Work Text:
Bilbo loved his life in Erebor.
Sure, it had taken him a few years to get used to the odder dwarven customs, and he occasionally still got lost in the belly of the mountain but most days, he was happy with the newfound family that had accepted him so readily into their fold (well, he did have to fight a dragon first), and with a life that he had built in the royal quarters, complete with a lovely balcony garden and a dwelling that he could almost call a smial, there was nothing that he found lacking.
Much of his happiness had to do with the existence of a mushroom species that apparently only grew in this particular mountain, thriving in large swaths next to the shimmering opals deep within the cavernous tunnels, away from the major mining veins. These mushrooms were considered a delicacy in dwarven cuisine when chopped and roasted with game meats. It was by pure accident that Bilbo had made the discovery that once boiled and strained, these mushrooms could be used as a dairy replacement to make an incredibly delectable cheese that blew one’s tastebuds straight into the heavens. In fact, the first time the hobbit had tried his new food creation, he had passed out from the sheer delight of the cheese on his tastebuds. The multi-layered textures, odours and tastes of this creamy and dense concoction melded together into an oral sensation that transcended any prior food experiences, instantly overwhelmed all his senses and hijacked the conscious and the subconscious into a temporary all-out bliss. Not only that, but the appearance of the cheese also tempted at its infinite pleasures with its subtly shifting semi-fluid body, at times shimmering and glowing not unlike the opals from where the nutrients had been drawn during the maturation of the wondrous mushrooms.
It was one of Bilbo's proudest moments when he named the cheese in honour of his heritage, the Belladonna Cheese.
Sadly though, the dwarves did not seem to agree with his opinion of the Belladonna Cheese. Or rather, they might have if they had been willing to go near the cheese: it was inexplicable but painfully obvious that its smell was not something dwarven noses appreciated. Bilbo only had to take out a piece of it from his pantry to find that those stout proud warriors would clear the area within seconds. Thorin had managed to pass out from the fumes of the cheese one evening which had Bilbo loudly declare him a drama queen to the delight of the entire company and the king’s sister Dis. The dwarven king had since insisted on carrying mithril nose plugs with him at all times, refusing to enter Bilbo’s apartment without holding the plugs ready in his hands. Everyone else including the usually foolhardy nephews bolted from the hobbit whenever he announced his intent to produce a new batch - which was most typucally on a Wednesday evening. It was a very frustrating matter for Bilbo who knew that the dwarves would actually enjoy the cheese if given a chance, only because Bombur had been brave enough to try and promptly declared it his favourite food - despite the 'awfully atrocious rotten heap of garbage' smell.
Bilbo could not explain how his lovely cheese could provoke such dastardly reactions from the inhabitants under the mountain. His cheese received quite the opposite reception at the annual Dale Cheese Festival - it handily won first prize the first time he entered the cheese judging contest, and he could barely keep up with the weekly orders that came from the nearby human settlement and increasingly also from other towns and cities. Even Thranduil had recently put in a standing order with the hobbit, declaring it to be a revelation with his favourite wine, and he had cackled with glee when he saw Thorin and his delegates gag upon being presented with said cheese and wine during the latest round of trade negotiations. Bilbo had stalked out of the banquet hall in a huff, and it had taken the dwarven king a straight week of nose-to-the-floor groveling before he was allowed to enter his hobbit’s abode again.