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Second breakfast, Bilbo mused, was a meal he could ignore. Afternoon tea, too, he could grudgingly sacrifice for the sake of the quest, but frankly, this was getting ridiculous.
How the dwarves kept going on so little food he did not know. They rarely had second helpings and never thirds. Clearly, the reason they had cleared out his pantry at Bag End was because they lived in a state of perpetual hunger. How could they not? Three meals a day was a meagre offering for anyone.
Worse, while Bombur’s cooking skills were exemplary, he had not planned for a hobbit’s appetite. Bilbo suspected he was burden enough without stealing food from the mouths of his companions, and their supplies would soon dwindle if he ate his fill.
Still, a hobbit could get find a meal from more places than his garden or the market. In fact, they were well-known in the West for their ability to find a snack almost anywhere. The land near the Misty Mountains was kind, and there was plenty to forage as they made their way along the road.
‘Do we not feed you enough, Master Baggins?’
Bilbo rolled his eyes, glad that his back was to Thorin. By the Valar, the dwarf knew how to make even a simple question into a challenge. He found flaw in everything, and Bilbo was sorely tempted to throw the apple he had picked at Thorin’s head. Only the grumble of his belly and the tattered remnants of his good manners stayed his hand.
They did not, however, control his tongue.
‘No, you don’t.’
Gandalf coughed: a clumsy effort to hide his laughter as the Company fell into shocked silence. Perhaps sassing Thorin was not the best idea. He was a king, after all, even if he currently had no crown, throne nor lands to show for it.
‘You don’t feed us enough either, Uncle!’ Fili declared, breaking the uneasy calm with a wink in Bilbo’s direction.
‘I’m starving!’ Kili agreed, reaching out and plucking some berries from a nearby bush. They were practically touching his lips before Bilbo lunged, knocking his hand away.
‘Not those.’ He spoke to the young dwarf as if he were a faunt: more belly than brains. ‘Gripplebane’s a slow way to die. Not to mention messy.’
Kili’s eyes were the size of saucers. He dropped the berries on the floor and wiped his fingers on his trousers. ‘You can’t just… pick stuff and eat it?’ He sounded baffled, as if it had never occurred to him that half of what occupied the world around him might do him more harm than good.
Perhaps, Bilbo realised, dwarves weren’t much for foraging. Hunting was another, different skill. They had no lack of talent there, nor were there many animals of Middle Earth that would sicken you if you ate them. Fish, too, were generally safe. Plants, on the other hand…
‘No. Definitely not.’ Bilbo shifted. Fili and Kili weren’t the only ones watching him intently. He had the attention of the whole Company.
‘It’s like herbs.’ He gestured to Oin, who pressed his horn closer to his ear and nodded. ‘Some of them can heal almost anything, but others will see you dead in a day. Unless you know what you’re looking for, it’s best not to risk it.’
Disappointment flashed across Kili’s face, and Bilbo felt a pang of sympathy. He appreciated the boys’ solidarity. Of all the Company, they were the most likely to throw aside diplomacy and put their uncle in his place. ‘All right, look. I’ll teach you what I can. Bring what you find to me, and I’ll tell you if it’s safe to eat.’
Delighted by this new game, Fili and Kili were soon darting off the track, stamping through the undergrowth and returning with their prizes for Bilbo’s inspection. They went for things that looked like food, mostly nuts and berries. A sound strategy, Bilbo could admit, but they were passing by a veritable buffet of alternatives without a second glance.
‘What about this?’ Fili asked, holding up a gleaming, ivory nut.
‘Well, you could eat it –’ Bilbo winced as Fili took a bite, only to spit out the offending morsel a moment later. ‘— but it won’t taste very nice.’
Fili’s face was comical, his moustache quivering and his eyes watering at the explosion of bitter flavour. Bilbo knew it well. He had done the same thing when no higher than his mother’s hip. It had taken several cakes to rid himself of the strange taste.
‘They’re good in stew,’ he promised, smiling as Bombur trotted up beside him to examine the offering, ‘but a bit strong when you eat them on their own.’
‘Where did you learn all this?’ Oin’s gruff question carried a healthy dose of awe. Of all the dwarves, the old healer probably had the best knowledge of plants, but his focus was on the medicinal, rather than keeping hunger at bay.
Bilbo shrugged. ‘My mother, mostly. My father too, of course. Not to mention the Gamgees and the Tooks.’ He paused, realising that he could not think of a single hobbit who had not given him some advice in his youth. Even the Sackville-Bagginses had been quick to tell him when he got it wrong.
They taught him, and now he taught the dwarves, reciting the familiar poem he had learnt on his father’s knee.
“Never take more than nature can spare,
Only the stupid will strip a plant bare.
Turn of the season, fall of the rain,
Roots can sustain you as well as the grain.
Fear not the leaf, nor shun the bark,
There’s meals to be had, bright sky or dark.
Sky up above and earth down below,
You shall have food wherever you go.”
It was a silly ditty, a faunt’s rhyme and little more, but it covered all the basic lessons of foraging in a way that was easy to remember.
‘Don’t take more than you need, or the land will wither,’ Bilbo explained, ticking off the points from his fingers. ‘Don’t think you can only find food in spring and summer. There’s plenty to keep you going year-round, and it’s not just berries and nuts. Leaves, barks, stems: any of them can make a meal.’
‘And the last verse?’ Ori asked, scribbling on a scrap of paper as he walked.
‘That tells you to look at more than just what’s on eye level. True, a lot of edible plants tend to grow up from the ground, but some creep along it on vines, or deck the high branches. Others flourish down in the soil: carrots, potatoes. If you can learn what their leaves look like, you can find a feast.’
The dwarves considered his words, quiet and thoughtful. A moment later, it seemed the whole Company were on the hunt. Dori peered beneath the bushes, poking at roots while Nori carefully cut free single, low growing leaves for Bilbo’s inspection.
It was alarming, in a way, to be the centre of their diligent attention. Still, Bilbo did the best he could, telling them how to identify the bounties they could eat.
‘What about this?’ Bofur asked, handing him something with a flourish. He’d plucked a mushroom from the bark of one of the nearby trees, and Bilbo tilted it to the light, counting gills and spots.
‘No, look. See the pink there, at the edge of the cap? It’s called Maiden’s Blush. It, er, it has some side-effects. Bedroom ones.’
He tried not to blush himself, hoping the dwarves did not make him explain in more detail. Thankfully, they all seemed to decide it better not to pursue the subject.
‘If you find ones that look like this growing where branches meet the tree’s trunk, they’re called Sunshine Saviours. There’s no pink edge and they’re a slightly deeper colour of gold. A couple of small ones can keep a hobbit going all day. They’re very filling.’
‘And this?’
Dwalin’s gruff voice surprised him, and Bilbo glanced over at the object in his hand. Immediately, he knew why the tough, curt dwarf had picked this particular plant. Perhaps curiosity played its part, but there was also a challenge in his choice, as if he were daring Bilbo to laugh or jeer at him for such a stupid selection.
True, it did not look very appetising. The dark skin glimmered with an oily sheen, and the sharp spines that covered its surface were hardly encouraging. Even Dwalin’s callouses could not protect him, and he balanced the apple-sized object on his gloved palm as he offered it up: a weapon and a gift all at once.
‘Dwalin –’ Thorin’s voice carried a hint of warning, but it died on his lips as Bilbo reached out, plucking the brutish thing from Dwalin’s tentative grip.
Quickly, mindful of his fingers, he turned it this way and that, humming in satisfaction as he found what he was looking for. One spike, less solid than the rest, yielded beneath his sharp tug, and the rind peeled off like serpent skin, whispering as it did so.
The fruit gleamed as red as any ruby, and Bilbo fought against the urge to stuff it in his mouth as quick as he could. Needlefruit were not always easy to come by. Hobbits of the Shire would literally brawl over them if they showed up in the market.
Instead, he held it out to Dwalin, returning the challenge with one of his own.
The big dwarf grunted, grudgingly impressed by Bilbo’s knowledge. Yet a hint of doubt lingered in the pinch of his eyes, as if he were unsure whether to trust him. The feeling was mutual. Though Dwalin was a stout protector, Bilbo often found himself looking for ulterior motives to his actions: waiting for the trick. At least Thorin was straightforward in his disdain.
Or so he thought.
He twitched when Thorin, not Dwalin, accepted the Needlefruit, taking a hearty bite of the succulent flesh. Surprise flickered over that brooding face and some of the darkness lifted from those stern features.
‘It’s – delicious.’ Thorin sounded as if he could barely believe his own words. ‘How can something that looks so foul be so sweet?’
Bilbo shrugged. ‘Appearances can be deceiving. You cannot know the full truth unless you take the time to look beneath the surface. Sometimes even then you – you just need to have a bit of faith.’
It did not quite feel as if he were speaking about the fruits of the forest anymore. Another layer glossed his words, whispering of cold demeanours and hidden depths, soft bellies and concealed strengths. Perhaps he and Thorin both were guilty of holding on too tightly to first impressions.
Slowly, Thorin inclined his head in quiet acceptance of a point well-made. ‘Master Baggins, you would be doing the Company a great service if you could bolster our supplies with whatever the forest can offer. It is a valuable skill, worth the learning.’
It was as if Thorin’s words offered some implicit permission to his companions. It was not much – a small step towards acceptance – but Bilbo would treasure it all the same. For the first time since leaving the Shire, he felt like more than just a burden – like he had something to offer those who walked the road at his side.
Perhaps this quest wouldn’t be so bad after all.