A passion for Mushrooms

As Poison Is Drawn From A Wound

Notes:
I would like to give a content warning for this particular chapter. Tauriel receives a piece of hate mail that is grotesque, misogynistic, and depicts graphic violence against women. No actual violence occurs, but even just the description might push the boundaries of a T rating. For the purposes of the story I needed to make it shocking, but I would not want to disturb anyone in what is supposed to be a mostly lighthearted AU. If you are troubled by graphic descriptions of misogynistic violence, please take care. I would be happy to set up an alternate version of this chapter omitting the description of the content of Tauriel's hate mail for anyone who does not want to take a chance. Just say the word.

Chapter Text
One could not mope forever. The whole point of the dwarven nonsense about giving someone a ring before telling them that you loved them was to avoid any unnecessary unpleasantness. Except Bilbo was not a dwarf. He was a hobbit. And he rather felt like a hobbit who had proposed and been rejected. In such a situation, the proper thing to do would be to stay away. Politeness demanded that the object of unwanted affections ought to have space to live unburdened by them. Bilbo, as a hobbit unlucky in love, wanted nothing more than to hole up in a small room until all the world went away. Unfortunately, the object of his affections was not a hobbit. Thorin was a dwarf, and a rejected dwarf pretended as though nothing of any import had happened.

Thus Bilbo felt he ought to abide by dwarvish custom and act as if all was well. As though he had not offered Thorin a ring and his heart. As though both of those had not been refused. However, such pretense seemed much easier to decree than enact. Just getting out of bed, abandoning the only sunshine in this part of the mountain, was a struggle. Bilbo did not want to face a world where he no longer had any hope. Yet that was the world in which he lived, and it was not such a bad world at that.

When he tapped lightly at the king’s door, barely touching it, Thorin was there immediately. Obviously the king had been waiting for his breakfast, and was very pleased to receive it. He complimented every part of the relatively simple meal, and drew conversation out of Bilbo like clarified butter from a pan. For his part, Bilbo did his best to smile and laugh and make a good morning of it. Admittedly, his success was limited, and he spent more time staring at his plate than actually eating.

“Bilbo.” Thorin’s voice was abruptly very serious. “You needn’t fear it will be as it was before.”

As he had clearly missed some part of the conversation in his distraction, Bilbo could only answer with a smile and a noncommittal, “I am not afraid.”

Thorin snorted and looked away. “I will prove it to you. You will see.”

That did not sound good. Slightly alarmed, Bilbo probed for more information. “There is nothing that you must prove, Thorin. I think I know your character well enough by now.”

Instantly, Thorin’s eyes were on Bilbo’s face, studying him intently. Blushing with shame, the hobbit looked away. Speaking so was not exactly pretending nothing had happened. He would have to do better. Still, when Thorin answered him there was no reproach in his voice.

“That you do. Far better than most. I am grateful.” The king paused. “I am grateful to have a friend such as you. No matter what comes to pass, I hope that we shall continue to eat breakfast together every day.”

“That is all I want.” Tears sprang to Bilbo’s eyes, threatening to fall. He was not nearly dwarvish enough to hold them in. Thorin’s brow knit unhappily.

“I have behaved badly,” he said. This wasn’t true, though possibly by dwarven standards he wasn’t supposed to reference Bilbo’s failed proposal even so obliquely as he had. Still, Bilbo couldn’t argue. He couldn’t speak at all, because when he tried to shake his head, the tears began to fall.