Chapter Text
So Bofur's word's are "It's supposed to look like that, it's crochet." Definitely not the traditional "So and so, at your service." Which was embarrassing not to mention inconvenient. He had no name to go off and a word he'd never heard in his life permanently etched over his heart. What even was a crochet? It definitely didn't belong down the mines.
He was sick of being teased for having such an odd hoipolloi One. He had been told by his forman one day that he didn't need to worry about his future because clearly he was going to be "kept" someday and it made Bofur boil over. He lay in bed that night and decided he was going to get out of those mines and he did.
It took quite a while but soon he was good enough to go with Bifur. He could help make toys and do some of the sales side of things. He was so happy to be going out into the wider world where hopefully he wouldn't get laughed at for asking what crochet was. Maybe he'd get to meet his One. Out under the stars with his brother and cousin he dreamed of meeting some dwarrow in a crowded market place.
His first experience however taught him that he hadn't fully grasped the possibility of the word crowded before. At midday there was a continuously tightly clustered flow of people passing the stall. Men being so tall it made it feel endless from Bofur's height. It also meant leaving the stall was a nightmare. No one saw him coming as he tried to weave his way to getting lunch. And even more disappointingly not a dwarrow in sight. Although he thanked Mahal none of the men or women had said his unusual words. They weren't all bad, some were very nice, friendly if not a little over curious, but the others seemed to question their craftsmanship! It was above rude. They asked for discounts without offering anything actually useful or of high quality when bartering.
His first trip to the land of men and Bofur was thoroughly disillusioned and downtrodden.
On one of the rare occasions they got to close up shop early Bofur decided to use some of the courage and hope he had left to atleast get something out of this trip. Him and Bombur had gone to the inn and sat upon an oversized table.
"I'll get the drinks!" Bofur weaved his way up to the bar. He popped up in a space next to a man on his own drinking on a bar stool. "4 pints of ale." He said to the bar keep and glanced at the man next to him. He was shabby and probably slightly too drunk already. Bofur looked around to see if there was anyone else he could ask but most seemed to be in small groups talking already so as he slid some coins onto the bar for the ale the barkeep was handing over. It churned his stomach but before he headed back he looked at the man again.
"I- uh, do you know what crochet is?"
The man turned a sleepy eye down to look at him and grunted. "I don't know, some kind of game you need balls to play."
Bofur frowned deeply as the man turned back to his drink as he sloshed half of it onto the table.
Bofur sat down opposite Bombur and clattered the mugs on the table.
"Bo, what's wrong?"
"Oh, um, nothing." There was a moment of awkward silence. "Apparently it's a game."
"What?"
"Crochet, it's a game."
"Oh, I suppose that's good to know."
Bofur sulkily drank the first pint. Bombur had been lucky, his words were the traditional kind. He had the name of his One over his heart not some name of a silly game.
He doesn't remember exactly what happened the rest of that night. He knows he didn't get as drunk as he would have liked and as he lay under the stars he wondered what those words meant. Some kind of game you need balls to play. He does remember his relatives whispering once they thought he was asleep. Worrying over him.
He did his best after that, not to bring it up anymore. To accept that someone, his One, would one day say those words to him and there was no way of forcing it. Apparently no way of really understanding it either.
Even though Bofur hadn't talked about it to anyone in years he still lay in bed like he had that night going over those words. "Some kind of game you need balls to play." Did it mean it was a game you used balls to play or did it mean you needed to be brave to play it? Was his One an athlete or were they daring? "It's supposed to look like that-" Would he meet his One while they were playing this game or would they both be spectators? He'd give his moustache to know which kind of balls the man had meant. He should have asked, why didn't he ask?
Bombur rolled over to face Bofur as he stared at the ceiling. "What are you thinking about?"
"Balls." He replied without thought and drifted into his mind again.
"You know," Bombur said tentatively. "you can tell me if you're into men."
Bofur suddenly realised what that had sounded like. "No, I meant like figurative balls. I'm not thinking about those balls- well I mean I am now but I wasn't." Bofur immediately felt his stomach scrunch up. It was too late for this.
"It's okay, Bo, I really don't mind."
"My current state of homoerotic thought is your fault not mine!"
"Why is it my fault!?"
"You brought up Balls, I was thinking about balls."
"You were thinking about balls!"
"What in Mahal's name is going on in there!?" Both dwarves froze as Bifur grumpily opened their room's door. "The sun's nearly up. Stop talking about Bofur's sexuality and go to sleep!"
"I'm not-" Bofur stopped as Bifur's eyes turned onto him with all the sternness as if they were misbehaving children. He pulled the covers up over his head and groaned as he flopped over onto his stomach.
And now both of them were convinced Bofur was interested in men. Which wasn't exactly wrong, like most dwarves he didn't care much about gender but he wouldn't be opposed to having a dwarrowdam like Bombur's One, having kids. A kid. At least. It was unlikely though, with so few female dwarves. Besides, Mahal had chosen his One for him. He didn't intend to go courting before his One anyway, so who cared what genders he prefers? All this aside the testicle jokes were getting old and soon they did die down as they all forgot/Bofur made bigger cock ups that were even easier to joke about.
Free booze was something Bofur could get aboard and he had never disliked an adventure. Good fun to be on the road with friends and family. Although he had managed to forget how fond og pinching things Nori was and how much he and Dori fought. Of course him and Bombur and Bif would argue and tease each other but they cared for one another and knew where to stop. Dori didn't seem to be able to do the stopping part. He was either criticizing Nori or praising Ori. Or talking about high society things that Bofur didn't for the life of him understand. Maybe Dori would know what kind of game crochet was? He'll ask him later, after all it's going to be months before they even reach Erebor. Tonight he's going to enjoy all the drinks Thorin promised him.
Going to The Shire was exciting too. Obviously, missing most of what Bofur imagined would be a lively little town, it being so dark. He liked Hobbiton all the same. He hadn't met many hobbits when they'd been selling their toys but the ones he had met he'd liked a lot. Generally they'd been very jovial and friendly.
Bilbo Baggins on the other hand seemed quite determined not to be either of these stereotypes. Despite his obvious anger it barely registered to most of the dwarves. In Bofur's honest opinion their potential burglar was adorable as he shouted at the others.
"Put that back. Put that back! That's a tad excessive isn't it? Do you have a cheese knife?"
"Cheese knife? He eats it by the block." Bofur grinned as he walked away from Bilbo as he huffed indignantly.
Bofur chewed on the boild egg he hadn't thrown to Bombur. He could see Bilbo from the corner of his eye if he turned around a bit. Grumpily skulking in the pantry. It was a shame Bilbo was in such a bad mood, he was very handsome, bare face aside. The shirt and the braces was a very attractive look. Bofur's thoughts were cut off as he took a slice of ham to the head. Then he was back into the fray of a good meal.
After cleaning up the mess they'd made, Bofur was happily sipping on some more ale. He felt very happy. Full and tipsy.
"That is a dollie not a dishcloth." Bilbo snatched the scrap of fabric from Nori.
"But it's full of holes."
"It's supposed to be like that, it's crochet."
"Oh yes, a wonderful game it is too. If you've got the balls for it."
Bofur had replied almost on automatic and then he was staring at Bilbo as he angrily flung the white cloth down. He was angry? What had he done wrong? Had he said the wrong words for Bilbo? Was he not Bilbo's One? He felt his throat drying out. Did hobbits not have Ones? Please Mahal this wasn't happening.
"What on earth is the matter?" asked Gandalf.
"What's the matter? I'm surrounded by dwarves. What are they doing here?"
Bofur felt his stomach drop, was it because he was a dwarf then? No such a polite angry hobbit would have surely had the decency to reject him.
Bofur wasn't proud of the dragon incident. It was just all the anxiety that Bilbo might not feel the same for him spilling over. If he could take it back he would.
He felt wretched the next morning and it wasn't just the hangover. He thought he had been the reason his One wasn't coming with them. The other's joked and laughed, while
Bofur pretended it was simply his headache that had him staring at the road in front of them blankly. He knew Nori was suspicious of his silence and Bifur and Bombur riding silently behind him felt like he was being watched very closely. He just wished, for the first time in his life, that he wasn't a dwarf. That he'd have known why they'd made him so upset.
He thought about Bilbo's curly short hair. What colour exactly was it? He hadn't even managed to memorise what his One looked like!
"Wait! Wait!"
Bofur tugged on the reins and turned around in the saddle.
"There, I've signed it."
As Balin looked over the contract Bofur could have started singing. He'd come. Their burglar. His One.
Bofur wished he'd been close enough to Bilbo to help lift him onto a pony. Even if he'd have been behind him it would have been better. Then he could have looked at him, studied his hair and remembered what colour it was this time. Instead, all he could do was glance back occasionally and get puzzled looks from his family.
But he was here. He could worry about where it was best to be in relation to how they were traveling tomorrow. Hah, tomorrow and the next day. He'd get to see Bilbo tomorrow, tonight and for weeks on this journey. He could get to know him, make up for eating all his food and drinking his ale.
"Wait, wait. Stop! We have to go back, I've forgotten my handkerchief."
"Here, use this." Bofur ripped the fabric without a thought and didn't catch the disgusted look Bilbo had on his face. He was too busy grinning to himself. He'd helped Bilbo and he could keep on helping him. He could lend a hand to Bilbo this entire journey. Make friends with him by helping him.
He would do better for his One. Make sure he made it back to his beautiful home in The Shire.