Four

Bofur will never have children.

It isn't a fact that bothers him much at all. Some Dwarves simply never feel any compulsion to marry or have offspring, and for Bofur, there are more important things in life. It doesn't mean he dislikes youngsters, of course, especially when they are as bright and personable as Thorin's young nephews - he actually quite enjoys spending time with them, when the opportunity arises.

It's been obvious from the beginning of their journey that young Kíli is a bit out of his depth, and Bofur sympathises. It is always difficult to leave home for the first time, and they leave in such a rush that the poor lad is half dragged off his feet. As it turns out, he carries his brother's pack, so the clothes and weapons and daily necessities are not even his own. It is a difficult beginning, and as he struggles to find his feet, Bofur does his best to help where he can. He grows fond of the lad in short order, and Kíli settles down as they travel.

Four months into the journey, Kíli is beginning to find his feet. He can set traps and prepare basic food as well as any other Dwarf in their company, and they have found his eyesight keener than any others. Thorin often sends him up to a lookout point to scout ahead - though, Bofur notes with a hidden smile, their leader watches anxiously until his nephew is back on solid ground again. What happened to Fíli is clearly enough to make Thorin wary of the combination of heights and young Dwarves.

They all take it in turns to help teach him skills. Dwalin insists the lad learn basic self-defense, and spars with him in the evenings, wearing down his young energy with the solid patience of age and experience. Kíli learns, and grows stronger. Thorin teaches him to wield a bow and arrow, but quickly stops the lessons, as it becomes obvious that Kíli has a natural gift for that particular weapon. He is a better shot than any of them within a month, and they all breathe easier knowing that he is capable of looking after himself, should they come to do battle along the road. Bofur keeps his eyes open, and collects likely-looking pieces of wood along the way, until he has carefully constructed a suitable gift. He gives the lad a bow and a quiver full of arrows of his own, and brushes aside thanks. They all do what they can to help.

It's a strange thing, he muses, watching a youngster grow into his own skin. The journey changes them all - but Kíli has been so altered by it as to be almost a different Dwarf. The constant exposure to the sun has darkened his skin and lightened his hair, and the training and physical demands have added solid muscle to the lad's lanky frame. He stands taller and laughs louder, daring to join in the conversations of his companions with increasing amounts of sparkling wit and wild humour. He is a good traveling companion, aside from his main usefulness to their quest.

Bofur is deeply uncomfortable with that, at first. He has never personally known Dwarves who share a soul-link, and Thorin tells them all from the beginning that his nephews share an uncommonly close bond. The moment he realises that Kíli's odd, absorbed look as he hums deep in his throat is him talking to his brother from far away, Bofur feels self-conscious, and tries to avoid talking to him at those times.

That is before he understands that Kíli is nearly continually in touch with his brother.

For the first few weeks, he doubts there is a single moment where Kíli is not pushing some sight or sound or feeling toward far-off Fíli They all learn when they can interrupt and when they will not even be heard, as Kíli's attention wavers back and forth between the outer world and the secret universe of the lads' shared souls. When he is not directly linked, Kíli talks of little else but his brother.

But all things change, with time.

It is a slow change, hard to notice at first. Kíli's attention is with them more and more, and the distant hum that has marked his conversations with his brother is no longer a constant in Bofur's ear. He relays the official messages between Thorin and his contacts at home faithfully, every morning and evening - and then every morning, and then every other morning.

Kíli updates Thorin on the news from home, and they all crowd around to listen every time, hoping to hear something of their loved ones. Bofur asks Kíli to pass messages to Bombur, hoping his younger brother is doing well - and is thrilled beyond measure when Kíli's eyes fly wide open one day, his face breaking into a brilliant grin.

"Fíli says Bombur's wife has safely delivered her latest! A girl, more's the fortune!"

"Thank the maker!" Bofur breathes, and then goes to break out the beer in celebration. He offers some to Kíli, and they all roar in delighted amusement when the lad winds up as drunk as any of them, joining them in their songs with no regard for tune or proper traditional wordings. It is a good evening - but Bofur never sees Kíli's face go carefully blank, or hears the song that means he is sharing the world with his brother. It makes something in him feel uncomfortable, and more than a little sad.

Thorin never promises them any sort of safety, and those who have come to know him do not expect it any longer. It is not even a surprise when they are attacked - more of a certainty, Bofur knows, and hauls out his mattock with a sigh. It takes a moment to get into the feel of a fight, and he lets his blood come up to a boil as he takes stock. Their attackers are Men - wild, tangle-haired brutes with no intent to do anything but harm to them. It is not the first time he has faced such an enemy, and he knows it will not be the last. He could almost pity them for choosing their targets so poorly. Any marauders who think that taking on Thorin and Dwalin together is a wise option are not overly blessed with wits.

Dwalin has been spoiling for a fight, and throws himself into the fray with a roar of violent laughter; Thorin is only a step behind him, but he pauses long enough to push Kíli toward Bofur. The message comes across clear enough, even without a soul-link to carry it through. Bofur glues himself to the lad's side, and they stick to the edge of the fray, picking off those who come in range of his mattock.

"What do I do?" Kíli's voice is a cry of near panic, and Bofur tries not to grin. A first battle is an unforgettable thing, and the lad deserves to do himself proud in this one.

"Take your time, lad. Best not to move until you see your opening." He smashes the sword out of a Man's hand as the ruffian gets too close - and it doesn't even deserve to be called a sword. He glances over at the lad, who is watching the fight intently, eyes wide, but not frightened. Thorin will be proud.

Dwalin gives a roar of anger, and Bofur spins to see a nightmare sight. One of the Men is advancing on Thorin, sword upraised, as Thorin struggles with two other huge brutes. Dwalin is too far away. Everyone is too far away.

"No!" Kíli gasps, and he is a sudden explosion of motion at Bofur's side. He has an arrow to his bow in an instant, and draws back to his cheek, arms shaking with fear and strain.

"Breathe!" Bofur shouts, and Kíli gives one jerky nod, exhales, and steadies himself. One more breath - and he looses the arrow, straight and true. The Man who had been about to take Thorin's head off gives a harsh yell, dropping his sword, and Bofur breathes again. The arrow is lodged in his shoulder.

The Men are gone in a minute, those who have survived the encounter, and Thorin comes directly to Kíli, looking him over for injuries. Kíli is wild-eyed and breathless, staring at his own hands. Thorin grabs hold of his shoulders, breathing a sigh of relief as he sees the lad is well. Bofur drops his mattock and shakes the tension from his shoulders. Not a bad fight, all things considered.

"You did well," Thorin tells Kíli, pressing a comforting hand to the back of his head. "Did you aim for his shoulder?"

"Yes," Kíli admits. He looks half-wild. "I didn't want to kill anyone."

"Next time, make it a kill shot," Thorin advises. "Not all enemies will run at the first prick of an arrow, lad."

Kíli nods jerkily, and then they must move again. They pick up everything of use and move on, a small group in a very big land, and Bofur keeps close to Kíli as best he can while they move at speed. He is quiet at first, and when he starts talking, it seems he may never stop again. By the time they stop for the evening, Bofur suspects he has heard Kíli's thoughts on just about every philosophical question that has ever occurred to the lad. Kíli is asleep before dinner that night, and Thorin plants himself immovably next to the lad.

Bofur lets him be the next morning, until Kíli wanders back to him on the road, seemingly happy to pick up their conversation where he left off. Bofur lets him talk a bit, and then nudges him with a crooked grin.

"And what's your brother have to say about you playing the hero, then? I suppose he's proud enough to burst!"

Kíli stops dead and looks at him, face going a bit pale in surprise. "I didn't tell him!"

"You forgot to mention such a thing?" Bofur is honestly surprised. "Too busy with the pleasantries and local gossip? Or were you not ready to talk about it yet?"

"I haven't spoken to him," Kíli says. He blinks, and blinks again. "I forgot."

It has been four months.

If I ever write something purely happy, you must all take me to have my head examined. Hope you are enjoying, my darling ducks!