King under the Mountain, the title granted to the ruler of Erebor. It certainly had a nice ring to it. Nevertheless, there was a matter that the fellowship had yet to discuss.
"What are to become of the rest of us, after we reclaim the mountain?" he asked their leader. "I reckon there are plenty of fancy titles to be given around to the King's closest men!"
"Don't you mean if we reclaim the mountain?", Bofur added with a smile. "There is still a terrifying dragon lurking in there, if you hadn't forgotten."
"For sure, but it doesn't hurt to be optimistic and ponder about what happens afterwards! General Bombur, maybe? Nah, that's more of Dwalin's area of expertise I suppose. Chief treasurer Bombur! Innkeep Bombur? As for you, brother, you're more fit to be a stonecutter or a street sweeper, hah!"
They hadn't given much thought to what would happen if they succeeded. The thirteen of them would certainly not be enough to restore Erebor to what it once was, but hopefully the dwarves of the Iron Hills, ruled by Thorin's second cousin Dáin, would respond to their call if only they were able to contact them in some way.
As they marched on into the flowery serenity that was Hobbiton, looking for stables or what-not, Bombur and his fellows mused over what their lives would become if they got through this ordeal sound and alive.
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