[ Once full dark is fallen, the stars come out to light the sky above the treetops and the campfire died down to embers, Bilbo thinks perhaps he has begun to like sleeping with a full company of dwarves snoring around him, signifying as it does a bit of hard-won safety and repose. Not that he is much disposed to rest yet, after the hours of battle and flight and at last the soaring glimpse of the Lonely Mountain; the sense of glory and overawed fear lingers within him, and for a long time he lays awake and wide-eyed, watching the stars wheel overhead.
So he is awake still when Thorin leaves the camp, and it takes him a solid five minutes of twisting the edge of his blanket between his fingers to realize he isn't going to get any sleep, not when he has Thorin to fret about on top of everything else. Getting up and following seems to be the only answer. There's no sound of battle or danger in the distance, so Bilbo goes at an easy, quiet pace--practicing his burglaring, he thinks--until he draws near the sound of a splashing stream. Then, perceiving what Thorin might be at, and that perhaps sneaking upon a dwarven king is not advisable, Bilbo changes course, taking care to step upon a great many strewn dried branches and charge through some bushes so that his arrival is clearly heralded. ]
Oh, hello. [ He affects surprise when he does come upon Thorin, sitting halfway in the stream with a great many of his bandages unwrapped, sluicing his injuries--Bilbo can't help but wince at the sight of teeth-marks and gashes and bruises, he is really quite battered. ] Lovely night, isn't it? For a bit of a walk. Did you need any help with that?
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fivearmies), Aragorn (
