A passion for Mushrooms

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

Notes:
While I don't think this chapter pushes the boundaries of a "T" rating, I know that descriptions of injuries can be troubling to some people. There's nothing graphic here, but if you're bothered by short-term memory issues or if you're emetophobic, you may want to skip this chapter. I'll summarize it in the end notes for anyone who doesn't want to take the risk.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text
Blinking his eyes in the harsh noon sun, Bilbo saw Thorin shouting at his sister in Khuzdul. She threw her hands in the air looking unhappy and shouted back. Kili was crouched on the ground at Bilbo’s side, and Fili was bellowing for Oin. Apparently someone was hurt. Judging by the pain in his head, it was probably Bilbo. Oh dear. It was no good upsetting everyone.

“It’s okay,” he said, gratified to see Thorin’s attention snap to him immediately. “I’m fine.” Dusting himself off, Bilbo got to his feet.

Only somehow it didn’t go quite the way he planned, and he slipped back down. It might have been a hard landing, but Kili caught him, easing the fall.

“What happened?”

“You bumped heads with my mother.” Kili smiled as though this was meant to be funny, but Bilbo was appalled. What an awful way to introduce himself to someone he’d hoped to impress!

“Please allow me to apologize, Lady Dis. Truly is it said that you are the Dûshin-Mizim, the dark jewel of Durin’s Folk. I can only hope that rumors of your kind and forgiving nature are equally accurate. Oh dear! You are bleeding! Oin, you must see to the princess first.”

Lady Dis touched a hand hesitantly to her forehead and lowered it slowly, examining the red on her fingers. “It is not my blood,” she said quietly. “You do not owe me an apology.”

She seemed very subdued, and Oin was very demanding, so Bilbo obediently looked in various directions, letting the healer poke at his poor head. He truthfully answered questions about being a bit dizzy, though of course he was not nauseous. The very idea! A hobbit would never!

“We have to get him back to Dale or somewhere he can rest,” Oin said, bandaging his head. “He shouldn’t ride, though. His brain is rattled. Hobbit heads are soft. More like Men than dwarves, really.”

The woman next to Thorin cursed in Khuzdul. Bilbo recognized it as one of the very bad ones that Ori refused to translate. She was obviously a very fine lady, and she looked so very like Thorin. “I beg your pardon, my lady,” he said. “You would not happen to be the Princess Dis, would you?”

“I am,” she said, looking very alarmed.

“You are distraught. If I can be of any service, pray say the word.”

“No, Master Burglar. I thank you, but I am well.”

Thorin’s face was like stone, and gave no clue at all, but Kili looked as upset as his mother. Clearly something was very wrong.

“It’s too soon to worry,” Oin said gruffly. “Head wounds always bleed this much and rattling can often seem worse than it is.”

“Surely it would be best for Bilbo to ride with me,” Thorin said reasonably. “I can get him back to the mountain quickly.”

Bilbo found he quite liked the idea of riding with Thorin. Perhaps he would be seated at Thorin’s back and should have to hold on to the king’s waist for purchase. Perhaps he would be seated in front of Thorin, with Thorin’s arms around him and that solid presence at his own back. Either prospect would be highly enjoyable.

“He cannot take the rattling. Even a pony would be too much. It is a risk. Safest thing would be to put him into a bed right now for a week, but there are no beds in the desolation.” Oin seemed upset, looking around at the empty countryside.