Of course he had questions – How did you manage to keep this quiet for over a century? How did you get Balin to agree to say nothing?– but he knew he should leave it be. He shouldn't ask; he should put the whole thing from his mind. Dwalin deserved his privacy, and some secrets were not for sharing.

He didn't dare ask Dwalin, anyways. The big dwarf sat glowering by the fire, even more menacing than usual. He even snapped at Thorin, though everyone put it down to tetchiness over his head wound. Thorin, still punch-drunk on the adrenaline of narrowly escaping death, was even several days later still in a good mood and ignored his friend's growls.

Bofur wouldn't ask, because it would be prying into business not his own, but he was glad when Balin found him the next day shortly after they started hiking. They fell back behind the others a bit for privacy.

"I expect you have some questions," the old dwarf sighed.

Balin had been a lord under the Mountain, and Bofur was very conscious of their difference in rank now that he held the key to a ruinous scandal. Never again would he know if Balin's easy companionship was genuine or a gesture of political appeasement.

"Aye, I do," Bofur agreed, though almost he decided to stay quiet – but he'd regret that, he knew.

Balin hummed, an uncertain look on his face. "You'll let me know if you decide to tell Thorin?"

Bofur reddened. "I said I would not tell Thorin, and I will not. If my word is not enough, sir, I will swear an oath." He glared at Balin.

It bothered him sometimes that people thought that just because he was merry and light-hearted, he couldn't take things seriously. He had come on this quest, hadn't he? This journey wasn't just a lark, and they all had the scars to prove it.

Balin had the grace to look ashamed. "My apologies, lad. I'm afraid I've not much practice with negotiation when it's family involved."

Bofur scowled. "This isn't a negotiation. I will not tell Thorin. I would like to know why Thorin doesn't know already, but he will not hear it from my lips."

Balin peered at him, frowning, as though seeing him for the first time. "That is… kind of you," he said finally, his words carefully chosen. "I would know your reasons."

Bofur sighed and kicked at stone. Ahead of them, Mirkwood came closer every day, and he wasn't looking forward to it.

"Dwalin has been a good companion to all of us," he said at last. "He's saved my life several times over. If he wishes to live as a male, it's no concern of mine."

"Not many would share your… flexibility," Balin said. "I did not, at first."

Bofur looked up. This was the part he wanted to know. The story was the important bit.

"From the month she grew her first beard, she insisted she'd live as a man and as a warrior," Balin said. "We sent her to foster in the Iron Hills – my father meant for her to marry Thorin, and we couldn't let her stay in Erebor while she was going through such a phase; it would ruin all her chances of marriage." He chuckled. "She's – he's – had many offers of marriage in the years since, of course." His eyes were far-away.

Balin had still been relatively young when Smaug came to the mountain. "And when Erebor fell?"

"Ah. Well, the story starts before that. You see, we sent her to foster with cousins who had never met her. They expected a girl, but they weren't too put out when a boy came instead. Dwalin can be quite stubborn, and he was manifestly a boy, so they decided there had been some misunderstanding on their part. And then the dragon came, and my father died, and it was years before I saw Dwalin again."

"But I thought he fought at Moria."

"Aye, he did. He did not seek me out, though. But he fought beside the King, and won great renown." Balin looked proud, as he always did when he recounted his brother's exploits. Besides Thorin, Dwalin's name was probably the best-known of any dwarf's in Middle Earth. "And then he traveled for decades, adventuring. I got letters from him. Years, and battles, and more years, and more battles. After a while, you begin to forget. It was no longer my sister that had gone adventuring, bringing shame on us all; it was my brother, a mighty warrior, who raised up our family and our clan with his fame."

Balin gave him a small smile. "You won't believe me, but I haven't thought of his sex in more than seventy-five years. I'd clean forgotten, if you must know." He chuckled. "Before they finally met, Thorin asked me if my brother would be amenable to marriage, so my father almost got his wish."

"Dwalin was not amenable?"

"Nor Thorin, in the end. They are too similar, and too fond of each other to be married. They both need someone to balance them."

Bofur wondered if Dwalin had wanted the marriage, but not been willing to give up his secret.

Balin continued. "I had some half-formed notion that Dwalin had found some strange Elf-magic to change him. I didn't think on it, because I barely knew him when he was a child, and I knew of him only as male – and as a tale told to dwarflings, for that matter – until he was well into his second century."

Bofur had a thousand more questions, but they weren't the sort of thing Balin could answer. How had Dwalin kept this secret, every day, for over a century? Had he never been found out? Had he never in that time longed for a lover? Had he never taken one?

Dwalin was the only one who could answer those questions, and Bofur knew well enough that Dwalin never would.

In Beorn's house, however, Dwalin sought him out one evening.

"You no doubt would like an explanation," he said, his face resigned to an unpleasant chore.

"No," Bofur said firmly.

Dwalin blinked at him. "No?" He tilted his head, eying Bofur with distrust. "You have no questions?"

"Balin told me a little - enough. It's not my business, and I don't need to know more."

Dwalin stared.

Bofur smirked, just a little. Who knew it was so easy to discomfit Dwalin? Ah well, he wasn't playing fair.

"No questions at all?" Dwalin sounded astounded, and just a little hopeful.

Bofur had one, actually. "What will you do to bind your chest?"

Dwalin grimaced. "Bandages, until I can find someone who won't ask questions to repair the damn thing." He didn't meet Bofur's eyes.

Bofur took a deep breath and gathered his courage. "I won't ask questions, and I'm handy with a needle," he offered.