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T.A 2941
December 14th
Bilbo sighed and leaned back against the warm stone around the edge of the pool, letting the water lap at his chest. Situated above the forges and cleverly heated by them, Erebor's hot springs had been a joy to discover, though only one of the three main pools had hot water.
Still. They were quiet, and empty in the dead of night.
He'd woken from another nightmare. In this one, he'd been running through a blizzard to get to Kíli, except then he'd heard Fíli howling for help. Then he'd heard a cry from Thorin, lost somewhere in the snow. A shout from his own mouth had woken him, and he'd struggled to fall back asleep in the sweaty sheets.
December was cold inside the mountain, but here steam curled lazily up towards the ceiling; a maze of sloping metal pipes carried cold water up to the top of the mountain, and collected the water from the mist around the pools. The drops slid down the pipes to collect in a wide pool at the end, cool and fresh. It was a clever system, and Bilbo let his gaze follow the pipes here and there. The occasional plop of water landing in the pool echoed around the chamber.
He turned slightly at the sound of the door opening behind him and slid down into the water, shoulders sinking below the surface. Bother and blast. He'd been hoping for a little more time to himself, and not having to make conversation in the middle of the night while unclothed. The water in this pool was thankfully opaque due to the rock it filtered through, but he still felt mildly uncomfortable at the thought of being caught, somehow. It was ridiculous – he was very welcome here, and all the dwarves were quick to soothe any worries he might have about overstaying his welcome. He had every right to be here, he was one of the Company.
An honorary dwarf, Thorin had said.
Bilbo could hear the clunk of heavy dwarven boots against the tiles of the hot springs, and then the rustling of someone undressing. He sank down deeper into the water, chin submerged as he peeped over the rim, trying to work out who it was – and if he knew them.
There was nothing wrong with company, after all, but if he had to retell his adventure to a curious dwarf one more time...
Thorin rounded the corner, a towel around his waist and his hair tied back into a loose braid. A wobble of relief went through him, though it was almost immediately overwhelmed by concern.
“Thorin?” he asked, sitting up higher in the water.
The dwarf jumped visibly, clutching at his towel and blinking at the hobbit.
“Mahal,” he breathed. “You frightened me. I didn't see you when I came in.”
“No, well, I suppose I was hiding. In case you were... someone else,” Bilbo admitted, offering up a little smile.
Thorin nodded and relaxed, stepping up to the lip of the pool.
“... May I join you?”
“Oh! Of course,” Bilbo said, gesturing and splashing the water. “You do own them, after all. Hardly fair for me to kick you out your own baths before you've gotten in.”
Thorin crooked a small smile, but it looked tired, and thin. Much like the rest of him. They'd bathed as a group a few times during the quest, and while Bilbo certainly hadn't been staring, there was a noticeable difference between then and now. His collarbones jutted out, and the shift of his ribs were visible beneath his skin. He was gaunter, and didn't seem to hold himself as tall.
Bilbo looked away as Thorin climbed down into the pool, neatly folding the towel and settling back in the warm water. Even his cheeks seemed hollowed , and dark circles sat below his eyes.
“Couldn't sleep...?” Bilbo ventured after a moment or two of silence. Thorin shook his head, leaning forwards.
“No. Though I am ready enough for it.”
“Mmn,” Bilbo hummed sympathetically. “You look it. Tired, I mean.”
Thorin raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a real smile touching the corner of his lips.
“And you?”
“Oh, just a bad dream. I don't think hobbits are meant to see all that war and so on,” he said. The lightness in his tone sank as a look of painful and acute guilt twisted Thorin's features. “Not that I regret it for a moment, you understand.”
Thorin didn't reply, staring down into the opaque water. Bilbo sighed, wriggling his toes against the bumpy stone at the bottom of the pool.
“I am ever grateful for your participation,” Thorin said softly. “I have realised that without you... we would have suffered a truly terrible fate.”
“Well,” Bilbo said faintly, not entirely sure how to reply. “I'm just glad you're all alive.”
Thorin touched the scar across his chest, now just a faded pink line. He looked troubled, and Bilbo felt he was doing a rather terrible job of cheering him up.
The sound of water dripping down from the metal pipes was a small comfort in the silence of the baths. Then Thorin stood, the water around his waist.
“Have you seen the far side of the pool?”
“Oh, ah, no? Should I have?” Bilbo asked.
“The lights aren't all working, but there should be enough to see by,” Thorin said. He started to move forwards, Bilbo following until he realised the floor was sloping down under him, and he was quickly becoming submerged. When Thorin shifted from walking to swimming ahead of him, Bilbo stopped.
“Thorin...!” he called, voice echoing a little in the chamber. “I, ah. I can't swim, and the water's too deep...!”
The dwarf turned, treading water before he swam back over, a look of surprise on his face.
“Did you not bathe with us in the rivers and lakes? And the barrel ride?”
“Well, yes, but I stayed in the shallows. And I kept a good hold of the barrel during that whole nonsense,” he said. Thorin looked from him to the far side of the pool, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “Hobbits aren't meant to swim, either.”
“Perhaps you will be the exception to that rule as well, in time,” Thorin said. “Hold onto my shoulder. It's not far, and the floor rises again.”
Bilbo felt his cheeks turn pink.
“Oh, ah. Um. Really? I don't want to be a bother, I...”
Worry and uncertainty flickered in Thorin's eyes – something Bilbo saw in him far too often, now. He reached out, putting both his hands on Thorin's shoulders.
“Just don't drop me,” he mumbled, heart leaping as Thorin nodded, turning his head to begin slowly swimming through the deepest part of the pool. “I’ll sink like a stone.”
It was a very strange and unsettling to feel the ground slip away under his feet, even as he tightened his grip on Thorin's shoulders. He feebly kicked his legs, resisting the urge to clamp his eyes shut and cling to the dwarf. Hobbits were not meant for swimming. It was only knowing neither of them were clothed that stopped him from holding on like a fauntling on its parent's back.
After what felt like an eternity Thorin stopped swimming, and Bilbo gingerly stretched out his toes to search for stone beneath his feet. He let go of the dwarf with a curl of relief, the water up to his shoulders. This side of the pool was dark, the lights hanging unlit above them – the wiring ruined by the decades of damp, and lack of attention.
“Along here,” Thorin said, guiding Bilbo forwards.
He could hear the sounds of rushing water. He blinked in the gloom, coming up quite suddenly to the lip of the pool where water fell over, and down into the darkness.
“Oh...!” Bilbo exclaimed, peering down into the chasm. Then he started to see little winking points of light in the darkness.
“There is a light up there, where the holder is the shape of the moon,” Thorin said, gesturing upwards. “The walls are studded with precious stones, diamonds, emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and pearls. There's opal, too. They make the shapes of constellations, and there are great music boxes hidden behind the rock. Most of the pools have lights in them, encased in crystal domes to stop the water ruining the wires, so the water glows around you. When everything is working, standing here is...” Thorin trailed off, a softness to his features. “It's as if you stand among Mahal and the Valar at the unveiling of the earth,” he murmured.
Bilbo rested his chin on his arms, the warm water washing around him and down over the edge of the pool, into the darkness.
“... When I was a young lad, growing up reading stories of elves and dwarves, and far off lands, no book ever mentioned anything like this. Dwarf mountains were barely more than caves and mines, and few books wrote about the music or the art or... anything like this. You've been done a disservice, you know.”
“We like it that way,” Thorin said, leaning on the edge beside Bilbo. He looked like he was coming close to peace, some of the haggard exhaustion lifted from his features. “We are a private folk, and have no need for approval from other races. We know we have a place in this earth, and Mahal still forges with us, and welcomes us to his halls.”
Bilbo sniffed, stretching his legs out.
“Still,” he said. “It's a pity. Maybe I'll write a book of my own. A Hobbit's Tale. I suppose it would be mainly about dwarves, though.”
Thorin huffed with laughter, lips twitching into a little smile.
“Perhaps you should.”
Bilbo nodded, smiling back.
By the time he climbed into his bed an hour or so later, Thorin having walked him to his room, the nightmare was nothing more than a fleeting shadow at the back of his mind. He fell asleep almost instantly, the earthy smell of the warm water still clinging to his skin, and a sense of peace deep in his belly.