[ Yes, well, that is much better. Remarkable or not, the fact of the matter is that when in polite company, one should be properly dressed. Begrudgingly, he may admit that a poorly-lit, rented room and time spent on nursing wounds does not need to abide by the same rules as, for example, mid-afternoon tea back home in the Shire, but nonetheless, he very much likes Thorin dressed and not lounging about in naught but his trousers.

At his bedside now, he's in the midst of deciding what to do. Shall he pester Thorin with more conversation? After trekking about, Thorin is most likely tired, so should they skip the conversation and settle down for the night? It doesn't even occur to him to wash up himself until the suggestion comes; odd, isn't it?

If he'd been fresh off their beaten path, with dirt dug under his fingernails and the ache in every muscle, he would have been halfway to the tub already. However, he's taken care of well enough and while he's not pristine at the given moment, he is not unclean. Besides, unlike someone, he does not have a fresh set of clothes to change into and going through such trouble, only to slip right back into this, is a less attractive prospect than simply crawling into bed. So much for fussy respectability; enduring a bit of filth, so very unhobbit-like of him.

He smiles faintly at that. ] I'm quite all right. [ Off comes the coat and neatly folded it goes. ] After all that time spent in the wild, a bit of dirt doesn't seem as terrible as before. [ In fact! ] I think I can sleep through anything short of being covered in mud, though, that's happened once or twice too.