Middle Earth || OS

24. Bofur | Thing of Beauty

Tumblr : heilith

Reader works in Bofur's toy shop, breaks a toy accidentally and he finds her crying in the storeroom. She apologizes over and over, he shushes her, and begins to kiss her eyes. He confesses to loving her, and she does the same. Make out ensues?

Words: 3603, sweet Eru...

Thing of beauty

"Here you are," you wrap the box carefully and pass it to the bulky middle-aged Dwarf on the other side of the counter. He grabs the purchase in a slipshod gesture before you can let go of it.

"Thank ya, honey."

With a lame smile you nod and try to take back your hand, still clutched in a ruddy paw of the buyer. No luck. The hold on you gets even tighter.

"What smart lil' fingers you have."

The Dwarf's grin grows bigger with every moment, while your cheeks are slowly filling with colour.

You have to remember that clients bring money, and your aunt is counting each little coin coming from your job here.

"Now what d'you think ya're doing, you old goat?"

You had no idea Bofur was watching you. For all you know, his eyes never went up from the poplar horse he's been carving for the past few hours.

His voice is unusually strained and hostile. The visitor gives a start and stares at Bofur with an equal amount of anger and embarrassment, giving you time to step back from the counter, closer to the tall shelves.

"Ye be calm, mate," grumbles he, "I'm just buying me lad some trifles, that's all."

"Then get them and bugger off. Let the lass do her job," Bofur snaps, half-raising himself from the old box which serves him a chair, "Ya have a wife to mind. Bet she's better with her rolling-pin than you're with yours."

The buyer lumbers out, huffing and puffing like a huge cooking pot. Bofur follows his retreat with half-narrowed eyes. You rarely see him so disgruntled.

"Thank you," you say quietly, waiting for a reprimand, too, but he just smiles, all traces of testiness wiped off his face, as if they have never been there.

"Aye, no trouble, lass. I won't let them say ol' Bofur can't watch over a girl," with a wink he settles back on the box, "Just let me know when that other lad comes. Don't want to scare him off, too."

"The other lad?"

You frown uncomprehendingly.

It's surprising how he can call any of your visitors a "lad". Most of the Dwarves coming around are fathers at best, save for the infants, brought along by their moms, or beardless young boys.

Bofur gives a shrug, busy with fixing the mane of someone's future loyal steed.

"Well, the one you're fancying. You sneeze or something, I'll be off before ya blink."

Despite all good sense, your heart misses a beat. It always does, when he speaks of your fancies or mentions the men who could court you. And, Mahal, he rarely misses a chance to. His bantering is not offensive, yet you are not at ease. Hearing him say how happy he would be to see you with a decent fellow or how nice it could be to lower a pint with your beau stings you to the quick.

He never drops a word of regret, like losing you to a beloved doesn't mean a thing to him.

"I don't wait for any lad, Bofur."

He's already here, you want to add, but your windpipe is suddenly too tight to let through enough air for that.

"If he comes, you'd have to fight him to make him look at me."