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Bofur does not know when he first started looking—really looking at the leader of their company. Often, while on the road being jolted about on the back of a pony, he wonders how the rest can bear to take their eyes off the would-be king. Thorin brings with him a certain gravitas, a heaviness of the light sort that is found in neither sword nor axe. Perhaps it is weightless thoughts that burden his body, for he never appears to sleep. It does not even take many nights on the road before this catches Bofur's notice.
Though there are thirteen of them (Thorin does not think highly enough of their burglar and Gandalf’s presence is as reliable as a leaf in the wind), it seems that only a few in the company have been repeatedly tasked to keep a lookout for trouble while the rest attempt to sleep off the weariness of their journey. Bofur is surprised to discover that he is one of them, although the glow of happiness is soon dulled by the realization that it is really the ever-wakeful Thorin who keeps vigil.
More than once, he is caught staring.
“I don’t suppose it would be wrong,” Bofur muses aloud one night, “to say that I’d be out of work if you’d eyes at the back o’ your head.”
Thorin grunts, shifting in his bedroll. “A being with two eyes in the front of his head may only look in so many directions at once,” comes the gruff reply. “Thus, we compensate by working in pairs.”
“Just sleep,” says Bofur lightly, amused. “I could play a tune guaranteed to lull you into sweet slumber if you like.”
“A ridiculous offer,” Thorin rebuffs him, although for the first time his lips curve into the beginnings of a smile. “If my stare bothers you, I will close my eyes. But do not think that my ears should not remain alert.”
“Aye, you do have a rather belligerent gaze.” Bofur rather feels like biting his tongue at this point, thinking that he can only go so far with his teasing.
Thorin only grunts again, and Bofur resumes his watch, humming the melody of an old lullaby under his breath.