middlemuses | (no subject)

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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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[ Thorin does not know of that note's origin - it might have been in Black Speech, but it was presumably in the possession of a man, not an orc. It matters not. He will trust no strangers here, nor will he sleep too soundly, but he has made it through such perils before on his own.

The plate, chain mail and the tunic underneath it have soaked up the worst of the blood, and it takes some work to remove them. Once he's down to his trousers, it's obvious that he's not quite as unscathed as he first thought. The mortal wound has been closed - leaving a scar that looks older than it should - but there are still numerous other fresh wounds, some of them minor, others somewhat deeper. Nothing that will kill him, but probably enough to worry Bilbo. ]

Perhaps.

[ There's a clean robe and trousers at the top of his pack, he takes those with him as he crosses the room to the bath. He wasn't expecting running water, let alone hot water, but it is a welcome discovery. The soap smells more flowery than he would like, but it'll do. ]

If there are places here like Bree, then there may also be places like the Shire. And the Mountain.

Edited 2016-02-28 23:03 (UTC)

[ Initially, he doesn't mean to look, because any sort of undressing deserves some privacy, but even so, he's learned long ago that there isn't room for shy sensibilities when living practically on top of each other on a quest, so he does peek, eventually. … Probably enough? Ha. What a mess. The fact that he moves about nonetheless, as though unhampered by wounds that should be tended to... – is that a stubbornness all dwarves share or is this trait specific to Thorin?

Bilbo's very close to grumbling, but he waits for Thorin to disappear behind the partition and then, only then does he expel the worry, no, the frustration with a heavy-laden sigh.

Right. So.

He ought to leave it be but he ignores such warnings of self-preservation and crosses over to the dwarf's bed. He doesn't have much idea what to do with the plate or chainmail; however, he picks the tunic up. Sweat, blood and grim – he wrinkles his nose and frowns from one tear to the next, contemplating, before, slowly, bringing himself to fold it. Dwarves, always so inconsiderate of their surroundings, especially when they're within someone else's establishment. The clothing may be in need of disposing, but there's no sense in leaving the pieces scattered about, dirtying up the bed, the floor. Hmph, honestly, do they even possess manners? ]

It's not... terrible being here. [ Not always. He sets the tunic beside the pack and then begins on the next layer. ] There are pleasant places to visit. [ Softer now. ] Though, I'm afraid none feel quite like home.

[ It's quite possible that all dwarves are stubborn to a fault, to some degree or another, but Thorin comes out on the more extreme end of that even by dwarvish standards. It's not that he doesn't feel pain, he simply has become accustomed to ignoring it since it would only slow him down or distract him from more important things. Once he's clean, then he may do something about it.

As Bilbo sets aside the tunic, the bulkier contents of the pack shift - most likely simply due to imbalance after Thorin went rifling through it - and a flash of a gleaming white light glitters through a gap between folded clothes. If the pack were to fall over, the source of that light could very well go tumbling out onto the floor all on its' own. ]

'Close' is not good enough. We will find a way back.

[ It feels downright glorious to have clean hair again, Thorin would have to admit. For as long as he will trudge through the rain, mud, and snow without complaint in pursuit of a goal, there is something to be said about being clean and dry. Well, he's clean now, at least, and soaking in the hot water momentarily before working on the dry part. ]

[ It's comforting in a way just to listen to such determination, however, Bilbo would have been happier to hear such an admission if it had come sooner. Instead, there's only faint awareness on his part. Good, great even... but more importantly, what's that? He pauses, hands still full of cloth, caught between setting it on the pile and letting go. Lips parting in silent wonder, he inches up on his toes and leans his weight on his hands, peering over, closer...

And he jerks back. No, he shouldn't. He shakes his head; hard. What's he thinking? Looking through Thorin's things; how, how rude.

He clears his throat and ducks his head, mentally berating and trying his very hardest to not let his gaze wander back toward the curious, very curious splendor of light. As much as hobbits swear by their desire to remain within their boxed in worlds, they have a nosiness to them, one that usually only feeds into a need to gossip and to know all about everyone within the Shire borders. Well, Bilbo's world has expanded greatly, with wider boarders and a larger assortment of faces, so he can't help it. Can't help being curious about Thorin too. ]

[ … But he really shouldn't.

Should he? ]

[ He glances to the partition, listening for anything beyond the occasional splash and then he hooks his fingertips on the edge of the pack, inching it back just so. The gap is small but it's nothing to diminish the light. Again, he tells himself not to, that the newfound trust between Thorin and himself is not something to trifle with…

But he pokes at the cloth anyway, nudging it away to widen the gap. Huh. ] … What's this? [ It's a question for himself but one he, absentmindedly, voices nonetheless. ]

[ If Thorin were at all aware of what he's been carrying with him, he would have known exactly what Bilbo is talking about. He also would certainly not leave it nestled so randomly in between other things. Whether or not he would have actually mentioned it... No. No, he would not have. Not to Bilbo. Not after what happened earlier this morning.

Was it really only hours ago? How much time has passed since then? He cannot say.

He is just wrenching himself out of the bath and reaching for a towel when he hears Bilbo's muttering, and is, for the moment, still completely unaware of what the hobbit has just come across. After all, the last time he had a pack of any sort, there was nothing in it that would have been worth getting worked up over. Is this some sort of commentary on his severely damaged armor? ]

What is what, Master Baggins?

[ This towel will need some serious cleaning if it's ever to be used again, but most of the bleeding has all but stopped now. Thorin is pulling on that pair of pants before he goes anywhere, so for the time being Bilbo is still alone to his musings. ]

[ Guiltily, he jumps a little and jerks his head toward the voice, only feeling marginally better to find... nothing. No one. No Thorin. Good. ] N-Nothing. [ His breath catches on the word and well, Bilbo's never boasted of ever being a good liar. In fact, he would be proud to admit that he's rather truthful. Usually. Right now he wouldn't mind a bit of skill though, because all he can do now is clench his eyes closed and scrunch his expression in tight; quite convincing there, Master Baggins. ]

It's only... [ He scrutinizes the pack, the bed and then down, observing his placement in the whole arrangement. Thinking better of it, he takes one, two, three steps away, broadening the distance between him and said pack, as though erasing any involvement in the affair. No. Nope. He hasn't been anywhere near it; certainly hasn't been riffling through any packs or clothes or jewels.

… Except, there's still that folded pile, so that might put a damper on his deniability.

On that thought, he crosses his arms and shuffles away some more, still eyeing the glow. ] There's a light. Coming from your pack.

[ 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. ]

[ … This doesn't feel right. The way Thorin moves, how he kneels, the strain in his voice; something's wrong. But with memories not yet made and experiences yet to be lived, Bilbo only feels an unease toward the unfamiliar, rather than the sinking dread the stone will inevitably cause him. For now, he settles for a frown and lets his hands relax to his sides, waiting, hoping for some clarification on what to do next.

He just doesn't understand.

He remembers the troll hoard. How Nori, Gloin and Bofur emerged, mouths twisted in wide grins; long term deposit, indeed. Bilbo's yet to witness the infamous greed of dwarves firsthand but as he may forget from time to time, there's some very distinct differences between their races, one of which he's presently being made well aware of.

He steps closer then, slow and uncertain, peering at the stone, but soon finding his attention much more interested in the way Thorin watches it himself. He's so focused. So intent. Bilbo swallows and the uncertainty twists, just the barest bit more. ] … And what's that? [ Oddly, he almost wishes not to ask, but. Heart of the Mountain? Erebor? What is it? Or more importantly, what is it to Thorin? ]

[ It's hard to say how long that Thorin would have remained like that, simply staring, lost in thought, but he is abruptly jolted out of the reverie by the sound of Bilbo's voice. He swallows hard and takes a deep breath as he finds his voice once again. He cannot entirely banish the whispers, but they're not drowning out all reason as they were before. ]

This, Master Burlgar, is why you were hired. It is the Arkenstone. The King's Jewel. With it, I would finally unite the dwarven clans to march upon the mountain, to defeat Smaug.

[ Of course, things did not go as planned.

He slowly shakes his head and looks up, suddenly focused on Bilbo's face. Through the haze, the particular memory of Bilbo's face as he was nearly suffocated at the gate floats to the surface, and Thorin is once again clearly aware of how close he came to killing his most loyal friend. Before he can begin to have second thoughts, he forcefully thrusts the gem into the hobbit's hands. His voice is rough, heavy with grief and shame, but grim determination, still. ]

When you go back, you must never allow me to see it, not until I am myself again. Keep it hidden for now. Please.

[ P-Pardon? He's knocked back a step, partly from the force and the rest from the sheer surprise of suddenly having his hands full. Startled – and more so confused – he blinks down at the Arkenstone, altogether at a loss with the current turn of events. Never allow him to see it, until he is himself again? Does this have to do with the madness? Dragon sickness?

But...

But it's just one gem. A right pretty one, he'll say that much, but... doesn't Thorin need this to unite the clans and take back the mountain? Isn't that what he just said?

Good sense tends to leave Bilbo at the worst of times and instead of scrambling to follow orders – and to heed that ever-present anxiety he's been weathering since Thorin walked into the room – Bilbo frowns, stalls, and worse, disobeys. Truthfully, the please should be more than enough to silence any disagreement – for that's not something to take lightly when Thorin is involved – but he just can't seem to clear the hurdle of misunderstanding, not when the conversation has taken such a swift about-face. ] Thorin. You're speaking in circles. Isn't this what you need? [ He doesn't offer it back, no, but still he stands as he is, unmoving to hide or conceal, palms barely enclosing the gem. ]

[ Thorin heaves himself back to his feet, staggering as unsteadily as a man that's had too much drink as he turns and takes a few steps to the opposite bed. His hands settle on the baseboard, it's the only thing keeping him on his feet as tries to stop the sickening tilt and spin of his thoughts, old anger threatening to bubble to the surface once more. No. He will not give into that. Never again.

Given space, small as it is, and enough time to take a deep breath, he finds it possible to clear his mind, but he is certainly not prepared to gaze upon it again. Not yet. Of course, neither is he capable of casting it aside, either, but he knows that it is as safe in Bilbo's hands as it would be anywhere else.

Thorin tries not to think too much about whether or not Bilbo would give it to him when he demands it. He will when it is necessary, that is all that matters.

That is the only thought he can allow himself on the matter. ]

I no longer need it to reclaim my homeland and reunite my people. It is an heirloom now, my birthright but also a piece of my past that has brought naught but ruin upon those I would call friends. In the midst of my madness, I could think of nothing else.

[ He is somewhat more in control of himself, though unsteady. Still, he knows he has to make Bilbo understand. ]

You had it, the entire time we were searching for it. You knew that it would stir nothing but more darkness in my heart, should you give it to me. You must have known that I would have gone to terrible lengths to avenge that loss, and yet you still returned. You tried to reason with me when there was none to be had.

At the time, it felt a stinging betrayal the likes of which I had not felt in a very long time. Now I see that it was loyalty, held fast even in the face of madness.

Edited (so many edits, sorry x.x) 2016-02-29 23:44 (UTC)

[ Is that what he'd done? What he will do? Watching Thorin carry himself about, both unsteady and uncertain, is a curious thing to observe and in some small way, it almost hurts for a reason Bilbo can't entirely name. In the end, he shies his gaze and drops it low, staring at the stone he supposedly took upon himself to burglar away. Keeping a precious, family heirloom from Thorin and knowingly opening himself up to his impending wrath, hm; it doesn't sound like something he would do. Right? A Baggins would follow his contract. A Baggins wouldn't stray from the grain. He's meant to be a burglar, true, but he likes to think he'll be an honest one. To do something so – in his current mind – unexpected, rash…

… Things must have truly deteriorated for him, of all people, to stand up to Thorin.

He still doesn't understand. Not really anyway. It's to be expected though; he won't know the full extent of circumstance and doubt that fueled the debacle, not until he's lived through it himself. Lovely. As though he hasn't already suffered enough dread for the end of their journey. The dragon is meant to be the worst part, but now he's beginning to wonder…

Sighing, he shakes his head and with only a hint of his earlier reluctance, shifts, intending to shove the Arkenstone in his pocket. However, he thinks better of it and he suddenly wants it a touch further away. So he silently finds his way over to his bed and peels back a corner of his pillow, plopping the Arkenstone down and under. There. Out of sight. Out of mind? No. He does have questions, of course he does, and maybe he'll ask another time, when Thorin is in a better state, because Bilbo thinks, maybe, it'll do him good to be more prepared for the disaster this stone brings. For now? He keeps his palm pressed into the pillow a moment longer and then dismisses the discussion with a simple— ] I suppose it shall make more sense when the time comes.

I'll keep it… safe. [ One, two, three, and there, he presses his hand back to his side and turns to Thorin. ] But that's enough of that. [ There's an emphasis to his voice now; a courage his wants to convey but doesn't fully feel. Not initially. Once he starts, the pent up exasperation lends itself easily to his words and really, perhaps it's not so difficult to turn the conversation away afterall. ] I know you dwarves are particularly keen about ignoring your well-being, but if you've had your fill of, of bleeding on things you shouldn't, I think we ought to wrap those. [ Well. There is one hitch. And that's when the ease slows, just a little, enough for a slight hesitance. ] … If you happen to have something of use within your pack, that is.

[ There are some questions that can be answered. Other things will not make sense until the time has come. The important thing here and now is that Bilbo understands enough, and Thorin suspects that he's gotten his point across sufficiently. It's not something he's going to worry about, at least, when he is otherwise preoccupied with fending off the doubt that still attempts to gnaw away at his resolve. Perhaps he should keep it. This is no mere gold token, after all, it is his birthright. Aside that, he's not afraid of a mere stone, is he?

It does not last long.

His jaw is set in a certain familiar stubborn fashion as he straightens once more, and strides over to rifle through his pack, a touch impatiently. It doesn't take too much searching to find a roll of clean fabric that will serve well enough. He slides the robe off of his shoulders and sits on the bed, inspecting his wounds with a detached sort of disdain. ]

This is nothing.

[ And yet, he knows that Bilbo will insist it isn't. But this is almost a routine sort of interaction between them. ]

[ Of course it isn't! Ridiculous. So utterly ridiculous. Though, of course, this is coming from the dwarf who charged down the trunk of a burning tree to face the white orc and his pack, so self-preservation isn't a trait that should be associated with Thorin. Ever.

Trying his best not to give into some less than polite urges and oh, perhaps roll his eyes, he pads over to the bed as Thorin pokes and prods himself. It's a touch taller than a bed should be and so Bilbo has to hop more than he'd like, a tad ungratefully too; soon he settles though and rearranges to sit comfortably.

He picks up the roll of cloth and then, hm. Is it simply because he's closer? Or is it the mere fact that he can actually look without feeling as though he shouldn't? Either way, the damage looks worse than he originally thought.

There it is, the up-swelling of exasperation again. This Bilbo may not be as bravely outspoken as Thorin's Bilbo, however, uncertainty can only detour the uptight nature of his carefully crafted sensibilities for so long. Order, logic, there's a routine to Bilbo, one that he falls back on whenever he encounters someone doing something particularly foolish. And he's been finding that dwarves, especially, do many, many foolish things.

So it can't be helped, the way his voice drawls, dry and unimpressed. ] If this is nothing, I wonder then, what something would be. [ He's seen Thorin nearly bitten in two, and judging by that nasty scar, this Thorin may have been close to being skewered; so what's the standard? Or are dwarves incapable of admitting pain? ]

[ Bilbo will likely be none too pleased when he discovers the matching scar on his back. Skewered is, perhaps, an accurate term to describe it. They are far from his only scars, though they may be the newest. A lifetime of battle and hard, back-breaking work has ways of leaving its' mark even on the hardiest of folk.

He may grimace from time to time, but that's more or less the extent of admitting that he could still be in pain. Now that the rush of battle has worn off, and the distraction of being thrust into an unfamiliar world has settled in, the pain from the stab wound through his right foot is starting to make itself known.

That makes him grit his teeth and clench a fist when touched, but his composition yet holds. He is not a babe, suffering from his first battle wounds, after all. Part of him is actually glad for the pain. Suffering such pain is a burden for the living and the victorious to bear.

It also takes his mind off of other things, at least temporarily. ]

What gain is there in lamenting flesh wounds? [ He inhales sharply, but holds it until he can exhale without a groan. ] They will heal, Master Baggins. It is a small price to pay for the opportunity to run my sword through the filth that killed so many of my kin.

[ There's rage and sorrrow cutting through the pain. Fili's death is still a very near loss. Fili and Kili were both much more like sons to him than nephews. ]

Edited 2016-03-01 14:24 (UTC)

[ ooc; ok. I actually spent too much time trying to pinpoint his injuries in the movie. LIKE YOU SAID, right temple area, mid-torso (but that's already been “healed”), his dumb right foot. I think there's his right bicep, but it's hard to tell if that's an injury or just blood splatter... in a line that looks very much like a tear. I'd imagine it couldn't be anything too bad, otherwise, hurr, swinging a sword would be difficult ~~even with adrenaline~~. NONETHELESS, this is what we're going with, okok. ]

[ Flesh wound? Ha. Small price? Ha. He presses his lips tight, preventing the scoff from escaping, and instead, he scoots, dallying between the wounds of the arm and head, weighing, deciding... before settling on the easier first.

He thinks he can understand Thorin's ~~ridiculousness~~ single-mindedness, if he really tries and squints for the reasons, but justified as Thorin may be to avenge his grandfather and all else who fell at Moria, Bilbo can't support the execution.

How can he? He loves his stories and his books and admittedly, there is an almost novelesque poetry to Thorin's revenge. The once exiled prince, now king, standing against the bane of his line, fighting such cruelty and villainy so that his kin can finally rest in peace. Sounds fine on its own... but story books aren't meant to end with the hero ridden with scars and bleeding out. ]

Perhaps next time, you can avoid being run through yourself. [ It's clipped more than he intends, really. Even if he thinks Thorin needs a stern talking to every so often to balance out his surprising recklessness. Just not by him that is, erm. ] There are those of us who would rather see you… [ Alive. And he rips the cloth free with more force than necessary, startled and dismayed with even the idea of Thorin dea—enough of that. ] … whole and hale. [ He offers instead, gaze not meeting. And with that, he slips the cloth in-between and around his bicep, wrapping, wrapping, his frown growing steadily with the motion. ]

[ The books often leave out such less spectacular details. More often the heroic death is glorified in tales, but such stories strike a different chord when they are not distant figures in a far off land. Thorin was there when Erebor fell. He saw his grandfather's descent into madness. He could not count how many lives were lost, some in the mere blink of an eye. He has rallied his people in such times, when hope was all but lost. He would not, could not, sacrifice honor, loyalty, or the lives of his kin for the sake of his own safety.

That is why he led the charge out of the gate. That is why he sought out Azog when it would have been safer to let his forces eventually wear themselves thin on the ranks of dwarves from the Iron Hills. He could not allow that wretch to slink back into the mountains to recover yet again. There was more than his pride at stake.

He watches Bilbo work silently for several moments, eyeing him with a certain wry look in his eyes that's not betrayed by a change in expression. Thorin can keep a straight face through almost anything. ]

This from the hobbit that once charged an entire pack of wargs and orcs, alone, armed only with sword and armored with naught but determination.

[ … That's not fair. There had been little choice in the matter. The lot of them had been there, dangling from the branches, wavering between the possibly of death via fire, orc or cliffside, and then Thorin had run off first. He's their leader, the one cementing the Company; without him, the quest will fail and the rest of them will be lost in one way or another. Someone needed to protect Thorin from his own recklessness. Out of the lot, Bilbo had simply happened to be the one to pull himself up first.

Nonetheless, he can admit that there may be a slight, very faint presence of hypocrisy.

So how does Bilbo react to finding his argument thrown right back at him? Well. It starts with a stilling of his fingers, a tightening of his muscles and a startled gaze. Lips part, open and bottom lip flops, marginally so, as though he's on the verge of wanting to say something, but for the life of him, he can't think of what it is. But then the shock ebbs and he's left with an exasperation that has his mouth snapping shut and chin upturning, haughty and the slightest bit challenging. ]

And why had this hobbit done that? [ He hardly takes a breath, clearly seeing little point in letting the question sit; Thorin will find some way to muck it up anyway. ] Because a certain dwarf did it first. [ He ties the bandage together, a touch tighter than he would have before. Bilbo knows what he is, thank you very much. He's not a warrior. He is just a simple hobbit with hardly a drop of bravery or might worth mentioning. Running to Thorin's side had been just about the most foolish thing he's ever done, but it's different than Thorin's reckless abandon. The point is the same rules don't apply between them because— ] The importance of one, small hobbit is little compared to that of a dwarf king. Too many depend on you. [ Thorin has to be okay, if not for his own sake, then for everyone else's. ]

[ There was a point when Thorin would have been angered by such an attempt on Bilbo's part to chastise him. Now, however, there is only resolve, and respect even if he steadfastly disagrees with Bilbo's assessment of the situation. ]

We had to do something, and there was no time. If there had been a safer option, I would have taken it. Do you think I would have chosen to send any of you to face my enemy while I cowered behind? No. I will not ask anything of them, or of you, that I am not also willing to do myself. They are not my servants.

[ He doesn't seem to react to the tightened bandage. It's not one of the more painful wounds, and it's a matter of pride at this point, regardless. ]

To do anything less would be undeserving of their loyalty.

[ There's a bit more to their loyalty than the fact that Thorin throws himself headlong into danger in some misguided desire to protect them. Though, maybe there is some sense in it. Some. In the beginning, Thorin hadn't even, well, liked him. Weak, spoiled, unsuited... – Bilbo had been a comfortable creature surrounded by comfortable things, and it's no real wonder Thorin saw him as a nuisance. But even then, with all his haughty talk and sharp reprimands, there had been the trolls and the mountain-side.

Bilbo had always been one among the Company, even when Thorin had vehemently denied it.

Thorin had thrown down his weapon, had swung down on the side of a cliff, all to save him, little, unimportant him. Perhaps it's not within Thorin's nature to think of himself beyond others and that he cares, too much, for all those he deems under his protection. Bilbo can understand that, he thinks. He still doesn't necessarily like it and he'd rather Thorin let others shoulder the burden and take care of him every so often...

But maybe this is a small, semblance of a start.

Sighing, he urges away the frustration and then shifts on the bedding until he's up on his knees, just enough to get a better look at that head wound. No touching yet, merely observing, the corner of his mouth uplifting as the beginning means of a truce. ] Right. Foolish of me to think you'd ever listen to reason. [ And flick; he brushes away a bit of hair, peering, squinting, and then away, his attention back to unwrapping a good length of cloth. ] Your hardheadedness does have its usefulness. This could have been worse.

[ ~~Which is the lesser evil; Bilbo lecturing or Bilbo trying to lighten the mood with a joke. At Thorin's expense.~~ ]

[ In the beginning, the hobbit had been, more than anything, a means to an end. Gandalf insisted that he would be vital to the quest. So Thorin kept an eye on him, growing all the more frustrated as he continued to be blind to the wizard's purpose, and the halfling bumbled about, trying to keep up. And he did try. At a certain point, however, Thorin had all but given up on his burglar being of any use, but he still literally dropped everything to save him.

Duty, and hope, held out even though he was too stubborn to see. At least, not until Bilbo jumped to his defense, despite how poorly his leader clearly thought of him, and how dangerous such an act would be. Thorin could see it in his eyes, afterward, that he did not expect any sort of gratitude in return, nor acceptance. But he gained those and more that day.

There are certainly reasons that Thorin is tolerating Bilbo's 'jokes' which as much patience as he is. That is to say, he's going to ignore that remark entirely. ~~Really though, there could be better times for jokes about his unwillingness to listen to reason.~~ ]

What, exactly, do you intend to do with that?

[ Clearly meaning the cloth he's presently gathering up as he looks intently at Thorin's forehead. This dwarf is not going to walk around with it wrapped around his head, in case Bilbo was wondering. ]

[ Oh yes he is! If Thorin dislikes the idea of being wrapped and rewrapped in bandage after bandage, then perhaps he should take Bilbo's advice afterall and refrain from acquiring such wounds to begin with, hmph. Now, Bilbo isn't going to let Thorin deter him from dressing that head wound; so either Thorin needs to cooperate for once his life, or they will begin another bout of bickering until one of them – Bilbo, thank you – proves victorious.

His gaze flicks upward, peeking at Thorin for a short moment; and then it's back to the cloth, his fingers pinching, ripping at the threads. Honestly, there's a small urge to laugh, because really? Really Thorin? But the occasional jest aside, Bilbo knows he's treading on thin ice and he really ought to get back to being on his best behavior.

… Well. Maybe there's room for one, last dry— ] Do you truly need an answer? [ He gives Thorin another pointed look, only to inch higher to nod to the marred skin; well, moment of truth, dear leader. There's no one else here to see and it's far better than waking in the morning to blood all over one's pillow, right? ]

[ Well then, next time he should just ask the orcs politely to refrain from attacking him while he hacks them to pieces, because there would be a certain young hobbit that would be most displeased to see him wounded.

He relents with the slightest of resigned sighs, his head tilting slightly to the side in a clear 'get on with it' sort of gesture. They both know that Thorin cannot be bullied, coerced, or otherwise convinced to agree to anything he is dead set against, sometimes even in the most dire circumstances, but he knows all too well that Bilbo will stand up to him when so moved, and hold fast. This is hardly a thing of enough importance to argue over, anyway. ~~He knows Bilbo has the right of it. So as ridiculous as he might look, he will accept it.~~. Precisely how long he will tolerate it... That is a different question, but for now he will be a relatively cooperative patient.

The gash running down the side of his face looks rather garish, especially now that it's clean and clearly defined, but it's not as painful as it could have been.

Once again changing the subject entirely... ]

You never told me where you were before you ended up here. What is the last thing you remember?

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1/3 icoooons. it's a ridiculous habit but.

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naw, it's fine! I have done it myself at times x3

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LOL you editted like. 3, 4 times? i kept getting notifs while i was out. i laughed.

that is what happens when I look at anything too long ._.

/shields your eyes

*is blind now* ._.

it didn't work. you still edited LOL

butbut... it was just one little babby edit!

it still exists.

pics or it didn't happen ._.

...../scrolls upward. i'm pretty sure it happened.

*handwavery* these are not the edits you're looking for

LOL. get out :l

*regrets nothing* ._.

is blind now ._.

handwavery these are not the edits you're looking for

regrets nothing ._.