#respectablebaggins

For a moment, well-learned suspicion crept into her mind. His offer seemed far too kind to be true. There had be be some underlying, ulterior motive for it, surely... though, the healer caught those thoughts quick and stifled them best as she could. Not only had he not done anything to warrant it, he'd saved her. She had to keep reminding herself of that. Survival had often demanded carefulness and caution. It was repeatedly difficult to suppress that inclination.

" That is... very generous of you, thank you. ---- I would not want to intrude or impose on you... any more than I already have. Though, if you are certain it would be alright... if you are certain, a night or two out of the cold would be very appreciated. Only long enough for me to gather my bearings, and then I would be gone. I would not want to trouble you for too long. "

BUT!

Bofur had been restless. He did not particularly enjoy when someone that he cared about was hurt. The past few hours had consisted of him walking back and forth, frowning to himself as he paced outside of where Bilbo was. Initially, he had been at the bedside but they’d thrown him out for a bit. Which, Bofur guessed, was so they could check him over without an extra person who had no way to actually help. 

But that didn’t mean he liked it. 

He came to a stop, tugging unhappily at his hat before he turned back around and stepped into the room. It had been a half an hour since they’d left, but Bilbo hadn’t woken yet. Bofur had been anxious about going back in but now he was more anxious about Bilbo waking up alone. He tugged a chair up to the bedside and plopped down, sighing as he looked down at his friend. 

Beli tucked herself more comfortably into the chair, smiling - just a bit shyly - at Bilbo over her teacup. His words meant more to her than they likely should have, but she had never had the best relationship with other hobbits. She’d likely have been better off in Bree, because even in Stock, her constant wandering off and finding herself in trouble hadn’t led to much respectability, as it were. 

Nor did Fenrir, the large bear that lumbered after her. 

And she wouldn’t have expected a Baggins to show her any courtesy at all, but Bilbo Baggins was different, after all. Perhaps one of the few hobbits that seemed to understand that longing to see the wide world. 

There was not often a time where Bofur ventured far from the bar. He liked it there, the ales, the people, the food that his brother made. It was good life. And maybe, sometimes, when there was enough of a lull, he’d have a chance to whittle away at one of the strange little creatures that he and cousin Bifur had dreamed up years ago. Neither of them quite had the talent to string words together, but they could bring those to life in other ways. 

But the bar wasn’t open until mid-afternoon, and he’d ducked out from the kitchen, heavy with good smells as Bombur cooked, and walked down the main street. There were dozens of stores and restaurants about, but he didn’t have a real aim in mind. 

In the end, Bofur had somehow wandered into a bookshop. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, his always present hat, and he was ducking between shelves. He had never been an avid reader, but he liked seeing what sorts of books ended up in out-of-the-way bookshops. And it never hurt to peek into the children’s section. He had enough nieces and nephews that he was almost always picking up gifts when he had a free moment. (Though they liked the toys he’d been crafting, but Nali, his sister-in-law, had insisted that Bofur actually buy them something. Bah.)

The carved figure in his hands had been an ongoing project, started when they’d departed from Erebor. The Ur family had decided that Bilbo needed an actual escort, and much as they knew Gandalf was a wizard, and powerful, they couldn’t in good conscious see him off without entrusting that he made it safely home. They all had their own reasons for wanting to head back west, of course. Bombur wanted to return to Ered Luin, bringing the good news to Nali and their babes himself, before they would return, and Bofur had heard Bifur repeatedly saying mugr. Bofur?

He didn’t want to say goodbye to Bilbo just yet. In due time, he could return to Erebor, to Thorin and the company, but what harm was there in accompanying their burglar? None, he’d told himself. Nothing wrong with it. 

They’d traveled through Mirkwood without trouble. The elves had even escorted them, though he could tell just from a peek at their faces that it was for Bilbo, and not the dwarves. That time had been mostly occupied by Bifur’s broken Westron. He’d taken to conversing with Bilbo frequently, testing out his regained ability to speak in another language. His Khuzdul was, at least, more understandable than it had been, though he mostly used Iglishmêk still. 

Once they’d arrived at Beorn’s, delayed by the onset of winter, Bofur had continued working on the carving. Sometimes, he let his hands guide him. Most dwarves agreed that this was the only way to truly craft - to let Mahal guide your hands as you created. So, when the figure formed under his careful fingers, finished in the gardens of the skinchanger, he stared in wonderment at it. 

As tiny as the figure was, he could pick out the smallest details he’d carved. It was Bilbo, poised as if he were fighting, Sting wielded in one hand, a smirk caved onto his small face. It would have been a perfect replication of the hobbit, besides the braid that he’d unintentionally carved, flowers seemingly woven into it. 

His thumb traced it, his heart thudding treacherously hard. 

To have carved the hobbit without intending to, and if Bofur were to believe that Mahal had guided his hand in such, why hadn’t it occurred to him before? He was in love with Bilbo, he realized, studying the small figure with a beaming smile. Bofur set the figure down, set so the tiny face of Bilbo looked at him as he fetched another leftover piece of wood and took to carving at it intently. 

Smaug almost rolled his eyes at the tone from the other, and of how they were trying to get away from the conversation by physically moving themselves. He sighed, and slithered along the ground to get right in the way of the other, his voice coming out with it's smooth vocals, despite his gargantuan size. "Oh, please... That was merely a..." He tried to find the right thing to say, not wanting to further 'upset' the other, for once. Even though it always did give him such entertainment to see them so riled up. "--a mistake, on my part. I should have kept it true."