Bofur is waylaid on his way to the pub by his adoring nieces and nephews and persuaded to join his brother’s rowdy, jolly family for dinner. Bombur has more children than most people have dinner plates, and each one loves their Uncle Bofur something fierce. A pre-The Hobbit ficlet featuring Bofur, Bombur and Bifur’s family.
Bofur shifted his heavy mattock on his shoulder as he trudged toward home, weary feet dragging. It had been a long day in the mines. They had spent most of their time reinforcing the support beams in a tunnel that had been damaged during a recent flood, and it had been backbreaking work. Not to mention wet. He would be quite happy to go collect Bifur from his workshop at Bombur’s home and head for a good night at the pub. Seeing the bottom of at least three mugs of autumn ale would heal all of his wretched, good-for-naught muscles.
“Uncle Bofur! Uncle Bofur!”
“Unclebofurunclebofurunclebofur!”
“Nuncle Booooo!”
Well, there was a welcome surprise. He turned and was able to drop his mattock just in time to catch the blur of orange hair and green dress that leapt into his arm. One of his nieces, Ninna, threw her pudgy arms around his neck and smacked a slobbery kiss on his cheek. Her wild, untamable hair was getting in his eyes and brushing his nose, and he laughed as he reached up and pushed the frizzy, fiery locks back.
“I bet there’s a pretty girl under here somewhere,” he teased, shifting her to his hip as she giggled. When he could finally see her face, he grinned at her. “Ah, look how wrong I was, it’s a gorgeous girl!”
“Nuncle Bo, you silly,” she said as she leaned her head on his shoulder and looked up at him with soft blue eyes.
“Hey, hey!” Someone tugged hard on his clothes, and he looked down to see meaty little Jory at his hip, his chubby fingers wrapped around the dirty hem of his jacket. The boy’s blond hair was braided neatly into a tight rope and wrapped around his head once so that it resembled a crown. His round face, barely any whiskers on his chin, was imperious as he put his fists on his hips. “Mum says you’re to come to dinner.” He waggled his finger at Bofur. “And she won’t be having no for an answer or she’ll get your beard!”
Bofur smirked. “Well, that don’t leave me much choice, now does it?”
More in the link! 😀
Savin’ this for later!
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