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In the quiet, there is too much noise.
Through the slight rustling of the leaves, and the chirping of crickets his mind is louder. He hears a violent rushing, and murmuring voices behind his back. Voices that say he doesn’t belong. An outsider. A grocer, said in the most demeaning of ways.
His eyes scrunch closed, trying to block out the world around him (and these things inside of him) but the darkness only makes it louder, more vivid. He covers his ears and squirms in his bedroll, trying to get away from what isn’t there.
He is so trapped in his own thoughts and the false noise, he does not hear the dwarf approaching until a hand settles on his shoulder and he startles. He launches into a sitting position, only to find the dwarf with the long mustaches holding up his hands in surrender.
“I didn’t mean to scare ye, laddie. Ye just seemed a might bit worked up.” He offers apologetically, tipping his head forward. Bilbo can't help but blink at the simple kindness, the most shown to him so far since their journey started the morning before.
He clears his throat, his face heating up with shame. “Yes, well- ah, my apologies master dwarf. I tend to be off in my own head at times, I’m afraid.”
The stranger plops beside him, ignoring the curious eye of his fellow dwarf currently on watch. The hobbit tries not to think of what judgemental thoughts could be hiding behind that wild mane of bright red hair.
“Aye. We all get a bit stuck up there sometimes,” comes the voice from beside him, drawing Bilbo’s attention away from his upsetting thoughts once more. He hums in agreement. The dwarf eyes him with a smile, and tips his head. “Bofur,” he prompts once he has the smaller creature’s attention, “at yer service.”
“I’m terribly sorry to have forgotten,” Bilbo’s mouth moves as he mentally slaps himself upside the head. “There has just been so many names, I’m still matching them to faces I’m afraid-” here, Bofur chuckles.
“Ye’re just fine, laddie. Don’t you worry about that, it’s been a lot for a peaceful fellow like yourself to take in.” And Bilbo knows- truly, he does- that it is not an insult, but it makes him flinch nonetheless. The hatted dwarf doesn’t seem to notice, and begins to pack his pipe, lighting it and taking a long draw, closing his eyes. He releases the breath and smoke, a goofy grin brightening his face. “That’ll be the stuff,” he says as he offers the pipe to Bilbo.
Unable to find it in himself to turn down this act of friendship that has him almost giddy, his slightly shaky hands take the pipe. He takes his own draw, nearly choking on the muddle-y thick taste and smoke of the weed, he holds it in before coughing it out, hoping he hasn’t insulted his new companion.
“That is,” he wheezes, “certainly something.” Once he has passed the pipe back and his breathing has returned to normal, he speaks once more. “I’m sure it’s quite fantastic once you become used to it! We have nothing like it in the Shire is all,” he tries to appease, but finds his efforts are for not, as his friend (?) doesn’t seem upset.
“Well, can’t say I’ve tried a Shire blend myself, if ye’re willing to share?” Bilbo lights up, a smile lifting his lips.
“Oh, yes! I have plenty, if I can just find my pouch-” his voice drifts off to a murmur as he digs through his pack, “Ah hah! Yes, here it is. This is one of our finest,” he claims, stuffing his own pipe with Old Toby, lighting it with a smooth breath in, his lungs taking to it easily. He puffs out a few smoke rings for fun, and offers his own pipe to Bofur, who watches the shapes appreciatively.
They spend the rest of the time before Bofur takes watch smoking and chatting, and Bilbo finds himself relaxing with every word shared. Eventually, his new friend had to take his turn of watch, and with Bilbo’s eyes heavy he suddenly felt guilty (although grateful) for keeping Bofur from a peaceful rest.
He opened his mouth to apologize, but the dwarf just winked and waved it away. “Not all of us have a branch up our ass,” he says cheerily before walking away to his post.
Bilbo can’t help giggling quietly as he relaxes into his bedroll. An unexpected friend to his rescue, he thinks as he drifts off.
The sounds that had added kindling to the fire that was his anxiety before, now lulled him into a gentle rest, his dream filled with smoke rings and a kind, goofy dwarf.