Bofur tried to get his courage up for two days, before he felt he'd reached the precipice of madness.

So many questions and doubts rolled though his mind; an experience wholly new and bloody awful. Bofur was a simple dwarf of simple concerns. He had always been fine rattling off whatever he thought, going with the motion of things, trusting luck and the wind. Being confident. What is there to worry about? he had thought. Every new day was a blossoming bubbly burst of sparkles and happiness and fun-shine and he didn't have to worry about his Heart ripping his heart from his chest. About his Love not loving him back. He knew Bilbo enjoyed him perfectly well as a friend but.. What if he ruined everything and made Bilbo uncomfortable with even that companionship?

What if Bilbo wanted somebody else?

What if Bilbo couldn't think of a dwarf that way?

What if Bilbo didn't even like men?

Bofur was a nervous wreck by that second evening. Bilbo and Ori were engaged in their usual knitting ritual together, chatting and chuckling in low voices, all clever fingers making neat things, and Bofur couldn't help but pine in the distance. Watching Bilbo's toothy smile, the wrinkles around his witty eyes, the bits of leaves in his gone-insane curly hair Bofur knew he was too far gone. He could throw up on the hobbit's feet from nervousness about it, but Bilbo was his One, and that was that. So in a rush and unable to breathe he stood, and walked over to the pair.

"Do you, you really think he's noticed?" Bilbo quietly asked the youngest of the company, casting off his latest row. Ori purled and smiled in his shy, sly way. "Bilbo, come now, it's the oliphaunt in the dining hall," He continued twirling his stockinette smoothly as he spoke, very familiar with this topic of conversation. "You've shared your food with him, yes?"

"Yes," Bilbo nodded somberly, counting his stitches, "It is the way of my people."

"And he's given you his hat?"

"On multiple occasions," he offered hopefully, casting on the yarn.

"And you're sure you don't want to start this yourself?" Ori glanced up at him, his little voice deceivingly innocent as he raised an eyebrow.

Bilbo nodded securely. "He's always so... so lively and, and open. Surely if he wanted something he'd approach me about it?"

Ori hummed, and was quiet for several stitches, mouth in a thoughtful frown. "Don't look now," he bent closer to Bilbo and whispered conspiratorily, "But I do believe your miner is looking for a shaft." Bilbo didn't have the time to splutter properly before Bofur was upon them, clearing his throat just a little too loudly.

"Evenin', lads." He beamed, keeping his voice steady and his eyes less than manic. They chorused their greetings politely, and he breathed, and continued. "I was wonderin' if I might be having a word, with eh, you, Mr. Baggins."

"Of course," Bilbo grinned in that not-sarcastic way he saved for special occasions, where his eyes warmed and he looked almost bashful. Bofur swallowed thickly, so swallowing the urge to swoon in a very unmanly fashion. Ori shook his head, mutely relieving Bilbo of his yarn. They were ridiculous.

"What can I help you with, Bofur?" Bilbo asked him as they began a stroll through the sparce woods, grass tall against their legs. Said miner couldn't help but notice the way the hobbit's foreign accent glossed over vowels his dwarf tongue hung on to. And how much he enjoyed the difference. "Ah, jus' thought we could have a bit of a break, is all," he shrugged, smiling what he hoped was his usual way. That was a safe excuse; parts of the company broke off for walks all the time. It's tiring even on the most sociable, to be in the constant personal space of twelve others all day, every day. So the burglar nodded. And that was that.

They strolled and chatted amicably, about the day, and what Bombur's children were like, and fishing, and whatever else came up. It was so easy, Bilbo marveled, and actually interesting, to talk with the dwarves- with Bofur. Back home conversation felt stale, and stiff, and everybody knew what would be said before asking. To the head of the Bagginses, it was a chore to be avoided. But out here, as he got to know himself again, he found he was being spoken with about things he cared for, not to about things forgotten immediately, and Bofur's horrid teasing had grown on him. He doubted he'd be able to revert to respectable conversation again. And watching the toymaker laugh at his own joke, Bilbo couldn't imagine needing to.

Bofur, if truth be told, had utterly lost track of why he'd brought Bilbo out in the first place. He'd been so uncharacteristically anxious, the relief of Bilbo's company pushed all concerns of the destiny-rock from his mind. So they walked and talked until one suggested they not stray too far, and they stood in place and talked, then sat to get comfortable, and continued this way with no mind of the time. They pulled out their pipes for a smoke, the hobbit patiently tried teaching him to blow smoke rings, and they gestured widely and laughed and told stories of their people and childhoods and legends. The moon drifted across her sky, heedless. The dwarf was impressed but- he assured with a grin- not surprised at Bilbo's tales of the Bullroarer, and Isengar gone to sea, and how they were all related to him. Bilbo learned of Durin, and the Seven Fathers, and that Bofur guarded deep dwarf secrets with a looser tongue than most.

He didn't realize it was just for him.

But Bofur couldn't help it- he wanted to share everything with Bilbo, and he wanted to try to communicate and understand and make this inter-species thing work. He wanted to learn, and he wanted his One to know about his people, their ways- like the… like the rock.

"Bofur, are you quite well? You suddenly look pale."

"A-aye, quite alright. Hm," he clears his throat gruffly, and glanced up- the sky was turning that grey pre-dawn, and he felt a genuine sense of hope. If Bilbo had stayed with him this long, surely for life wouldn't be much more to ask. He looked down again to see the hobbit smiling at him, careless of the sleep lost, teeth wide and white in the growing light. It was here he slid a hand into his pocket, drawing the wee stone with it and holding it, feeling that familiar weight. It was small, and seemed so bland and average at first... but it had become radiant, special, and very dear to him indeed. He shakily took Bilbo's hand in his, placing the sunny egg there, and cradling the naked, small palm with both his rough hands, all scarred and gloved. His breath was fast, but his mind a serene calm, watching Bilbo.

"It's a lovely rock," the hobbit said carefully, looking at it, keeping his face neutral. What the hell was this? Bofur was holding his hand like he had just placed a baby bunny in it. He watched Bilbo still, eyes flickering anxiety. Mr. Baggins glanced up at him, then back. There was a heavily pregnant pause. "Is it, for me?" He asked just as gingerly. He didn't want to assume, but this was a lot of pomp and circumstance for anything Bofur.

"Aye, if you wish it to be." The dwarf's voice was unusually quiet and it made Bilbo nervous.

"Is it your birthday?"

"My.. birthday?" The dwarf did a quick, deliberate mental translate of the word to Khuzdul, making sure he got that right. "No, I- what would my birthday have to do with giving you a stone?" His eyes widened and he gasped in horror, "Is that what hobbits do on their birthdays?"

"We- I- I don't, it's not?"

"Wh-"

"I jus-"

"If you don't-"

"I, I can-"

"But-"

"No, it's, I-"

Bilbo held up his free hand, eyes squeezed shut, "Stop! Stop! Let's just, let's just, stop." He took a deep breath, and looked at Bofur- really looked at him, and if Bilbo didn't know better, he'd say there was heartbreak in his eyes.

"I don't understand," he finally admitted, feeling his stomach drop to his toes. What could he possibly have done to make sweet Bofur feel that way?

"I don't suppose you've, heard of courting stones before?" The miner offered gently, a flicker of hope sparking. Bilbo shook his shaggy head, smiling in relief. "I'm afraid not. How does one court with stones?"

"Rocks are very important to Dwarrows. They pick a special one out for their intended and make it all pretty."

"'Pretty'?" Now that was a word Bilbo hadn't expected to hear from him.

"Aye, we polish it. It doesn't sound like much, but…" He struggled to find words to explain the ritual of the rocks. It was like explaining left, or being thirsty. "This rock is everythin' important to a dwarf," He began as he looked to Bilbo's now wide eyes, drawing them from the rock to his. "'Tis th' work of his 'ands, an' it's stable, and beauty from th' earth. A dwarf's heart is stone you know, made hot or cold by the world." Bofur laughed a little, feeling his fear drain away as he spoke. "When-a he finds someone he.. he wants to give his heart to, in his long life, he gives them a stone. The stone is made fer one person alone."

"I see," Bilbo muttered, watching the rock grow brighter as the sky began to blue.

"And should the stone be accepted," Bofur smiled, "The happy couple may court."

"And what is the purpose," Bilbo said slowly, raising his head inquisitively, "Of courting?"

If Gandalf had swung in at this moment, on a vine of grapes, to announce they'd all wear dresses and cartwheel into the Anduin river, Bofur would have been less flustered."Wha- what?" He fumbled. This was not going smoothly at all.

"Why do dwarves court?" Mr. Baggins repeated evenly, stone still in open hand, hand still in both of Bofur's.

"To.. to fall in love," the toymaker was stumbling now, blushing and confused. "And get married, and.. and be together."

"What if they already are?"

"Already are what?"

"What if I already have fallen in love with you?"

That brought them both up short.

"What." It was more of a croak than a word. Bofur was flat lining. Eloquence was gone. Help! Help! Bring in the wine! He tried to make a noise but all that came out was a little, "Ehhgh."

"I," Bilbo took a steadying breath. "Love you, Bofur. Quite much. With resolution, as it were."

Bofur was silent.

"I don't-" Bilbo looked helplessly to the stone in his (still) outstretched hand, then to the dwarf, "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to-"

And Bofur was scooping him up, squeezing him, whirling him around, laughing like a loon. He was babbling gibberish about Ones, and forever and ever, and tumbling Dwarvish words and he stood and clung Bilbo close to him, either laughing or sobbing. "So I accept the rock," Bilbo smirked into his neck, clutching the gift in his hand through it all, "But I'm rather unsure if-"

"Bilbo Baggins," Bofur laughed, bumping their foreheads together and staying there, "Ye cheeky firebrand, I love you with everything I am. For always."

"Well then I don't know about dwarves, but my folk kiss to seal the bargain."

"'Well then' we best be honoring that." Bilbo closed his eyes and puckered his lips expectantly, but as Bofur leaned in, the small stone was slowly lifted in between their mouths so they both met rock. Bofur pulled back with a small start, but Bilbo held the stone to his mouth and smooched it chastely, grinning with his eyes closed. "It's your heart, isn't it?" He cracked an eye open to look at Bofur's delighted expression. A jester for the jester.

"I suppose it is, but, I've been hoping to kiss that mouth o' yours since I laid eyes on you, from down on your little carpet!" Bilbo gasped at this forwardness.

Thus as the dawn peaked over the land, and the dwarves of the Company were stirring, watchman Ori smirked at them as they strolled into camp hand-in-hand.

fin