A Dwarf is for Life not just for Christmas Chapter 13: Bombur and the Making of Merriment, a hobbit fanfic

A/N: So.…. Been a while huh?
I am sorry. Life kinda threw me for a loop and I didn't have the time, energy or inclination to write.
But here's a chapter for you as I am now free until I can get a new job after we come out of lockdown. There are a couple of songs in this chapter and I have included links to my favourite versions of them in End Notes.
Enjoy a chapter full of food and songs.

The Hobbit
A Dwarf is for Life not just for Christmas

Chapter 13

Bombur and the Making of Merriment

Bombur was well aware of how people (Hobbits, Dwarrow, Men and Elves) perceived him. He was particularly large, even for a Dwarf, but it was always interesting how people seemed to miss his presence despite his size. Maybe it was because unless he was taking up too much space, he was invisible.

He had never been much of a talker, unlike his beloved brother Bofur, and preferred to watch, listen and wait before saying anything. His mother said he was shy; his father had just said he was fat and that's why he couldn't talk to anyone because he knew they would mock him. Bombur loved his mother. She understood. She hadn't been particularly slim or fat, just the right size for a Dwarrow.

Bombur had never been overly ashamed or aware of his size, he was just built differently to other Dwarrow and couldn't seem to keep the weight off. Of course, there were the odd occasions when he was a young Dwarf and his peers had been cruel. They thought because he didn't speak back that he was completely defenceless. But Bombur would try to let the comments slide off him. And for the most part they did.

Bombur instead turned any frustrations he had to his skill - cooking. Bombur could make meals out of nearly anything, and being part of a fairly poor mining family, he was used to working with few ingredients. When he had the time, he would go out of the mountain and seek out native herbs and plants to supplement his cooking. He got so good at it that he attracted the attention of one of the cooks for a restaurant on the upper levels of the Blue Mountains.

He loved cooking. Combining different ingredients together and trying to match tastes or contrast them. Spices, herbs, meats, cheeses and vegetables brought together and cooked in different ways to make extravagant dishes.

Bofur had been so proud of him when he secured his paid apprenticeship at the restaurant. So had their mother. Their father of course had been disappointed that his youngest son didn't have strong enough Stone Sense to work in the mines with Bofur, but the pride and approval of his brother and mother meant more to Bombur.

He spent years working his way through the ranks, spending hours practicing cutting techniques, including turning vegetables and the rare fruits that they managed to get in the Blue Mountains into patterns and ornately decorated cakes and pies. After several years he had risen up through the ranks of chefs and was sought after as one of the highest quality chefs in the entire mountain.

That was when Bombur had met Princess Dis. The poor Dwarrow had been in the market, accompanied by her two sons and was trying to settle a dispute between a Blue Mountain Dwarf and one of the Ereborean refugees. Bombur had been in the market, looking for any unusual spices that had come in with the latest trade caravan that had travelled from the Iron Hills and beyond.

Bombur couldn't help but notice the kerfuffle as two large Dwarves shouted at each other in angry Khuzdul and the smaller, slimmer Dwarrow who was trying to intervene. He also noticed the two young Dwarflings who looked thin and hungry and frightened who were stood apart from all the Dwarves and watched with keen eyes as their mother was buffeted by the larger Dwarves.

Gently sidling his way between the crowd of Dwarves, Bombur manoeuvred his way to the front and waited for the opportune moment. When fists were raised, and it looked like it was about to come to blows Bombur stepped in. His voice was deep, resonate and powerful and his command stopped the Dwarves in their tracks. Bombur used his girth and presence to part the two Dwarves who had already stepped further back.

"Are you well, Princess Dis?" Bombur spoke softly, no longer needing to use his voice to overpower the shouting. He bowed slightly to her and saw, from the corner of his eyes, the two Dwarves sheepishly copying him – only just realising who exactly had been trying to stop them.

"I am well, thank you." Dis replied, her voice weary and sharp simultaneously. Bombur could see that she was fuming and tired.

"Can I ask what the problem is?" Bombur turned to the Blue Mountain's Dwarf. He was a trader, one who ventured further than most would dare and Bombur had purchased several exotic spices from him over the years (only when he could afford it of course, he would rather buy some meat from one of the hunters if it was a choice between meat or spices due to little funds).

"This Dwarf said I was overcharging him for the cloth he wanted to buy." The trader said and indicated towards the Dwarf. Bombur turned to the Dwarf and saw Princess Dis watching him carefully and suspiciously. She had stepped over to stand near her fellow Ereborean and both looked uncomfortable.

"He charges us more, Master Dwarf." The disgruntled client had said. "Dwarves from the Blue Mountains pay at least 5 coins less than we have to. It isn't right!"

Bombur felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. The Blue Mountain Dwarf scoffed.

"The extra cost is due to supply and demand. It used to be easier to get my produce when Erebor still stood. It isn't my fault your mountain was lost."

Princess Dis's eyebrows furrowed downwards in a scowl.

"How is the loss of Erebor impacting on your prices? You never traded within Erebor Master Dwarf. Nor did your family. I would remember." Dis said coldly. "And I have seen a Blue Mountain Dwarrow purchase cinnamon from you for three gold coins when we have to pay eight."

Bombur felt his stomach sink. He himself had bought a packet of cinnamon sticks the other day. It had indeed only set him back three coins, a bargain he had thought at the time. Now he had the feeling that it was only so low for him and his fellow Dwarves because the Trader disliked the Ereboreans and was gouging them of the little coin they could scrape together.

"If you don't have the coin or you don't want to pay then leave my stall." The Trader snapped. "I can set my prices as I like."

"Indeed, you can." Bombur agreed. "However, I'm sure the Lords would not be pleased to hear you have been treating our kin so. Especially when you have been speaking to Princess Dis in such a manner. I'm afraid you will be losing my custom at the very least. Good day."

He turned to the Ereborean Dwarves. "I know another trader. Has a smaller stock but will charge fair prices to all Dwarrow. He even takes commissions and will bring you back items if he can."

Princess Dis seemed to relax a little and gestured for Bombur to lead on. The two young princes scampered up to join their mother and watched Bombur with wide eyes. He led a small group of Ereborean's through the twists and turns of the market to where his trader friend was and made sure to introduce them all, whilst making sure his friend knew the circumstances they had encountered previously.

Before long the Ereborean Dwarves were making purchases and the trader was beaming happily at selling his wares. It was hard for him to compete with the other trader Dwarf as he had fewer caravans and employees, being that his family was much smaller, and the variety of items he could get was smaller, but higher quality.

"Thank you, Master Dwarf." Princess Dis said quietly.

That had been it for Bombur. He had found himself in the employ of Thorin Oakenshield and was soon cooking personally for the Prince and his small household. The years spent in exile had not been kind to Thorin, numerous assassination attempts had been carried out as Dwarrow feared that the line of Durin could rally all Dwarrow behind them (even without the Arkenstone). But Bombur had proven himself a truly honourable Dwarf and safe to the young Princes and so he became the Ereborean cook.

*Winter*Festival*

The quest to Erebor had been hard on Bombur, used to having food and being able to provide for his family and kin, but it had only been a few weeks into their journey when Bombur had noticed Bilbo Baggins getting thinner.

It wasn't obvious perhaps because none of the Dwarrows had ever seen what happened to Hobbits when they lacked food. First Bilbo seemed to get a little plumper but then, quite quickly, the roundness in his cheeks seemed to disappear by the day.

As they travelled Bombur had watched as Bilbo would ration out his food, consuming that which would not last immediately at mealtimes but other things like bread, fruit or raw vegetables he would secrete into his pockets or his bag.

Bombur welcomed Bilbo's assistance with meals when they were travelling as the Hobbit had a greater knowledge of the wilder plants than Bombur had ever needed. It was in this way that Bombur learnt dandelions were edible and that lily of the valley, which looked awfully like wild garlic, was poisonous.

Bilbo was someone used to hunger and Bombur watched as the Hobbit pulled nuts, bread or anything he had hidden away during their walking and nibbled on it. Small, sharp bites spaced out and depending on what it was he was eating sometimes he would consume it all, other times the remnants would return to their hiding places. The Hobbit was also quite protective of his food and Bombur realised things had become quite dire when they arrived at Beorn's.

Seated at the Skinchanger's table Bilbo had been hunched over his bowl of porridge, clutching it towards his chest and taking slow spoonfuls up to his mouth. One might have thought he was savouring the creaminess of it but Bombur had seen Dwarrow act the same in the Blue Mountains. Dwarrow who had gone long without would hunch over their food, protecting it with a savageness and ferocity and a wide look of hunger. So, it was with Bilbo when Kili attempted to steal a spoonful. The Hobbit clamped his small fingers down on Kili's hand, the untrimmed, torn and dirty nails digging deep into the Prince's skin.

"Mine." Bilbo had snarled lowly and looked up from under his fringe at Kili. The Prince had looked with a slightly agape mouth before nodding and pulling his hand and spoon away. Bilbo had wasted no time in getting down from the table with his bowl of porridge and slinking over to the sunny windowsill where he hunkered down to eat his porridge slowly.

After that Bombur had taken to making sure Bilbo ate between their meals, saving extras from their meals and sometimes giving Bilbo a portion of his own rations. He also, overcoming his shyness, approached Bilbo and began to learn about Hobbit meals and dishes. It was in this way that Bombur learnt Bilbo was used to seven meals a day and the Dwarf did his best to try and replicate that whenever possible, even if it was only seven small portions.

Bilbo had thanked him every single time. As if food and caring was a great gift. And Bombur knew that Bilbo understood the value of food and friendship.

*Winter*Festival*

Bombur placed a soft kiss on Sibreg's cheek and nuzzled his large nose against Sibit's. His youngest child was not best pleased that he was going to Bag End and she was not and Bombur felt a chuckle swell up inside him at the tempestuous expression and soul-crushing pout she had gleaned from Frodo and the other faunts.

"I'll see you soon little gem. I am helping Bilbo with the food. Then you and your mother and some of your siblings will join us all for a large feast."

Sibit continued to pout.

"Will there be fruitcake?" She whispered.

Bombur leaned in close.

"I'm certain Mr Bilbo has at least one, if not more than one, fruit cake available for us."

"Are you going to make your marzipan models?" was the Dwarfling's next question and Bombur answered it with a wink.

A squeal of delight burst from Sibit and she buried her face in her mother's beard in joy.

"I will see you around dusk my love." Bombur looked up at Sibreg and saw the fond expression she wore as she watched her only daughter interact with the love of her life.

"Aye. Now go cook us some food."

Bombur chuckled at his dismissal and began making his way up the snow-covered paths towards The Hill. Only those with jobs and errands such as caring for livestock or bringing in wood for fires were out this early, torches and lanterns held aloft to light their way, and Bombur nodded as he passed Dwarrow and Hobbit alike.

Everyone seemed relaxed and joyous on this special day, despite the lingering threat of the Brandywine freezing. Bombur was glad for it. Travelling in winter was never pleasant and there were always more casualties. Dwarflings would wander off, paths that would usually be moderately safe in the summer and autumn became treacherous and the oldest Dwarrow would sometimes freeze to death in tents or succumb to illness. There would be none of that today however, as everyone in Hobbiton (and he believed the Shire as a whole) had somewhere warm, dry and safe to be whilst they celebrated.

Bombur had brought his own knapsack with several of his unique spices, herbs and other secret ingredients. He and Bilbo had agreed to cook together, two pairs of hands would be able to produce more food, hopefully more than enough to feed the twenty plus folk who would be feasting at Bag End come evening. They would use the other members of the Company for tasks such as chopping and mashing, but the combination and assembly of dishes would be under his and the Hobbit's control.

He was greatly looking forward to it. The opportunity to meld Hobbit and Dwarven food together and the traditional dishes for their winter celebrations was a unique one and if successful Bombur hoped to be able to borrow some of the recipes and take them back to Erebor. Of course, he would give acknowledgement to Bilbo, equal share was only fair in any creation they made.

It was as Bombur passed the last smial on Bagshot Row that he noticed the strange figure trudging its way up towards Bag End. It was too large to be a Hobbit but did not look like a Dwarrow. A concerned frown formed on Bombur's broad face and he hastened his pace as much as possible. Panting and huffing slightly he soon caught up to the figure only to realise it was two Hobbits.

Both were cloaked against the sharp bite of the still night air and the pervasive cold that snow brought. White fur peaked from beneath the hood of the Hobbit who was carrying the smaller on their back.

"Excuse me. Might you be Obsidian Took?" Bombur murmured politely as he drew up alongside them.

Obsidian peeked out from beneath heir white fur and Bombur could see dark bags under her eyes. The Hobbit she was carrying on her back tilted backwards, trying to see who was speaking to them and Bombur reached a hand out to steady Obsidian.

"Aye, I'm Obsidian. This is my mother Ursula Took. Ma, this is Master Bombur, one of Bilbo's Dwarves. His wife is the one who made all those glass creatures and creations."

Bombur raised an eyebrow in surprise at how well informed the Hobbit lass was.

"I listen. And Fili, I mean Prince Fili told me about the Company and the Quest. Only a little though."

"Stop getting all nervous child." The old Hobbit said sharply, and Obsidian rolled her eyes exasperatedly.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintances. Bombur at your service." He sketched a little bow. "Can I be of assistance?"

"Oh no!" Obsidian's eyes widened. "Ma and I are going home. There were a few problems at Took Hall, and we decided to return home. I just wanted to leave a note for…"

She trailed off and her cheeks pinked slightly as she looked down towards the snowy ground. Her mother cackled on her back.

"She wanted to leave a note for her Dwarven Prince. And I wanted to send my well wishes to Bilbo and tell him to ignore all the fools who spout nonsense. Best thing that boy could have done, leaving the Shire and seeing some of the world. And getting himself a handsome Dwarrow in the doing only sweetens the adventure."

Bombur found himself grinning widely at the sharp and witty tongue of Ursula Took. The old Hobbit who was peering at him from under a dark fur lined coat had sharp blue eyes and a rich voice, much like her daughter.

"Well I'm sure Fili would appreciate a conversation more than a note Miss Obsidian and Bilbo would surely enjoy speaking with your mother. Come along now. I'm nearly late to start cooking with Bilbo and I don't want to upset him this early in the day."

Obsidian spluttered and tried to say it was unnecessary but Bombur was having none of it. He gently steered and prodded Obsidian up the path, her mother cackling and commenting the whole way. Bilbo had the door open by the time they reached the front gate.

"More guests?" The Hobbit drawled.

"Don't you take that tone with me Bilbo Baggins!" Urusula scolded gleefully.

"Sorry Aunt Ursula." Bilbo apologised cheekily. "Come in, come in."

Obsidian crouched down and slowly slid her mother down from her back. Bilbo and Bombur both made sure the elderly Hobbit lady was steady as the young Hobbit lass stepped away and straightened.

Urusula removed her coat and Bombur was surprised at how similar the mother and daughter pair looked. The same button nose, the same eye shape, the same bone structure. The differences were few and far between but Bombur could see that there was definitely some Dwarrow in Obsidian. Her jaw was stronger than a Hobbits and her ears (which he could see due to the complex braids pulling her hair back) were only gently pointed and looked more like a Dwarrow's than a Hobbits.

Ursula Took gratefully thanked Bilbo as he took her coat and knelt down to slip off her boots. Bombur allowed her to lean against his stomach and he took the time to look at her weathered face. Wrinkles and laughter lines filled her face with character and her hair was curlier than her daughters but was snow white with age.

"Been a long time since a Dwarrow looked at me that intently. Ended up getting a daughter out of his interest." Ursula teased and winked at Bombur.

"Ma!" Obsidian said indignantly.

"I'm just teasing. He knows that. Give me my walking stick. I want to sit down by a fire. My old bones need to heat up."

Obsidian pulled the walking stick out from under cloak and Bilbo and Bombur noticed the quiver hanging off her belt and the bow.

"Bilbo, somewhere an old traveller can sit down?"

Bilbo held out an arm and Ursula wound hers into his and let him lead her down the hall towards the family room. Obsidian took her cloak off and hung it up carefully. Her boots took a moment longer to unlace and Bombur saw her feet were socked and smaller than your usual Hobbits.

"Would you like to come and help us cook?"

Obsidian looked startled.

"Me?"

"No one else around." Bombur teased gently. He watched as she seemed surprised.

"Most people don't want my help. They don't want me or my Ma around. I'm not your usual Hobbit lass."

"Good. Usual is boring." Bombur smiled and began to make his way towards the kitchen where he could hear Bilbo pottering around and making tea and breakfast for them before they began the day of cooking.

*Winter*Festival*

Bilbo and Bombur were positively dancing around the kitchen. Food was baking in the oven, simmering on the hob and Bombur had been impressed to discover that Bilbo had a secondary, larger kitchen. It was a few doors down from the one they had previously used. This one was larger and designed to cater for more people. A large fire with a rail for roasting or hanging pots off took up the majority of one wall and there were a couple of large ovens built into the side of the fireplace.

A large goose was roasting on a spit. The fat was collecting underneath for roasting the potatoes later. Every now and again they would baste the goose with the juices and turn the spit to make sure it was cooking all the way through. Bombur and Obsidian had spent a lot of time making his famous stuffing. Obsidian had been the perfect kitchen assistant. She had sat down gratefully and crumbled the breadcrumbs to the right consistency. Her skills with a knife had come in handy for chopping up the vegetables. One of the secret ingredients to Bombur's stuffing were cranberries. The sharp, tart fruit cut through the richness and fat of the meat and the starchy stuffing. There were more secret ingredients, but Bilbo and Obsidian had been sworn to secrecy.

Bilbo and Ursula had spent time making pigs in blankets, a Shire tradition that Bombur loved (wrapping sausage in bacon was genius).

There were even more meat dishes; venison in red wine, chicken, duck, pheasant, rabbit, beef and pork. Then there were the vegetables; roasted potatoes, parsnips and carrots, brussel sprouts and steamed carrots. There were soups, pottages and stews simmering over the fire and all richly flavoured with meats and vegetables and spices. Bombur had made one of the only vegetable dishes the dwarves enjoyed. It was a potato dish with the potatoes very thinly sliced and layered with cheese and a rich, creamy, velvety sauce. The dish was cooked slowly in the oven and the sauce was gently oozing and bubbling at the sides.

Some of the different juices from the meats had been used to make a variety of sauces and gravy. Bombur and Bilbo both had their own particular ones they had made. Some had been given an extra kick with wine and spirits from Bilbo's cellar! Those ones had been carefully marked and set aside.

Bilbo had roasted chestnuts and other nuts on the open fire, and these had been shelled by stubborn Dwarvish fingers who could withstand the heat. Fili had more than happily agreed to be a kitchen helper and Kili had agreed when Bilbo had offered him the opportunity to be the official taste tester.

Apple and spices had been encased in a rich pastry to make a pie-like dish. Custard tarts sprinkled with nutmeg and cinnamon sat on a long platter. Pears in cooked wine and spices had been set aside to cool and would be served later with a rich cream from the Shire's best milkers.

Bilbo had shown Bombur how the Shire made some of their more fragile delicacies. In the large kitchen there was a dresser with elegant copper moulds in different shapes. These were used to make lightly scented and flavoured jellies and milk puddings. When they were turned out onto plates, they glistened in the pale winter light. Bilbo planned to serve them with tiny aniseed and almond biscuits and of course some more of the rich cream.

The centrepiece for the desserts was a surprisingly large plum pudding. Bombur usually made this annually for the Durin family and their friends. Bilbo and Bombur had, had to search through the vast stores of Hobbit pottery to find a dish large enough to accommodate the grandness of this pudding. At one-point Bombur had almost suggested using Bilbo's tin bath, but the thought of the outrage and horror on Bilbo's face was enough to make him bite his tongue. They had eventually settled on a clotted cream dish that was an old relic from the Took family's foray into dairying.

The older Dwarrow had settled down in the family room with some small nibbles, nothing too heavy, and Ursula Took had taken to their company like a duck to water. Oin, Balin, Dori and she were gossiping and talking about Dwarrow traders, craft and exchanging stories as if they had known each other all her life.

Bombur, Bilbo and Obsidian remained in the kitchen. The two Hobbits had begun decorating a winter cake that Bilbo had been making for a couple of weeks prior. He had soaked the fruit for a week, feeding it every now and again with brandy and stirring it to really help the fruit soak up the alcohol. He had then made the cake and fed it once more with brandy before wrapping it and leaving it prior to decorating. Obsidian had been tasked with carefully decorating the cake with fruits, arranging them to look pleasing to the eye. Once she was finished, she would glaze the top to make the fruit glisten.

They were all on their final masterpieces.

Bombur's large but deft fingers were adding the finishing touches to his array of marzipan animals, dwarves and hobbits. Each had individual personalities and features. Bilbo's favourite by far were the mice, all small and plump but with different facial expressions. Meanwhile Bilbo was adding the finishing touches to a gingerbread Dwarvish style castle.

It was to be the centre piece of the sweets table, an edible edifice with the strong lines and bold markings that Bilbo remembered from Erebor. Icing dripped from the roof and window ledges. It had also been used to highlight some of the architectural features. The windows had been made with melted sugar and colouring made from plants. Bilbo intended to place a candle inside the castle and the light would shine through and illuminate the different coloured panes.

Bombur helped Bilbo carry his castle through to the dining room which had been set up as the room for sweets and drinks. All furniture had been removed, save for several tables which had been covered with festive tablecloths in cheery colours, and the dresser which now hosted jug upon jug of a variety of cordials, juices, mulled drinks and a large range of drinking vessels. Thorin and Dwalin had pulled up a couple of casks of cider and beer and those had been carefully placed on the stands and tapped into. Now they held taps and buckets had been placed underneath to catch any rare drips.

Bombur wrapped his arm around Bilbo's shoulder and felt the Hobbit sink into his friendly embrace.

"It looks splendid." The Hobbit murmured as he gazed at the tables laden with sweets and then out into the hallway of Bag End.

The younger Dwarrow had been busy all day setting up the tables that they had scrounged up from the various rooms in the House under the Hill. None of them matched, some were completely the wrong height and made no clear join to the one they had been placed next to, but Bilbo found something delightful in the disarray.

Candles had been lit in all the sconces and sticks along the walls and every few seats there was a candlestick or candelabra to illuminate the plates and eaters. Cutlery, polished and shined to within an inch of its life had been laid out by each place and Bilbo had noticed Ursula Took instructing the Dwarrow on exactly how to lay out a table. She had even taught Fili, Kili, Ori and Nori how to make napkin animals and these sat proudly on the topmost plate before each chair. Sparkling glasses cut carefully or etched with fruit and plants from the Shire caught the soft candlelight and made the hallway seem even more enchanting.

"Aye. It looks fit for a King, a Hobbit or three, a Company and their family." Bombur chuckled.

"It looks like it's for family." Bilbo sighed happily and smiled up at Bombur. The large Dwarf couldn't hold back any longer and swept Bilbo up in a proper Dwarvish hug, forehead gently pressed against the Hobbit's and his arms tight around Bilbo's shoulder.

Bilbo chuckled wetly and nuzzled slightly into Bombur's forehead.

"Food, song and cheer indeed." Bilbo whispered.

"We're just missing song." Bombur said and finally broke their embrace, both men wiping a tear or two from their cheeks. "Bofur!"

The behatted Dwarf poked his head out from the living room where the Company were assembled and quietly giving the two a moment.

"Aye brother?"

"It's time for a song."

Bofur crowed in excitement and disappeared back into the living room. Whoops, cheers and hollers were soon followed by the sound of instruments being warmed up and tuned.
Bilbo turned to check the clock, they had some time before their guests would arrive and he was ready for some song.

The pair made their way into the living room, Bilbo's armchair was occupied by Ursula Took who was reigning over the proceedings with a twinkle in her eye and a rouge tint to her cheek. Even Thorin was bowing down the elderly Hobbit's orders and Bilbo felt a laugh bubbling up from deep inside as the Dwarf King settled his harp on his lap and waited for Ursula to begin the sing-a-long.

"A Wassil, a wassail all over the town…"

Ursula began and the Dwarrow picked up the tune easily and quickly. Their group stuck to songs that they knew would be common to Hobbit and Dwarrow. These meant they were typically the songs of Men but no one minded.

Each Dwarf took a turn leading a song with the others supporting with their instruments. Bofur's clarinet rang out loud and clear, Dwalin and Balin's violins rang out and their fingers moved quickly over the strings despite their age. The Ri brothers danced above everyone with their flutes, almost like a chase with each brother taking the leading line before bowing and giving way to another. Fili and Kili sometimes played their fiddles but most often could be hear lending their voices and making harmony with Thorin, who was the lead singer. Bifur had decided to play both the clarinet and occasionally the tambourine and would gleefully switch between the two and let out wild hoots of excitement during the faster songs. Bombur had managed to produce a tabor from somewhere and would provide the beat or speed the Company up as he so desired.

Bilbo and Obsidian were the only ones, save for Urusla, without instruments and the two younger Hobbits spent some time clapping along or joining in the choruses. Occasionally Obsidian pulled Bilbo up gently and the two engaged in wild and frenzied dancing.

Their bare feet were light on the floor as they twisted, turned and leapt around the room. Ursula watched with a knowing eye as Thorin stared at Bilbo whose burnished curls glimmered in the light of the room and his cheeks turned ruddy with excitement and joy. Her eye also fell on the golden Durin child. He seemed to be bewitched as Obsidian let Bilbo fall back onto the floor at the edge of the circle with exhaustion and she gleefully laughed and carried on dancing. Her wide trousers billowing in the air, her blue scarf wrapped around her waist trailing behind her like an echo of her movement and her platinum blonde hair falling from its high braid to whip around her face like wild vines.

Urusla had seen those looks before on Dwarrow. But that had been many decades ago and those looks had been from one Dwarf and fixed upon herself. It had been a passionate love and Ursula had never regretted it. Especially since it had given her Obsidian.

The tune they were playing was one without voice and the instruments grew more and more frantic, the players sweating and grinning wildly at each other. Obsidian span faster and faster, a laugh ripping from her throat and she danced closer to Fili who, mesmerised, had ceased playing much to the amusement of his Uncle and brother.

Bilbo whooped as she grabbed Fili's hand and pulled him into the circle to dance with her. The Dwarf Prince picked up his fiddle again and began to dance with Obsidian. Bilbo found his gaze falling on Thorin and the Dwarf King stared back eagerly. The song came to an abrupt end and everyone in the room found themselves panting with mirth and euphoria.

"Come now brother." Bofur panted and clapped Bombur on the shoulder. "We've time for you to sing."

"Aye Bombur, sing the Cuckoo's Nest!" Kili requested.

"Are we sure we can sing that one?" Dori worried. "There are ladies present."

Urusla cackled, "It's been a long time since I heard the Cuckoo's Nest. You sing it Master Bombur and I'll get my Obsidian to sing."

"Mother." Obsidian scolded.

Bombur blushed as the Company implored him and found himself agreeing when Bilbo added his own voice to their clamouring. It seemed all the Company found it hard to say no to their Hobbit.

He coughed and cleared his throat. It was a little known fact that Bombur actually had a beautiful tenor voice. He often sang to his bairns but never anything as bawdy as the Cuckoo's Nest. He usually only sang such songs after a few drinks.

"As I was a walking one morning in May…" The Company joined in with their instruments or stamped and clapped, adding their voices to the chorus.

Bilbo chortled and stomped his own feet, blushing lightly at the meaning behind the words. Urusla was cackling and clapping her own small hands together. Bombur grinned as he grew in confidence and swept Bilbo up and began to treat him as the maid. Bilbo fell into the role with a hint of trepidation but soon found himself laughing and simpering as he played the fair maid.

"I met a pretty fair maid and unto her did say,
I'll tell you me mind, it's for love I am inclined
An me inclination lies in your cuckoo's nest.

Some like a girl who is pretty in the face
And some like a girl who is slender in the waist
But give me a girl who will wriggle and will twist
At the bottom of the belly lies the cuckoo's nest

Me darling, says she, I could do no such thing
My mother often told me it was committing sin
My maidenhead to lose and my sex to be abused,
So I'll thank you not to think upon me cuckoo's nest.

Some like a girl who is pretty in the face
And some like a girl who is slender in the waist
But give me a girl who will wriggle and will twist
At the bottom of the belly lies the cuckoo's nest

My darling, said he, it is not committing sin
but common sense should tell you it is a pleasing thing
I love you my dear and I'll marry you I swear,
If you let me clap my hand upon your cuckoo's nest.

Some like a girl who is pretty in the face
And some like a girl who is slender in the waist
But give me a girl who will wriggle and will twist
At the bottom of the belly lies the cuckoo's nest

My darling, said she, I cannot you deny,
It surely won't be hard by the rolling of your eye
I can see it in your eyes that your courage is surprised
So gently lift your hand into my cuckoo's nest.

Some like a girl who is pretty in the face
And some like a girl who is slender in the waist
But give me a girl who will wriggle and will twist
At the bottom of the belly lies the cuckoo's nest

This couple they got married and soon they went to bed
And so this pretty, fair maid, she lost her maidenhead.
In a small country cottage they increase and do their best
And he often claps his hand upon her cuckoo's nest!"

The Company repeated the chorus one last time, even bawdier and more raucous than before. Everyone was clapping and stomping their feet heartily and the walls of Bag End reverberated with their merriment.

Bombur took a deep bow when they had finally finished. Whistles and cheers came from his friends and Ursula Took made him bow down to her and she patted his cheek and thanked him for the song.

"I do believe you promised Obsidian would sing for us Mistress Took." Thorin rumbled, he too was pink-cheeked and smiling.

"Aye I did. Daughter up you come."

Obsidian rolled her eyes but obeyed her mother, trotting over to bend down and let the older Hobbit whisper in her ear. She raised an eyebrow and shook her head at her mother's antics.

She pushed her hair back from her face and sat gently down on the arm of her mother's chair. The elderly Hobbit twisted so she could stare at her daughter with a fond and wicked smile.

Obsidian licked her lips and winked at Bilbo and Bombur before starting her song. It was slower than the Cuckoo's Nest, and less blatant in its meaning, but she soon had the Company tittering and guffawing.

"As I walked out one May morning
To view the fields and the leaves a-springing
I saw two maidens standing by
And one of them her hands was wringing