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[One should not underestimate the ability of a thirsty dwarf to find ale. Even a dwarf that may not have the best sense of direction, and that has been thrown into completely unfamiliar territory. By whatever luck or good grace of higher powers, it turns out that Thorin and Bilbo do not have to travel far in order to find a tavern that looks rather like The Prancing Pony in Bree. The cobblestone road outside of it is cleaner, and the people - mostly humans - milling about this town seem less furtive and hurried than Thorin remembers. This place seems generally less perilous for the average traveler.

The warm glow from within the tavern shines through the slightly dingy windows, and the muffled sound of a merry crowd carries out into the night in brief snippets as patrons come and go.

Good enough.

Shouldering the pack that somehow managed to accompany him, and dropping a hand to the sword at his side, Thorin pulls the door open and heads inside without hesitation, knowing that Bilbo won't be far behind.]

((From over here, cause... reasons.))

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[ It takes Thorin a moment to realize what's making Bilbo stutter and fidget this time, but he realizes it before the actual suggestion comes. Of course, the delicate hobbit sensibilities. At least, he presumes that they're common to most hobbits, but to be honest, he doesn't have much of a basis for comparison outside of Bilbo. Of all the ridiculous things to get worked up over, though... He is wearing pants, after all. As far as his bare chest, there's nothing he would consider remarkable there. Thorin is broad-chested, like most of his kin, perhaps more than average, with muscles built up from years of fighting and smithing, and some old scars that tell of long past injuries. Dwarves are a hardy folk, however, and do not scar easily. Most marks fade in time.

Nonetheless, he picks up a clean tunic and tugs it on, careful to avoid jostling any of the bandaging too much, and then slides the robe back on over it. ]

There seems to be plenty of hot water, if you'd like to use it.

[ In the more comfortable days of his youth, he was used to such conveniences in Erebor. It has been a very long time since, however, and this is the first time he's seen men come up with anything close. He couldn't deny being a bit curious as to how they're managing it here. ]

[ 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.

[ For the record, Thorin has never made a habit of lounging about in any state of undress, he simply does not see the point in fussing over a few moments without a shirt. He imagines that Bilbo might actually faint from impropriety if he happened to catch a glimpse of Thorin, or probably anyone else, fully naked. That said, at least they both value the idea of modesty, even if in differing amounts.

His expression quickly turns from tolerant indifference to perhaps slightly exaggerated surprise and a touch of amusement, raising his eyebrows at Bilbo's declaration. ]

I never thought I would see the day when our gentlehobbit chooses to turn down a warm bath.

[ It's teasing, yes, but of a different sort than the scoffing that he'd given Bilbo early on in their journey. If anything, he might be very slightly impressed. He does have a spare tunic among his things that might not be comically huge on Bilbo's smaller frame. ]

Edited (THERE YOU GO AN EDIT X3) 2016-03-03 18:49 (UTC)

[ ~~Bilbo does not want to start thinking about any naked Thorins here, so kindly shut up, thank you~~.

Being wound tight so long and so continuously with his structured ideas of how to act and how to talk to others, there's always that initial desire to defend himself when he's the focus of someone's teasing. However, Fili, Kili, Bofur, they've repeatedly needled at that uptight nature of his and it's become easier to relax amongst friendly banter. So the agitation is there, only for a moment, and then it eases into something far warmer, more welcoming, until he's left to smoother an amused breath.

Well, Gandalf once said that Bilbo would not be returning as the same hobbit. Little wonder, he may very well be right.

He's not entirely changed though, no. Even with the underlying amusement, he continues the facade of respectability and plays his part of stuffy disinclination. ] Yes well. It was bound to happen. [ Unbuckles, unties and then it's to unbuttoning one, lone button. ] You lot have been an awful influence on me. [ Except the words are tinged with a fondness that ruins the strength behind such chiding. Strangely enough, he doesn't mind it.

~~Oh? Bilbo isn't about to go riffling through Thorin's pack. Erm, again anyway.~~ ]

[ There is a certain amount of teasing, prodding, joking, and grumbling that comes along with dwarven company, especially with the younger ones. It's usually meant in their kind of good-natured, if rough-edged, humor, but it can be a stark contrast to more conventionally polite cultures. Thorin is usually above such carousing, especially if there are more important things to focus on, but he has been known to get a jab or two in himself on occasion. The fact that Bilbo has been included in this familiar tradition is as much a sign of acceptance as anything else.

Thorin is leaning back against the headboard of his bed, his arms crossed lightly over his chest. He is utterly exhausted, in more ways than he can count, but sleep will not come easily. Or quickly. That, in itself, is not unusual - Thorin is a light-sleeper, at best. There have been occasions when he was the slightest bit jealous of Bilbo's usual ability to sleep so soundly. ]

You could blame Gandalf for that, if not yourself. He was the one who brought us to your door-step.

[ That first night at Bag End should have given Bilbo a rather accurate general idea about exactly what he would be dealing with, regarding the dwarves themselves. ]

[ Dressed down now, to his tunic and trousers, Bilbo attempts the slight hop on the bed, and soon goes about fussing with the sheets. All the while, he scoffs and rolls his eyes, briefly, in exaggerated exasperation, even though he's not quite facing the correct way for Thorin to see. He's busy pulling back the sheet and rearranging himself with it, quipping— ] Oh. I blame Gandalf for many things.

[ Like, disturbing a mid-morning smoke. Conjuring up a secret meeting in Bag End, that had been so secret, not even the supposed host had known. Abandoning them one too many times, only to save them at the last moment. Gandalf is... frustrating. Unpredictable. Even so, Bilbo trusts him. Is even fond of him. And he feels immensely better any time the wizard is near... but sometimes, when he really sits back and thinks on their shared history, he wonders if there should be a reason for concern.

It's a difficult thing though. To go backwards, Once Bilbo allows someone into his modest, usually tightly defended space, it's almost second nature to put his faith and trust in them. Despite all his outward grumblings, it's within his nature to give others the benefit of his doubt and think better of them than, perhaps, sometimes they deserve.

So he doesn't fully mean it— ] Always meddling, speaking in riddles... [ And there's that annoying ache again; he really, truly misses Gandalf. Misses all of them. Even misses their quest – not the near-death parts, of course, but the sense of purpose it brought and the tight-knit unit they had been becoming. He overcomes that slight pause with a huff though and then settles down, resting on his side with his head pillowed. ] A true disturber of the peace, that's what he is.

[ Gandalf is an incredibly frustrating figure. As indispensable as the wizard could be, Thorin does not like to depend on anything so fickle. The main problem, in his view, is that Gandalf simply has his nose in too many businesses at once, and tries to juggle them all with varying degrees of success, all the while without revealing too much information about any of it along the way. His nebulous assurances, the sudden changes of plans, every time he subverted one of Thorin's direct commands... That Gandalf always seems to be right doesn't really change the fact that he can be absolutely infuriating.

All of that said, he is grateful for the wizard's assistance and counsel, without it his quest would have been a lost cause, even though such feelings are far more grudging there than they are toward Bilbo. His guidance here and now would not be unwelcome. ]

A disturber of your peace, at least. Perhaps also among his elvish friends.

[ ...Thorin will never be fond of elves. Even if certain ones have been better than useless as of late. ]

[ Yes, the elves, cannot forget about them. For a race that despises the other so, some dwarves have the odd habit of bringing attention to them, perhaps more than one would expect; though, to be fair, it seems to be out of a desire to sneer and spit on their very mention. So, actually, is that all that unusual?. But that aside, Bilbo almost finds the tidbit amusing in that exasperated sort of way, only to settle on a scoff instead, the sound quiet and muffled against the pillow.

No doubt it's true. No one is safe from Gandalf's sight. Let it not be forgotten that he dragged thirteen dwarves right onto Lord Elrond's doorstep and then let them roam free, wrecking havoc.

Though, if Gandalf is so very keen on offsetting the tranquility of one's very existence, even an elf's... ]

How is it then, that you two don't get along? [ There's a dryness to it, but it's all in jest. Gandalf and Thorin try – not very well – to be co-leaders in the quest and more often than not, their many disagreements leave little option other than for one to storm off or to sit there stewing in anger. But oh, if Gandalf blatantly brings elves grief, then the two of them do have something in common afterall. ]

[ Elves and dwarves have long feuded, but Thorin's particular predisposition toward them is rather specific in origin. He will never forget, nor forgive them for, the day that they left his people to ruin without a single glance behind. ~~Thranduil~~ That pompous coward thought himself just in denying them aid, his delicate ego too bruised by his spurned council to their king. To abandon all honor, and turn his back on their suffering...

...

He does not mistake Bilbo's tone, but he answers the question mildly and without embellishment. He understands, at least to some extent, why Gandalf is this way, and he does not hold it against him, necessarily. Only when it specifically hinders him, personally.]

Gandalf has many friends. He may choose to remain neutral among them. I cannot.

~~[ He doesnt mind the conversation, but he may be waiting for Bilbo to pass out. ]~~

[ Oddly enough, nowadays, he's much more of a late sleeper than he ever was. Before quests and dwarves, the morning would start early, what with breakfast needing to be made and more importantly, needing to be eaten. The sun would rise and he would rise shortly there after, tying his robe tight and wandering off for biscuits and jam and tea and...

Well. The list could go on.

During the quest, the promise of a warm, hearty meal had been more of a hopeful aspiration than a reality. Instead, it had been the smell of dirt, the rocks digging into soft muscle and the general loudness of too many bodies shuffling about, gathering their supplies, that had kept him on his strict schedule. Now it's different. Ill-thoughts of human mattresses aside, the bedding is still far more welcoming than dirt and stone. He sleeps longer than he means to and even when his nose wrinkles and his breathing hitches on wakefulness, it still requires far too much effort to open his eyes.

Somehow, rolling over and burying his face into the pillow, huffing in protest does not. It's only when shifts to let his toes stretch and his fingers to slip under the pillow, that he snaps his eyes open. Smooth, glassy, cold, his fingers bump against the thing hidden there and suddenly, he's very much aware of where he is.

Sleep forgotten, he shoots upright and glances over to... an empty bed? There's a long moment spent looking. Across the room, back to the bed, over to the window, back to the bed. And then the next long moment shifts into listening for some telltale sign of someone grumbling about in the washroom. Nothing. No one.

Of course.

Of all the indecent, rude... – he touches his feet to the floor and without so much as a rub to his sleepy eyes or a run of his fingers through bed tousled curls, he goes about getting properly dressed. It does not take long. He's ready to go and it's only after the initial step, that he remembers. Hesitating as he always seems to, he eventually decides to grab the Arkenstone and slip it into his pocket. Thorin's pack will have to fend for itself in the meantime, for he's far too ~~annoyed~~ small to lug that with him. With that, he's on his way, frowning in a way that guarantees that a certain dwarf will get a stern talking to if he so much as went off to have breakfast without waking this hobbit first. ]

[ The slightest hint of pale grey light and chirping of nearby sparrows heralding the upcoming dawn had roused Thorin from fleeting, unsettled sleep and all too vivid dreams. Instead of attempting to close his eyes again, or wake Bilbo, he quietly dressed and made his way out the door. He has too many questions that needed to be answered, and he wouldn't accomplish that while languishing around in bed. It's far from comfortable to be walking on his injured foot, still, but in his usual stubborn way, he's not about to let the pain slow him down.

By the time Bilbo comes shuffling out into the hallway, he will find his missing dwarf sitting at the bar downstairs, clearly engrossed in a conversation with the tavern's owner - an older, patient-looking man, dressed simply in work clothes with an apron, who is washing dishes while he talks. The rest of room is almost empty, only a few quiet patrons have made their way in this early. While there is a plate of bread, cheese, and some fruit sitting in front of Thorin, it looks as if he hasn't so much as touched it. He's hanging onto another pint of ale, instead, and questioning the innkeeper with perhaps a little too much intensity.

The old man seems tolerant enough, and not especially intimidated. It's entirely possible that this is not the first dwarf he's had to deal with. ]

[ He's about halfway down the stairs when he remembers it. The mug. He pauses there, staring, simply staring straight ahead and then he abruptly glances over his shoulder, weighing the options in mind. To go back and retrieve it or continue on? He'd meant to bring it back. He will bring it back, but... shall he do it now? It would be the... respectable thing to do? It's already been quite rude of him to burglar it away in the night; the bar staff have more likely than not, already washed and dried all the mugs from the previous night, so he's disrupted their orderly routine. Now to delay it even further…

There's the unmistakable, low grate of Thorin's voice though and Bilbo can't help the pull he feels for it. Later, he'll bring it down later; right now, his feet are eagerly set to walking again and before long, he's at the bottom stair. Ah, there he is. It's such a little thing. Honestly, it's really of no importance. But he does feel, for whatever reason, marginally better to have the other within sight.

He's only a few steps in then, however close enough to draw attention and as the old man's gaze suddenly shifts past Thorin and to him, Bilbo halts with a quick inhale. He really should have brought that mug with him. But it's brief and gone, the man's gaze back on the dwarf, and all the ridiculously unfounded panic goes with it. Get it together, Baggins; how would the barkeep even know a mug is missing, let alone that he has it stashed away upstairs? Well, he is washing right now, so perhaps he's taken count, and maybe last night…

He shakes it off. Absurd. Nonsensical. Downright daffy.

Forbidding himself to dwell on missing kitchenware, Bilbo smooths his hands over the lapels of his coat and then starts off once more. What are they talking about anyway? The question will have to go unanswered for now though, for when Bilbo wanders in close, there's enough of a pause in words for his good mannered sense to take notice of and immediately grabble for. ] Good morning. [ … And throat clear. Perhaps a touch too cheery? Either way, the bar-top is not too daunting, surprisingly, and Bilbo proceeds to pay careful attention to settling himself into his seat and… oh. Food. That looks nice. ~~He technically didn't eat last night, mind you~~. And here he goes again with his mental weighting, rapping his fingers against the bar; has Thorin even sampled any of that? ~~Waster~~. ]

Edited (the edit disease is spreading) 2016-03-07 06:16 (UTC)

[ Thorin gives Bilbo a slight nod in response to the greeting - which is more or less his usual reaction to such pleasantries, if he acknowledges them at all, especially when his mind is on other things, and there is definitely a familiar sort of gleam in his eye. It's the sort of look he has when he has grasped a means to a particularly important end, which Bilbo has seen at least a couple of times before. He does, however, reach to slide that plate of food across the bar to the hobbit as he settles into that chair. It seems likely that he wasn't planning on eating any of it at all, and was perhaps even waiting for Bilbo's inevitable arrival. ]

According to the locals, there is a way back. [ He leans in to explain abruptly without preamble as the barkeep turns to put away a stack of clean dishes. As untrusting as Thorin is of this place, he can't deny the sense of hope that this has given him. For the first time since he woke up in this strange, yet oddly familiar, land, he has a heading. ] They call it a portal, it's some sort of gate between this world and ours. He's not sure of the distance, but he says if we follow the road to the east, we'll find it. We are not the first to come this way.

[ It's nothing like anything he's ever heard of, but it's the only lead he has, and from what he can tell, this man seems honest enough, and probably has no reason to lie about it. It's enough. He has to see this for himself. What choice does he have? He can't just sit here and wait. He does not know precisely what might be waiting for him back there, but it's home, and he wants to return to it with as much fierce desire as ever.

And Bilbo... He has an even longer way to go before he gets back to the Shire. Thorin is going to do everything he can to make certain he returns to Bag End. ]

[ The plate's only just made it in front of him and then he's reaching for a chunk of cheese, no no, for bread – yes, that'll hit the spot just right, oh maybe there's some jam somewhere? – but he's only managed to get his greedy fingers on it and bring it close before—oh hello. Suddenly, Thorin's there. True, he's not towering over him or infringing heavily on his space or anything like that, but it's enough of a change to catch Bilbo, momentarily, off guard. However, the ~~startled~~ confusion doesn't give way to anything beyond a slightly wider gaze and a tighter grip on that bread. Oh, and a faint, rumble from his stomach; though, he can't say if that's from unease for the closer proximity or out of simple protest that he hasn't shoved the bread in his mouth yet.

See, obviously before, there had been quite a few more bodies in their Company and now that it's only the two of them, there's no choice in the matter. There's no Balin or Dwalin or Gandalf for Thorin to huddle close and discuss plans with. There's only small, clueless Bilbo. With no other option, it really shouldn't be surprising that Thorin would immediately confide information to him.

Even so, he's not entirely sure how he should feel about that. Happy? That, perhaps, they're to be not partners, but something more than leader and obedient follower. Or should be be nervous? That he may be expected to provide some valuable input on, on adventuring, when he still feels completely out of sorts.

Either way, what he definitely feels right now is, well, confusion. Huh. Well. Leave it to Thorin to figure a way out of an undesirable predicament within the span of a day. The thought is distant, yet definitely amused. Bilbo isn't fully conscious of even thinking it though, too caught up in trying to understand the rest, while simultaneously ignoring his stomach and the way Thorin has completely ruined the neat placement of his bandages. ] That sounds... easy. [ The words are light and slow coming and so very dubious. Should he be more excited? Of course there's that initial spark of hope, but walking along a road for an indiscernible distance, only to find an entrance back to where they want to go... it can't be that easy, right? ]

[ Bilbo is, indeed, in a position of much higher importance than what he's used to. Even if he was used to being more of a confidant, as he will be in time, this would still be something of a change. This is a new dynamic for Thorin, too, but he's far too focused on this new task to spend too much time contemplating that. At least for now. There will be plenty of time, too much time, later on for such things. ]

Simple, perhaps, but not easy.

[ Thorin leans back and pulls over a folded piece of parchment from the other side of the bar, unfolding it in front of them. It's a map, and a strangely familiar-looking one at that. There are major landmarks that cannot be mistaken - the general arrangement of the mountains, the hills, the rivers... The relative distances are off, and there seems to be fewer definite points of reference, but is too similar to be considered coincidence. He cannot fathom the significance. All he knows now is that there may be answers, and a way back, out there. He traces a road leading nearly straight eastward, through hills, then mountains, then through a massive forest. It takes a more southward turn than their previous travels, toward the end. This portal seems to be located uncomfortably close to the place where Dol Goldur would be. ]

These roads are not always safe, especially at night, and there are not many towns farther east than this one. We'll need to take some supplies.

[ Someone obviously didn't get much sleep last night.

He pauses, studying Bilbo's face, almost as if he's going to ask something, but then decides not to. Instead he slides off his chair, leaving the map for Bilbo to peruse if he wishes, and heads toward the door. ]

Finish eating and get ready. I'll be back within the hour.

[ It is familiar, and that is, indeed, a troubling fact. Bilbo can't say he knows the route immensely well, but if there were twelve other dwarves and a wizard with them, he'd almost believe they were right back at the beginning of their previous – current? – quest. He's eyeing the span of trees most of all. Distantly he remembers the Carrock and the line of treetops laid out before them. Thorin is talking and Bilbo nods along, briefly, still paying closer attention to the map than the actual meanings behind the words. Not safe, right. Supplies, okay. That all changes of course, when there's a shift and then he's suddenly sitting there alone.

His focus finally rips away from the map and—h-hey. Later, he'll blame his slow waking and the twist of his starved stomach for the rise in indignation and for the immediate protest— ] Now hold on! You can't… [ And he stops short. Right, that's not… not proper. Arguing Thorin's dismissal? No, no, that's quite fine, because leader or not, things are a tad different this time, and that, that infuriating dwarf can't just go about ordering him around, at least not so early in the morning! Instead, Bilbo is more concerned about the fact that Thorin is there. Across the way. And Bilbo is still sitting here. With a few patrons glancing curiously toward the sound of his agitated, high pitch.

He drops the bread back on the plate – after a noticeable pause – and then grabs the map as he hops down. His shoulders hunch in a bit as he walks, as though hoping that making himself appear smaller will disincline anyone to continue taking notice of him and then, there, he's drawn in close to Thorin. He clears his throat, trying again. ] You can't leave. Not without discussing this first. [ And while he begins with a touch of uncertainty, it only takes a moment for the exasperation to find its way back in. He stands straighter, frowns deeper— ] And no, that is not the same as you talking at me.

[ … That's a bit sassier than his current bravery can maintain and after one beat, two, he makes a small noise in the back of his throat and stares down at the map instead. ]

[ Thorin stops in mid-stride, turning, and for a long moment it seems if he's about to bear down on the hobbit with all the indignant, self-righteous anger that he is capable of bringing to bear. Thorin has become terribly unused to being challenged, his own kin would think twice, even thrice, before standing against him even with the best of intentions. To face such defiance from a halfling, brave or no, would have been a ludicrous suggestion in the past, even as recent as weeks ago. For a while even Bilbo stood quietly by his side, saying nothing until he could hold in his doubts no longer, risking a wrath more terrible and dangerous than it ever should have been.

But it is not the mad shadow of a king that stands before Bilbo now. Nor is it the same Thorin Oakenshield that came through his door at Bag End, many months and miles ago.

He settles back on his heels, regarding his friend with his arms crossed over his chest. Not as he would in backing down from an obstacle, but rather as if he's been met with an opposing force that cannot, should not, simply be shouldered through by pure force of will. ]

I'm listening, Master Baggins.

[ … Oh. He's not sure what he'd been expecting or even wanting; certainly, he's glad Thorin is acting reasonable enough – still quite shocking, to be frank – but now that he has his attention and allowance to say something, Bilbo can't think of the words. Great planning, Baggins. Though, that's typical, isn't it? He seems to be making a habit of rushing into a situation and then playing catch-up with himself in order to handle it.

Why is he concerned anyway? Currently, there is no other choice for them to take. And even so, when he'd had a choice in all this adventure business, he'd run out his front door, chasing an ideal despite the knowledge that death by dragon was an inescapable possibility waiting at the end. Is this really about Bilbo wanting to consider other options or is this about...

He grasps the map tighter and glances up, eyeing that twisted bandage. Yes, is this about that? ] You make it sound as though we're about to, well, start. [ Truthfully, Bilbo will follow Thorin just about anywhere. Of course he will. He'd followed him when he'd been nothing more than rude and pig-headed and obtuse and just short of cruel, and despite a momentary lapse in determination, he'd come back. So he's not exactly equipped to deny him now.

But... someone needs to be reasonable here. ] Perhaps we should... wait. [ His fingers begin fiddling, only for a moment, and then when he realizes he's only accomplishing in wrinkling the map, he forces himself to still. ] It will give us more time to prepare... [ He already knows he won't like this part, so that's where the pause comes in. ] ... and for, ah, for your wounds to heal.

[ There are certain, inescapable questions that must be faced, should all of this turn out to be true. Thorin has already thought on such things, but as before, he really does have no choice in the matter. Whatever he should face if-... when he returns, so be it. He will not run from it, nor will he languish here on what could be called borrowed time. Home, family, duty... They call to him. He did not fight so fiercely, for so long, to reclaim his home to turn about and abandon it to avoid the possibility of death. Or to be exiled again, after everything he's been through, would be to suffer worse than from any mortal wound.

And then, of course, there is that matter of his burglar.

Even if Thorin is destined to join his ancestors upon his return, Bilbo may yet again see the Shire. Thorin does not think that he will ever see that oak tree with his own eyes, nor ever again return to sit by the fireplace in Bag End, or perhaps even walk the halls of his own kingdom, but if Bilbo does, then it will be enough. And he will fight to his last breath, and beyond, to see it done.

So, no, waiting is the last thing he wants to do, especially on account of his injuries, which he sees as an inconvenience, at worst. ]

I do not think that we stand to gain much from lingering here. How long would you suggest we wait?

[ It's clearly not a request for advice, but his tone implies that he does not intend to dismiss Bilbo's answer out of hand. ]

[ Hm. That's a tricky one. And so very Thorin. First, give a firm opinion on the matter, and then ask for Bilbo's; seems almost counterproductive... or actually, maybe that's productive. Cut to the chase. Give a blunt, clear idea of his stance, but continue on by playing nice enough to feign interest in Bilbo's thoughts. Now, actually, that doesn't seem very Thorin. Or at least, the Thorin Bilbo is more familiar with. Thorin wouldn't dally and waste breath asking him if he's already decided they're to leave within the next, few hours.

Maybe he's not pretending? Maybe he is, amazingly, willing to listen to him? Well then. Even if that's true, Bilbo doubts it'll be easy to sway the dwarf into agreement. This will require a bit of tact. Wait, no. What's he thinking? Dwarves don't understand that. They only respond accordingly to stubbornness that rivals their own.

… All right, Baggins. Don't take no for an answer.

Easier said than done, right? He swallows. His fingers itch and start, the rows beginning to fiddle again, but he quenches the nervous tic, instead swinging them to his sides, the map grasped tightly in one. Shoulders roll back and he straightens, trying – and failing – to appear more evenly matched, but Thorin, unfortunately, has a few inches on him. And width, too. And just about everything there is to have to outrank him with. But Bilbo compensates with a huff and a lift of his chin. ] Until you no longer need bandages. [ Go on, try arguing with him. ~~Wait no, please don't~~. Hobbits aren't particularly known for their stubbornness, but this one can be quite insistent; besides, Thorin must realize the faultiness of starting a trek – possibly dangerous trek – with compromised health. … He does realize that, doesn't he? ]

[ Thorin's mind was already onto the uncertainties of the road ahead. He has traveled alone before, but that was on roads he knew well enough, and even then he never would have set out on such a journey while wounded. He does not discount the abilities of his present companion, but he would rather that Bilbo be able to focus on looking after himself. ~~Coming to Thorin's rescue worked once, but he might not be so lucky a second time.~~ So, in that, Bilbo does have a point. Until he can move unhindered, he is at a definite disadvantage.

Of course, he's certain that Bilbo would prefer that he wait until all his wounds are fully healed, but more than anything he just needs to be able to land firmly on both feet without the inclination to double over in pain. Everything else is minor, in comparison, as bad as they might look, and will heal quickly enough, regardless. He still does not like the idea of staying around here, but... He does see the wisdom in it, at least for a short time. It seems to be a hindrance that he must tolerate. For now. ]

A week. No longer.

[ That does not change the fact that they need certain things, however, and he's certainly in not such bad shape that he needs to be doted on. Nor does he think Bilbo so helpless as to be incapable of taking care of himself for a few moments. ]

Finish your breakfast. I'll be back.

Edited (typos ._.) 2016-03-09 03:42 (UTC)

[ … This is Thorin, right? Pardon him for his surprise. Shock even. Now, hold on, Bilbo has never thought Thorin to be unreason... able... okay he takes that back, he most definitely has thought that. Often. Very often. So when the fight doesn't come, Bilbo is slow to believe that it's over. He's got his week's delay. That's all it takes then. The rigidness relaxes and his shoulders slump, the stubborn tilt of his chin leveling out and he's suddenly as he usually is, simple, placid, welcoming...

He even manages a smile. Good. Very good.

Still, he'd rather Thorin didn't go tromping off for supplies at the given moment, especially now that they have a week's time, but... Bilbo knows when to pick his battles. Usually anyway. So he nods and glances down. ] All right. [ And maybe that's why he feels compelled to say it. Now that all the brash, Tookish fight dispels, he's left with nothing other than his usual Bagginsness and it's so very easy then to revert back even further. Back to quiet thoughtfulness and gentle sensibilities. ] Ah. And Thorin? Thank you for, um, listening.

[ And now that it's out and said, he almost wishes to take it back. But manners are manners. And he does appreciate it. This. That change in Thorin's regard toward him. Perhaps there really is a chance for them to be friends. Or at least, functional comrades. ]

[ Thorin is already half-way out the door after Bilbo's initial agreement. He pauses with a slight turn when Bilbo hails him again, taking in the expression of gratitude. His own face doesn't betray too much, at a glance, but there's a rare openness about it. If only very briefly. He nods, and even though the words may be foreign to Bilbo, and spoken quietly, there is an unmistakable warmth to them that goes beyond even their literal meaning, which is a formal, even polite response. ]

Ya harmu 'addad.

[ It's entirely possible that Bilbo won't understand, given the hobbit's tendency to over-think things, but Thorin's not going to explain himself now. His usual stern countenance is already firmly back in place as he turns back to the door, perhaps pushing it fully open more abruptly than entirely necessary, and steps through it and out onto the sunny street without any further hesitation. ]

[ Ya ha... rmu... – come again? It's obviously Khuzdul. Traveling about with thirteen dwarves, with one who only speaks that language, has exposed him to it enough that he can recognize it, but the syllables are nothing more than meaningless sound to him. That's just as well. He doesn't need to know the words to guess the sentiment. Warm, gentle, quiet... the tone is pleasant enough and whatever it is Thorin said, it stems from acceptance. That's all he really needs.

… That rough exit though. Hm. That might make him reconsider his guess some.

No no, Thorin was agreeable just a moment ago, that's just... just dwarves having no sense about their strength and how to conduct themselves as normal, polite people do. Watching the door swing shut and click into place, Bilbo stands there for a beat longer and then goes about folding the map with a sigh. Thorin shall be distracted for... – he said about an hour? That should give him plenty of time to eat and bathe and oh, return the mug and—

His stomach growls. Right. Best not to get too far ahead with planning his morning. A hobbit should never plan anything on an empty stomach after all. So with one last glance and fold, he slides the map in his pocket, and there he goes, off to reclaim his breakfast.

… Though, maybe he'll bring it upstairs. That should be fine, right? He's going to return the mug anyway. It wouldn't matter if he returned the plate at the same time, yes? Yes. Because it's one thing to sit at a bar with the solid presence of Thorin next to him and quite another to be there by himself, under the stare of the innkeeper who must know about the mug. So Bilbo might just be testing out his burglaring skills once more, swiping the plate when the innkeeper's back is turned and scuttling upstairs for some peace, quiet and most of all, privacy. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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I stared at it for like an hour before I posted it x3

LOL i almost feel bad now.

aw nah, it was just cause I was being indecisive

.......... /so smug w my tally mark

as long as you're happy x3

immensely. c:

^-^

know wat I hate more than anything? glancing at an old post, seeing a typo & not being able to edit

omg yes. they cannot be unseen

TIME SKIP; G'MORNING. okok you said 1 poss is he'd go harassing ppl so.

yup :3

i forgot to ask. does he still have his bandages on? specifically his head one LOL

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/tally

that's 2 x3

/stamps complete on thread.