Written for the Hobbit Kink Meme Prompt: ho bbit - kin k. livejournal 4373 . ht ml? thread= 8701717 #t12221973

1. Every time I see you

Bofur looks into the mirror and thinks that, no matter how much his kin would always deny it, dwarves and elves are not all that different. Of course, at first glance, no one would talk about similarities. The elves, with their tall, slim, elegant forms and their wise, smooth faces could not be any more unlike the dwarves in their appearance, the latter being short and stout, their faces wrinkled and hidden behind bushy beards. Also the behaviour of the two races differs greatly, with the firstborns being quiet and reserved, while Mahal's children are known for loud, obtrusive (and not really present) manners. However, there is one thing they have in common, one thing they share: Both dwarves and elves have only one partner in their lives, and they love with all their heart and soul. Their One rejecting them… leaves them fading.

Bofur sighs and tears his gaze away from the mirror, no longer able to bear the sight of his own reflection. Seeing himself like that makes it even more real, and it is already real enough. Painful enough. Besides, he does not have to look at his body to know what is happening to it. He had learned about it like every other dwarfling when he had been young, and it is something he has never forgotten. None of them ever forget, and it is their greatest fear, for fierce and courageous they may be, born to fight, but a broken heart is nothing that can be mended, not by anyone but the person who broke it.

Thus there is no way out for him, now that Bilbo is gone. He has left for his Shire, and he is not going to come back. Bofur will be alone, for the rest of his life, and the only real comfort he can find in this situation is that said rest will not be long. He does feel bad when he thinks that, for he knows what his fading will mean to Bombur and Bifur, and maybe he could fight it, but he does not have the strength to do so. No power in Middle Earth is great enough to stop the weakness that is running through his veins, or the demons that let it. The demons that have taken his soul captured and are whispering sweet words of letting go and forgetting. At least he can take pride in saying that, up to now, he has managed to keep his condition a secret. There is nothing his family could ever have done to deserve seeing him die away like he knows he is going to, and he wishes he could save them the pain. He has seen his own mother fade and never forgotten the pallor of her skin or the deep shadows underneath her hollowed eyes. The way she had clung to him, her fingers wispy and bony and her skin so pale that it had seemed to be translucent – those images had stayed with him, haunting him in his dreams, and they would still be – if he were dreaming these days. He remembers how her skin had been too big for her body, with all the fat gone, and how it had seemed as if a breeze could have blown her over. And, most clearly, as if it had been only yesterday, he remembers his own helplessness. There had been nothing he could have done, and it had left him broken. There is a reason dwarves hide their fading from the world (as the elves do), not wishing for anyone to witness that. It had been Bofur's only comfort that he had managed to keep his brother away and safe, and he deeply regrets that he will not be able to do so this time. Not when he himself is the one fading, wilting like a flower that has gone too long without water. Because Bilbo is his water.

He wishes he could stop it. He really does.

Bofur had always been a cheerful dwarf, and in love with life. But that is all gone now… now, that he is alone. He knows, he only has to turn around and his family will always be there, but they cannot fill the emptiness that has become such a big part of his life. It had started in his heart, the second he had heard that Bilbo had left – left without saying goodbye, without giving him the chance to say or do something, anything – and it has been spreading further every day, every minute, every second since then. Whenever he thinks about the hobbit who has taken his heart, so swiftly and quietly without him really noticing before it had been too late, and who had left it broken, scattering the pieces along the way back to his Shire… whenever he thinks about him the emptiness spreads a little faster and a little further and he is thinking about Bilbo all the time. He knows that this emptiness is dangerous and that it is what will be killing him in the end, but he cannot bring himself to mind. After all it eases the throbbing, agonizing ache in his heart and soul, if only just a little, to a dull pain.

He thinks of that word – dangerous – and laughs. It is a mocking and bitter and desperate noise, not happy at all. How long has it been since he had last laughed really, honestly? He wishes he could say he does not even remember that, but he does, and it hurts. For Bilbo's laughter is ringing in his ears along with his own, bright and happy, and he can see the pale green eyes sparkling and the cheeks blushing in that beautiful shade and there is a smaller shoulder touching his own, leaning against him, shaking with happiness and- … it hurts.

The emptiness is what is going to be his death. But it is also what is going to stop the pain.

He has already stopped sleeping. Bofur remembers the five steps of the fading process as well as any other dwarf (and elf, for that matter), and it is only too easy to see them in himself. Everything begins with the dreaming. It is the first sign of fading and very tricky, for others cannot know whether the broken hearted has stopped dreaming or not. Bofur has not forgotten the night after Bilbo's leaving, and he had been painfully aware of the absence of any dreams. Here it goes, he had thought, knowing that there was no going back. Not without the hobbit. Not with the chill in his bones that always comes with that first step. And he also remembers being ridiculously relieved, for the dreaming is easy to keep secret.

As is the second step, which is the sleeping.

Bofur is actually doing fairly well, after all it has been more than two months and it is only sleep that is eluding him, not speech. Not yet. He tries to imagine no longer being able to raise his voice, to only whisper, but he knows that when it comes to that he will not want to talk anyway. Everyone will know then, but Bofur will try his best to keep his condition secret until he is no longer able to. He wants to spare his family and friends the pain and two out of five steps hidden would be rather successful. However, he would not manage to get any farther. Dwarves stopping to talk… the sign is too clear, and everyone will recognize it as what it is. The speaking is the third step, and the eating the fourth. He remembers it as being worst. It is why the process is actually called fading, and seeing his mother wilt had shown him that the name is gruesomely well chosen. Mahal's children can go quite some time without food as long as they have water. The eating is what he fears most, though not for his own sake, but his family's. Only too well does he remember the lethargy his mother had been in, and the way anything would make her state worse. She had been out of her mind and nobody would have been able to bring her back then.

The last – and ultimate – step is the breathing. All of the other steps can be reversed more or less well, depending on the dwarf's condition. If their beloved should retake their rejection they may be able to recover. The further the process has gone, the harder recovery is and those who have reached the fourth step are highly unlikely to be able to go back. However, it is possible; at least in theory. Not so with step five. It will start with the broken hearted stopping breathing, and end with their heart slowing to a stop. That takes nothing more than a few minutes, and Bofur remembers it as being a relief, for both his mother and him. He had seen the sudden clarity in her former bleary, unfocusing eyes and he remembers the way he had felt free afterwards. Her suffering was finally over. He had told his brother, then, and young Bombur had wept bitterly, desperate, but Bofur's eyes had remained dry. He had lost his mother somewhere along the way, during the fading, and this had not been the end. Only the final confirmation.

Bofur sighs and reaches for his hat, rearranging it for a few times. Wearing it almost hurts now, for the image of dirty blond curls underneath it instead of his own dark braids is bright and clear and painful, but it is the only way he can hide the dark circles underneath his eyes.

The dreaming – it had been a relief. He had always dreamt about what troubled him most, and he knew that Bilbo being there during his nights and gone in the day… it would have been torture. However, the sleeping is not a relief. He has lost those moments in which he had been able to forget, and his body is aching, tired. He is growing weaker already, too fast, but feeling too empty to really care. He knows that he has been holding on pretty good so far, but he cannot help but wish for the breathing already. Everything will be fine then. Easy.

He turns his head and makes sure that the slim shadow of the brim of his hat hides the circles underneath his eyes, making them stick out much less. Why me? Why Bilbo? What did I do wrong? These questions have been tormenting him all the time, since the hobbit's leaving, and Bofur knows that they will only become more and painful with the progressing of the fading process. He had done everything to make Bilbo happy, and still it had not been enough. He knows he can blame no one but himself, and that is what makes him fade away. That knowledge – that he should have done more, something else, something different, something – is what fuels the demons. The demons which are telling him that he is not good enough, not for his beloved, but that the pain will stop. Soon. He really tries not to think about it, but there is no way to banish these thoughts. It is how they – the dwarves, and the elves – are born: Ready to give their everything, their heart and soul, to the one they inevitably and unchangeably fall for, and if it is not enough they blame themselves. As with any other race there is no choosing who you fall for, but more often than not fate is generous and does not let love go unrequited, though of course everyone being happy is impossible. However, quite a few dwarves (and elves) never tell their chosen about their heart's decision and although knowing they would most likely be rejected, there is still a tiny little bit of hope left. Hope that keeps them alive. (A desperate hope that Bofur sees in Balin's eyes every time the elderly counsellor looks at Thorin. A desperate hope Dori is clinging to, although Bofur does not know who the reason for it is. A desperate hope that has Fili and Kili dancing around each other but never saying anything.) Because everything is better than knowing. Rejection… that is every dwarf's and elf's worst nightmare. That is what leaves them fading. They can survive partners falling, or dying with old age or illnesses, for there is always the promise of meeting again, in the halls of waiting, and being together there. However, for those rejected there is no one waiting, and they will never reach the halls. After the fading process nothing of them will be left in this world, or in any other.

He remembers how much that thought had hurt him, back then when his mother had died away. Back then, when he had still thought he would go to the halls of waiting one day, and that she would not be there. Now he is relieved.

Bofur sighs and lets his head fall against the wall. He avoids thinking about his mother's fading as much as possible (it is easy for him to remember her as the happy, loud dwarf she had been before falling victim to the emptiness in her heart and soul) for the images of her broken body are inevitably followed by images of another broken soul. He sees his father, clearly as if it had been only yesterday, and he sees the anger in his too dark eyes, and the dangerous line of his set jaw, and he remembers being afraid. His father had been taken away by orcs and not in his worst nightmares could he ever imagine what they did to him. They had broken not only his body but also his spirit and soul and when they had set him free he had been somebody else. Different. His parents had shared a generous, deep love, but the dwarf who had returned to their family… had no longer been his father. And there had been no place for his mother left in his heart. It had been the trigger for her fading.

Bofur and Bombur had not only lost their father that night, when the orcs had taken him, during a surprising (and devastating) ambush, but also their mother. Watching her die away had been even worse than watching him leave.

Bofur knows that his father is probably dead by now, fallen as a hero, in a fight. He had been driven by only one thought when he had come back – revenge – and he had been a warrior every day since.

The dwarf looks at the mattock standing in the corner of the room. He had been a warrior, too, after leaving for this crazy quest. He, who is respected and celebrated now, as a member of Thorin Oakenshield's company, wishes he had not gone. He would have never met Bilbo, then, and although he would have missed all those happy moments dearly – they cannot measure up for the pain he has to live with now.

He knows, he should leave his rooms and join the rest of his company for dinner. They have not stopped eating together, not being able to go separate ways after being so close. The others will be expecting him, but he is not hungry and his feet seem to be too heavy to make them move. Thus he simply lets his body collapse until he is nothing but a heap on the floor, and curls himself up, into a position that is seen rather rarely when it comes to dwarves. He will be strong – or at least pretend to be – again tomorrow. Tonight, however, he will grant his weary mind and haggard body some rest. He feels the memory tug at the edges of his consciousness and he closes his eyes, letting himself be carried away.

Bilbo is chuckling quietly, that sweet, little sound Bofur loves so much, and poking his finger into the dwarf's chest. "Do that again," he says and Bofur lets his face crumble into the strange grimace once more. It has Bilbo laughing louder, and cuddling into him, and the dwarf, wrapping his arms around the younger one, knows that he will probably be grimacing like this until the end of his life, but if it draws those adorable sounds from his hobbit – who would he be to complain?

Bilbo buries his face in the crook of Bofur's neck and the dwarf tightens his grip, holding the younger one close. The hobbit chuckles again. Bofur feels his muscles turn to steel, his grip like a stone giant's. This is not a matter of exaggerated possessiveness. This… this is not only having found his One, but also being with them and knowing that he is never going to let his hobbit go. He thinks about his beloved's gleaming eyes, and the blush colouring the (no longer chubby) cheeks a dark red that had spread to the tips of the pointed ears when Bilbo had asked him to leave the camp for a private conversation. He had kissed him then, hidden from the others, instead of saying anything, and looked away, but Bofur had not hesitated one second to pull him as close as possible and to kiss him properly. This is what had gotten them where they are now, lying on the dirty but soft floor between the trees, cuddling, and enjoying the moment. (Because they will have to talk about their relationship, and they should go to sleep soon, and they will have to carry on with the quest tomorrow, and it is tiring, and exhausting, but right in this moment? Everything is fine.)

Everything is perfect.

He should have known then, already.

After all, why else would Bilbo have wanted to keep them a secret, as he had stated when they had finally talked about it? Why else hide their love from the other dwarves? Mahal's children are possessive creatures, and when they have found their One they tend to tell everyone who wants to know (and also those who do not) about them, making sure the whole world knows that their beloved is theirs, and theirs only. Huffing Bofur shakes his head. He had it believed to be different for hobbits. That they were loving in private, letting no one know about their relationships. Well, he cannot avoid thinking, maybe they are. And maybe they are having trysts and affairs all the time, but nobody knows, since everything is done in secrecy. He shakes his head again. Bilbo is not like that. Probably… he had just not known what lying with Bofur would mean for the dwarf, and what leaving afterwards would lead to.

He wishes he could fall asleep, there, on the floor, forgetting instead of shaking with the force that holding back all those unshed tears requires, and letting those sweet hours of not-thinking make him feel light and detached instead of letting the emptiness that seems to be creeping into his spine, leaving his legs and feet numb, spread further and further. He knows that he will be 'fine' in the morning, but at the moment he feels so heavy that he might break through the floor any second. Would it matter if he simply never rose again? He would not have to wait for the breathing, he could just stop eating this very second and wait until the weakness finally takes him away. He could…

… be strong. He has to be. For Bombur, and Bifur.

It takes every ounce of strength he has left, but he sits and then struggles to his feet, exhausting as it might be, staggering to his bed. Of course he will find no sleep, but he will not be lying on the floor, giving up after only two steps. He will stay in this world as long as possible, if only to give his family a little more happy time. And maybe… , he thinks, maybe I will have a chance to see Bilbo again before I go. And if it is nothing more than a glimpse.