[ Bilbo can't see it, but Thorin freezes at the mention of a light. For several seconds, that feel rather like an eternity to him, there is nothing but dead silence in response. He steps out with the robe settled across his shoulders, but not actually fastened, and moves across the room with what feels like a strange slowness. In actuality, he is moving rather swiftly, barely glancing at Bilbo as he kneels beside his pack. Clothes are rudely shoved aside to reveal precisely what he was expecting.
The Arkenstone.
Here. With him.
There's a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, something akin to dread, as he closes his fingers around it. The memories flood in all at once. How he coveted this. How close it was, for so long, unknown to him. For another long moment he is all but lost in the glow and the feel of that smooth surface in his hands.
But then... Bard. Holding it aloft. Bilbo, admitting that he had taken it...
... ]
This... is the Heart of the Mountain.
[ His voice is suddenly, unexpectedly hoarse. He is torn, utterly, between fierce desires to hold onto it, and to thrust it as far away from him as he can manage. Either way, he certainly seems to be entranced. ]
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The Arkenstone.
Here. With him.
There's a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, something akin to dread, as he closes his fingers around it. The memories flood in all at once. How he coveted this. How close it was, for so long, unknown to him. For another long moment he is all but lost in the glow and the feel of that smooth surface in his hands.
But then... Bard. Holding it aloft. Bilbo, admitting that he had taken it...
... ]
This... is the Heart of the Mountain.
[ His voice is suddenly, unexpectedly hoarse. He is torn, utterly, between fierce desires to hold onto it, and to thrust it as far away from him as he can manage. Either way, he certainly seems to be entranced. ]