[ Is that so? Truthfully, Bilbo hasn't thought a thing about it. Though, now that it's mentioned, it's so obvious that he wonders how he hasn't. Goodness, he really does hope this will not land them in hot water with Thranduil all over again. It's one thing to trample about through his forest, but it's quite another to knowingly go looking for trouble. If this puts a strain on the fragile truce between the two races, Bilbo is most definitely going to huff and puff and wag his finger at one overzealous King Under the Mountain. It is interesting though, isn't it? That Legolas, who should have more reason to side with his father and king, is willingly aiding a group of dwarves to rightfully ignored territory. Why? Is it out of a desire to mend broken alliances and preserve some goodwill between them or is it something else?
He might've asked, for while he doesn't mistrust him, Bilbo's curiosity is often emphasized by that very unmanageable Tookish nature, but then the direction changes and they are back here again. Whether Legolas means to corner him or not, doesn't matter, because Bilbo feels it all the same. He's never fully understood the immense reluctance he feels every time the existence of his ring comes – indirectly – into question. Here, yes, it makes sense, because why divulge precious information to one who once imprisoned his friends, who has yet to completely prove himself friendly despite how pleasant his company has proven to be thus far? But he's felt this before. With Gandalf, with Thorin. There's that initial inhale of surprised, panicked breath and then he waits, mind reeling as he thinks of his ring and possible motives and all the reasons not to utter a word even though… why? Why does it matter? Why should it be secret from his friends?
Legolas isn't a friend though. And the thought darkens his mood, just a slight amount, just enough to have him shrinking closer to Patches as he looks down, to the side and then back down. Aside from that one mishap in Mirkwood when he'd briefly lost the ring, Bilbo has never again felt even a smidgen of that kind of violence and here is no different; there's no anger, there's no hissed breath or sharp lines to his expression. Instead, it's a nervousness. A hesitance. One that has him stalling and fluttering his fingers at the edge of his coat again before bumbling through a meager explanation. ] I… I'm small. [ He pauses and then braves a glance up. ] And all hobbits are light on their feet, when there's need to be.
[ He knows how impossible that sounds though. A kingdom full of keen-eyed elves and he'd scuttled by because he's small; bah. With clearer thoughts, he might have thought of generous amounts of wine and elves more interested in the sight of rowdy, imprisoned dwarves than possible trespassers, but for now, he merely shakes his head and offers a weak, unconvincing smile. ] It was a great deal more luck than skill, truthfully.
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He might've asked, for while he doesn't mistrust him, Bilbo's curiosity is often emphasized by that very unmanageable Tookish nature, but then the direction changes and they are back here again. Whether Legolas means to corner him or not, doesn't matter, because Bilbo feels it all the same. He's never fully understood the immense reluctance he feels every time the existence of his ring comes – indirectly – into question. Here, yes, it makes sense, because why divulge precious information to one who once imprisoned his friends, who has yet to completely prove himself friendly despite how pleasant his company has proven to be thus far? But he's felt this before. With Gandalf, with Thorin. There's that initial inhale of surprised, panicked breath and then he waits, mind reeling as he thinks of his ring and possible motives and all the reasons not to utter a word even though… why? Why does it matter? Why should it be secret from his friends?
Legolas isn't a friend though. And the thought darkens his mood, just a slight amount, just enough to have him shrinking closer to Patches as he looks down, to the side and then back down. Aside from that one mishap in Mirkwood when he'd briefly lost the ring, Bilbo has never again felt even a smidgen of that kind of violence and here is no different; there's no anger, there's no hissed breath or sharp lines to his expression. Instead, it's a nervousness. A hesitance. One that has him stalling and fluttering his fingers at the edge of his coat again before bumbling through a meager explanation. ] I… I'm small. [ He pauses and then braves a glance up. ] And all hobbits are light on their feet, when there's need to be.
[ He knows how impossible that sounds though. A kingdom full of keen-eyed elves and he'd scuttled by because he's small; bah. With clearer thoughts, he might have thought of generous amounts of wine and elves more interested in the sight of rowdy, imprisoned dwarves than possible trespassers, but for now, he merely shakes his head and offers a weak, unconvincing smile. ] It was a great deal more luck than skill, truthfully.