Chapter Text
There was something terribly familiar about Bofur and Bombur that Bilbo could not put his finger on. This feeling nagged at Bilbo ever since their very first encounter in Bag End. Perhaps it was Bombur's roundness and unabashed love of food that made him think of Old Posco Chubb plowing through several pies during a springtime festival. Or how the ever present twinkle in Bofur's eye and his easy kindness--when every other dwarf would cast the hobbit an exasperated scowl--unexpectedly reminded Bilbo of his dear gardener.
But Bilbo knew this familiarity to be impossible of course. They were dwarves after all. Bewhiskered, leather-shod, mattock-wielding dwarves of the Blue Mountains, who were currently well into their cups while lazing about the veranda outside their rooms in Rivendell.
*thump*
"I win again!" Nori boomed with glee as he pinned Bofur's arm to the table. "I thought you miners were supposed to be especially strong, sturdy folk. Perhaps it was only luck that had you pinning Ori."
Bofur shrugged while reaching for his mug. Gesturing clumsily with it in no particular direction, he said, "Aye, I'm plenty strong. Just tired from our journey, is all." A bit of elvish wine sloshed onto the floor.
"Don't be feeding your drink to the ground, lad," Dwalin called from his spot against the railing. "If you'd concentrate more on putting your food in your mouth rather than giving it away, then maybe you wouldn't be so narrow for a grown dwarf. Your brother's wide enough!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo spied Kili and Fili whispering and casting glances in Bofur and Nori's direction. Had to be mischief, he decided. They rarely did not pass an hour without exuding some measure of it.
Bofur set his cup down and pushed up from the table. "That's enough teasing for now, I think." Pulling his clarinet from a hidden pocket in his jerkin, he put it to his lips and trilled a few notes. "Fancy a song, boys? Feels too serious in this place." He set about playing a merry jig and his fellow dwarves stomped their feet to the rhythm.
So did Bilbo, which perplexed him a little. "Wait...I think I know this one," he said softly to himself.
Bombur winked at Bilbo as he wobbled unsteadily towards the center of the room. He began to spin and kick to the tune, surprisingly spry for a dwarf of such bulk. When Bofur finished the tune, Bombur nodded at his brother and beckoned him over. "Song's meant to be sung."
Bofur trotted over and clasped hands (as linking arms was a bit difficult for them). Spinning each other around, they started to sing the song again:
Hey, ho! To the bottle I go,
To heal my heart and drown my woe,
Rain may fall and wind may blow,
But there still be many miles to go.
Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain,
And the stream that falls from hill to plain,
But better than rain or rippling brook...
Bombur yelled out the last line on his own. "Is a mug of beer inside this cook!" The brothers faced each other and laughed heartily. Dwarves around the room raised their mugs and tipped them back.
The hobbit couldn't believe his ears. How in the world? He walked up to the brothers and stammered at them for a few moments. "That. That's a Hobbit song! How do dwarves know a hobbit song?" Bombur and Bofur exchanged a meaningful look. Bilbo continued obliviously, "Well, I mean, you've changed up the last bit. A Took, not a cook, wrote it long ago."
The other dwarves leaned in to better hear the conversation. Bofur looked sheepishly at Bilbo, "Oh, well, it's just something I heard. No need to get so worked up. I collect all sorts of songs and stories." He rubbed the back of his neck as if he'd been caught about something. Bombur excused himself and sidled back to his corner to munch on some rolls he begged from the kitchens.
Bilbo would have inquired further about where Bofur had heard it, but Kili and Fili chose that very moment to set their wicked plans into action.