All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
He had been married once.
It was hard to think about, and it set his brain to buzzing when he tried to remember, but dark hair and the cloying smell of sandalwood always came to mind.
After Azanulbizar, one of the first things that that Bofur asked was if he could remember her name. Bomber asked after his daughter, and they both seemed sad when he couldn't call to mind their names. Sometimes, in the quiet dark of night when her face just barely exceeds his grasp, he can understand his cousins' sadness.
And that burglar- that strange, hairy little thing- makes him think of her. Soft hands, soft voice, soft words. Always curious, always asking; Bofur has taken a liking to him.
One evening, around the campfire while everyone else sleeps, his oldest cousin is on watch. Bifur never gets watch- his mind's to addled, the others say, he's too unstable- but that's just as well for him. He can hear quiet voices, cousin Bofur and the burglar, and he huffs and buries deeper into his beard.
"As for me," the other dwarf says, usually jovial voice pitched in a loud whisper, "Bombur and Bifur, they're all I have. All I've ever had, really, ever cared to have."
"None of you have families?" The burglar sounds surprised, then amends himself. "I mean, not like Gloin, or even Fili and Kili?"
Bofur hums in consideration, taking a long draw from his pipe. The smoke is noxious and makes Bifur's nose itch. "Bombur's got a wife, and a brood," he says, with no small amount of amusement. "Ten children. Ten! They're a handful, but it makes for a cozy home. And Bifur, well..."
It's quiet for a moment, the rustle of the halfling's clothing as he leans forward muffled by the impeding darkness. "Yes?"
"He had a wife, once," Bofur says after a long pause, reluctance lacing his tone, "and a daughter. His wife had been a lovely woman- don't look like that! He wasn't always as he was. They caught ill before we settled in Ered Luin. Part of the reason he was so reckless at Azanulbizar, got that axe stuck in his skull."
Bifur thought about that for a long while after, many nights spent lying awake.
Dark hair and and soft, curling whiskers, with gentle hands and quiet laughter. He tried to think of what her face might have looked like. A sweet, nonsense melody rings in his ears.
It doesn't hurt as much to remember, anymore.