Title: Shoemaker’s Children — Bombur
Fandom: the Hobbit
Challenge: Pin or Pen
Bingo prompt: Breakfast
Rating: G
Length: 550
Content notes: N/A
Author notes: Thanks go to Zana, Morgynleri & Runa for encouragement & sanity-checking. Part of Iron and Light, goes with the other Shoemaker’s Children pieces. Set a day or two after the tale of Azanulbizar, well before the Trolls.
Summary: Bombur watches Thorin set a rivet. It pins more than one might think.



Bombur watched as Thorin picked out a rivet-pin and widened out — upset — one end with a few quick strikes of the small hammer on the equally small anvil from his kit. He’d never actually watched Thorin at smithcraft before, though he’d seen the king's work — he’d sighed over one of his cookpots often enough, far beyond even his, Bofur’s and Bifur’s purse combined — and very fine it was. It still startled him how ready Thorin was to aid any and all of them, Broadbeam or Longbeard or both, with his skill. A proper King, a proper Smith, not like some he could name behind them.

Now the rivet was through the holes, the hammer again precisely employed to peen down the other side to smoothly domed roundness. Thorin murmured a word with each strike, for strength in the rivet, strength in the whole of the ladle, strength and nourishment in the food it served, strength and health in the hand, the arm that wielded it, and joy to the spirit in its use. The whole of the tool-litany, which Bombur had heard of, but never before witnessed himself, had wondered, living in the poorer, disadvantaged parts of Ered Luin, if such spells had ever really existed outside of songs and tales. Bifur, he knew, had never doubted.

Thorin put the hammer down and ran his thumb over both sides of the repair, then checked the older rivets. He gave them all a tap on each side (again with a quiet word) and gave the entire ladle what Bombur could only call a caress, before presenting it back to Bombur with a faint smile. “That should do. Does it feel right to you?”

It felt solid, secure, and perfectly balanced, better than it ever had before. Bombur grinned and nodded vigorously.

Thorin smiled a little wider and gave an acknowledging nod in return. A work well done. Use it well. No need for words.

A few minutes later, Bombur scuffed his round-toed shoes through the remains of winter leaves, looking for mushrooms and sorrel to add to the breakfast pot. The Company had hardly stirred at the sound of early morning metalwork, (except Bilbo of course, though he just pulled his coat up around his ears and went back to sleep) but start building up the morning fire in the evening’s ashes and they were all a-bustle. The ladle hummed happily in his hand. It had always been a good tool — he wouldn't have brought it along otherwise — but now it was a better. Much better, if he was right in what he’d heard and seen.

He hoped Thorin remembered to put the same love and effort into his own tools as he did for his people’s. And they all were his people, even Bilbo; even, oddly, Gandalf. Just as they were all Bombur’s now, the Longbeard King most definitely included. And there was a thing he’d never thought he'd have, much less acknowledge.

Humming an old, old children’s song, Bombur continued his search for good things to feed his companions with his renewed ladle.

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Pin pen pan peen
Finest smithcraft ever seen
Brisket basket bucket bean
Khazad we, times fat or lean
Prince prance price preen
Pay the maker, don't be mean
Sip sap soup tureen
Or feel our axes strong and keen

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