I live for the nights I can't remember

[honorbound_heir]

CHARACTERS: experting & honorbound_heir
DATE: Continuing from this post.
WHERE: Camping out somewhere past Bree on the East-West Road.
SUMMARY: Most of the old Company plus several dozen newcomers are on their way back to Erebor, and now that the entire group has been reunited, it seems like a good idea to break out the good ale and make a party of it now before the roads get more uncertain.
WARNING(S): Drunken shenanigans are likely to abound, but nothing tooo crazy. (... I think?)



[ There are times when Thorin is reminded, very strongly, that this journey is not like his last. Not even like the one that brought him out this far once again, where he had much of the same company as before. It had been less eventful, if anything, with less knowledge and resulting interest in his travel than they had been subjected to before. The fact that the King of Erebor was out and about on the roads was only heard of in rumors, and even those tended to lag far behind his actual presence. The news of a large group of dwarves traveling east, however, is not a secretive affair, but that much is not necessarily a problem. Even if the goblins had recovered enough to cause them significant trouble, it's unlikely that such a large group would make it past the elvish settlements on both sides of the Misty Mountains. No, Thorin is not expecting any significant trouble. Not until they get much farther east.

Which is why he has allowed the younger members of their group to break out the kegs they've brought along, and throw something of an impromptu party at their encampment just past the last town they're going to see for some time. (He's definitely not making a stop in Rivendell this time, not unless forced to due to unforeseen difficulties.) They're still within the borders of the lands that the rangers patrol on a regular basis, regardless, so it's probably the best place to get all of that excess excitement out of their systems. They've staked out an encampment in a small valley near the road, low enough to make their campfires harder to see from a distance - and he has a full-time watch going that has decent visibility on the landscape around them.

There's plenty of food and ale to go around, and though they have no tables, the dwarves seem to make do just fine with convenient rocks, and whatever else they can balance a plate on. Mugs and plates are passed around the campfires with ease, and there's singing, and even some dancing as the clear sky above them begins to sparkle with stars. Thorin manages to excuse himself from the chaos fairly early, after having a few drinks and enough to eat, but he's not going too far. Instead he settles down near his bedroll with one last mug of ale, leaning back against a boulder as he watches the party continue on without him, further along down the way. He's keeping an eye on Bilbo, in particular, as the hobbit is lacking for nothing as far as companionship - he's almost a celebrity of sorts - and some of the younger dwarves, especially, have a habit of drinking a little too much.

... What he's not exactly aware of is the fact that after he left they broke out the stronger drink.

It is late enough, though, that most of the more boisterous revelry is settling down into quieter groups, with the drunker set finally settling in to pass out for the rest of the night. The last of the food that's been set out will doubtless be finished off by midnight, and what's left of the ale put away for another time. It will be some time, still, before the last of the fires are put out, however, and Thorin will likely be awake far past that, as usual. He's smoking his pipe, and looking contemplative as he studies the night sky over them, though still casting a watchful eye over the now quieter milling of the crowd. ]

Comments

[experting]

[ Whoever has been spreading stories about him and, and exaggerating them to the point that the younger ones feel something akin to wonder when looking at him, well, those fib-tellers need to stop. It's overwhelming. Embarrassing. To think that he, a simple Baggins, would be a center of some grand tale, bah. Least to say, the whirlwind of meeting dwarf after dwarf after dwarf, who all apparently have some preconceived ideas of who he is, has been... enlightening. Tiring? Yes, most definitely tiring. In what followed, he may have spent a great deal of energy in glaring at his best guessed culprits, but unfortunately for Bilbo, the ire of a hobbit does not have the strength to endure and he inevitably settles into the joined company, albeit a touch timidly at first.

But then there's ale. And food. And more ale.

Hobbits are creatures of comfort and there is no simpler comfort than that of a good meal and a bottomless flask. Bilbo can hold his own well enough and has, on occasion, with visits to the Green Dragon, but the mix is, of course, different than what he's accustomed to in the Shire, with a potency that's stronger than he ought to have given it credit for. He indulges. And indulges some more. The fact that those around him seem especially keen to ensure he is never left wanting only contributes to him always having an ale in hand. And really, by the end of it, he's not all that concerned anymore about what stories have been circulating about him. In fact, it's rather humorous. Everything is rather humorous now that he thinks about it. Sitting there on a log, he finds himself grinning faintly and quietly – at first – snickering to himself. He shifts though and then there's a lapse that has him leaning back some, which is – somehow – too much, and he just about loses his balance, but then the dwarf beside him – bother, now what is his name again? – gives him a helpful slap to right him forward.

Oh. Yes. Thank you.

… Did he say that aloud? He hopes he did, because he surely owes what's-his-name his gratitude. ] —Thank you. [ By the look and the following laugh, Bilbo slowly realizes that, yes, he probably already said it once. Ah, well. He looks to the fire then and seeing the flicker of color suddenly gives him the idea that he is very much too warm. Skin flushed in a way more attributed to overzealous drinking, Bilbo feels... clammy. Constricted. Broken, disjointed thoughts can only see the warmth of the fire being to blame, so of course the obvious solution is to leave...? Yes. That sounds correct. Except, where is he meant to go?

Planning is not his strong suit at the moment and the inner wondering is forgotten within the next breath. Instead, he merely pushes himself to weak legs and as compromised as his proper sensibilities are, he thinks nothing of placing a hand to what's-his-name's shoulder to steady his footing. He's still clinging to his cup as he – eventually – sets to walking, or perhaps stumbling is the better word. At first sight of a dwarf without a cup though, Bilbo presses his own into his grip, pats his hands, as though encouraging him to take the drink, and then he mumbles something about that being a good lad. Even though, chances are, the dwarf is Bilbo's senior. Nonetheless, that's no matter because he's walking, yes walking. To... to...?

His bedroll? Now where has he placed that...

Probably further away from all the noise? Somewhere with, with privacy. Being rolled over on by the allotment of dwarves sounds quite uncomfortable, so surely he would have tried to avoid that. The reasonings are, honestly, not even that clear. It's more of a steady thought of away that has him heading for the outskirts and the light of a pipe in the dark. Thorin. And just like that, he feels warm again. Giddy on a feeling that has the tips of his fingers tingling and his steps growing messier in the way they stomp over twigs and brush. ] There you are. [ Syllables a tad slower than normal and twisted in a way that's all too telling, Bilbo is, in a word, oblivious to it, merely coming to a stop. Wavers, sways, as though his body can't comprehend the need to pause. ] I've been—... looking for you? [ No he hasn't. He hasn't? What was he looking for then? Thorin seems like an appropriate thing to go looking for, if he does say so himself. ]

[honorbound_heir]

[ ... It would seem that the hobbit is somewhat more drunk than Thorin had initially thought. Just as well, then, that he seems to be coming in this direction on his own, so Thorin doesn't have to go track him down and get him properly sorted out. He holds the pipe away from his mouth as he looks up to Bilbo, his eyebrows raising slightly as he takes in the warmth of that familiar face. Along with his general, stumbled pace in getting this far, it's all too obvious that he's had too much to drink. Or, at least, too much of the stronger drink. They really should have warned him about that, but he can't say that he's surprised. He can only think that if Fili and Kili had been here, things would have gotten out of hand to the point where he would have needed to intervene earlier.

As it is, he's suddenly finding it difficult to hide amusement at the situation. Something about the expression on Bilbo's face, and his good-natured sort of bumbling about, seem to contrast so sharply with his usual worrying about what he looks and sounds like. He's too drunk to go stumbling about any further on his own, and the clear air out here should help sober him at least somewhat, so Thorin nods his head toward the soft-looking folded blanket next to him. ]

Sit. And drink this. You'll thank me in the morning.

[ Once Bilbo is close enough, Thorin will push a canteen of water into his hands, whether he plans on agreeing to the idea or not. It's been a good while since Thorin had that much to drink, but he knows what it's like. It gives him slight pause, knowing that Bilbo may have regrets in the morning about having a conversation while this drunk, but then again, he might not remember it, anyway. And besides, he rather appreciates Bilbo's company, and would especially rather have him nearby when he's this unsteady, just in case anything were to happen. ]

You can blame Balin for most of the stories. [ Thorin comments, mildly. ] He tends to speak quite highly of you.

[ Of him, too, but that is nothing new. ]

[experting]

[ The blanket makes a good, comfortable seat and leaning into the stone behind him is... cold, but nice. He's still rather warm afterall. So he sits there quietly and sips at the canteen, even though he's had his fill of liquids by now. However, if Thorin's urging him to do something, well, he thinks it's best to do as he says, right? His head bobbles briefly, slightly on that thought and then he takes another gulp. For a handful of moments, the steady restlessness is quelled and he's just beginning to bask in the smell of pipe-smoke and thought of Thorin within reach, when there's words once more and... stories?

Oh. Oh. Yes, those silly stories about him that are entirely hilarious in their preposterousness. He remembers now. Except—the sudden smile just as quickly loses its strength and he's left with a frown. Blame? Why would he want to blame Balin for giving rise to them? He turns his head, still resting on the stone, and stares over at Thorin with an unfocused and embarrassingly clueless gaze. But the thoughts are churning in his head, slowly, but with enough efficiency that the pocket of memory does come to him a moment later. Wait. That's right. He doesn't like the stories? No he doesn't. He hated them before becoming distracted with food and drink and the general merriness of everyone around him.

Yes. Yes so he should most definitely blame Balin.

He raises his head and then lets it dip forward, down, eyeing the canteen between his hands. ] Balin. [ Just his name but amongst the syllables, there's a harshness that can only mean Bilbo will share words, many words, with Balin once they reach Erebor. A huff follows. Then he sets the canteen down – drops it is more accurately – and then twists in his seat, turning his body to tilt more toward Thorin. Shoulder angled uncomfortably against the stone, Bilbo doesn't seem to mind, not when he can wriggle and press one flushed cheek to the cool surface. ] Thorin. [ Frowns. ] Thorin. You're the King. Can't you order them to, to forget such nonsense?

[honorbound_heir]

[ Of course it's not just Balin to blame, especially in cases where the stories are exaggerated to almost humorous lengths, but the older dwarf does love to tell tales, and does so with a reasonable amount of dramatic flair. It's unsurprising, really, given that he's been there to witness many of those stories first hand. Thorin has only become an even more popular figure in them since slaying Azog and reestablishing Erebor, not to mention the events that led up to such momentous occasions. As much personal admiration as Balin has for his King, though, he gives credit where credit is due when it comes to the humble, yet exceedingly brave actions of their burglar.

Thorin reaches over to pick up that canteen before it tips over and spills, fastening the lid back on it to prevent any further potential mishaps. He'll likely be handing it back over before too long, however, unless Bilbo passes out before then. He seems awake enough at the moment, though still very much... relaxed? Certainly he's not as concerned about the small but significant subtleties of what's proper, by hobbit standards, given his closer than usual proximity and unapologetically frank commentary. Thorin has seen many emotions and moods from Bilbo in the relatively short time they've known each other, but this is something new. New and perhaps even a little fascinating.

Thorin considers an answer to that question as he exhales, the smoke drifting slowly away in the slight breeze. The night air is starting to cool, in what could be seen as a gentle reminder that autumn is not far off.

He doubts that Bilbo will ever be entirely at ease with the enormity of what he, personally, accomplished. At least, not with the popular interpretation of those actions. Thorin learned at a very young age that doing anything of a certain magnitude - or, in his case, anything of note - quickly became a matter of history, and as such was no longer his alone. Even for a king, however, personal, private moments still remain. Their rarity makes them all the more valuable.

But of the tales being passed around the campfires tonight... ]

Even if I could, Master Baggins, I would not. You may consider your part in those stories to be insignificant, but even the smallest shift can change the path of an entire avalanche. They will never forget what you have done for us. Neither will I.

[experting]

[ Oh, is Thorin trying to have an intelligent conversation here? Best of luck. It's right around avalanche that Bilbo's severely compromised attention wavers and loses the thread, the meaning of such words fading to make room for a distant realization that Thorin is, indeed, making some sort of point. Bilbo thinks he knows what it is, but then again... – what were they talking about? Oh yes. The stories. They ought to put a stop to that. Wait. That's right, he wants to – and he said so too – but Thorin refuses, because small shifts and avalanches and these things cannot be forgotten.

Bother; a dwarf intending to be stubborn, imagine that.

He exhales. The first two words of his rebuttal knit together in his head and he's onto his third, but then there's a neither will he forget and Bilbo shifts in the following quiet, squinting with a bit of scrutiny. He's suddenly at an impasse on how to react. Not that he truly even realizes there's options. Instead, he seems to... stop; quiet in the following beat and making no indication of responding, he merely watches Thorin, face still caught somewhere in the midst of displeasure and confusion. Argue? What's he going to argue? The stories, yes – why does he have such trouble remembering that? He could. He should. Misconception ought to be corrected and quickly too before it spreads beyond irreversibility, but the surety of his need for order and reputation is numbed out and with how quickly his thoughts seem to be drifting in favor of more pleasant avenues, it's really no wonder he forgets to keep pushing.

The squint and the mild wrinkle to his nose relaxes, and just like that, everything flips. There's a smile and back is that affectionateness made bold by ale and merry company. Clearly – or perhaps not so clearly, even though it seems especially clear to Bilbo that such a statement from Thorin requires an equal one in return. Ah, yes, so—clearly, Bilbo's found something favorable in all that and he reaches out, to unceremoniously plop his palm on Thorin's forearm. No meaningful squeeze or jovial shake, just... his hand there. ] And I will not be forgetting what you've done for me. [ Annnnd... pat pat. There's a solemn sort of seriousness to those vaguely slurred words, as though he truly feels some sort of depth for the moment, but the fact that he pats once, twice more at Thorin's arm before drawing back adds an air of ridiculousness that really does him no favors.

What's he even talking about anyway? Well. Thorin saved his life. Perhaps not as many times as Bilbo ended up saving him – ha – but well... Thorin took him on an adventure and now he's taking him on another and... that's good. That means a lot. Really it does. Oh no. ]

You're such a dear friend. [ This is super important, okay? It's important that Thorin understand, because he's very dear and important and Bilbo doesn't think he's ever told him that? Or has he? … He might have? Well, he certainly hasn't said it lately. And that's quite rude of him not to let Thorin know. Because he should know. Yes. ] Have I ever told you how dear you are to me?

[honorbound_heir]

[ Thorin... is not entirely sure what to make of the patting. It's likely meant to be a simple, gentle display of affection, the likes of which Bilbo has not typically volunteered on his own, under normal circumstances. It doesn't make him uncomfortable, though, as rare a gesture as it is. Bilbo may not fully understand what he's trying to say, but that doesn't trouble Thorin too much. There will be plenty of time to have inevitable arguments sober conversations about it later, and his stance on the matter is not going to change anytime soon. Neither is Bilbo's, he knows. It's one of those things that they must agree to disagree on.

Of course, it's right about then that Bilbo's expression changes again, as he clearly latches onto a different thought. One that he doesn't waste any time in elaborating on, which leads to another, more noticeable pause on Thorin's end. He immediately dismisses that vulnerable moment of awkwardness - just because Bilbo has never said that in so many words, that doesn't mean that he didn't know. How could he not? Thorin has, himself, said as much on more than one occasion. But there's just something different about hearing Bilbo say it like... that. Still, Thorin seems to recover from the uncertainty in the span of time it takes him to take another draw from his pipe, apparently deciding to approach the unusual question in his usual direct fashion instead of trying to avoid the subject altogether. Which would have likely been the more reasonable reaction, but he can't find it in himself to ignore that. ]

You haven't said so, no, but I know. [ Such an observation could easily be construed as arrogant, in certain tones, but Thorin says it with a sort of gentle, honest fondness that is clearly meant more along the lines of reassurance. For once, he's not sure he wants to risk looking over at Bilbo's face directly, though he is watching the hobbit out of the corner of his eye, still. He could easily leave it at just that, but the rest of that thought follows abruptly before he can think better of it. ] You tend to tell me every time you smile at me.

[ Speaking of ale. Thorin still has the better part of a hefty mug of it at his side, and he will be reaching over to pick it up to take a long drink after that one. He's not even drunk, he doesn't need to get caught up in all this unnecessary honesty, too. He's either thinking too much about this, or not enough, and he's not sure which at this point. ]

[experting]

[ Ah, Thorin's of the perceptive kind, that's quite good. There should be some semblance of surprise, Bilbo thinks, at the idea of Thorin and perceptiveness going hand in hand, but he's already relaxing, seemingly content to accept that he will not have to elaborate. Thorin does though. At another time with a far clearer mind, the fondness would not have been lost on him and Bilbo, well, he probably would have sputtered and fiddled and found something incredibly sweet – and possibly embarrassing – about telling smiles and Thorin measuring the affection embedded there. Even the hasty grab for ale might have aided in endearing Thorin that much more to him, but thoughts still murky and weighed down to the point that judgment is slowed and abandoned for far simpler, superficial observations, the depth is lost on him. Instead, he furrows his brow and takes it, almost, somewhat, literally. ] Do I?

[ He leans back then and shifts to face forward once more, shoulders knocking to the stone. He looks down the length of his nose, as though trying to see this smile of his and smiling wider after a moment, then wider still after another, aiding himself for a sight that he'll never accomplish. That doesn't seem to detour him, though thankfully he relaxes his mouth, and breathes out, laughing lightly. ] Goodness, I had no idea. To think it's as clear as that.

[ Fascinated, that's the only way to describe it. See, he's pressing his fingers to his mouth now, touching the end curl and then tracing it around to follow the line of his smile, only to huff one, short exhale of amusement at whatever meaning he finds there. He repeats the motion a second time, quirking his lips higher and begins to wonder if each one is different. They should be, right? That would make sense. Perhaps he should ask Thorin? Thorin does indeed seem to know more about his smiles than even he does; ha, how unusual.

… Only Thorin knows, right?

His fingers pause and slowly he finds a curious, albeit perplexed frown as he stares at the outstretch of his feet. It's of no matter, really – the fact that he's sitting over here in the dark, on the edge of camp is more telling of how much favor Thorin has – but suddenly, knowing the extent of transparency there is in his expressions is of some importance. The most importance. If he remembers come morning, of having a conversation with Thorin about his smiles, he's going to walk himself off a cliff, watch. ] Do you think every one can see? [ And he's actually bothered to lower his voice. He doesn't mean now of course, though he does press his knuckles to his mouth as he, briefly, glances toward camp. Does everyone know Thorin is the dearest of the dear? ]

[honorbound_heir]

[ Thorin can be rather perceptive, at times, but most often that insight does little to nothing to sway him from whatever single-minded stubbornness that he's set himself to. When it comes to Bilbo, though, there has been a gradual process of grudging respect turning toward trust and newfound understanding. He'd been too stubborn at first to even attempt to understand, but Bilbo taught him something of underestimating the unknown, even the smallest things. Thorin doesn't always see what Bilbo does, and he long ago started to get into the habit of paying closer attention to the hobbit because of that. Between that respect and resulting fondness, he often finds himself reading even more into Bilbo's ever open expressions, and those subtle and not-so-subtle habits. Possibly more so than Bilbo might guess, even when he's thinking clearly. Especially lately, given the tumultuous circumstances of their previous farewells. There are likely things that remain to be said, of that, but that is a conversation for another time.

However, an inebriated Bilbo apparently manages to catch him off-guard in new and embarrassing ways. If he were any less composed, he might have nearly choked on that last drink at that question, not so much on the words exactly as much as in how they're said. But he's not, so those hushed tones just make him pause and glance over at Bilbo with a look that's briefly bordering on confusion. It's an innocent question, he decides, just phrased... awkwardly, and in an overly dramatic fashion. It's not as if he hasn't done that himself before.

Do they? Well, among the Company there are likely not too many secrets. They saw Thorin confide in Bilbo when he would barely speak to them. They were there when he insisted that Bilbo take that mithril shirt. They saw what happened when he felt all of that friendship and trust crashing down around him, even though that was all a nightmare brought on by dragon sickness. That said, Bilbo's own gestures of affection are far more subtle, and as such, they're more likely to go unnoticed except by the keenest of eyes. Gandalf and Balin, notably. And as far as anyone outside of that... No. They wouldn't be able to guess the true extent of that friendship. ]

I do not think so. [ He finishes off the last of the ale and sets the empty mug aside in favor of returning his attention to his pipe. ] You know how openly dwarves express themselves. It would take more than facial expressions, easily read or no, to get your point across with most of them.

i'm just going to assume a bunch of stuff.

[experting]

[ He lowers his fist from his mouth and there, his gaze is back to Thorin, the forced concentration pinching his brows. Huh? That's right, yes, he does know how boisterous and physical dwarven expression is. Why, usually Bilbo has to painstakingly spell out his explanations in order to get that group of numbskulls to understand. Thorin is one of the few that seems to have any sense amongst them, although, Balin does surpass him quite easily, but Balin is on a level all his own when it comes to knowing. ] Oh. Oh good. [ The following sigh seems to release whatever tension there is left in him and his body slumps against stone, a faint curve returning to his mouth. ] That's very good.

[ And he's quiet after that. The need to babble subsides – at least for a short while – and he finds reason for peace. So he sits there slumped against the stone, occasionally side-glancing to eye the pipe and the play of smoke, but for the most part, he stares at his feet, alternating between the barely there motion of rocking them side to side and wriggling a few toes. Steadily, his eyelids droop, half-lidded and perhaps edging on drowsy, however, there's still enough energy to him that Thorin will not be saved from his ridiculous company any time soon.

In fact, it's not too long until that lull breaks with a shift. And then another. He straightens his spine, sitting higher to chase that mild, very mild twinge between his shoulder-blades, but the agitation has begun and Bilbo's not of the mind to ignore even the smallest of disturbances. Grumbling nonsensically, he twists and pats his hand against the stone, thinking perhaps, that it can be made more comfortable that way. Why are they even sitting against a boulder anyway? There are far more comfortable places to sit. Or, or to lay down. Oh, laying down would be far more preferable.

… This seems familiar. As though he's already meant to do this, but has become... distracted? That's right. Earlier, he'd been in search of his bedroll and he came this way to find... Thorin? Yes. No. Thorin simply happened to be here and his bedroll is...

Right over there.

It looks different. Not that bedrolls have any particular design beyond canvas and wool, but distantly, he marvels at it appearing larger than he remembers. But concerns are really unsuited for him right now and he goes about pushing himself to his feet without further ado, which, of course, requires him to borrow Thorin's shoulder. Thank you. He bends down – thankfully not stumbling – and grabs the blanket, seemingly uncaring as it unfolds to leave part of it dragging as he walks the very short distance to the bedroll. His bedroll. Flops down, sighs and stretches out; ah yes, better, much better. ]

[honorbound_heir]

[ Well. Thorin was expecting to have to make a choice here between attempting to help Bilbo find wherever he left his things - it couldn't possibly be too far off, surely he wouldn't have set up in the middle of everything - or just telling him to stay here. Bilbo apparently has decided to make that choice for him, circumventing a potential disagreement, and Thorin can't say that he's actually displeased. It's not as if he makes much use of his bedroll, anyway, and he didn't much feel like navigating through dozens of sleeping dwarves, trying to find a particular pack among them. It will be fine without Bilbo until morning, no one here would be so rude, or so stupid, as to go rifling through his things.

That said, the one blanket that Thorin has may not be enough to keep him sufficiently warm, especially once he starts to sober up properly. There's probably another blanket somewhere nearby that he could make use of, if Bilbo starts shivering or actually wakes up to complain of the cold. Thorin does anticipate being awake for at least another hour or two, which is undoubtedly far longer than Bilbo will be. He doesn't expect the hobbit to stay awake for long at all once he fully settles in and closes his eyes. It's surprising that he's managed to stay awake for this long, really.

Bilbo will, most likely, be somewhat flustered in the morning when he fully realizes where he is, but Thorin doubts that anyone else will even notice that the hobbit isn't where he should have been.

'Such a dear friend...' Why would that need to be some kind of secret? Talked about in a hushed whisper in case anyone were to be close enough to eavesdrop? It's certainly not the sort of thing to go shouting about in a crowd, obviously, but their friendship is a fairly well-recognized thing. To an extent. There are things that only the Company knows, and then there are things that are strictly between the two of them, alone. Nothing that Thorin would be overly embarrassed about, himself - though perhaps some things that he would not mention to just anyone - but then, Bilbo has always had a very different idea of what is proper.

... Probably best not to over think it. ]

Are you comfortable now?

[ Bilbo seems pleased enough with himself right now. It's rather amusing, if anything. ]

[experting]

[ The blanket is a problem at first. Hm, perhaps he should have righted it and spread it before collapsing. So there's some kicking of his feet as he coaxes the rest of fabric to unfold and cover his toes. Once properly set, he grasps the edge and bundles it up below his chin as he rolls to his side and loosely curls. Comfortable? Ha. The memory of his soft, airy mattress with its finely woven blankets and assortment of pillows makes him physically ache, but he can almost appreciate the improvements this time.

The bedding is still thin, but not as skimped as before; a touch thicker, maybe, and made of something softer than the rough threading of before. The ground is mostly level from what he can tell, though it does dip down toward his toes. Ground is still ground though and it does not give in the way he wants it to. Whatever heartiness he once acquired over long months of travel has softened with comfortable living and that initial bliss of stretching out drains from him, leaving mounting unease in its wake. Which, ordinarily, he would stubbornly keep to himself and maintain all airs of being fine and this being quite agreeable indeed and yes, thank you...

But his tongue is made looser. Franker. And he grumbles. ] No. [ He buries half his face into the wadded cloth meant to be his pillow, stills, and then promptly decides he doesn't like that. So lifts his head and flops it back down, finding a slightly different angle that isn't quite wanted, but doesn't entirely bother his neck.

All the while, he stares over at Thorin and quickly finds problem with that too. When the question comes, there is a ring of genuine confusion underlying it, but there's a much heavier dose of huffiness that weighs it out. ] Why are you so far? [ Because he, himself, climbed to his feet and went about walking away. He realizes the cause, truly he does, but at the same time, he doesn't. All he knows is that he rather enjoyed sitting beside Thorin and even though he's lying down now, there's no reason that Thorin shouldn't still be right here, sitting close and ready to provide his much desired company.

… They aren't even far, honestly. Sure, if Bilbo were to uncurl his fingers and flop a hand forward, he would, in fact, not be able to reach Thorin, and there would still be some distance there. Which is apparently what he's found issue with and good luck to anyone wanting to reason with him. ]

[honorbound_heir]

[ ... He did ask.

If the distance offended him so, he really could have pulled that bedroll closer to where Thorin has propped himself up, but he realizes that pointing that out would do him no good. Bilbo is clearly not in a mood to negotiate, nor let anyone reason with him. Certain people would possibly point out that there's some sort of justice here, in that. Thorin would give those people a very sour look, in return.

He stares across the arm span's distance at Bilbo, his expression something between incredulous and bemused. He doesn't hold it for too long, however, before he shakes his head slightly and pushes himself away from the wall and to his feet. He takes a moment there to dismissively brush off a few stray twigs from his coat, then takes the few steps necessary to put him directly next to the head of the bedroll. When he sits, he folds one leg underneath himself and props the other up so that he can rest his arm on it. All of this won't do anything to make Bilbo more comfortable, obviously, but if it was company Bilbo wanted, he certainly has it now. Now that he's settled, Thorin turns his attention back to his pipe, which he's presently cleaning out so that he can put it away.

He really needs to have a talk with the younger dwarves that he suspects were the the cause of this. And warn Bilbo not to drink anything if Dáin had any part in brewing it, in advance, as what they were passing around earlier would pale in comparison to some of his cousin's creations. And they will definitely be present at the feast that they'll have once they reach Erebor. Not that he thinks that Bilbo will be prone to letting himself get quite this caught up in the merriment again, not so soon.

Even though this is probably the most comfortable bed to be found anywhere out here, Thorin knows from personal experience that it cannot begin to compare to the beds at Bag End. It's not difficult to imagine that it will take Bilbo some time to get used to traveling again, after being comfortable for so long. It was even an adjustment for Thorin, too, at first, but he's had much more time to come to terms with it. And he's less used to being comfortable in general. He's likely spent more time on the road than Bilbo's been alive. ]

You'll get used to it again. And this time there's a comfortable bed waiting for you in Erebor.

[ Not a dragon, and the dingy accommodations of Laketown. ]

[experting]

[ … It's rather embarrassing how heavily his mood hinges on Thorin. Well, clearly it isn't embarrassing now, at least not for Bilbo, but perhaps later, much later, he'll cover his face and groan at how utterly rotten he's being, more or less demanding Thorin move a few feet to appease him. For now, he's rather content. Blissful even. Though, of course, there's still a span of space between the edge of the bedroll and Bilbo, which is synonymous with distance still remaining from Thorin to Bilbo.

… He'll take care of that.

He scoots and scoots and eventually settles, edging right on the rim and nearly finding his nose pushed into dirt. Retucks the pillow and recurls his body, scrunching about as close to that folded leg as he can without actually spilling off the bedroll and there, done. Perfect. Well, not perfect, he knows that, but it'll do. He breathes in and then exhales, lips quirking at the familiar scent of pipeweed and leather, and he thinks, maybe, if he concentrates hard enough, he can feel the radiating warmth of being close again. The ground still digs in and tweaks the line of his body in ways that will give rise to aching joints, but he is almost comfortable. Almost.

He still can't imagine growing used to this though. Sheer exhaustion had been the greatest contribution to his supposed adjusting before. So the knowledge of a nice bed waiting for him is grand and all, but that's a reward made true only— ] After weeks and weeks and weeks... [ So it hardly helps soothe him. Not that he needs much soothing anymore, if the faint smile is any indication. There's amusement in that too. Distant, but there, the mutters having trailed off into a breathy laugh. But then he lets his eyes slip closed and he tries burying part of his face into the pillow once more, voice drawing out on a hum.

Even with long travel ahead and horrid sleeping accommodations all around— ] I'm still glad I followed you. [ And it's possibly the drink—no no, it's most definitely the drink, that has him babbling and so very greedy for closeness. All of which leads to a yawn and him blindly reaching forward to pat, then settle against Thorin's thigh. Fingers grasp and then he's merely holding onto a pinch of fabric, seemingly needing an anchor and reassurance that Thorin will stay. ] I would follow you anywhere.

[honorbound_heir]

[ Any impending embarrassment on Bilbo's part will be equally matched by chagrin from Thorin at giving in so easily to such silly demands, even if they are more or less insignificant. Lacking a solid wall to prop himself up against is a minor inconvenience - he generally feels more comfortable with his back to solid stone - but not one that he's going to complain about. Eventually he will have to move, one way or another, but for now he's not going anywhere. Not that he would likely be going very far, at any rate, even when he does move. He's not restless enough to be inclined to go pacing about tonight.

He does watch Bilbo wiggle and roll about, clearly trying to get as close as possible without losing the padding underneath him. It makes him wonder for a moment about what he would do if Thorin was actually sitting on the bedroll itself, rather than the ground next to it. That might have been more comfortable... and for a fleeting moment, he thinks of how warm they would both be if Bilbo were curled up against his back instead of barely brushing his leg. But no. That wouldn't be appropriate at all, given the current situation.

What Thorin will do, however, is shrug out of his coat, shifting to sit a little closer on the very edge of the bedroll as he drapes it over the blanket. Another layer, especially one as thick as his fur-lined coat, should quite sufficiently hold in the warmth even against the oncoming chill in the late night air without being so heavy that it's an uncomfortable weight. He'll be fine without it - he's managed through far colder nights with less. He still doesn't seem quite certain of what to do with the hand that's settled on his leg. For now he'll just leave it be.

He is silent, for a moment, and when his does speak his voice is rather quiet and contemplative. ]

You would, even after all the perils I've led you through. [ Bilbo doesn't have to prove that, not anymore. But Thorin feels it deep in his soul that his own traveling days are nearly over. There shouldn't be anything sorrowful about that, considering the reason is that his home, his place, is firmly established once again, but here there's something almost bittersweet to it now. Perhaps in the knowledge that adventure and longing for the Shire will pull Bilbo away from him again, probably far too soon. That's just the way things are, and no amount of complaint will change it. ] I would have been lost without you.

tl;dr bilbs falls asleep. sry it's boring LMAO

[experting]

[ He cracks open an eye at the added weight, but otherwise makes no acknowledgment for it. It's not from lack of interest, it's mere inability to process and between the stubborn grip of his fingers and the following confessions, his addled mind overwhelms on each. Lost, hm. Usually, his modesty would kick in and all instances confirming such a statement would be conveniently forgotten on his part. Sputtering, vehemently shaking his head and declining, yes, that's more the avenues he would take in hopes of turning any such unneeded credit away from himself.

However, for how foggy his thoughts are, they can be oddly clear in the fact that he doesn't circle and backtrack and reconsider, thus confusing himself in the very same process. Instead, the statement is what it is and it's... true. He saved Thorin's life. Rescued him from a dungeon. Found the secret keyhole. Aided in the gold sickness...? Maybe. That debacle is still a sore spot that always leaves him regretful and contemplative on whether or not his method had been worth the fallout.

But his thoughts don't travel quite that far and he's left with his good mood. He offers nothing more than a drowsy, answering hum, the words he means to say, that he will always find him, requiring too much concentration and coordination from his rapidly declining ability to do anything other than breathe in, breathe out and maintain his grip. But even that wavers and with parting strength, he brings his hand back in, rejoining the other to grasp at the coat and hug it close. The scent is comforting. Familiar. It's so very Thorin. It reminds him of being pulled in close and held against a large, solid frame. The scent, the warmth, it's like being wrapped up in Thorin and he's giddy on a feeling he doesn't know how to place or name.

But it's soothing, so very soothing, and if the thought of being held in one of Thorin's hugs isn't a pleasant image the have when drifting off, Bilbo can't say what is. In fact, he can't say anything at all, for his features relax and there, he's lost to the waking world, blissfully unaware of the horrors that await come morning. ]

Sleepy, drunk Bilbs is too cute though

[honorbound_heir]

[ Thorin does notice how happily Bilbo burrows into that coat, for once seemingly completely unconcerned about who might be watching him, and what they might think. What Thorin might think. As has happened more than once tonight, it goes somewhat beyond what he might have expected, leaving Thorin with the vague sense that things are changing, ever so slightly. Perhaps they already have. The thought should, by all rights, unsettle him - Thorin has never had much patience for uncertainty, especially not from within - but he can't quite find it in himself right now to feel displeased with any of this. Later, maybe, but for now it's quiet and dark, and though there's a crowd just down the hill, right here and now it's just Bilbo's steady, even breathing next to him.

It's calming, almost to the point of making him sleepy despite his habit of staying awake into the early hours of the morning, and waking before the sun rises. He's never slept too soundly or too long while on the road, by choice as much as habit. It's more of a necessity while traveling alone, but he's also the one who drags younger, grumbling dwarves from their beds so that they can leave at a reasonable hour.

He does eventually drift off for a while, still sitting in that slightly awkward position next to the bedroll, his read resting on his arm, which is in turn draped over his knee. It doesn't last too long, however, especially when he spots Dwalin's familiar silhouette across the way, starting to stir. The sky is still very much dark, and probably will remain so for another hour or two, but it's time for him to start moving, too.

Thorin pauses, though, glancing down at Bilbo, who seems to still be very deeply asleep. If Thorin reaches over to gently tug the blanket back into place over him, and even, after a slight, awkward hesitation, go so far as to lightly stroke Bilbo's hair before dragging himself to his feet, well, there's no one around to see it. And he'll be off, then, to find Bilbo's things and make sure that they're packed away properly, for one thing, so that he can attend to his own once the hobbit finally rouses himself. ]

HE TOUCHED HIS HAIR. /still going on about that.

[experting]

[ Perhaps his internal clock, already set for early rising, is still stubbornly working despite the copious amounts of alcohol of the previous night. Or maybe he knows, on some subconscious level, that something so very essential to his comfort has been removed. That someone has left. Either way, it isn't much later that he begins to stir.

When Bilbo comes to, it's to the vow of never partaking in dwarven festivities ever again. What starts as a faint ache upon first waking, needles deeper as awareness slowly returns to him and soon, he's nursing the dull throb between his temples that creeps down to the base of his skull until his head feels overstuffed and near bursting. He clenches his eyes closed, hoping to forcibly block out such annoyances, however, it does him little good. If anything, the prolonged focus works against him and whether it's his imagination or truth, the method makes it feel worse. Sigh. Travel today will be very enjoyable indeed, he can already see that. And what else can he see? Well...

He pushes himself up, marginally, just enough that he's still half-reclined but can toss a slow, cautious glance around the immediate area. Huh, at least he had enough sense to drag his bedroll somewhere away from the pile of dwarves and supply. Not too far of course, but there's plenty of space around him to grant him some semblance of peace and privacy, enough so that the turmoil that's been there since waking begins to lull ever so slightly. That's doesn't last long though, because then he's carefully sitting upright. Despite the care he maintains in easing himself into motion, the rush still floods his senses and the moment of pounding and pain has him leaning forward, hands coming up to cradle his head. Bother, just... bother. It passes soon – though in Bilbo's opinion, not soon enough – and he cracks open his eyes, staring down at his lap and—... that's not a blanket. It is familiar though. It almost looks like...

Oh.

No, it can't be. Hands drop and waver, hover, even now hesitating before finding the gumption to pluck at the coat, turn it this way and that, and conclude that of course it's Thorin's. That's... fine, he thinks. Embarrassing, because Thorin probably had little choice but to come to Bilbo's aid, what with him foolishly deciding to drag his bedroll over here, so far from the fire and combined heat of close, slumbering bodies. He's still rather unsuited for travel, but he's hoped not to be a burden as he once was in the early weeks of the quest. Grumbling, he pinches the bridge of his nose and clenches his eyes, the headache briefly outdone by the weight of embarrassment. While undeniably kind, the gesture is entirely unwanted. Or well... not unwanted. Just...

He chews on his bottom lip, tracing his fingers over a line of stitching and... that's enough of that. Clearing his throat, he swipes a touch at his cheek, feeling a touch warm—... which is not unusual, when he's stuck under all these layers. Yes, that's it. Ignoring the ever present desire to bury his head into the pillow and never wake again, he throws off the covers and pushes himself to – slightly – unsteady feet. Best plan of action would be to fix up his bedroll and go about returning Thorin's coat before too many of the others wake to bear witness. No many seem to be milling about just yet, not with the darkened sky only just beginning to lighten; there's Dwalin and... well, of course there's Thorin already up. So he, yes, he should... get to doing all that. But when he turns and looks down?

… No.

It isn't immediate but there's a dawning horror that the bedroll is not as it should be. It's larger. Better made, as though actually designed for extensive travel. And he just knows that it has to be Thorin's. What, what happened last night? Bits and pieces are there for him to access, and true, the gaps are slowly filling in as he comes back to himself, but the memories have yet to sharpen entirely. He feels a bit... panicky? Why? It's Thorin. It's... fine. Perfectly fine. He just needs to get this sorted right now and then he'll sort the rest of everything later. Yes. So he does that. Rolls the bedroll, fastens it, and then folds up the coat with a detached sort of awareness that's actually quite efficient. Quick even. It's only when he's done, staring down at the roll and holding the tight, fold of the coat to his chest that he finds himself at a loss again. Should he wait here or should he go to Thorin?

… Going to Thorin to return his things would be far more polite but... – he's rather fond of stalling too. So. Hm. Um? ]

no one can knooooow~

[honorbound_heir]

[ It doesn't take long for Thorin to notice that Bilbo is awake, earlier than expected, all things considered. And, of course, he already seems to have the coat folded up tightly as if trying to make it as small as possible, and has a certain, very familiar look of indecisiveness about him. It's almost a relief, to be back to something of the usual routine. Thorin knows, more or less, how to deal with this. Last night had been... different. And he's still not completely sure of what to make of all of it. For now he has opted to focus instead on the tasks at hand, though he does need to get his coat back. If for no other reason then to save Bilbo from being forced to literally throw it at him before anyone catches onto the fact that he's had it for this long.

So after finishing his conversation with Dwalin, for the moment, he picks his way back across the maze of sleepy dwarves, pausing occasionally to prod at a few of the ones most prone to sleeping in too late. He's not dragging anyone out of bed just yet, but that might be as much of a warning as he'll give them before doing so the next time he comes around this way.

As he approaches a conversational distance, Thorin suddenly suspects that there might also be an attempted talk incoming. Really, he's just coming over here to retrieve his coat, there's no need for a conversation regarding anything about last night - the circumstances in which Bilbo ended up in his bed, with his coat, and definitely not anything that happened while Bilbo was asleep. Nothing strange actually happened, after all, and if their conversation was a little too raw, well, Thorin didn't say anything he would not be willing to repeat... At least, not if it was privately to Bilbo alone.

Although...

No. All said and done, he meant what he told Bilbo then, and doesn't regret anything he did afterward.

Thorin is back to his normal composure, however, and instead of making any comment about the coat, he settles back slightly on his heels, arms folded across his chest as he eyes Bilbo with a calm sort of appraisal. The hobbit is up and about and he doesn't look green, so that's a good start, but he must be feeling at least a few lingering symptoms from last night's drinking, Thorin would wager. ]

You should talk to Dís if you have a headache. She'll have something for that.

[ It'll taste terrible but it's probably better than trying to ride the whole day with a painful hangover. ]

... someone will "remember" later.

[experting]

[ Seems the decision is made for him. Of course, that means he's been allowed next to no time to scrounger up a plan on how to approach what, in his mind, is a near disaster of impropriety, but it's probably for the best that they get this done quickly. No sense in shuffling their feet and waiting for more ears to listen in. Not that there's going to be anything worth listening to. It's just a coat. And a bedroll. And…— wait, what? ] Oh.

[ … So is that what they're doing? Ignoring the bedroll at his feet and the coat folded against his chest? ] Um. Yes, all right. [ Honestly, he'd rather avoid pouring any more dwarven concoctions down his throat, especially when he's in little mood to face anyone's judgment other than his own. He thinks, maybe, he can survive the day without aid, and between the mix of stubbornness and embarrassment he's currently harboring, there might truly be the strength needed to toil through the pain; somehow, he finds that much more agreeable. But maybe. Maybe he'll talk to Dís.

Right now, there's far more pressing matters. Though, are they really not going to talk about it? Perhaps Thorin's waiting for him to say something about it first? That's... fair, he supposes. Afterall, it's Bilbo's fault. Still, he's grown accustomed to the special brand of dwarven tact, or better yet, lack thereof and while he's hardly expected Thorin to cut all pretenses and demand his things back, the moment spent instead on what could almost be dubbed concern – in a roundabout way, at least – for his splitting headache throws him off. It's hardly polite conversation. Even if drunken merriment is common enough in the Shire, having morning conversations about it, even the methods to do away with it, are usually avoided. Nonetheless, it makes him think of, well, manners and familiar pleasantries and the kind of fleeting inquiries that can only be called sociable.

So still unmoved from his spot, still hugging the coat, he stares over at Thorin and tries to imitate the same cool, rather detached composure. ] … Did you sleep all right? [ He holds steady for one breath and then, there, done, everything collapses. Brows bunch, nose wrinkles and there's a tight, twist of his lips, the displeasure far too potent, especially in the swift— ] Of course you didn't. How could you? [ He's speaking to Thorin, obviously, but the way he glares at the ground and the rough, deprecating tone makes it seem as though he's reprimanding no one other than himself.

He sighs, looks to Thorin and he almost grows smaller in the moment, his body hunching just the slightest bit. ] I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take your bedroll. [ Pause. Think. Well. ] Or… maybe I did, I don't rightly remember, but I'm certain I would have left it alone if I'd had any sense. [ He's babbling, even he can see that and he has to huff and shake his head and oh, that's a mistake. None of that. No. ]

eeeexcellent.... :3

[honorbound_heir]

[ If Thorin had suspected that Bilbo would more or less hold his coat hostage so that he's obligated to linger long enough to talk about last night, he might have reconsidered his approach. It seemed like it should have been a very simple exchange, it could have been, but then the apology sets in and any annoyance that might have been brewing is abruptly gone. It's difficult to hold onto an impatient and irritated sort of mood when Bilbo looks as if he would like to shrink himself enough to escape notice entirely. As if he's committed some kind of unforgivable tresspass. For as often as Bilbo calls certain dwarves ridiculous, Thorin feels that way often enough of these bouts of indecision and regret. Instead of saying so, though, Thorin is much more prone to ignoring it entirely rather than bothering to point out what should be obvious. But here he feels inclined to at least attempt to set the matter straight. ]

I wasn't going to let you stumble around in the dark and end up sleeping on the ground somewhere. [ Even if Bilbo had not decided to curl up there on his own. That just saved Thorin the trouble of having to drag him, perhaps literally, to it. He casts a pointed look to the coat that Bilbo's clinging to, not prompting, but rather pointing attention to it. It was not left where it was unintentionally. Nor lightly. ] Do you really think that I would have let you make yourself comfortable there if I was opposed to it?

[ From the amount of fuss Bilbo's making of it, one might think that he was some kind of immovable force that Thorin could not have diverted even if he had tried. It's not entirely unreasonable, given Bilbo's stubborn nature and Thorin's usual amount of respect for it, but when Thorin has his mind made up...

He was under the impression that Bilbo would be eager to give up the coat. Clearly he was severely mistaken. ]

[experting]

[ He is eager to give it up. And he's not meaning to hold it hostage – goodness, of all things – but it goes without saying, that he's somewhat distracted at the moment. Holding it occupies his hands, saving the both of them from needless, frantic gestures, and all right, hugging it seems to bring him a level of comfort that keeps him from completely letting these ideas run away from him. He does catch that though. The way Thorin drops his gaze for a pointed, extended look at the folded mass is an impossible detail to miss. That, added with two, frank explanations, quell the chaos of his worries and drain the fight, leaving a suddenly quieter, more obedient Bilbo in the following moment.

He frowns, shies his gaze to the ground, feeling a newfound sense of mortification for making such a fuss over something Thorin sees as irrelevant. ] I, ah, no I suppose not. [ In his mind, Thorin's ability to push him out or simply pick him up and drop him somewhere else does not make his thievery any less regretful, but he does count it as a blessing that Thorin hadn't plucked him up. That may have been the slightest bit more humiliating.

Ah well. Best to finish this.

Sucking in a steadying breath, he then goes about crossing the distance between them. Coming to a stop in front of him, Bilbo holds out the coat for him to take, not quite meeting his eyes. ] Thank you. [ Despite his earlier fussing, there is genuine gratitude there. Soft, perhaps even the tiniest bit shy, but then a moment passes and he can't silence the need to throw out— ] Even though there surely hadn't been need to sacrifice your coat too. [ It can almost be called a reprimand, especially with the pointed look he gives Thorin. Letting him make himself nice and comfortable in the wrong bedroll, fine, but giving him the coat too? Nonsensical. ]

[honorbound_heir]

[ Thorin will take the coat, and promptly straighten it back out with one good, firm shake so that he can slide it back on. Bilbo's not wrong, he would have managed well enough without another layer. If Thorin was that concerned about him getting cold, it would have been a simple enough task to find a spare blanket somewhere. In truth, though, it hadn't been about the cold at all. He could mention that last night Bilbo had been unsettled, in a way, and Thorin's presence seemed to calm him. He seemed quite pleased with Thorin right next to him, in fact, and letting him burrow into that coat was probably as close to wrapping him up in a warm embrace as was passably dignified, given the situation. There had just been something different, raw and vulnerable, about the way Bilbo reached for him, something that moved him, and made him feel... protective, for one thing. Affectionate was probably applicable as well, if he were forced to be entirely honest about it.

Not that he at all intends to give a voice to any of those thoughts. Bilbo probably knows that Thorin would not do such a thing without some sense of purpose. But if he doesn't remember the circumstances in which it was given, or cannot guess the reasoning behind it, well, Thorin does not feel obligated to explain it. Not right now, least of all. It's not as if that's likely to ever happen again, anyway, so there's no need to go over it in detail.

So instead, Thorin steps past Bilbo and stoops to pick up the neatly packed bedroll, and tucks it under his arm. That wasn't a question, anyway - he's being called ridiculous again, it's a very familiar feeling - so he'll just move on to other things. If Bilbo wants to bring up anything else about last night, he'll deal with that as it comes.

Thorin does expect it to come up eventually, and dodging it when it does is probably not a realistic option for either of them, but that doesn't mean that he's going to be the one to bring it up. No, he will definitely leave that to Bilbo. ]

Do you remember where you left your things?

[experting]

[ Ah yes, Bilbo does realize that Thorin is quite... purposeful. Every word measured, every nuance of expression controlled; the conscious decision behind Thorin's every motion is something Bilbo has marveled over – and more commonly, frustrated over. So no, it's not truly nonsensical. It's simply easier to brush it off as just another ridiculous, dwarven decision, rather than to analyze it, nitpick it, and wonder what thoughts would have driven Thorin to shed his own coat for him. Even if Bilbo had shivered and – inwardly groaning right about now – complained, Bilbo thinks Thorin, who never settles for the easy route, would have toiled over finding another blanket, rather than immediately surrender his coat. So why had Thorin settled? What reason had pushed him to sacrifice his own comfort for Bilbo's?

Thorin brushes by then and Bilbo exhales a sigh as he releases the thought with it, gaze falling on the boulder they'd sat against last night. They—oh yes, that's right? He vaguely remembers that. Without much thought, he straightens his spine and rolls his shoulders back, his body seemingly recalling the rigidity of stone. They'd talked, he's certain they must have, but he can't remember the words themselves – which is, honestly, probably for the best, because he isn't exactly gifted in maintaining intelligent chatter with a belly full of ale. He does remember... pipeweed? Yes, Thorin had been smoking and Bilbo had reached over to... take his pipe? No, that's not it. But he had reached over. To... to... – pat his arm...?

Frowning, he's abruptly snapped out of it and he turns to look to Thorin, only feeling the slightest bit woozy from the motion. Huh. Oh. Yes, his things. ] ...It's best to assume I don't remember much of anything from last night. [ Sounding the slightest bit put out by that, he glances, rather morosely, toward the center of camp, where there's still too many barely rousing bodies to navigate through. He would have dropped his pack somewhere on the outer rim, but even though such a decision would have been made long before indulging around the campfire, even that's fuzzy enough that recalling precisely where is difficult.

Ah well. It will not have gone missing. He simply needs to— ] I should go about finding it. [ Besides, Thorin probably has more important things to be doing right now anyway, other than being apologized to, thanked and reprimanded, all in the span of two minutes. ] With some luck, my pack won't be under someone. [ Here, he does laugh quietly at his own trivial joking though, smiling over to Thorin. ]

[honorbound_heir]

[ Thorin's day is just beginning, and he's unlikely to have an even vaguely private moment to speak until last into the evening again tonight, so it's probably for the best that he got this out of the way now. He has to wonder, however, if Bilbo won't think more about last night and start going in endless circles over what was said, when and possibly if he does actually remember it. For now it seems dismissed easily enough, but Thorin is quickly discovering that he doesn't feel quite as satisfied with that as he should. That foolish thought certainly doesn't bear any serious consideration. ]

I found it earlier.

[ By 'found,' he means almost tripped over it in the dark, but that's neither here nor there, and he doesn't need anyone making jokes about it. Now that the coat is back in place, and the bedroll is secure, he turns and starts off across the grass back toward the outer edge of the main group below, assuming that Bilbo will follow him through the crowd to see for himself, but he won't be too bothered if the hobbit lags behind. He'll catch up sooner or later. He always does.

There's a group of very familiar dwarves there, and over there in the reasonable space between Bofur and Glóin is Bilbo's bedroll, now also rolled up neatly much as Thorin's is, along with the rest of his things. Dwalin still seems to be the only one of them that's truly awake and moving about, though, and he's already gone off to check on the ponies. He can see his sister further ahead, seemingly preoccupied with pulling her boots on and not looking in their direction. He's fairly sure she wasn't awake a few minutes ago, and it's just as well. She's been giving him very speculative looks lately, and he knows that once she's thought it through, she'll be wanting to talk about it. For once he has no idea what could be on her mind, but he does have to wonder exactly what the others have been telling her when he's otherwise occupied.

But that, too, can wait.

The first few tentative glimpses of color are finally beginning to color the sky to the east. It looks to be another clear day ahead of them, one that will hopefully see them at least across the river, perhaps even as far as the eastern border of the Trollshaws if the weather holds. He knows that certain dwarves will be looking eagerly for that old troll cave that lies within. ]

[experting]

[ Oh? Oh, he's walking—um, okay, just a moment, wait, following. He does lag behind some; Thorin's stride is naturally longer than a hobbit's and with the added detriment of an aching head, Bilbo ends up tracing his footsteps like some, small shadow. But then there's his things and he breathes a sigh of relief, before hurrying past Thorin to crouch down in front of the assortment. There's nothing he actually needs out of his pack. He's learned the unspoken rule of living within one's clothes until the excess of dirt and ripped threads merit a change, so he merely pushes the rolled fabric aside, digging, digging, and there, he does pull out a new handkerchief at least, soon stuffing it in his pocket. Buckles and ties his pack shut, then pushes himself to his feet. ]

Well. That's set. [ In large thanks to Thorin; he'll earn a small smile from Bilbo for that. But his attention wavers and spreads around, looking to the others scattered about. It's been a good while since Bilbo has gone through the motions of breaking camp and while it's not exactly an overly complicated list of duties, he's ever conscious of the changed dynamic. More dwarves, more ponies, more supplies; there's quite a bit more parts this time around and for how valued Bilbo seems to be, that does little to reassure him of how he fits into the working of things.

If he's honest, he'd rather not do anything, other than find a jug of water and a nice place to sit for five minutes. But there are things to do, he knows there must be. So— ] So... what should I do to help? [ It's already lighter than when he first woke; give it ten minutes more and that color will truly begin to blossom. Which is important, because from what he remembers, Thorin's partial to early starts. So he has to wonder how long Thorin'll allow the rest to teeter about and remain tucked in their bedrolls, before he begins unloading orders.

He lightly scratches at his cheek, soon answering his own question. ] Perhaps breakfast? [ As soon as the words are out, he's glancing around for Bombur. Bombur handled the cooking before, but Bilbo, who had no other apparent use at the time, had filled the spot of his helper. Ah, there. Still snoozing; thankfully, at the moment, not as loudly as he's famous for. ] It might still be a touch too early, but... it's probably best to be too early, rather than too late with this group.