Barclay had always been a fan of J.R.R. Tolkien and, in extension, the movies by Peter Jackson. As a kid, he'd wanted to be Aragorn (naturally), the outcast turned king. Later on, he'd wanted to be Gandalf, savvy and shrewd, a wizard who knew better than to use his most powerful magics. And again, somewhere around puberty, he'd wanted movie Aragorn, which had led to some confusing fantasies. (More worryingly, he'd also wanted Aeon Flux, which was possibly more confusing.)
While he had been annoyed that the Hobbit had been spread out into three movies, he'd still enjoyed it. He loved returning to Middle-Earth, he enjoyed the reinterpretation of the Dwarves and the Elves -- especially Kili and Tauriel, somehow feeling jealous and glad for both of them -- and he adored Smaug the Magnificent.
What he hadn't expected was how much he'd enjoy watching Ashton and the boy's utterly rapt attention. Barclay leaned in and whispered to his friend: "You liking it?"