They tried to make up for the delay by riding hard toward the Shire. Bofur thought of those ten paydays he'd prepared, already half gone, and tried not to worry about the mines – or Dwalin. Cantrell couldn't flub things completely, Bofur told himself. As for him and Dwalin…

They did not speak much in the days that followed. The silence was not tense, but it wasn't their former easy comraderie, either.

They arrived at Bag End midmorning. Bofur was glad for that; the air was already thick with memories, and arriving at night would make it worse.

"Does he know to expect us?" There was a hint of worry in Dwalin's voice.

"If the letter went awry, there's an inn down the road we can stay at."

Dwalin knocked. After a long pause, the round door opened just a crack. Bofur and Dwalin adjusted their gazes to hobbit-height, but had to look further down when a shy "Hallo" came from around their knees.

A hobbit-child, no more than a toddler, gazed up at them. He had startlingly blue eyes and a crop of dark curls on his head.

"Hello," Bofur said automatically, still blinking his surprise. None of Bilbo's letters had mentioned a babe, let alone a marriage…

"The Halfling has spawned?" Dwalin demanded under his breath. He sounded outraged.

"Hello," Bofur tried again. "I'm Bofur, and this is Dwalin. Is your father at home?"

The child put two fingers in his mouth and shook his head solemnly.

"Frodo?" a voice called from deep in the hobbit-hole. "Frodo, who is it?" Dwalin and Bofur both broke into smiles to hear their beloved burglar.

There was the sound of footseteps bustling up to the door. "If they're visitors it's polite to invite them in, Frodo, but if they're selling something you should say 'No thank you!' firmly and shut the door in their faces." The door was pulled open and Bilbo blinked up at them. Then he blinked some more.

"Oh!" he said, and turned quite red.

"Are we selling something, Bofur?" Dwalin asked, and his laughter boomed through the hobbit-hole as he pulled the sputtering hobbit into an embrace.

"Definitely," Bofur agreed. He hugged Bilbo tightly. The Halfling smelled like tea and lavender.

"If he's not careful, we'll kidnap him for another quest!"

Bilbo emerged from the embrace looking both pleased and disgruntled at the same time. "I've been waiting for you two for weeks!" he grumbled. "And there will be no kidnapping while Frodo is here, thank you very much."

Bofur looked down at the tiny hobbit-child. "It seems congratulations are in order." He bowed to Frodo. "Bofur, at your service."

"Congratulations?" Bilbo echoed, confused. Then his face cleared. "Oh! Frodo isn't mine. I mean, I'm only his uncle."

Dwalin also bowed, muttering "At your service" to the little one, who chewed on his fingers and stared with huge eyes.

"Are you fostering him, then?" Bofur asked. He hadn't heard of hobbits doing such a thing, and Frodo seemed quite young for it.

"Oh, no. He's here for a few days while his parents go to a house party in Tuckborough. Do come in," Bilbo added earnestly.

The hobbit-hole was quite as comfortable and cozy as Bofur had remembered. Soon they were installed in comfortable chairs in the parlor, eating scones and tea. Frodo toddled unsteadily between one and the other of them, peering up at them with interest.

"Not married, then?" Dwalin said lightly. "I'd think being the richest hobbit in the Shire might endear you to a young hobbit lass?"

"Not married," said Bilbo firmly. "I quite enjoy being a bachelor, you know. And no respectable lass would have me, after I went off adventuring." It didn't sound like he minded.

"And the unrespectable ones?"

Bofur kicked Dwalin and nodded to the wide-eyed child. Frodo smiled sunnily up at Dwalin and reached for his beard.

To Bofur's amazement, Dwalin swung the child up to sit on his knee. Frodo's hands fisted in his beard and Dwalin winced, but he tickled the boy's stomach to distract him. Frodo laughed delightedly, but did not loose his hold on Dwalin's beard.

Bilbo smiled at Bofur. "Kili and Fili said he'd been like an uncle to them, but I couldn't quite imagine it."

Neither could Bofur, who stared at his friend. There weren't any dwarflings in Erebor except Gimli, and Gimli was too old for such play. He'd never have imagined this in a hundred years.

Bofur gave Bilbo news of the rest of their company. In spite of the letters they all sent, Bilbo seemed to drink in the information as if hearing it for the first time. Dwalin told Frodo dwarf legends about gold and dragons, and swung him around the parlor by his ankles as he shrieked his joy.

While the hobbit prepared the midday meal, Bofur told him all about the western mines. When Bofur returned to the parlor to tell them dinner was on the table, he found Dwalin dozing with a sleeping Frodo on his chest, still clutching his beard. Bofur tiptoed away to fetch Bilbo. The two of them took turns peeking into the parlor again and again, shaking with silent laughter.

"Dwalin's happier," Bilbo observed when they'd retreated out to the veranda with their plates, so as not to disturb the sleepers. "I'm glad he enjoys Erebor. I didn't think he was the type to settle down."

"Ye-es," Bofur said slowly. "He might still go off adventuring, though. I'm surprised he hasn't yet, to be honest. It's dull being the King's personal bodyguard."

"Dain trusts him, then?" Bilbo asked.

"Why, yes. At least, I don't have any reason to think he doesn't. Why do you ask?"

"Something Balin said in one of his letters, about Dain being the suspicious sort," Bilbo said vaguely.

Bofur felt his heart sink. He'd not thought how his request would look to the King, or how much goodwill Balin must have expended to make this damnable journey seem to have a purpose that wasn't… shady.

It'll be fine, he told himself. Balin wouldn't have agreed, otherwise. You're the heroes of Erebor, and Dain can't do just anything, even if he is the King.

"So," said Bilbo over his cup of tea, "are you the settling down type?"

Bofur looked at him quizzically. "Yes. I mean, it's only been two years, but I expect I'll stay at Erebor. Bombur won't leave, and Bifur's happy. And I couldn't leave the rest, you know. Ori and Balin and Gloin and all of them. They're… they're kin."

Bilbo peered up at him. "I meant, do you think you will marry? Or will you be a bachelor?" He blushed. "I mean to say – I've never seen a female dwarf, and I was beginning to wonder if they were more legend than real, and –" He stopped when Bofur started laughing.

"Aye, we have womenfolk," Bofur assured him, still laughing. "Not many, I'll admit. And only a few at Erebor thus far."

"I only meant," said Bilbo earnestly, "to ask whether you will have dwarflings of your own someday."

Bilbo couldn't know it, but he'd hit on a sore point for Bofur. "It depends," he said carefully. "Why do you ask?"

Bilbo was still quite pink. "Well – being uncle to Frodo has put it in my mind, I suppose," he said. "I really am quite happy as a bachelor, but a part of me would like to have fauntlings of my own." He sounded wistful.

"Is there really no lass that would have you?" Bofur asked gently. Had they ruined their burglar by dragging him across Middle Earth in search of adventure?

Bilbo busied himself lighting his pipe, not meeting Bofur's eyes. "If I looked, no doubt I could find one. But I – I don't want a lass. Or a lad," he added, forestalling the question on Bofur's lips. "I can't imagine wanting to share my life with anyone, actually. But that does rather complicate things when it comes to children."

Bofur knew dwarves like that, uninterested in finding a mate. Dwalin, for one, but Balin too, and Oin. But from what he knew of hobbits, it didn't seem to be nearly as common.

"Never mind," Bilbo said. "It can't be helped. But you – you said you might want little ones of your own?"

Bofur chewed one end of his mustache. "Aye, I suppose so. I'd very much like it," he admitted. "But dwarves aren't like hobbits, Bilbo. We count ourselves lucky to find a mate, no matter what the gender. And even were I to find a woman to marry me, there's no guarantee she'd be fertile. Many aren't, you know. Dwarflings are few and far between, and the women who are able to bear them try to have many so as to balance all the ones who can't."

Bilbo hummed thoughtfully. In this green and growing land, the hobbits seemed to breed like rabbits; having little ones truly was a choice for him, Bofur realized.

"I always thought you'd make a good father," Bilbo said. He chewed at the end of his pipe, and offered Bofur the bag of pipeweed. Bofur accepted gratefully; he'd run out before they even made it to Rivendell.

"I was almost an uncle," Bofur told him. "Bombur's lad. I was so excited – we all were. But Merced died in childbirth, and the babe with her."

Bilbo looked guilty. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize…"

Bofur waved away his apology. "Gimli is likely the closest I'll come to unclehood now, and he's nearly grown. A fine lad – all down to my influence, you know." He summoned a smile.

"Will none of the others marry?" Bilbo asked.

Bofur ticked through the options in his head. "Ori," he said finally. "Ori's our best bet. I suppose Dori might? And Balin will need an heir someday. There will be a political marriage there, no doubt, but not until he can't put it off any longer."

Bilbo pouted. "And why do you not include yourself in this list?"

It was a fair question. Not one he'd thought to discuss with the Halfling, though. Bofur puffed thoughtfully at his pipe and mulled over how to respond. "I quarreled with my last lover," he said finally. "He was convinced I would not consent to marry him for the very reason you mention: I would dearly love to be a father." He bit his lip. He had managed not to think on Havlin in many moons, but the memories still hurt.

"Can male dwarves marry, then?" Bilbo asked.

"Yes, of course. Do you mean that hobbit males can't?"

Bilbo shook his head. "It's dreadfully improper to have relations with your own kind after your tweens. It happens, of course, but to marry – no. It wouldn't be allowed."

"That's dreadful," Bofur cried. When dwarves fell in love, it was for life; he shuddered to think of falling in love and not be able to be with his chosen.

Bilbo frowned. "I think it's dreadful that dwaves have no guarantee of children. I supposed it can't be helped…"

Bofur wanted to argue that the hobbits at least could do something to change their situation, but they were interrupted by a harried-looking dwarf holding a very hungry hobbit-child, and all talk of fatherhood and marriage fled in the face of actual domesticity.

That evening, Bilbo brought out the good plum brandy and Bofur brought out his flute. Frodo looked on with wide eyes as the three adults sang and told stories far into the night. When he eventually dissolved into weary tears, Bilbo bustled off to put him down to sleep.

"You'll be in the master bedroom; it's got the biggest bed," he called back to them. "I've turned down the bed if you're ready. You can take the lamp on the mantle."

Bofur looked over at Dwalin, who was smoking his pipe contentedly. The firelight flickered over the serene face.

"And you, have you ever wanted to be a father?" Bofur wondered aloud.

"No," Dwalin said.

This morning, the answer wouldn't have surprised Bofur. After seeing him with Frodo, it did. "Never?"

Dwalin shrugged. "Wasn't much point. It isn't possible."

Right. Bofur needed to stop forgetting. But – "Doesn't mean you can't want it."

"I liked being an uncle to Kili and Fili. But I never wanted any of my own."

Bofur couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. Dwalin was hardly alone amongst dwarves in not wanting offspring, but Bofur had never really understood how anyone wouldn't want, deep down, to have little ones to love and cherish.

"Do you?"

Bofur glanced up. Dwalin was watching him, dark eyes inscrutable. Bofur hoped this wasn't a test.

"Yes," he said. He took up the lamp and wandered down the hall. He found the master bedroom, and hesitated for a moment before entering. It wasn't as if he and Dwalin didn't share a tent every time it rained, or curl together for warmth on cold nights in the mountains, he reminded himself. Just because he'd had the luxury of private rooms elsewhere didn't mean they couldn't share. Last time Bofur was here, he'd had to bed down in a closet; this was infinitely better.

But Dwalin's words at the Redbeard settlement were still secreted away in the back of his mind. Once upon a time, Bofur would have thrilled to hear them. A part of him still did, but it was the part of him that hadn't quite given up on hopeless quests.

Dwalin seemed to have similar thoughts on his mind. When he entered the bedroom, he paused and frowned. "I can sleep on the floor," he offered.

"Don't be ridiculous," Bofur snapped, and pulled the blankets over his head.