The Midsummer Fair was as much fun as Bofur had had in a long time. For three days, all three races met at Dale to revive the ancient tradition. There were feats of arms and storytellers and minstrels. There were whores and healers and food merchants plying their wares. There were weddings and there were dances under the stars. The King Under the Mountain came down to enjoy himself in the sunshine, and Bofur gave all of his miners the three days off so that he would be able to do the same. Even the female dwarves came out to join the fun, and Bofur found himself staring; he'd heard some had come to Erebor, mostly from the Iron Hills, but he rarely ventured beyond the mines and the baths, and never saw them.

Dwalin competed in both feats of arms and contests of strength, and came away with a small pile of blue ribbons. Bofur played his flute at one of the dances, watching the humans and the younger dwarves have their fun. The Elves hung back, watching curiously; the dances they performed later were more formal, more stately and elaborate.

Ori was one of the official storytellers at the Fair, and the company gathered together on the third afternoon to hear about the quest to retake the Mountain. It was strange, hearing it from Ori's point of view; all of them were such larger-than-life characters to him that Bofur found himself looking at his companions, wondering if this were how fairy stories began. Certainly he had never been as brave and kind as Ori described him – though Ori got Dwalin right at least; you couldn't overstate bravery and loyalty such as Dwalin's.

"I thought I had better tell a story I know this year, so that I have a whole year to research before next year's Fair," Ori explained after, when they treated him to a round or four at the pub. "I wanted to tell stories about the kingdoms in the South, but Smaug burned about half the scrolls I'd need to do a proper job of it."

"Gondor and Mordor, you mean?" Bofur asked.

"No, further south," Ori hiccupped through his ale. "They have great beasts called oliphaunts that they ride like horses, an' one of them can carry twenty men!"

They laughed loudly at this suggestion. "I think someone's been having you on, lad," Dwalin said kindly.

"An' there's a clan of warrior women who live without men, an' they use bow and arrow so much they cut off their right breast to help shoot true," Ori said, eyes wide.

Dwalin stilled for just a moment. Bofur wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been in his customary seat at Dwalin's right side. He glanced up at his friend, but Dwalin was already shaking his head to clear it.

They drank too much to think of walking back to the Mountain that night, so Dwalin secured them a room at a semi-respectable inn. They had to carry Ori, who'd had twice as much as anyone else and would be regretting it in the morning. They poured him into bed and settled in for a quiet game of dice.

"Have you thought of it?" Bofur asked finally. "Cutting them off?" He winced to hear the words aloud.

Dwalin examined the one of the dice so he wouldn't have to meet Bofur's eyes. "Aye. I tried to, once."

"What happened?"

"Hurt so much I passed out. Someone found me and a human surgeon stitched me up. Gave me an earful about performing surgery on myself, but he wouldn't do the rest of the job." Dwalin snorted. "There's a big chunk out of the left one, so even if I ever changed my mind I'd never be… whole."

Bofur trembled at the word, at the self-loathing in Dwalin's voice. "I'm sorry," he offered.

Dwalin finally looked up. "I'm sorry, too," he said quietly, and suddenly Bofur wanted to run, because Dwalin was going to try and let him down easy.

"Bofur," and Bofur shuddered, because there shouldn't be tenderness in Dwalin's voice, not when he was going to take away everything. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see compassion in Dwalin's gray eyes.

"Don't," he choked.

"I know you want to bed me," Dwalin said. Bofur felt his hands being gathered, held in Dwalin's. "And I wish I could say yes."

Bofur flinched, and tried to pull his hands away.

"Please, let me say this," Dwalin said. "I won't have the courage to again."

Bofur promised himself that he wasn't going to cry until after Dwalin had had his say.

But Dwalin seemed to be having trouble finding words. Bofur opened his eyes, and saw Dwalin drawn in on himself.

"I don't want you just because you have…" Bofur tried. He couldn't say the words.

"I know," Dwalin said, but he didn't. He didn't believe it. "It's just… how can I let you love a body that I hate?" It came out as a growl, but there were tears at the back of it.

"Dwalin," he pleaded. "You know I would never ask you for things you didn't want to do."

"But you would want them," Dwalin snapped.

"I don't," Bofur said. "I don't want to fuck you," and he knew, he knew he couldn't unsay these words, but they wouldn't stop. "Just the opposite, in fact. I want you to fuck me."

There was dead silence. Dwalin looked sick.

"Well, I definitely can't give you that," he said, finally.