Work Text:
Memory 1:
The first time Nori and Bofur fell into bed together, they weren’t expecting anything more than a fling, a quick tumble to take the edge off of sleepless nights and provide salve for the weariness of travel.
By the time the company reached Erebor the two had lost count of the number of times they had snuck into each other’s bedrolls. Gutwrenchingly dirty smirks gave way to fond smiles and Nori wondered when he stopped thinking of Bofur as merely a means to an end. Bofur gently reminded him that it was probably about the time that they started finding excuses to simply brush against one another in passing.
They stood beside each other through the turmoil of gold sickness and battle, victory and grief. In the end, it seemed only natural for Nori to ask Bofur to remain at his side.
Bofur had smiled and pressed his forehead against Nori’s, then ruined the moment with an incredibly filthy suggestion concerning their marriage bed.
Nori could not remember a time that he ever felt this happy.
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Memory 2:
“It’ll only be a few months,” Bofur explained as he closed his pack and tugged the straps shut. He walked over to where Nori sat on the bed, head in his hands. Hooking a finger under his husband’s chin, he tilted Nori’s head back until their eyes met. Nori only let his mask fall around Bofur, and he knew that the gaze that greeted the miner was one of stark terror.
He licked his lips and tried to speak in a normal tone, but his voice shook anyways. “I’ve been listening in on Dain’s meetings with Balin.” He laughed humorlessly, “Sometimes being able to sneak around is a curse and you find out things you wish you did not. Did you know Dain saw it?” The last word came out as a whisper. Very few things frightened Nori, but evil creatures from fairy tales that actually walked the deep places of the world? Those terrified him.
Bofur sighed and knelt down in front of him, gripping the thief’s hands tightly in his own gloved ones. “I know, Nori. I also know that I will remain in the upper levels and coordinate from there. I’m only needed for the first few months anyway, I’ll be back before you know it.”
Nori couldn’t help but be a tiny bit petulant as he pulled a face at Bofur. “Couldn’t you have been a tad less good at your job so they wouldn’t want to take you away?”
Bofur rolled his eyes and grinned, “That would be like asking you not to pickpocket dignitaries that annoy you.”
Nori snorted and reached up to thread a hand through Bofur’s hair. “I have to amuse myself somehow.” He pulled Bofur into a kiss, pouring all the things he couldn’t say into the pressure of his lips against his husband. I love you, I’ll miss you, come back soon.
Bofur kissed him back just as hard, with just as many things unspoken. He pushed Nori back into the bed and left him gasping among tangled sheets as he pressed kisses like fire along achingly familiar paths. Nori committed the feelings to memory, wishing that they did not feel so much like a goodbye.
When Bofur pulled back with a whispered “Come with me, love?” Nori almost gave in. Only the thought of leaving Dori alone in Erebor stopped him from throwing all his worldly possessions into a pack and following his husband into the unknown.
Later, Nori stood on the battlements until the familiar shape of his husband had long faded into the distance. He and Bofur had walked side by side up until the moment the miner had climbed onto his pony, abandoning Nori’s private compunctions for a last desperate kiss that left both their faces red as their friends hollered encouragement around them.
“Only a few months,” he whispered to himself, unconsciously pressing his fingers to his lips.
It became his mantra as months faded into years, and not even Dori had the heart to remind him of the passage of time.
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Memory 3:
Nori eagerly anticipated and yet dreaded the days when a raven would be standing on his windowsill, holding out a letter covered in Bofur’s familiar scrawl. He had been detained by the sheer amount of work needed in the mines, a couple of months had turned into a couple of years. Nori sometimes entertained the idea of heading out to join him, but the thought of Dori alone always gave him pause.
Oftentimes the letters would be filled with updates and anecdotes about the other members of the expedition, but there was one that arrived late in the fall of the second year that Nori often reread with trembling fingers.
My dearest Nori,
I meant to head for home last week. After many months of delays the mines were finally ready for me to pass control to another…
Nori, there was an accident. It was my fault. I misjudged and there was a collapse. No one died, but my leg got pinned. Oin patched me up, but I don’t think I will be able to make the journey for several months now. Even once my leg has healed, Oin says it will be painful to walk. I won’t be able to chase after you in the catwalks over the throne room anymore, that’s for sure.
Regardless, I will try to head home when my leg has healed. I just don’t know how long that will be.
I love you, try to stay out of trouble.
Forever yours,
Bofur
After that the letters grew more and more full of problems in the mines, and deep in his gut Nori started to suspect that things would only grow worse.
That didn’t stop him from hoping for Bofur’s return with every passing day.
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Memory 4:
After the letters from Khazad-dum trickled to nothing, and despair mixed with dread crept into the lives of those around them, Dori retreated into his work and Nori tried not to think about the possibilities.
Without the shining light of Bofur’s less tarnished moral compass, Nori fell into old habits as the years wore on. He drifted in and out of seedy watering holes and seedier jail cells, only his position as a member of Thorin’s company keeping him from becoming a permanent resident.
The only constant in his life was Dori. Once or twice a week Nori would drop through, sometimes literally if he was wanted and had to come through a window. Dori always left it open for him, though they stopped speaking of why. They would have tea and make small talk, steadfastly ignoring the two empty chairs they left at the table.
Before the quest for Erebor, the two brothers may not have been close, but now they bonded together in their worry. Their visits become a familiar ritual, and Nori finds that he welcomes his brother’s solid presence.
So when Dori develops a cough, Nori is the first to notice.
It started as a little thing, just an occasional clearing of the throat. When Nori asked about it, his brother shrugged it off as a result of the change of seasons. Nori had frowned, since he knew this had never bothered his brother before, but Dori always knew best when it came to his own health. Before long though, it developed into a painful, wracking thing that shook Dori’s entire frame and left him gasping for air.
Nori almost ran for Oin the first time he witnessed this, before sinking down in his chair as he remembered that Oin was with Ori and Bofur. And they still hadn’t returned.
In the end, it wouldn’t have mattered. The healer Dori finally allowed to examine him only shook his head and frankly told him there was nothing to be done. Sometimes dust from the mines would filter up and settle inside dwarrows’ lungs. That was the way of the world.
So Nori watched in despair as his strong elder brother slowly succumbed to something that no amount of strength could ever fight. When he passed away, the remaining members of the company helped Nori with the burial, but he could not fight the feeling he was being left behind in an increasingly lonely world.
He might be alone, but he told himself that Bofur had to be out there somewhere. If only he would return.
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Present:
He is an old dwarrow when Gloin’s son comes knocking on his door, but the cold that settles in his bones as Gimli recounts his path has nothing to do with his age. By rights this should have been Dori receiving the news of the youngest Ri’s passing. He smoothes a hand over his brother’s handwriting in the tome before him and tries not to think about the dark stains that splash across the pages. He had known in his heart, he had just not wanted to believe.
“There’s one more thing.”
Gimli is looking at him with such sorrow in his eyes and Nori braces himself. He does not want to think about what is coming, does not want to consider the many terrifying layers of that simple statement. He screws his eyes tightly shut and barely feels the words “Please, Mahal, no” fall from trembling lips.
When he opens them again and sees the ragged remains of a once-familiar hat resting in Gimli’s hands, he cannot help the jagged wail that rips itself painfully from his throat.
There is no one left.