[ Fierce and brave? Brows knit tight and he's frowning through his confusion, caught between wanting to laugh and, well, frown more, because him? Those two words don't fit him. Saving Thorin might be considered brave to many, but with his heart having knocked hard against his chest, to the point where he'd had difficulty breathing, he'd seen his rescue attempt as nothing more than plain foolishness. He'd spent the majority of his adventure running away from danger and once cornered, fumbling away with some very badly thought out excuses. It's survival instinct and too much loyalty, not bravery. He isn't like those in his books. He's simple and comfortable and more often than not, afraid.

Still, he supposes it's kind of Aragorn to say. Even if he's entirely wrong. ]

The tales Gandalf has told you have been embellished, I am quite sure. [ Absentmindedly, he rubs at his cheek, wiping at – what he believes – is a constant stain of dirt that's become a part of him ever since he left his hobbit hole. He glances upward again with a peek, wondering, as he has taken a habit to as of late, what his story is to his new acquaintances; supposedly, there's a slight mismatch in continuity and while they're from the same place, the same cannot be said about their times. Aragorn is the one wrong, right? He cannot possibly know more of Bilbo's true character than Bilbo does himself, right? ] I'm not fond of danger and I do not believe I ever will be. [ So there. ]