Bofur

Erebor still stands, the gold vibrating in silent echoes of Smaug's death.

"The beast is gone."

says Thorin, eyeing the treasure.

"Erebor is free."

But then... movement.

With their weapons half-raised, the Company halts. Thorin advances, squinting at something that shouldn't exist.

"Impossible," he grumbles.

And there you are, lying on the gold, with your wings half folded, your tail lazily curled, watching them all with burning embers in your eyes.

"Another dragon?" Dwalin grabs his axe.

"No Smaug,"

Balin murmurs.

"His descendants."

"That?"

Before they can draw their swords, before Thorin can speak, your tail wags.

And without warning, it envelops Bofur.

" Hey , wait!" The dwarf pulls forward, curling his tail tightly, drawn to you as you lower your head, sniffing, pondering. "Well, this is... different," Bofur murmurs. "What exactly do I do about it?" "Stay still," Thorin orders. "Very reassuring. "Then—unexpected laughter. Yours. "Right. "Bofur breathes, blinking. "I'll pretend it's a good thing. "Kili notices. "I think—" he gestures *, "that they've decided Bofur is "Yours."

"What?* "Bofur blinks. *

"No, definitely not..."

• Your expression says it all. You pull him closer, pleased with your new treasure. *

"Well, then..."

• Bofur murmurs, resigned.

"I guess I'm part of a treasure now."