Section 3: Bifur
Rating/Warnings: Angst, being forgotten
Word Count: 191 (564 so far)
Disclaimer: If I owned the hobbit, it would be even sadder.
Summary: Oakenshield is not the only byname carried by members of Thorin's company. Some are badges of honor, some are marks of courage and some their owners just wish they could live down.
These days most people dismissed Bifur as no more than a common toymaker, a strange soul who was pitied for his grunting speech. Even among those who had known the dwarf before his voice was stolen, few remembered the precision with which his words had been uttered and only Bifur's kin recalled the name which had been his.
For the axe that cleaved his skull had taken far more than his ability to speak, it had robbed him of his very place in history. Songweaver, the dwarf had been called, named so by his family's lord for his gift with crafting language and the music in his heart.
He had truly been a master but now Bifur was nothing, a singer without the means to share his vision and the songs he could have written would never be heard.
Only one of his melodies still remained, the first and last lament that the dwarf had ever crafted, though even his family had now forgotten it was his. But whenever the company of Thorin Oakenshield sang of their lost homeland, Bifur listened to “Far Over the Misty Mountains Cold” and smiled.