Author's Note: I am SO SORRY for the enormous delay in this chapter. Real life happened. This chapter may not be that funny but I did take my time in writing it so I hope you like it!

Also, Bifur is a sap.

In Bifur Hobbit's Trust

Madness. The morning had been utter madness. Besides orcs and frightful chases, Bifur had been an axe head to behold indeed as Bilbo and Bifur's day was utterly ruined by terrifying grey skinned beasts and shroom consuming wizards who knew more than what was normal about rabbits. Not that Bilbo minded the ruining of their day, but Bifur was decidedly indignant of the world in general after his day with the hobbit was murdered by horrible howling wargs and vile smelling minions with boy band spiked collars adorning their necks. Though Rivendell was a peaceful place with babbling brooks and twisting, see-through stair cases holding rooms anyone could peek into to spy on your most intimate moments, it offered no peace for Bifur's day.

Poor and unfortunate as the raccoon braided dwarf was, opportunity rarely came a-knocking upon his door. This time he was freely allowed to compete with the actual Durins, and bestowed the honor of being in this hobbit's presence, no matter what the fae thing thought of him. And judging from the occasional flinch whenever he grunted or gestured to him, Bilbo thought him truly a beast. He only hoped to put this assumption to bed.

Weapon crunching against what he assumed was brain matter, he murdered nasty beasts and enviously glanced back as his less chubby cousin watched over his hobbit. At least, he reasoned, Bilbo was safe.

He let Bofur manhandle the tiny thing into their circle as the enormously thin and willowy elves raced about them in daring circles, keeping him well defended. He would, he would, he would get a moment alone with the hobbit, he swore it, even if he had to hack fair elven flesh to bits one body part at a time to get to do so!

Turns out his weapon was unnecessary as a colossal brunette with an exceptionally high forehead seemed to recognize Gandalf and began spewing gibberish at him. Gandalf responded in kind and Gloin became distraught with thoughts he spoke aloud in quiet whispers that they had been led here only to be cannibalized and skinned of their fury hides to the laughter of all elf kind. Bifur wondered only momentarily if dwarven hair was prized for fine pointy-eared tunics and mittens.

Sweet Bilbo scolded Gloin's thoughts with a brow furrowed so far down his face Bifur feared even his weapon could not remove the wrinkles. Bilbo was obviously taken with this tiara wearing tree in armor, or he was seduced by some ancient magic. Bifur muttered darkly elbowing his cousin away from the hobbit, scooting closer to stand shoulder to shoulder with his tiny friend just in case.

After Thorin proved himself an ass beyond the reckoning of all living things, and Elrond looked near ready to punt him across Rivendale with his too delicate toes and his fancy shoes, they were escorted to a meal of lettuce and white slices of bitterness Bifur was aghast to call food and the cursed elves called 'onions'. Of course, this didn't mean he disliked the green bits, they just weren't cooked to his taste. A bit of roasting and he would enjoy a mouthful. He had to fight off his companions for a spot to the right of Bilbo, who took a moment to gaze up at him and smile nervously. All the same, Bifur felt a bit of parsley drop from his lips mid-chew as he glowed in adoration at the sight. Bofur, who sat on his side, rolled his eyes and called him a besotted badger in Khudzul. Bifur only heard the munching of the precious shireling, who was thrilled to have something other than unseasoned stew for his belly.

After Bofur gave up on teasing his cousin, he got up on the table to belt perverted tunes in an attempt to insult their lofty hosts, smashing and destroying with all the grace of his thickly built body. Food flew across the sky coating fair elven hair and instruments, and Bilbo, who blushed feverishly in mortification, smashing his head against his plate twice, refusing to remove it for a long time.

Bifur, torn between amusement and a desire to comfort, patted Bilbo's back until the poor thing's head literally cracked the plate beneath leaving Bilbo askance and bleeding only just from the forehead, sprigs of green food interwoven in his curls. Bifur was about ready to punch himself in the axe when the Halfling lifted a hand in surrender and refused to hear an apology.

"Bifur, it's alright. You would never cut my head on purpose," he sighed dabbing his head with a napkin.

Bifur muttered furiously in the only language he could speak, mostly apologies and the expression of his frustration to wish to speak more with the hobbit and have their time together. The only one to hear Bifur under the table shaking roar of song and rattling knives appeared to be Balin, who, with a polite nod and an off, almost sad glint in his eyes, translated.

Bilbo's cut turned out to be superficial once Oin took a look, but Bifur had already given up all hope. He wasn't young anymore, and how could he even be with someone when they needed a translator at their disposal at all hours of all days?

It turned out that Bilbo, a hobbit unaware that he was constantly surprising and decimating all prejudices the dwarves might have held against him, wasn't content with leaving their day to end with an accidental scratch. He sought Bifur's company while he was blankly staring into a fire cooking greens and listening to the idle chatter of his companions.

"Master Bifur, I know this was meant to be your day in this whole…hm, courting session…thing," the little one whispered as he leaned down to ear level, "so I thought we ought to perhaps take a walk, tour a garden…something of the like." Pink as a rose his cheeks grew. Bifur had to stop his brain from considering the possibilities that a pretty blush like that meant more than just the embarrassment of politeness while he stood, a torch of flaming vegetables in hand.

Not bothering to put out the fire in the greenery, he rose to his feet dramatically swaying the fires this way and that, nearly singeing his cousin's beloved hat.

Tossing the remainders of his sausage at an unsuspecting Bombur's face, Bofur furiously whipped the silly cloth about to fan out the burning, grumbling and glaring at Bifur. Noticing the hobbit standing beside him, Bofur's eyes came alight. Grabbing hold of the flaming vegan's dream weapon from Bifur's hand, he snuffed out the fire with his breath and gave a little bow, handing the blackened food to a frowning Bifur, who suspected there to be smatterings of saliva coating his dinner.

"Bilbo lad!" he cried cheerfully, "if you be needin' a translator, or, aye, even a chaperone," a wink and an attempt at courteously tipping his hat, "I'll be all for it! Promise I won't even speak 'a'sides the translatin' business…no, you won't know I even exist!"

"Oh, yes, thank you Bofur, that is very much appreciated. We're taking a walk, you see, somewhere or another."

Bifur grunted and threw his green foods at his rotund cousin who, let it be said, for the first time witnessed, began cursing at all the food he was presented with much to the astonishment of the entire company.

Bilbo set a relatively slow pace, for he had no desire to wound Bifur by giving the impression he wanted not to spend time with him, though in truth his back was aching and all he wanted was to sink into a tub and eat chocolates until he grew rounder than the doors of Rivendale were tall. He decided that wandering about in the cricket buzzing darkness, with the strange ethereal glow of elven structures following them about pleasantly, illuminating their path, would have to do. Bifur seemed ill at ease with the concept of walking side by side with him, though Bofur often accidentally stole Bifur's spot until he realized the error in his step and backtracked to follow a few paces behind, looking right dejected the entire time.

A minute or so passed quietly, Bilbo's hands stuffed in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his big, hairy toes as they stopped to admire a particularly shiny statue of a dancing elf, limbs and fingers graceful and one nipple quite obviously peeking through her gown. Bofur snorted and gave it a squeeze. Bilbo rolled his eyes and turned to speak to a very quiet Bofur.

"So…quite a day we've just had, I say! Orc packs, tall folk, and my first near-brush with death! Everything I never hoped would happen!" he declared, offering a weak smile. "You fared quite well, I must say. Had no idea you were so ferocious, and the creative way you stabbed repeatedly at that one nasty critter in the privates had me nearly laughing, if in it weren't for the, you know, orcs."

Bofur chortled then continued to molest the statue, commenting quietly that no earthly dwarven kingdom would be accepting of puckered nipples and see-through cloth upon the great golden carvings.

Bifur smiled much as he always did, with a grimace and a mighty squint of his left eye, crooked teeth bared. Bilbo made a strange face which contorted his lip and then giggled nervously.

"Yes, well…glad you're proud of that."

"How do you feel after the attack?" Bifur asked, having to nudge his cousin away from the statue to achieve translation.

"Oh just wonderful," Bilbo said sarcastically, "Got a bruise the size of my head on my side and I feel I can understand Grandmother Took when she complained about standing with her twisted back, but I'm alive, and really that's the most important thing. And you?"

"I could fight another orc or two, but I am not harmed. Sleep will come easy tonight," Bofur responded.

"Oh yes! And on a great fluffy bed! Ah, how I have longed for a room with privacy! Not," Bilbo added quickly, "that dwarven company at all times is so very vexing, but to have my own space for a moment would be lovely."

"We're sharing rooms," Bofur commented lightly, though the humor he found in watching Bilbo's face fall in terror twinkled in his mirthful eyes.

"What! That is highly inappropriate!" Bilbo cried, tugging at his hair in despair, "to be courted by thirteen dwarves was bad enough! But to have to share a room with one of them? I may not make it to Erebor, I swear on Old Took's favorite tarts!" And with that he buried his face in his hands and groaned.

Bifur found himself torn between sympathy and insult that this whole courting business was taken so poorly by the hobbit, but he supposed that would be difficult for anyone, especially one who has never had adventures and was still getting used to everything, including dwarves. So he placed a comforting hand on the hobbit and gently placated him as best he could in his gruff voice.

Bofur translated, adding in his own condolences and remarked that, "the talkin' forehead, tiara wearin' creature seems taken with you. Mayhaps you can bat your pretty blues an' he'll listen."

Bilbo continued groaning and muttering darkly between his hands.

"I would never step on his already great hospitality like that," he said, lifting his head from his hands momentarily to be heard.

"You could share with Bif?" Bofur shrugged. "He's gentle as a rabbit and there's nothin' but good intention in his mind at all times."

Bifur barely managed to stop himself from nodding until his head fell off. Yes please, yes please, he thought to himself. His crazed grin near split his face open.

Pausing to think, Bilbo licked at his dry and cracking lips to eye him.

Frowning furiously, Bilbo violently crossed his arms in a huff, amazing the dwarves with how his chest didn't collapse, and blew a curl from his matted, dirtied face.

"Oh confound it. Yes, that seems a fair idea. You didn't have a fair chance at your day with me anyway, it couldn't hurt." Bilbo couldn't even fathom why he was agreeing so readily, but the pathetically elated expression on Bifur's face could not be stamped out by this overly kind hobbit. "Besides, I certainly wouldn't trust you enough to share a room with you, you great, statue feeling lecher," he added firmly, pointing an unwavering finger at Bofur, who merely laughed.

After sleeping arrangements were decided, Bifur and Bilbo continue having awkward, stilted conversations that often trailed off, leaving nothing but open air, softly playing crickets and the occasional break out of an overly drunk elf belting out in opera, frightening even the toughest of all dwarves.

Bifur learned how many cousins and family members dwelt in the shire and was horrified by the sheer number of children one woman could bare. Bilbo learned Bifur was a toy maker and was even given a tiny wooden pony which amazingly could bend its knees and shake its head. Though Bifur didn't tell him that he was currently working on a miniature Bilbo for the horse, he would keep that a secret until he was given even the smallest of hints that his lovely Bilbo might feel affection for him.

Bifur knew he was a fool, but out of all the great misfortunes bestowed upon him by fate, he would cling to something that brings him joy, no matter how strange or inexplicable. A hobbit, of all things, brought him a desire to smile so strong he often was overwhelmed by it. And Bilbo was fine as anything, sweet and bossy, round tummy soft from good food, and a ferocity that was, frankly, surprising for such a tiny thing. He could shout hobbity obscenities and well-worded commentary about your lack of manners and jab his finger at your chest enough to bruise. He knew, somehow, that this burglar could hand them the key to Erebor after taking Smaug by the stones, barbequing and serving him up as a pleasant meal.

Making their way back to the party, Bofur bid them good night and they made their way up to a very elvish bedroom with a mammoth bed which had Bilbo cooing and sighing. With many grunts and gestures, Bifur managed to convince him that he wanted to sleep on the little padded chair in the corner of the room while Bilbo could happily roll around in the bed, probably getting lost in the massiveness of tangled sheets and the sunken in mattress.

Bifur had to remember to make sure the bed hadn't eaten him in the morning.