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Dwarves, as a rule, do not eat vegetables.
Actually, it is more of an unspoken rule of Dwarvish culture, one that has long been ingrained in their society. Or rather, there are some Dwarves who consume vegetables (and fruits), but a vast majority of Dwarves, who prefer meat and dairy and the occasional herbs and spices, outnumber the former group.
So it came as a surprise to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield that Bifur, the older cousin of the brothers Bofur and Bombur who had the blade of an Orc axe jutting obscenely from his forehead, was a vegetarian. Unlike his companions, the boar spear-wielding Dwarf preferred peas over pork, green beans over gammon, beetroot over beef and celery over sausages. Flowers, he ate as a snack, although the consumption of these blooms often led to various arguments among his fellow Dwarves (whether flowers were considered vegetables or not is often the subject of their heated debates).
Also, Bifur liked to make vegetable soup.
Now Bifur was not the sort of Dwarf who went about boasting about his skills – his toy-making abilities were superb, and anyone who had bought or commissioned a toy from him would surely agree with me. However, if you were to pay him a compliment in that regard, the axe-embedded Dwarf would blush from the points of his ears and all the way down to the tips of his toes.
But when it came to making vegetable soup, Bifur privately thought himself to be … well, simply brilliant.
It was a simple dish, really: carrots, celery, potatoes, green beans, salt, pepper and corn kernels – with a hint of Bifur's favourite spice, thyme – were sliced, diced, and then dropped, stirred and simmered for a good 30 minutes in a large stock pot. A potful of soup would normally make six servings, but because of the ladle-sized helping each member was entitled to, one potful could serve about 12 or 13 people.
Then again, this is Thorin's Company that we're talking about.
They. Do. Not. Like. Vegetables.
They reviled it with a passion.
They would rather eat Dori's disgusting concoctions than eat a single leaf of lettuce.
Even Óin's herbal remedies had a better flavour than green peas.
As far as they were concerned, vegetables are not things that should ever be eaten.
Therefore, they did not eat Bifur's soup.
Except Bilbo Baggins, bless him.
And Bombur, when he had no choice, bless him thrice over.
As well as not being the boasting type, Bifur was not the sort of Dwarf who, say, forced the others to eat his vegetable soup. Oh no, he would never do such a thing – sure, he might peel potatoes right under chip-loving Ori's nose, or slip a carrot in Dwalin's pocket, or explain the important health benefits of eating vegetable soup at length to Óin, or loudly hum with pleasure from the soup's warmth in front of Glóin, or take Bofur's hat hostage until his cousin ate up his vegetarian meal … but he would never forcibly make them eat it (seriously, what gave you that ridiculous idea?).
Because of his differing diet, Bifur rarely got to make his delicious dish. Whilst the others ate meat stews, the axe-embedded Dwarf contented himself with cucumber sandwiches, porridge and flowers (he was now on his third batch of clovers).
"'Cause let's face it, Bif," Bofur had told him gently, "who in their right mind would eat tha' slop, anyway?"
"Would you like some soup, Thorin?"
Thorin Oakenshield barely blinked when a pair of hands appeared in front of his face and signed in Iglishmêk. His eyes, forever ice-blue, were fixed firmly on the fire, following the sparks that floated upwards into the ink-black sky. A frown tugged at his lips, and his eyebrows were furrowed inwardly. Indeed, the dark-haired Dwarf was the picture of concentration.
"Oh gawd, he's broodin' again," muttered Dwalin to Balin under his breath, watching Thorin with an appraising eye and shaking his tattooed head.
"Aye, and still thinkin' about you-know-who, if I'm not mistaken," replied Balin with a sigh.
Glóin groaned. "Sickenin' stuff, ain't it? Why can't he just make up his mind about this whole business, I ask you? It's drivin' me bananas."
"Now you know how I felt after you met Nidhi," remarked Óin pointedly. "Made me go grey-haired when you were stuck in that love-haze for months."
"Shut it," his brother mumbled into his beard, trying to hide his blushing cheeks.
Still deep in his thoughts, and without looking up at the owner of the hands' face, Thorin absent-mindedly nodded his head.
"That'll be fine, Bifur, thank you," he murmured softly.
Everyone, save for Bilbo Baggins (who had retired to bed early) and Gandalf, who merely looked on in silent amusement, exchanged horrified looks. Their jaws even dropped and their eyebrows were raised as Bifur walked – "strutted" would actually be the better term for it – passed them all with what could be best described as a triumphant expression on his face as he made his way to the cooking-pot, where his famous vegetable soup simmered away.
"Has Uncle gone mad?!" whispered Kíli to Fíli in a strangled voice.
"Does he know what he's gettin' himself into?!" hissed Dori to Glóin, who could only shudder in response.
"Betcha five gold coins that Thorin will throw up some of Bifur's brew," said Nori in a hushful tone into Óin's ear-trumpet.
Óin smiled wickedly. "Deal," he replied. "In addition, if you lose, you have to eat a whole bowl of that stuff."
Nori hesitated before shaking the healer's hand in agreement. "You scammin' ol' git," he grumbled.
Ori bowed his head, muttering a silent prayer – for his brother or for Thorin, I cannot tell.
"This is it, Bom," said Bofur, squeezing his younger brother's shoulder with a frown. "These are our last few moments alive together. Savour 'em, laddie, 'cause once Bifur kills Thorin with tha' bloody broth, we're dead. Y'hear me? Dead."
Bombur whimpered.
"Mahal help us all," he said, wringing his hands.
Their axe-embedded cousin, who overheard them as he passed by with a steaming bowl of soup in his hands, threw an obscene gesture in their direction (Gandalf chuckled to himself, thereby earning himself glares from the brothers Ur) before putting on his best smile for the royal Dwarf upon approaching him.
"Your soup," he said in Khuzdûl, holding out the bowl with a bow.
Still distracted by the embers of the fire, Thorin automatically reached out to take the soup from the other Dwarf, dipping his head in thanks. He placed the bowl over his lap, not wincing at the slight discomfort caused by the steaming heat. No, the dark-haired Dwarf was all too consumed by the firelight.
Bifur cocked his head to the side, puzzled. "You seem distracted by something, if you don't mind me saying, Thorin," he signed at the seated Dwarf's eye-level.
Thorin's staring contest with the fire came to an abrupt end. He turned his ice-blue gaze upwards, meeting the dark eyes of Bifur.
"It's nothing to worry about, Bifur," he said firmly. "There isn't anything special on my mind."
"You're thinking of the Halfling, aren't you?"
Thorin stared at the axe-embedded Dwarf with narrowed eyes.
"What makes you think that I am?" he half-asked, half-growled.
Bifur's expression did not change.
"You're always saying that he's nothing special. And then you change your mind less than a few seconds later. Who, or what, else could you be thinking about?"
Thorin frowned, spooning up the steaming-hot soup as he did so. Blowing on it, he popped the spoon into his mouth, all the while staring hard at the other Dwarf with his blue orbs. He looked dangerous even as he swallowed the soup down.
"So what if I am thinking about that … that … so-called burglar?" he barked. "Am I not entitled to my own opinion? Am I not allowed to think unkindly yet honest thoughts about him?"
"Oh marvellous, your cousin's gone and set him off, now," grumbled Glóin to the brothers Ur.
"Bloody cheek, that's what it is," mumbled Dori, though he was quite impressed by Bifur's effrontery.
"At last, some late-night entertainment!" said Nori excitedly. "It's not often that y'get dinner and a show on this ruddy journey."
If Thorin had heard them, he did not deign to reprimand them. Instead, the dark-haired Dwarf turned his body to the right so that he was facing away from his companions. He ladled his soup in an almost violent manner and shoved the spoonful of soup into his mouth just as violently – it was as if his whole body language was saying, "I don't want to speak to any of you. I'm going to pretend that you don't exist, therefore leave me alone with my damn soup."
But Bifur, being … well, Bifur, lest we forget, seemed to overlook (read: blatantly ignore) these things.
Thorin's frown deepened whilst turning his face to the left as the axe-embedded Dwarf plonked himself down beside him.
"If you're expecting a compliment on your cooking abilities, could you at least wait until after I've finished eating?" he practically snarled, hoping that the other Dwarf would get the hint.
Either it went flying over his head or he was choosing to disregard it, one could not say, but Bifur stayed put.
"You know, Master Baggins has many remarkable abilities of his own, including cooking," he signed.
Thorin snorted derisively. "Oh, does he? Well, somehow I believe you. Cooking or maintaining a grocery shop sounds very much up the Hobbit's alley. He hardly seems to be the world-class burglar that Gandalf makes him out to be."
Slurp-slurp! went another spoonful of soup.
"He doesn't look the type, either," he added after swallowing. "What kind of self-respecting thief looks and acts like the way that he does? With large feet like that, I wouldn't be surprised if he woke up the entire camp from taking one step! By Mahal, I've never seen anyone with feet as large as his, and so fuzzy, too!"
Slurp-slurp! "Well-groomed – from his hair to his clothing, full of airs and graces, overly naïve to the point of ridiculousness, and constantly fawning over his beloved mother's glory-hole –"
"You mean "glory-box"."
"– or whatever it's called … not exactly behaviour that I would expect from a burglar."
Slurp-slurp! "I did not wish for the likes of him to join this quest, but Gandalf insisted. Now I'm saddled with someone who barely shows a hint of respect towards me and scant concern for our cause. Instead, he looks at me with those big, bright eyes as if I was some sort of fool. I ask you, what is Bilbo Baggins doing here?"
Yet another slurp-slurp! The bowl was fast becoming empty.
"The Hobbit is nothing like us Dwarves," Thorin murmured, glancing at the fire with a thoughtful expression on his face. A strong sense of wonder emanated from his frame. "He's a strange creature, and not a damn like us … and yet …"
A pause. Then a gulp as Thorin swallowed some soup down.
A shadow of a smile appeared on Bifur's face.
"You really are intrigued by Master Baggins, aren't you?"
The dark-haired Dwarf said nothing for several seconds before sighing, slurp-slurp!-ing and answering Bifur.
"I wouldn't say intrigued," he said quietly. "More like perplexed … and irritated, and I hate him for it."
"Though you don't know why," Bifur supplied helpfully.
"Same old, same old," muttered Gandalf, his Dwarvish companions nodding in agreement.
"Very bloody typical of him," commented Dwalin.
"He's definitely actin' much worse than you, Glóin," Óin teased his flame-haired, blushing brother, who told him to hush up or face an early funeral.
"You'd think with all that brooding over Master Baggins, Uncle would have made up his mind already," Fíli said to Kíli, who stifled a guffaw.
"If you lot are going to continue your running commentary, I'll have Bifur forcibly feed you his soup!" Thorin rumbled, making everyone jump. "I'm sure there's enough soup left over in that pot to feed all of you. Correct, Bifur?"
Bifur nodded, a smirk playing on his lips.
A silence fell.
"No? Then let me know when you get hungry."
He turned his attention back to the axe-embedded Dwarf with a sigh, slowly stirring up the dregs in his bowl.
"That Hobbit … he's a nuisance," Thorin whispered in a wistful tone. The dark-haired Dwarf stole a glance in the aforementioned nuisance's direction. Bifur followed his gaze: Bilbo lay on his back in his bed-roll, looking very much like a peaceful, innocent soul rather than a hell-inducing nuisance. "He torments me so, yet he fills me with curiousity. … and to be honest, I don't know what to do about it."
Bifur cocked an eyebrow.
"I think," he started to sign underhandedly so that no one could see (except maybe Gandalf, who tried to hide a laugh and failed), "instead of sitting around, thinking these half-arsed thoughts and confusing yourself, perhaps you ought to start getting to know Master Baggins before making wrongful deductions about him."
Thorin's own eyebrows rose up at Bifur's gall. In circumstances such as these, he would have either shouted himself hoarse at the other Dwarf in a most outraged yet utterly majestic manner, or dump the remaining dregs of soup over his jet-black hair (then again, in these kinds of circumstances, he would not have been eating soup in the first place, not that he realised that he just ate a bowl of vegetable soup in his lovesick state).
Instead, Thorin stole yet another glance in Bilbo's direction. His ice-blue orbs took in the sleeping form of the Hobbit from his rosy complexion, the long dark lashes that graced the top of his apple-like cheeks, the copper-coloured curls framing his visage, the dusky-pink lips that were curled in a peaceful grin and which appeared soft, and down to his cute, fuzzy toes that were peeking out from under his blanket …
The dark-haired Dwarf turned back to Bifur, a rare smile forming on his own lips.
"I think that I might just take your advice, Bifur," he said, dipping his head in thanks once more.
Bifur offered a smile in response.
"Glad you enjoyed the soup," he signed, getting up and taking the bowl from the other Dwarf. "Let me know if you want me to make it again for you one of these days. It's healthy stuff, and delicious, too."
Evidently, Thorin did not hear him, for he was once again staring at the burning fire, albeit looking more relaxed than he was earlier. His eyes had softened and held a glow that was not there before. The Dwarf looked at peace with himself for the first time in days.
Bifur smiled to himself. He left the dark-haired Dwarf to his own devices and went to wash up the bowl. He gently and affectionately tugged on his cousins' braids as he passed them by, and he could not help but chortle aloud when he heard Óin say:
"Right then, Nori, that's five coins you owe me. And now that the late-night entertainment is over, perhaps Bifur can dish up some vegetable soup for you."
Nori gulped, and gulped again as he watched the steam rise from the cooking-pot.
For everyone the next day (save for Nori, who was feeling too ill to notice anything), it came as both a surprise and relief when they saw Thorin chatting to Bilbo Baggins in an amicable manner as they continued riding on the road. The Hobbit himself looked surprised when the usually-broody Dwarf appeared beside him and Myrtle, striking up some conversation. Luckily for Thorin, words actually flowed smoothly between them, and it certainly gave their companions a jump when they heard their burglar and their king laughing together as the day wore on.
Thorin hardly ever laughed.
Bilbo came off as humourless to the Dwarves.
But of course, when they saw Thorin lean in to whisper something in Bilbo's ear, causing the smaller creature to blush as bright as a beetroot and his eyes to sparkle like the Arkenstone, they all nearly fell off their ponies.
What on Middle Earth was going on here?
Everyone questioned the sudden change in the dark-haired Dwarf and Hobbit's now-abnomal behaviours.
They all directed questioning stares at Bifur, who ignored them completely and nonchalantly munched on clover leaves.
Those questioning stares, however, soon turned into annoyed glares that night after setting up camp. They watched as Bilbo chased away Bombur and Bofur from the cooking-pot, proclaiming that he was going to prepare the supper.
"And what, pray-tell, are you going to make for us, Master Baggins?" queried Thorin, his tone low and husky.
Bilbo smiled a bedazzling smile at him.
"I'm going to make vegetable soup," he replied.
"I'm sorry, what?"
Well, that declaration brought an abrupt end to the flirtations.
Thorin and his companions sat bolt upright in their seats, their jaws dropping in apparent horror.
"Vegetable soup?" they stammered. "Vegetable soup? Whatever are you making that for?"
The Hobbit seemed blissfully unaware of the company's deepening dread. "I thought I'd make my own variation of Bifur's vegetable soup. Gandalf told me how much you enjoyed eating it last night, Thorin, so I thought I'd prepare some more. I can assure you, you're in for a treat!"
Thorin looked reminiscent of a goldfish, his mouth opening and closing out of shock. He sent a very (and I mean very) furious glare in an innocently-whistling Gandalf's direction, and an even uglier glare in Bifur's direction as if to say, "You actually made me eat that foul stuff last night?", before turning to Bilbo once more with a shaky smile.
"That … that would be delightful, Master Baggins," he lied through his teeth.
The Hobbit gave him a warm look before gathering up a few carrots and a knife. "You can come help me peel the potatoes, if you like. Unless peeling potatoes is beneath you," he added in good humour.
Here, Thorin smiled genuinely
"As you wish, you bothersome burglar," he murmured in reply before joining him at the cooking-pot.
"Though I wouldn't mind something, or preferably someone, else under me," he added in a coy whisper, causing Bilbo to swat him with a soup-ladle.
Meanwhile, Bifur cheerfully popped a clover leaf into his mouth - after all, he deserved a break from sorting out Thorin's troubles - before finally acknowledging the red-hot glares of the rest of the Dwarves, signing:
"What? Vegetable soup is healthy!"