Bofur studied the ceiling and wished he could die. He realized he was crying only when Dwalin held him close and petted his back to sooth the sobs. He felt like the worst sort of worm, making Dwalin take care of him.
"Shh," Dwalin murmured, as if he were a little dwarfling. "It will be alright."
"It won't be," Bofur muttered against his neck. He'd often fantasized about being held close like this, but knowing he would never have this again rather ruined his enjoyment of it.
"Bofur…" The impatient growl was much more like the Dwalin he knew. Bofur pulled himself together and wiped his eyes, and turned to his friend to apologize.
He stared. Dwalin was smiling. He didn't think he'd ever seen Dwalin smile before. Laugh, yes; grin, even. But he'd never seen such a look of open happiness on the grim dwarf's face.
"What – " he croaked. He didn't understand.
Dwalin chuckled, and the sound warmed Bofur down to his toes. "All this time," he said, "I thought you wanted – her. And now I see you want me." His eyes were shining, and Bofur felt a shudder of apprehension run through him, for he'd not done anything to deserve such a look on Dwalin's face. He was interrupted when he tried to speak, however. "I wanted you to want the real me," Dwalin said. "And you do."
Bofur woke in the quiet half-light of early morning. Ori was snoring softly in the other bed, but Bofur's eyes were drawn to the far corner where Dwalin sat in a man-sized armchair. Bofur had hoped he'd come to bed eventually, but Dwalin was nothing if not stubborn. He wasn't altogether surprised his friend had chosen to keep vigil all night.
Bofur knew he should head toward the Mountain, toward the mines, but instead he watched how the pale sunlight fell on Dwalin's tattoos, bringing the ancient designs to vivid contrast. More silver in his hair and beard than black, but Dwalin held the years well.
I wish I could make you happy, Bofur thought through the lump in his throat.
"You can't make someone happy," his mother had said once, after her brother-in-law had stormed out and slammed the door yet again. It was three years after their uncle and Bifur and come to live with them. Balur had taken to drink not long after the death of his wife. "You can help them along the way, but you'll kill yourself trying to rescue someone." The words were bitter, but her heart wasn't, yet. It had taken ten more years for Balur's sickness to affect everyone.
Bofur thought of the letter he'd sent across the mountains, a shot in the dark. Was there any way for Dwalin to be happy?
Probably not here, Bofur acknowledged to himself. Dwalin had seemed content as a wandering warrior. Playing nursemaid to a King Under the Mountain nobody respected had to rankle. It was no wonder Dwalin had been looking at maps lately.
Well, that would have to be that, then. Dwalin had said no – flattered, but no. It had been inevitable, Bofur reminded himself. Knowing Dwalin's secret had forced an intimacy that would never have been granted freely. He must have been a fool to think that Dwalin, the greatest dwarven hero still living, would ever want a poor miner and buffoon like Bofur. How Fili and Kili would have laughed if they'd known, Bofur thought miserably.
Stop it, his better sense told him. Dwalin doesn't want anyone, but he does value you. He didn't laugh, and Fili and Kili wouldn't have either. But part of Bofur wanted to wallow in his misery.
Dwalin stirred, and Bofur watched him begin to wake up. One last time, he let himself wish he could kiss those soft-looking lips.
As the morning light lengthened and strengthened through the shutters, Bofur came to a decision. Dwalin would stay or he would go, but Bofur couldn't let himself hope for a return of his affections any longer. He was not a starry-eyed dwarfling, full of romantic tales. Maybe his brother was right to call him a fool and soft in the head, but even Bofur knew that some quests were impossible. He had Dwalin's friendship and respect, and wanting more was just going to lead to misery.
Things shifted subtly after that. Dwalin put away his maps, and in return Bofur put away his impossible fantasies. He put away childish dreams and told himself this was better. The other dwarves always left a seat open for him at Dwalin's right hand, and that was enough. He would make it be enough.
Summer turned to winter before the first reply to his letter came. Bofur almost lost courage in the face of the enormity of his audacity, then. But the plans he'd put in motion were beyond his control now. Things were moving beyond on the mountains, and after putting it off for weeks Bofur finally steeled himself and called on Balin for assistance.