at the Hobbit.
Bilbo, amazed at his own strength, stared back.
Damn those eyes …
Then, the Dwarf took a step back. The light in his eyes dimmed as he rumbled, "We leave Rivendell at first light. I suggest you think about what I said tonight, burglar."
Without so much as a "good evening", Thorin turned around and walked away into the shadows of the night.
Ice-blue … I'm willing to bet Bofur's hat that it doesn't encourage good communication and peace …
A/N: Melekûn! - Hobbit/Halfling!; Jemut men, achrâchi gabilul. Kahomhîlizu- I'm sorry, excuse me. Please -; Dôlzekh menu - Thank you; Baknd ghelekh - Good morning.
Also: peonies represent love and honour and are an omen of happiness and good marriage; buttercups represents self-worth and the power of words; lime blossoms ... oh golly, I'd advise you to look that up in your spare time. :)
Don't ask me what exactly Bifur and Óin were doing in Elrond's flowerbeds; ask Lindir. XD All I can say is, Óin's hair got dishevelled for a good reason. XD To enhance the romantic mood whilst reading the exchange between Bifur and Óin, I suggest listening to Seal's "Kiss From A Rose" and feel the love. And yes, Glóin fainted (Bofur and his remarks ...). For a bonus, majestic, emotionally-constipated Thorin and in-denial Bilbo for all.
Next: Bofur/Nori!
Happy Easter!
*~AI07~* :)
