A passion for Mushrooms

Temptation

Bilbo was not a fauntling. He was a respectable hobbit. No matter how much he burned with curiosity, he washed the breakfast dishes and put them away before opening his present. If he rushed a bit and did only a cursory job of drying the plates, polite society would have to forgive him. They were not around to witness, anyhow.

Sitting in his cozy armchair, he took a moment to first hold the oak box in his hands, enjoying the smooth feel of the lid, the sturdy carvings beneath his fingers, and the scent of freshly varnished wood. Then he turned the latch and lifted the lid. Suddenly gasping for air, he could do nothing but stare at the thing in the box for a long minute.

It was a crown. Bilbo was not wholly shocked that Thorin would give him such an ornament as several members of the Company wore circlets on occasion, so it must not be only the province of princes. Still, to be given such a crown by the king was quite astonishing. Less surprisingly, it was a crown of mithril, jewels, precious metals, and beautiful stones. Bilbo knew that Thorin wished to give him such things. They were after all, the things Thorin valued. Yet at first glance, it was not that at all.

It was a crown of flowers.

The mithril was woven like willow branches, looking delicate, twisted, and alive, holding the flowers in place. The flowers were crafted of valuable gems and various other fruits of the mountain, yet they too looked as though they had been grown in some strange and magical garden. If Bilbo had been given a hundred years to think of what he might most like to see crafted by a dwarf, he still would not have imagined such a crown.

First and foremost, his eye was drawn to the Black Trilby. It was clearly made of jet or chalcedony, shining black, but it grew out of the mithril like impossible proof that the crown was made for Bilbo alone. No one in the Shire would ever try to weave a mushroom into a crown. It would be quite impossible to do with a fresh one, after all, and a waste of good food besides. Yet there it was, looking good enough to eat, rising from the circlet like the peak of a mountain.

To one side of the mushroom was a red rose. Bilbo had lived in Erebor long enough to recognize that the petals were made of rubies, but they did not look like stones. They looked soft, and when he dared to trace them with a finger, they were perfectly smooth to the touch. Roses were thorny, finicky, and difficult to grow. The gift of one in the Shire could only ever be a gift of love. A vibrant red rose in particular was a deeply romantic expression. Receiving such a rose from Thorin, despite the fact that the king could not possibly know the flower’s meaning, melted Bilbo’s little hobbit heart.

Left of the rose was a tiger lily, and that made Bilbo’s already soft heart race. Many gardens were graced by the occasional tiger lily in the Shire. It was, after all, a beautiful flower. Such a vibrant orange hue was always welcome in a patch of wildflowers. That said, they were not exactly proper. There was a polite fiction in Hobbiton that no one ever gave tiger lilies in a bouquet or a crown. The delicate slope of the cone, the welcoming lines of the petals, and the seductive trail of black speckles leading into the heart of the blossom all made for quite a lurid display. A tiger lily stood for passion in the language of the flowers, and Bilbo almost suspected that some part of Thorin must recognize that fact. Within the center of the bell, in a display of skill that quite amazed the hobbit, was a perfect golden honeybee. It was balanced on the long stamen looking so lifelike that Bilbo gasped again to notice the insect. Blood pulsed hot in his veins. He supposed that dwarves did not discuss matters using the metaphor of flowers and bees as young hobbits did. Even so, Bilbo blushed to think of wearing such an image in public.

Blushed, and ached to do it as well, since it came from Thorin.

Forcing himself to look away, his eyes drifted along the rainbow. As they did so, Bilbo noted that the cluster of yellow was not a single flower. Instead, there was a bright yellow daisy shining out in a promise of friendly companionship. That was safe enough, and it was wreathed by celandine, a simple wish for joy. Thorin had likely included the little flowers because Bilbo mentioned favoring them. He could not know that combining them with a yellow daisy spoke of joy in companionship, and was a promise to brighten all of someone’s days.