Meats were sizzling, root vegetables peeled and bubbling furiously in pots. Spices, poured carelessly or with too much vigor, were carried tantalizingly on the air. He could hear the sound, at a distant table, of someone wielding a rolling pin.
As Bombur crossed the threshold, a woman stooped and she reached, and when she opened the door before her all the rest of it was blanketed over with the thick buttery smell of bread.
Midwinter had gripped the Mountain.
The kitchens of Erebor were filled, filled with people working in harmony, singing, chattering, laughing. All busy about their hands and the making of good things.
Bombur remembered other winters. Winters that had been cold, or hungry. Some, that had been warm and happy. None that equaled the splendor of the Mountain. A splendor that grew by the year.
Next to him, a youth was stirring a large bowl.
Bombur knew better. Dís would not hesitate to bruise knuckles with her spoon, and Bofur would chase him off. But Bofur nor Dís were here…
He chanced a glance over the side.
Perfection stared back at him.
When the boy glanced aside, Bombur snagged a lump of dough.
It was sweet and soft and wondrously wrought.
The boy looked back. His eyes laughed and Bombur knew it had been done for his benefit. Another Dwarf might have been embarrassed.
The young baker smiled. "We've the bench on the wall, should you want ta stay," he offered, gesturing to a wide seat a pace and a half away. "As one of the heroes of Erebor, ya should be allowed to go where you like, I say. And I could use a second opinion on some of my work."
A warm bun pressed into his hand by a smiling lass, Bombur lowered himself onto the bench.
Gravy bubbled and spit. Someone was testing meat cooked over the great fireplace on the far side of the kitchen. Across the way a baker was smearing white frosting onto a golden cake. His assistant, hand full of a bowl of candied nuts and raisins was going behind, over the row of cakes already covered, and decorating them with his bounty of sweets.
Something scattered beyond his sight in a spurt of laughter.
Warmth curled around him, pleasant and laden with all the good smells.
The bun flaked hot and buttery in his mouth.
Wealth, Bombur said to himself, was a very good thing, when it brought such perfect joy.