Bilbo woke from his sleep with much surprise. He was not jolted awake or shaken out of a deep slumber. Instead he was slowly coaxed from his sleep by the monotonous sway of one foot to another that one generally feels when they are carried. Yet, still he felt quite a bit surprised to be waking at all. Who wouldn't, after all, when he had just lost consciousness when running from a dragon (not really a person's first choice of places to faint)?
"What on this good green earth?!" Bilbo gasped, jerking away (and almost overbalancing) from the broad shoulders that were holding the total of his weight.
"Woah there!" said Frerin. His face appeared suddenly beside Bilbo as his hand came upon Bilbo's lower back and pushed him back to his seat. "Can't have you falling right after you've woken."
"Where are we?" Bilbo asked, looking at his surroundings. There were no walls on either side of him, nor a mountain in his visual range. Instead he found himself with dark trees on one side and a lake that was so large it could have been an ocean on his other (both of which Bilbo thought were very familiar to him, though the angle made them seem slightly different). There was a caravan of dwarves ahead of him and his dwarven ride and only when Bilbo turned to see if there was any behind (there were about the same amount) did he finally catch sight of the Lonely Mountain in the distance. "Did we get away from the dragon?" he asked (he probably should have figured this out on his own since his sense of danger had long since waned, but he still had the danger to his soulmate distracting him).
"Surprisingly," said Vili (who Bilbo was surprised to find was the one carrying him).
"Everyone got out safe thanks to you," Frerin said. His hand still hadn't moved from Bilbo's back (which made him feel much like a child who couldn't be trusted to his own balance), but he did at least back enough away that Bilbo didn't feel crowded by him.
"You were foolish to face the dragon alone," Vili said, hiking Bilbo just a little higher on his back.
"Well there was nothing else to be done," Bilbo said (all false bravado now that he's assured there is no longer a dragon to be concerned about).
"You gave us a scare, though," said Frerin, "when you fainted. Oin was driving himself mad trying to decide why you wouldn't wake."
As if summoned by his very name, an old dwarf (who was carrying a curiously tiny trumpet against his ear) appeared in front of Vili, bringing them all to a halt. He pushed and prodded at Bilbo from every direction (Bilbo had no idea how, since Vili still wouldn't let him down from his back) and grumbled to himself.
"We might as well stop to eat something," Frerin said. "No knowing how long this'll take." The dwarven caravan immediately seemed to sag. More than one dwarf sat and sighed as they looked up at the sun. Only very few actually stayed active, pulling out pots and pans and other things they would need to fill their stomachs.
"I assure you," Bilbo said, struggling again to get down and away from Oin's probing hands, "I'm perfectly fine. Of course I fainted. I can't stay in fight or flight mode forever, I'll have you know. My Uncle, Bullroarer Took, died from fight or flight mode. But not before he knocked the Goblin King's head off and sent it down the rabbit hole. Mama assures me that's how the game of golf was invented, but I think she made that up."
"Fight or flight mode?" Frerin asked, raising a brow at him.
"Of course," Bilbo said. "Whenever someone's in danger, they go into fight or flight mode. It makes them better at whatever, you know. I'm sure I wouldn't have gotten away from the dragon without it, but it can be dangerous for long periods of time. So that's why I fainted."
"Are you talking about adrenaline?" Vili asked. He was a dwarf with two children and was well accustomed to translating simpler phrases (though hobbit's would be loath to hear anyone say it, they are thought of as children for their simple way of speaking just as much as their size) to common tongue.
"I don't know what that is," Bilbo said, "but, sure, if you say so. And now you know why I fainted, so there's no need to check on me." He tried to shove Oin's hand away from him, but the old doctor was quite adept at dealing with dwarves who insisted they weren't injured too much (even if they were bleeding all over the place) and just dodged his every attempt.
"He can't hear you," Frerin said with a grin. "He's quite deaf."
"Dead?" asked Oin pulling his horn to his ear. "No. He's not going to die. He's got a weak heart, though. I'll have to keep a close eye on him from now on. And you shouldn't strain yourself too much. This travelling can't be good for you. Perhaps, you shouldn't come along." This all Oin said in a mumbled until Bilbo could no longer hear what he was saying, but he had heard enough to be quite affronted.
"I do not have a weak heart," Bilbo said. "I can travel very well, thank you very much. I made it all this way from the shire all the way in the West with nothing but me and Myrtle." A sudden thought struck him, then. What had happened to his dear Myrtle. He had left her at the front gates of Erebor. What if she got left behind? He would never forgive himself for abandoning her to the dragon, if she did. "Where's my pony?" he asked, twisting desperately in Vili's hold to try to catch sight of his steed.
"Calm down!" said Oin. "Stress isn't good for your heart!"
"If you're referring to the pony that was outside our gates, we have brought her with us," Frerin said just as Bilbo caught sight of the pony loaded down with several bags not too far behind them. "I hope you don't mind that we've been using her to help us carry supplies."
Bilbo smiled at the pony who simply through her mane back to give him one long look as if assessing to make sure that he was okay (Bilbo was quite happy to think that she worried about him) before returning to munching on the grass.
"Of course that's quite all right," Bilbo said. "Myrtle can carry quite a lot when she has the mind to and she's a good pony. She only threw me once on the entirety of the trip and was very patient with me besides. Especially in the beginning where I could barely even mount her." Bilbo laughed and at the very same moment his stomach growled. He had no idea how long he'd been out, but he was sure that he had missed more than one meal. "I do hope the food will be ready soon," he said. "I am very hungry indeed. Perhaps there is something that I can snack on while we wait?" Bilbo had gotten into the habit of speaking to himself during the long trip, so he totally forgot that the dwarves could still hear him and thought only of filling his stomach.
Then his eyes caught sight of something that had him throwing himself off Vili's back so hard that the dwarf was forced to release him (finally) or hurt them both. "Don't eat that!" he yelled, racing up to a pair of children who were just about to snack on mushrooms they'd found at the forest's edge. The children looked up at him with wide eyes as though they were deers staring at the bad end of an arrow until Bilbo came right up to them and snatched the mushroom from their hands. "It's poisonous," he said, throwing the mushroom into the woods and far away from curious children. Of course, he didn't know for sure that it was poisonous, but he was quite certain that this was Mirkwood and his instincts had made it quite clear on his previous travels that anything in these woods would kill him. "Never eat anything from this forest."
One of the dwarrow-dams who stood before a large pot froze in her staring, looking between Bilbo and the pot. "You haven't put it in the soup, have you?" Bilbo asked. The dwarrow-dam only looked once more at the pot. "Well, hurry up and poor it out before it contaminates the pot!" Bilbo said, rushing over to be beside her while someone else pulled the children from the forest's edge. Cookware was, after all, a serious affair in hobbit culture and contaminating one pot was a serious tragedy. Especially with so little of it to go around.
Two dwarves were quick to stand and knock the pot over, spilling all its contents on the floor without any further prompting.
"Are you sure the plants are poisonous?" Frerin asked, coming up behind Bilbo.
"Quite certain," Bilbo said. "I'm a hobbit. We know our plants." It was only a half-truth, of course, but what Frerin didn't know surely wouldn't hurt him.
"I suppose it'll be bland food for a while then," someone said.
"What on earth are you talking about?" Bilbo asked.
"We only have fish and some very few vegetables that didn't look too spoiled. Nothing with real flavor." Someone said.
"What I wouldn't give for some meat right now." Said another.
"I won't stand for it," Bilbo said. "I will not eat bland food." Hobbits were a picky breed by nature who were often said to be fond of good food and drink, but what most people didn't know was that hobbits had sensitive palates. They loved good food simply because anything else was barely palatable to them. And it was for that very reason that Bilbo still had a tiny chest packed with herbs stuffed in his bag with Myrtle. Besides, this would be a good chance to impress his soulmate's brother (and the other who was a brother not by blood). The quickest way to anyone's heart (in a hobbit's mind) was with food. "I will make the food."
Before any of the dwarves could stop him, he pulled the pot up and put it back on the fire (after checking to make sure the poison hadn't set in by running his finger along its edge and licking it with no complaint from his instincts) to heat. "Somebody get me some water," he said, sending dwarves scrambling. He asked for several other ingredients as well and the dwarves practically climbed over each other to be at his beck and call. It was quite disconcerting, really, to have them so intent on him, but he supposed none of them had really had a good meal in quite a while. "Bring Myrtle here," he said and Myrtle was beside him in moments.
"Hello, girl," he said, allowing his soup to boil unattended beside him. It was practically done now and only needed the addition of his herbs to finish it off so it could wait long enough for him to talk to his pony.
Myrtle was not quite as in the mood to talk as he. She turned her head up and away from him as soon as he got close to her. She even went so far as to turn her whole body slightly to the side so she wasn't facing him. It was lucky that his pack was on this side and he quickly pulled his tiny chest out to tuck in his pocket before turning his attention back to her.
"Don't be mad at me," he said to her. He wasn't commanding, of course. Myrtle had every right to be upset with him when he left her out there all by herself for many days. "I'm sorry that I left you there for so long. I promise I won't do it again. I'll even give you an apple or two the next time we come upon some." Myrtle glanced at him and Bilbo could have sworn that she was considering him very carefully. "All right," he caved, "I'll give you three, if you insist. Will you forgive me now? Please." Myrtle nodded her head and turned to face Bilbo again. She tucked her chin over his shoulder and pulled him close to her breast. "I love you too," Bilbo said, "but now I've got to feed these dwarves. Don't want anyone going hungry. Besides, the quicker I feed them, the quicker we can go somewhere to get you those apples I promised you." Myrtle snorted, bumped her head against Bilbo, and then went straight back to munching at the grass at his feet.
"You are very close with her," said Frerin.
"Well, I should be," Bilbo said as he added his herbs to the soup. "She was my soul companion on this whole trip. We've shared quite an adventure together so far."
"How did the two of you make it all this way on your own?" asked Vili with a raised brow. He wasn't exactly accusatory like he had been in the mountain, but he still did sound quite a bit suspicious. "The roads can be very dangerous and there has been talk of orcs around these parts."
"I suppose I'm just lucky." Bilbo shrugged, focusing a little too hard on his cooking and wishing that it would finish cooking quickly so he could get away from this conversation. He hadn't thought about how he would explain any of this. It hadn't even crossed his mind that he might need to and he had no clue how to answer any of it. He couldn't just tell them the hobbits' secret.
"What does it matter?" said Frerin, cutting off anything else Vili might have said. "Those stories can come later." So he wasn't giving up on the knowledge either. He was just delaying it. "For now, I think we are all hungry. When will the food be ready?"
"It's not quite as good as I had hoped," Bilbo said, taking a sip of the soup and grimacing at the bland flavor. "The seasoning's not quite strong enough, but I suppose it'll have to do for now. Perhaps we can get more ingredients at the next town. Perhaps that town on the lake will be willing to sell us something. I did promise Myrtle to buy some apples. But that's not important right now. I think I can serve the food if I could just have some bowls to dish it out in."
Suddenly all the dwarves were standing in a line in front of him with bowls and cups and any manner of dishware that would easily hold the soup for consumption.