Dwalin kicked him out of Elrond's study only minutes after they entered. Bofur would feel guilty later, but for the moment he felt only relief. The scrolls were dreadful and they turned his stomach.
"If you can look at them, so can I," he said feebly. But the thought of Dwalin under those knives made him dizzy.
"There's no reason for both of us to suffer," Dwalin told him. "Besides, you take it harder than I do. I attempted it once, if you'll remember."
Bofur was pretty sure he was turning green, and distracting Dwalin's attention would not aid in making the decision. He left.
Wandering around Rivendell was pretty enough for an hour or two, but he wished he had someone to talk to. All the Elves smiled kindly on him as they drifted by, but none looked approachable. There didn't seem to be a single public house in this blasted valley, and if there were it was too early for him to visit anyways.
He spent an insufferably boring morning, but finally the Elf Lindir approached and said Lord Elrond had suggested he might try his hand at the forges.
After the forges of Erebor, they scarcely rated a mention, but Bofur knew that once he'd have been impressed. Gloin had been impressed when they'd last been here; had talked of nothing else for days. Perhaps that was why Dain had given him charge of the forges at the Mountain, Bofur thought. Balin would have remembered such a detail.
As compared to the morning, his afternoon passed enjoyably enough and he finished with a half-decent knife to show for his effort.
When he met Dwalin for supper, the big dwarf was looking pale around the eyes.
"You don't have to choose now, you know," Bofur muttered out of the side of his mouth as they ate. "There's the return journey, too."
"We'll be accompanying our people back to Erebor on the journey back," Dwalin said.
"We will?" He hadn't thought of that. In his head, he had to admit he hadn't thought beyond Rivendell, except for an afterthought letter to Bilbo.
"Unless no one wants to come," Dwalin grunted.
"Surely they want to return… home?"
A shrug. "Don't see why they should. Some might, but those who really wanted to come home have had two years."
Bofur frowned. "Then why are we making this journey?"
Dwalin grinned at him. "As best as I could get out of Balin, it's because you wouldn't leave him be until he said yes."
Oh. Well yes, there was that. "It was just an excuse. To get you here."
"Aye, I know. But King's orders are King's orders."
Bofur made a face. "Well, you could come back next year, then. Dain's not in a position to refuse you any favors."
Dwalin shook his head. "A decision to wait is a decision not to act."
There were times Bofur wished that Dwalin didn't look at the whole world as a military campaign.
Dwalin sat outside in the moonlight all that night, alone with his thoughts. Bofur forced himself to stay in his room. He paced restlessly, telling himself that this was a decision Dwalin had to make alone. If Bofur were to go out there and lend his support, Dwalin might weight his opinion differently. Dwalin might do this because Bofur wanted it, and Bofur didn't want that at all.
It had seemed so clear-cut, back at the Mountain when it was all just a theory. Now Bofur huddled against the wall closest to Dwalin, wanting to be there for his friend and knowing the best thing he could do was to stay away. He wondered when life had become so confusing.
In the morning, Dwalin told him his decision.