Bofur's POV

I suppose I don't mind the elves, not really. Or, at least I don't mind them so much as the other, older dwarves of higher stock than I. They're a bit… frilly for my tastes, of course, and I can scarcely hold a conversation with one for a minute without it turning to something I've little care for, but there is no hatred there, not like what I see in Dwalin's or Thorin's or even Balin's eyes. I can only guess that it's a royal thing, and I haven't got an ounce of high blood in me.

I'm a miner from a family of miners; I never even saw Erebor in its prime, much less lived there. The same can be said for my brother and my cousin, really; we're from a simple world, we three, one where feuds with elves are far less of a concern than the next good meal or a toy well-carved or a gem pulled from the earth and polished to a fine gleam.

I'm perfectly able to admit that just then I was very annoyed with them, though. Mostly but one of them, a pretty girl with hands on Bilbo's cheeks, gazing down into his eyes like the most star crossed of lovers.

He and I had been in one of the elven castle's many foyers, you see, having a smoke, since the both of us had run out of pipe weed within the first week's travel. I don't quite recall what we were chatting about, only that it was mundane and familiar and amusing, like all of my conversations with him. Beyond Ori, I was likely the only one who'd quite liked him from the start, you see; he was good conversation, and never before had I met anyone who flustered so easily.

I mean, to pass out at a mere mention of a dragon! And when we quested to kill one, no less! I couldn't even imagine a story more ridiculous, and yet… there was something about the little hobbit, I supposed, something that made me think he was perhaps more than he appeared.

Thorin saw it too, were I to take a guess; I'm far from an expert on royals, but the way he's been pacing about and growling and snarling… well, he likes Bilbo too, although I think he'd sooner cut off his beard than admit it. Or I could always cut it off for him, if he didn't deal with this… with this… well, with this ought to suffice.

The elven girl tilted her head, still gazing intently down at his eyes, and Bilbo's lips twitched amusedly as she did so.

"Liron was right; you have Belladonna's eyes. Took through and through, hm?" He laughed.

"Not quite, I'm afraid; I'm half Baggins as well. I inherited Bag End." Her eyes, so pale as to be nearly colorless, widened a moment, before at last she nodded.

"I suppose I can see that too. The skin, you know; you are a bit pale for a Took. Belladonna was a lovely woman, you know; I always treasured her visits. The last she came here, I believe she was pregnant with you." I watched, curious; Bilbo hadn't really mentioned his family, and from what I saw, he lived alone in his hole in the ground. He smiled very faintly, his eyes going far away as the elf at last released her hold on his face and took a step back.

"She was amazing. Her passing was… well, I'm sure you know enough about that! In any case, it was quite a shock, my Tookishness emerging again! And in such a case! Why, I should've liked to start a bit smaller, with the adventures, but I could hardly refuse!" She nodded, looking a bit considering before she gestured that he take his seat again, and then did the same herself, taking the empty chair at his other side. I knew I should've invited Bifur along with us; I'm sure she'd have not come to bother us then! Nearly all the elves are terrified of him now, after all, for something or another he did a few days before. I still wished I knew how he'd managed that; it would've been nice to know, just then, as my conversation with him faded into the ether and he began one with her.

They spoke of things I didn't know; green fields and the things that grew in them, ceramics and sweet things and laces. I felt a fool, then; I realized all of a sudden that the extent of what I knew could scarcely fill a page. As I'd said, I was a miner, nothing more; I knew little beyond that, and would likely continue to know little beyond it until my dying day.

I gazed into the fire, puffing softly on the pipe (and they did have a good pipe weed blend, the elves; I couldn't deny that) as Bilbo chattered, until suddenly he fell silent. I felt his eyes burn into me, probing but light and airy as the rest of him.

"Bofur, are you well? It's not often that I catch sight of you frowning," he told me, worry in his eyes, and the elven woman only watched, now silent herself at last.

"I'm alright," I said, "Just nothing much to say." More worry, and he pursed his lip like a dwarfling before he at last began to smile at me.

"Ah, I'm sorry; I'm sure the history of the Shire holds little interest for you. You're from the Blue Mountains, aren't you? Why don't you tell me about them? Bombur mentioned something, once or twice, about the fine kitchens." I felt myself begin to smile again without truly meaning to; Bilbo had that way about him, I supposed, made anyone feel welcome and included.

I spoke without being truly aware of the words I was saying, falling into old stories like nothing at all, and Bilbo and the elven woman joined in as if this had always been the topic. I began to like her a bit more as we spoke, at least; she wasn't rude, like some of the elves had been, and I realized quite quickly that she was ancient, having come into being many hundreds of years before Smaug even thought to claim Erebor. Really, she only seemed to find us both to be novelties, fleeting amusements to wile away her decades. She was even a bit funny, periodically; my only complaint was that she touched Bilbo a tad too much, and that was less for myself as for Thorin, because from what I'd seen and heard, he was getting quite close to being willing to bite off the hand of the next elf that stepped in the same room as the poor hobbit.

I knew he was worried about him leaving, I did; even I was, a little. He was obviously happy here in a way I hadn't seen him since he'd chased after our ponies, and I could imagine he'd be far safer here than with us, but… he didn't seem the type, really. He'd come to like all of us, in a way, at least from what I could tell.

But, as I said, I am only a miner; I can admit that I don't understand all of what has happened. Perhaps there is something to be worried over, I haven't a clue; even still, Bilbo is my friend, and near enough to kin. If staying here would bring him happiness, I had but precious few complaints.

Even still, he and I and the elf spoke long into the night, sometimes about things I didn't know, but Bilbo didn't allow me to drift away; he kept me engaged with quiet questions, his eyes alight with curiosity, and even as I yawned widely and almost painfully I didn't want the evening to end.

The elf never even mentioned having Bilbo stay! From what I'd heard, it was as if every last one of them were conspiring to keep him! I wondered, was it some sort of culture clash, a misunderstanding? Perhaps; or, perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps I'd just found the only truly decent one of them in the bunch. I sighed and as even the moonlight began to fade from the room, I at last stood.

"Shall we go to bed now, Bilbo? I'm sure we'll have plenty to do come morning," I said, and he nodded, yawning himself.

"Yes; Dwalin, I believe, is teaching me some swordplay. Would you like to join us, Bofur?" I played at being offended.

"Oh, you think I can't handle a sword, eh?" He flushed, but whether it was with embarrassment or annoyance I'm not sure.

"Oh! Well, of course you can, Bofur, but I thought you might-," I chuckled, cutting him off with a shake of my head as we walked out of the foyer, the elf scarcely murmuring a goodbye behind us, and went towards the wing where our rooms awaited us.

"I know, Bilbo; I was joking. I'd be glad to join you," I said, and he grinned like a firefly, all warm light and pure happiness.

"Oh, that's good! Meet me by my rooms when you wake up, then; we'll have breakfast and then go down to the courtyard. Thank you for a lovely evening, by the way, Bofur," he said as we reached his door. I blinked.

"No trouble, Bilbo." He shook his head, smiling.

"No, truly! It seems as though the moment I've come here something has happened every night! I'm not… entirely sure of all of it, of course, but… well, you dwarves have been acting a bit funny, and some of the elves who greeted me upon my arrival seem almost afraid to even look at me now! Not to mention all the hostility between them and you all! Tonight was refreshing, being able to speak to you and an old friend of my mother's. You deserve thanks for that." He gave a thin, half-smile and hugged me once with all his strength, and honestly, there was little I could do but return it despite not being certain I even deserved it.

After all, I'd been lost much of the time, floating only on words without knowing the meaning behind them, for much of the night. I'd likely cursed the elven woman almost as much as anyone in the Company in just one night. Of course, I didn't plan to say as much; I liked Bilbo, really I did, and I saw no reason to upset him further. After all, I was certain that the rest of the Company couldn't keep their… actions hidden for too terribly much longer, and we'd surely all get plenty of trouble then! I chuckled as I opened my door and fell upon my bed. My last thought before I fell into sleep was that I might be a miner, I might know next to nothing beyond my name and my craft, but at least I had brains enough to see the firestorm on the horizon when Bilbo managed to get all the pieces together. And I certainly wasn't the one who'd been doing the fighting. Or, at least, not most of it, and never when Bilbo was around. I hoped at least he wouldn't do too much to Bombur and Bifur; they were family, after all.