Thorin is distracted. It isn’t difficult to see, nor is it difficult to understand – – this quest is his last hope. It is much MORE than a wish for fame or riches; it is his last chance to reclaim his h o m e . Bilbo imagines how he would feel were Bag End to be stolen from him, even by a beast no more terrible than Lobelia, and he thinks he can understand. He watches the shadow pass over Thorin’s face – fear or guilt or something darker – but he says nothing, simply drinking in the sight. His eyes scan over the streaks of grey in the dwarf’s hair, the woven BRAIDS, the shorn beard, the lines around his eyes. He imagines a Thorin untouched by grief, who smiled freely and unprompted, and something in his stomach turns over for all this man has s u f f e r e d .
❝ Well, we’ll have to give it right back to them, then. Maybe make them clean my mother’s glory box – you know, Kili wiped his feet right on the e d g e of it soon as he walked in. The mark’s probably still there, now that I think about it. ❞
It seems so TRIVIAL now, though it had enraged him at the time. He nearly l a u g h s at the version of himself who had seen a clump of mud as his biggest problem; now he has faced orcs and wargs and odd creatures in the darkness.
But despite his attempts at lighthearted cheerfulness, Thorin does not smile. He’s watching the others now, as they explore Beorn’s lands. Bilbo joins him, surveying the dwarves as they p o k e and prod and laze about. Something akin to FONDNESS swells in his chest.
❝ Oh, I, er, I wouldn’t…. Beginner’s luck, I think. I, er, I wasn’t lying, you know. I’m – I’m really not a WARRIOR. Or a thief. ❞
He s h r u g s , squinting as he watches the last rays of sunlight cling to the horizon. He is proud of what he has accomplished, and he is glad that the others have begun to believe in him, but there is still some part of him that feels entirely too small for something such as THIS.
❝ I suppose you’re not quite as uncivilized as I had thought, ❞ he teases, mouth quirking into a wry smile. ❝ And I, er. Well, I – I really do want to help you. All of you. I fear I underestimated dwarves. But I’ve come to find that you’re quite KIND, and l o y a l , and remarkably brave. I’m not sure what good I’ll be, but I do mean to help you in whatever way I can. ❞
his focus returns to Bilbo with lightning-quick intensity; Thorin does not look in anger, though - rather, he looks at Bilbo with a faint ( and vaguely bemused ) startlement. the hobbit is never quite what he expects. indeed, it seems he is never what Thorin expects. he has eluded all assumptions, or, at the least, disproven them, and Thorin will not disregard that fact again. he listens to him speak with a quiet respect, the heady weight of the task ahead lifting from his shoulders, at least for the moment, as he watches Bilbo -
&& Thorin smiles now, ( the smile small but steady ),
❝ more than that, master Baggins. even in your luck you have proven your skill. ❞
one hand folds over the other, and he settles onto an oversized step. a quiet indication that he is content here, speaking with Bilbo. ❝ i have faith that you will complete your task, and that luck will play only a small measure in that. ❞
he means what he says. there is a stark certainty in his words. ( he does not consider if that will frighten the hobbit ). and then he blinks, feeling strangely unsettled. the smile twists slightly, slipping into a frown before his expression softens into a placid blankness. Bilbo’s words strike an odd fondness into his heart, and he must take a moment to determine what might be meant by it, and how, exactly, he feels about it.
a moment of silence passes, Thorin settling back into rumination. he has a half-thought to tease, but there is too much uncertainty, - he does not know if they that close of friends to tease so - and instead; ❝ you have my thanks. ❞ and if he felt that his footing were certain, he would add that he now finds hobbits ( this particular one, at least ) to be remarkably clever, and wonderfully courageous whether they relied on luck or skill.
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