Sorry about the delay and stuff, but I lost my inspiration for a bit, and things happened, but I'm trying to get back into it now :)
I've also realised a mistake I've made – Bifur can speak Khuzdul (and does in the film) and for some reason I hadn't noticed it. I'm not sure how, but I'll try to fix it But from now on, Bifur can speak Khuzdul, so words in italic with speech marks are Khuzdul (which is quite a lot of words, considering that dwarves would generally speak it amongst themselves).
Thanks again to harrylee94 for generally being awesome, and I hope you all enjoy the chapter :)
...
The days dragged on for Bofur, especially since he had very little to occupy his time. His vision was improving, but was doing so very slowly, meaning he couldn't help with clearing Erebor and so took odd jobs wherever he could; mending clothes, carving wooden tools, fletching arrows, sharpening axes. Occasionally Thorin would ask him to a trade meeting with the men or elves, and Bofur suspected that was because of his interactions with several individuals of each race.
Most days, Bofur found it in himself to be cheerful, or at least pretend to be cheerful, and ignore the pain inside him. Most people thought him happy and content with the fate he could not change. But on some days, it was an effort to get out of bed, to eat breakfast, to go out and do whatever job he had to do that day. On days like that, Bofur felt useless, and a burden on his friends and family, and he had moments where he believed it would have been better if the warg had killed him, rather than leaving him to live this cursed half life he now lived. On days like that, when he couldn't cope anymore, Bifur would hold his cousin as he sobbed his heart out, and Bofur would sob more because he was sobbing, and only dwarves in deep mourning cried, and his cousin must think him such a failure. But Bifur held him, hurt for him, and understood.
But week by week, Bofur's eyesight improved. After a few months, he began to be able to see things other than just fires and torches, and in enough light could even make out silhouettes of his brothers and friends. He continued to use his walking stick to get around, and took numerous trips outside with Magpie, Shianne, Bilbo, or any of his friends who found the time, since Bofur had found that lying in the newly-growing grass with the sun on his face helped to chase away his depression and feelings of uselessness.
Around five months since he first saw the fire, Bofur began to see even clearer, and, in daylight or other bright light, he could just about see the faces and clothes of those around him. This meant that when a message came to say the Lady Dís and the requested rebuilders were only a week away, Bofur decided to go out and meet them, along with the rest of the Company, who had all recovered now. The toymaker both hoped for and dreaded seeing Hánif, who would probably be arriving with the rest of the stonemasons.
The day the travellers were spotted in the distance, making it a couple of days until they actually arrived, each member of the company was presented with well-made clothes of a rich material, commissioned by Thorin, so that everyone present would be able to recognise a member of the Company when they saw one, and give him honour.
(Bilbo was still with them, and had sent messages to the Shire saying he was well, though he seemed to have begun longing for home. Now that Bofur no longer needed a guide, Bilbo often acted as Thorin's guide, which he sometimes needed when tired.)
The Company stood by the gates of Erebor ready to greet Lady Dís and those who accompanied her. Bofur stood between his brother and his cousin, the latter of whom had a gentle hold of his elbow in case he stumbled or wished to move. Then the procession began; first Lady Dís and her guards, then numerous different craftsmen and women, all of whom bowed to the Company, then to the princes, then to Thorin and Bilbo. Bofur watched them all pass by without focusing on any particular dwarf, half thinking that, if Hánif had come, she would greet him, and half thinking she wouldn't. At one point, Bofur could have sworn, and would have bet a good amount of his now large fortune on it, that he saw Hánif pass by, but the dwarf merely continued as all the others did, and paid him no special attention.
...
The following day, when the newcomers were settled, a celebration was held to welcome them before they began to work on restoring the mountain. The morning of the celebration, Thorin paid Bofur a visit.
"Cousin, you have a visitor."
"Who?"
"The King."
"Well I can hardly refuse to see him, can I?"
Bofur caught sight of another person stepping into the room.
"I suppose you can't, but I hope I'm more than just your King, Bofur."
"Of course you are. Now sit."
"Being commanded by my own subjects! What will happen next?" Bofur could hear the smile in Thorin's voice.
"As your host it's polite of me to offer you a seat."
"You did a bit more than just offer me one."
Bofur smiled slightly, shook his head, and waved the comment off.
"Which meeting do you want me to come to this time, Thorin?"
"None; I want you to take a position that has been vacant since the fall of Erebor. It would be yours for as long as you want it, and ideal for someone with your..."
"My infirmity."
"I didn't say that."
"Even so." Bofur paused. "What position is it then?"
"Royal musician."
"What would I have to do?"
"Nothing more than lead the music arrangements for large events like the one tonight, and perhaps play for the Company at smaller events."
Bofur nodded and a small smile ghosted across his face. "Aye, I think I can do that."
"Then I will see you tonight."
"Aye."
Thorin left soon after.
...
By that evening, Bofur had managed to gather a number of musicians – although they all wanted to dance as well, they each promised to play the songs they weren't dancing, and Bofur was sure that members of the Company would also want to play.
After the feast (during which there was no music because it would easily have been drowned out by the chatter of a couple of hundred dwarves and a large number of men), Bofur picked up his instruments, signalled to the other musicians, took up his position, and began to play.
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with weary feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
The Road goes ever on and on
Out from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
Let others follow it who can!
Let them a journey new begin,
But I at last with weary feet
Will turn towards the lighted inn,
My evening-rest and sleep to meet.
Bofur didn't bother to pay attention to his audience, like he normally used to, instead he focused on enjoying the music, and letting that calm him.
Cold blows the wind o'er my true love,
Cold blow the drops of rain
I never had but one true love
And in Greenwood he lies slain
I'll do as much for my true love
As any young girl may
I'll sit and weep down by his grave
For twelve months and a day
But when twelve months they were up and gone
This young man, he arose
What makes you sit by my grave and weep?
I can't take my repose
One kiss, one kiss from your lily-white lips
One kiss is all I crave
One kiss, one kiss from your lily-white lips
Then return back to your grave
These lips, they are as cold as clay
My breath is heavy and strong
If you were to kiss these lily-white lips
Your life would not be long
Oh don't you remember the garden grove
Where once we used to walk
Go pick the finest flower of the morn
It will wither to a stalk
Go fetch me a flower from the dungeon deep
Bring water from a stone
Bring white milk from a virgin's breast
That baby never bore none
Go dig me a grave both wide and deep
Do it as quick as you may
That I may lay down and take a long sleep
For twelve months and a day
When Thorin signalled for songs to dance to, Bofur quickly obliged.
I am the fountain of affection
The instrument of joy
We'll keep the good times rolling
I'm the boy, I'm the boy
I say the world will be our oyster
You can put your trust in me
We'll keep the good times rolling
Wait and see, wait and see
Wait and see
Exaltation
Sweet disintegration
A few discolourations
When it comes on strong
Up is what he chooses
The kisses and the bruises
There's nothing he refuses
When it comes along
It comes along
And I am lifted
I am lifted, I am lifted
When I'm up I can't get down
Can't get down, can't get level
When I'm up I can't get down
Get my feet back on the ground
When I'm up I can't get down
Can't get down, can't get level
When I'm up I can't get down
Get my feet back on the ground
Something to blind him
Something to wind him up
Won't take long to find him
And it comes along
Wise guys are grinning
Firelight is spinning
The night is just beginning
And it comes on strong
Comes on strong
And I am lifted
I am lifted, I am lifted
When I'm up I can't get down
Can't get down, can't get level
When I'm up I can't get down
Get my feet back on the ground
When I'm up I can't get down
Can't get down, can't get level
When I'm up I can't get down
Get my feet back on the ground
I am the fountain of affection
You can put your trust in me
We'll keep the good times rolling
Wait and see, wait and see.
The next song they played was one Bofur had chosen especially for the men of Laketown.
Way down south where the whale-fish blow
Way down in Florida
The girls all dance to the roll-and-go
And we'll roll the woodpile down
When I was a young man in my prime
Way down in Florida
I was courting pretty girls two at a time
And we'll roll the woodpile down
Rolling! Rolling! Rolling the whole world 'round
That fine girl of mine's on the Georgia Line
And we'll roll the woodpile down
But now I'm old and getting grey
Way down in Florida
I can only manage one a day
And we'll roll the woodpile down
Rolling! Rolling! Rolling the whole world 'round
That fine girl of mine's on the Georgia Line
And we'll roll the woodpile down
We'll haul 'em high and we'll haul 'em low
We'll bust their blocks and away we'll go
Oh "rouse 'em, buster!" is the cry
A poor man's wage is never high
Rolling! Rolling! Rolling the whole world 'round
That fine girl of mine's on the Georgia Line
And we'll roll the woodpile down
Rolling! Rolling! Rolling the whole world 'round
That fine girl of mine's on the Georgia Line
And we'll roll the woodpile down
That fine girl of mine's on the Georgia Line
And we'll roll the woodpile down
Bofur went to bed late that night, and while he'd enjoyed himself, he couldn't be happy, because he couldn't stop thinking about Hánif: knowing it was unlikely she had stayed in the Blue Mountains, he assumed that she was either too busy to see him, or no longer cared for him. Bofur couldn't dispel his fear that it was the latter.
...
The Old Walking Song was written by Tolkien, and Cold Blows the Wind and Roll the Woodpile Down are Bellowhead songs. When I'm Up I Can't get Down is sung by Oysterband.
Sorry this chapter isn't very good – I've been having problems with this bit, and probably will do for the next few chapters (part of the reason I took a break from writing), but there's parts I'm really excited to get to (alas they are far in the future) so will keep writing to get to those bits.
Reviews welcome, though there isn't really much to say about this chapter, being honest :p
I'm afraid I can't make promises about when the next chapter will be, mainly because I don't yet know what will happen in it, plus I fractured my finger on Saturday, so am having to type one-handed
Also, if any of you lovely readers know some good dwarvish names you'd like to see in this story please tell me them, because I need name for characters who will turn up :p