[ … It's an odd thing. An almost frightening thing. To stand idle and watch the shift. There's nothing weak about it, but the armor that surrounds Thorin at every pause, through every carefully selected word slips, baring a hint of insecurity no one ever sees. Of course Bilbo has always known there must be doubt and anxiety and the less favorable emotions buried below the surface despite Thorin's projected confidence at every dire situation they've faced together, however, the fact that the question is offered between them at all catches him off guard. If Thorin's asking, truly asking…
Yes. How can he know that?
Bilbo hasn't been expecting to explain. It's not as though there isn't an answer, but picking apart the tangle of thoughts and perceptions Bilbo's acquired over their time together, and putting them into words, actual words that, when strung together, mean something, is a feat that he can't wrap his mind around. At least not immediately. In truth, he can't know for certain. He lacks the knowledge of every followed lead, doesn't know the circumstances of each search, can't imagine how grief may have stunted his drive… but even with all that true, he knows Thorin. He spoke once about Thorin's character. Gold sickness tainted such words all too soon, but it hasn't diminished who Thorin is. Headstrong, devoted, dependable, unyielding… he shoulders a personal responsibility to look after all those deemed under his care and that… that is a wide span. Even Bilbo found himself there, back when Thorin couldn't stand to look at him more than a moment. The point is… Thorin doesn't do things in halves. He may make mistakes along the way, but when the time comes, he puts his all into everything and so, Bilbo thinks, Thorin must have tried his hardest for his father. And that's what matters.
He's tripping up though and the words aren't forming just yet. Would Thorin even listen? Believe him? It's all so obvious in Bilbo's eyes, that he cannot understand how Thorin doesn't see the same about himself. So blind. So unbelievable. So… needlessly hard on himself.
Oh Thorin. He still aches. His chest feels tight and he swallows thickly, but even through that, there's that spike of… annoyance? No. He's not upset at Thorin – goodness, what kind of monster would he be then? – but there's that spunk, that spirit to him all the same. The kind that has him forgetting proper placement of hands and necessary distances in-between. Instead, he thinks of dwarven customs and comforting touch, and in the same breath, he offers as freely as he takes. His hands find the front of Thorin's tunic and he tugs down, coaxing Thorin to lean closer because he's too tall and even with Bilbo inching, just a little, on his toes, he still needs help. And there, his hands shift, slide higher and his palms press to either side of that bearded jaw, cupping his face to help tilt his head, just enough so Bilbo can shift, arch and bump their foreheads together.
It's ungraceful in the way he knocks them but he thinks there's meant to be something profound to all of this. A sense of comfort, of calm that words cannot carry. But after a moment, with his eyes squeezed shut, he sucks in a breath and tries anyway. ] Because I know you. You are the strongest, most caring person I've met. You refuse to quit, even with the odds stacked against you. Even when others have already given up hope. [ A short pause, a small frown. ] If there had been a way to save him, you would have found it. But some things are beyond us… you cannot measure yourself against the unfairness of life. Thorin, you can't. [ No one blames him, except Thorin himself; blaming oneself for unfortunate, uncontrollable, unanticipated events… what logic is there in that? Wouldn't they all be responsible for missed opportunities then? ]
no subject
Yes. How can he know that?
Bilbo hasn't been expecting to explain. It's not as though there isn't an answer, but picking apart the tangle of thoughts and perceptions Bilbo's acquired over their time together, and putting them into words, actual words that, when strung together, mean something, is a feat that he can't wrap his mind around. At least not immediately. In truth, he can't know for certain. He lacks the knowledge of every followed lead, doesn't know the circumstances of each search, can't imagine how grief may have stunted his drive… but even with all that true, he knows Thorin. He spoke once about Thorin's character. Gold sickness tainted such words all too soon, but it hasn't diminished who Thorin is. Headstrong, devoted, dependable, unyielding… he shoulders a personal responsibility to look after all those deemed under his care and that… that is a wide span. Even Bilbo found himself there, back when Thorin couldn't stand to look at him more than a moment. The point is… Thorin doesn't do things in halves. He may make mistakes along the way, but when the time comes, he puts his all into everything and so, Bilbo thinks, Thorin must have tried his hardest for his father. And that's what matters.
He's tripping up though and the words aren't forming just yet. Would Thorin even listen? Believe him? It's all so obvious in Bilbo's eyes, that he cannot understand how Thorin doesn't see the same about himself. So blind. So unbelievable. So… needlessly hard on himself.
Oh Thorin. He still aches. His chest feels tight and he swallows thickly, but even through that, there's that spike of… annoyance? No. He's not upset at Thorin – goodness, what kind of monster would he be then? – but there's that spunk, that spirit to him all the same. The kind that has him forgetting proper placement of hands and necessary distances in-between. Instead, he thinks of dwarven customs and comforting touch, and in the same breath, he offers as freely as he takes. His hands find the front of Thorin's tunic and he tugs down, coaxing Thorin to lean closer because he's too tall and even with Bilbo inching, just a little, on his toes, he still needs help. And there, his hands shift, slide higher and his palms press to either side of that bearded jaw, cupping his face to help tilt his head, just enough so Bilbo can shift, arch and bump their foreheads together.
It's ungraceful in the way he knocks them but he thinks there's meant to be something profound to all of this. A sense of comfort, of calm that words cannot carry. But after a moment, with his eyes squeezed shut, he sucks in a breath and tries anyway. ] Because I know you. You are the strongest, most caring person I've met. You refuse to quit, even with the odds stacked against you. Even when others have already given up hope. [ A short pause, a small frown. ] If there had been a way to save him, you would have found it. But some things are beyond us… you cannot measure yourself against the unfairness of life. Thorin, you can't. [ No one blames him, except Thorin himself; blaming oneself for unfortunate, uncontrollable, unanticipated events… what logic is there in that? Wouldn't they all be responsible for missed opportunities then? ]