"Chapter 9"

A/N: Switching the view of the story to Bofur's temporarily! I'm so glad you all are still enjoying the story, and hopefully you'll like this chapter just as much.

Seafarer: I do believe that Thorin is quite taken with our little hobbit, and (gasp) it's not a slash story! To be perfectly honest I wrote this also as a protest as the several "Thilbo" slash stories that are written. Can't we have an enjoyable hurt/comfort story that isn't slash? And keeping you wondering about this story is my revenge—I feel the same way with "Trouble With Bracegirdles"! ;)

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The day after a wounding was always the hardest, Bofur knew. The skin and muscles around the torn skin would stiffen, and it only became worse the larger the wound. Bilbo's nephew was no exception. Frodo had slept surprisingly soundly over the night, with Bilbo wrapped around him, holding him close as to keep nightly terrors away, but when the little one had woken it had been to a stiffened, aching back that wouldn't even allow him to raise his arms up to shoulder-level. Bofur had been sure from where he stood watching that this would finally garner some kind of sound from the lad, but even though Frodo's mouth was drawn with obvious pain, he swallowed down his voice and did nothing but look at his uncle as if asking Bilbo to make it stop.

Such an open plea made Bilbo's own mouth wrench with his own sense of agony, made worse by the very cruel and very simple fact that he couldn't make it stop.

But perhaps Bofur could help. He hated seeing the lad in such a state and kneeled beside the two hobbits. "I'm sure I can mix together something to at least dull the pain, if that's alright with you," he said quietly.

Bilbo turned a hopeful expression his way. "Would you?" he asked in relief; but then he frowned a little. "How would you know what to make that would dull the pain?"

Bofur grinned. "Very simple, Burglar," he said. "I've hurt myself several times carpenting—comes with the territory, you might say. I've had to dull my nerves to keep working."

Now Bilbo looked horrified. "Not ale, surely!" he protested.

The accusation made Bofur chuckle. "No, not ale," he replied, "though once we reach Erebor that may change." He winked down at Frodo, who was still silently watching their friendly sparring in confusion.

"I'll have you know," Bilbo sniffed with his old sense of stuffy decorum, "that my lad is not even of age yet. Minors in the Shire may have a half-mug of ale there, but I'll run you down before I let Frodo have a taste of that liquid fire you call a drink!" But there was the barest hint of a smile hidden in his frown that spoke of his own sense of humor in their discussion.

"Ah, you're just sore that you couldn't hold yours when you tried it," Bofur replied calmly, and he stood. "I'll go get something together for your boy. Be back soon."

He searched in the woods surrounding their hidden campsite, searching for the herbs that would help. As he searched, he was joined by Dwalin, who had followed him silently.

"It is good for our Burglar that we found his lad alive," Dwalin said gruffly, and his fingers absent-mindedly brushed the hilt of his sword.

Bofur nodded, focusing on his search. Grunting in satisfaction when he found what he was looking for, he drew his dagger and carefully cut off the head of the plant. "Good for us, too," he grunted, standing. "Our king needs hobbits in his life again, even if he won't admit it." He glanced meaningfully at the other Dwarf. "I assume we're all in this together, then?"

Dwalin nodded. "We'll get Thorin to lift Bilbo's banishment."

Bofur smiled thoughtfully, thinking about a certain young, dark-haired halfling. "I don't think we'll have to work too hard on that."

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Mixing the herbs into a broth-like drink was easy.

Convincing Frodo to drink it was another matter entirely. The young hobbit stubbornly refused to open his mouth, eyeing the cup distrustfully even as Bilbo told him it was perfectly safe. "It's just to dull the pain, dearling," he murmured, running his fingers through his nephew's dark hair. "We've all had to take it before." But when Frodo still refused to drink, Bilbo became unnaturally stern. "Frodo Baggins, what would your mother think of you refusing things that helped you?"

To the Dwarves' confusion, the young hobbit flinched as if Bilbo had cursed him, a confusion only deepened when he listened to his uncle. Bofur thought that the older hobbit's remark had drudged up a mountain of old anguish that dealt purely with the emotional but did not want to ask about it while in Frodo's presence, a choice only strengthened by the miserable look on Bilbo's face after he said it.

"Will it be too hard for him to ride?" Thorin asked Bofur from where he stood watching.

Bofur thought about it carefully. "I don't think it will," he said slowly, "if he rides in front of us—but he must be facing the person he's with, otherwise it'll cause more aggravation to his back."

So when they set out on their ponies, Bilbo hitched a ride behind Bofur until they could stop and purchase an extra pony; and Frodo rode with Thorin as he was most familiar with the Dwarf-king. From his position in front of Thorin, the little one could watch behind him, and Bofur saw his eyes frequently looking at those behind. His gaze mysteriously seemed to skip Bilbo every time, and Bofur realized with a sinking heart that maybe Bilbo's choice words had done some damage after all, if the nephew had lost some kind of trust in his uncle. There was a sudden listlessness in Frodo's eyes now, something that Bofur did not like.

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"You brought up his dead mother?" Thorin asked blankly several hours later. The small company had stopped for the night, having made it several miles already. The Dwarves were seated around a small but warm fire; Frodo had fallen asleep and Bofur had taken his chance to ask about what had caused his nephew's strange reaction.

Bilbo nodded miserably. "I felt wretched doing so,' he replied quietly, "but I didn't know what else to say."

"Well, it sure wasn't the right thing!" Dwalin snapped from where he stood.

"He's right," Nori agreed, looking at Bilbo as if he'd never seen him before.

"What was so bad about it, then?" Bilbo asked stiffly, miffed that they were so mysterious in their reactions.

Thorin's face was bleak as he looked away, and Dwalin and Nori refused to speak. Finally, Bofur sighed. "Bilbo, the lad's just been rescued from a highly traumatic circumstance in his part," he explained as gently as he could.

"You think I don't know that-?!" Bilbo started to exclaim, looking furious at this perceived accusation.

"You must not, if you said that to him," Dwalin growled.

"He means, Baggins," Thorin interjected with a warning glance at Dwalin, "is that you made a grave mistake in bringing up such a sore subject. An innocent child being threatened with death by his captives on a daily basis is then reminded of his earlier loss by a loved family member?" He shook his head. "Right now, your lad must be wishing he was with his mother instead of suffering with us."