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Of all the things Bofur had imagined about life in the Shire, being shunned by its inhabitants was not one of them.
Sure, whenever he had first arrived with his hobbit walking proudly and happily by his side he had looked as worn as an old leatherbound book, dusty and dirty and stained. That was enough to put anybody off at first. It was only reasonable that he and his hobbit would receive odd looks.
But once he had cleaned up, changed his clothed and washed his skin and hair, Bofur had expected things to get easier from then on out.
Every time he went on a stroll, Bofur went out of his way to smile at anybody and everybody and offer them polite how do-you-do’s and the like. Sometimes, if he was lucky, he would receive a few tight smiles or curt nods back but never anything more. Eventually, it began to put the dwarf off and one evening he found himself asking the hobbit why the residents of the Shire treated him with an air of distaste.
“Well,” Bilbo began, flustered and slightly ashamed, “the people around here…take a while to adjust to things they’re not used to.” He had gazed down at the table, his face red with shame. And then his head had snapped up added a quick, “but there’s nothing wrong with you! They’re just not used to dwarves in the Shire… In fact, I’d say some of it is my fault, and for that I’m sorry.”
Bofur felt slightly wounded at first, but accepted his hobbit’s words nonetheless, telling him that it wasn’t his fault and that he needn’t apologize.
His worries washed away whenever Bilbo had swooped in for a quick peck to the lips before standing to go to bed and asking if Bofur was joining, and Bofur had followed with a broad smile and a warm heart.
Now, however, he could take it no more. The whispers and disgusted faces and loud declarations of how scandalous it was that a once respectable hobbit like Mr. Baggins had brought a dwarf home with him were getting to him.
Bofur found himself running back to Bag End, a knot of shame and anger and every other negative emotion under the burning sun winding itself tighter and tighter in his chest.
Later, when Bilbo got home from the market, he found Bofur in his room, curled up on his bed and staring despondently at the wall opposite it.
Quickly, Bilbo rushed to his side, taking his arm in his small, gentle hands. “What’s wrong?” The hobbit asked, kneeling beside Bofur and gazing into his eyes, searching for that warmth that he had grown accustomed to seeing every morning whenever he woke. It was gone, and in its place was a bundle of confusing emotions, each tangled together and fighting behind the deep brown of his eyes. “What happened?” Bilbo tried desperately, growing nothing short of frantic.
“Have I done something wrong?” Bofur asked, his rich voice having gone raspy and his eyes flicking searchingly to Bilbo’s face.
“What ever do you mean?” Bilbo sputtered, confused. “Of course you haven’t!”
“Then why do the Hobbitfolk hate me so?”
Suddenly Bilbo understood, and he climbed up on the bed, coming to lie beside his dwarf and pulling him close in his small embrace. “They don’t hate you,” Bilbo said, his voice soft and as warm as sunlight. But despite this, Bofur was not swayed in his negative thoughts. This was so uncharacteristic of the dwarf, who was usually all bright smiles, tender gazes, and mirthful tales of his times of getting into mischief with Bombur in their youth.
“They do,” Bofur insisted, looking up at Bilbo. “And because they hate me they have shunned you.” His voice was shaking now, and his eyes clouded over with sadness. “I’m no good for ye… if it weren’t for me, yer own people would not treat you so badly!”
Bilbo sucked in a deep breath. How could Bofur even think such things? Suddenly, a steely determination came over him and he gripped Bofur’s chin between his small fingers and tilted his head up so that he had to meet his eyes.
“Look at me,” he said when Bofur tried to look elsewhere. Slowly, the dwarf did as he was told and brought his eyes up to look into Bilbo’s. “I love you very, very much,” Bilbo began, gazing at his dwarf tenderly and rubbing the bare patch of skin between his jaw and goatee. “But sometimes I swear your are so dense. Even for a dwarf!”
Bofur began to sputter indignantly despite himself but Bilbo cut him off. “Do you really think that I care what a bunch of-of stuck up hobbits whose only get enlightenment from discussing other people’s social lives think?” When Bofur didn’t answer, Bilbo continued. “Whenever you love someone, truly and with all your heart, it should not matter what others think.”
“But—“ Bofur began, but Bilbo shooshed him.
“Let me continue,” he said. “You are very good for me, you’re amazing actually, and without you I do not think I would have had any reason to smile or laugh during our journey. You have brought so much light to my life and will continue to do so, because I love you, truly and with all of my heart and I do not know what I would do without you.”
By the time Bilbo had finished, Bofur was smiling and his eyes had gained once more their familiar warmth. He leaned in and gave his little hobbit a long, lingering kiss on the lips that Bilbo gladly returned. And when he pulled away, he said with much more light in his voice, “I love ye too. And you’re right, it shouldn’t matter what they think.”
Bilbo kissed Bofur on the forehead, smoothing his bangs back with his hand as he did so. “They’ll warm up to you once they get to know you,” he said with surety in his voice. Bofur smiled broadly, nodding and took his hobbit’s word for it, though it mattered not to him anymore what the other hobbits thought.
Because he loved Bilbo and Bilbo loved him, and that was all he could ask for and more.