Work Text:
The warm air encompasses your body as you step into the stone caverns. Warm vapour and the smell of minerals swirl around your body, enveloping you in the scent of pine and earthy stone. The water beneath your toes is warm, almost hot and sends pleasant shivers down your spine. You step down until almost your entire body is covered.
The caverns are empty, and you thank them for it. You're exhausted, both from the battle and from the emotional turmoil of it all. Tiredness seems to slow every move you make, and the dark circles beneath your eyes haven't left your face for quite some time. The muscles in your thighs and arms scream for a break and some rest.
There are stone chairs and benches posted on the stone ground outside the hot pools. Golden lanterns fill the caverns with warm, cozy light, reflecting off the dark water. The light looks like molten gold, swimming on the surface. It swirls when you move, rippling with the water.
The sight reminds you of the dragon, of its giant body covered in molten gold as it screams and winds. Smaug screams and promises death and fire as he breaks through the main gate, hot gold flinging from his wings like molten lava. You close your eyes to get rid of the painful memory, trying to swallow the guilt that still aches whenever you think of it.
Erebor has filled considerably in the past few days. The battle has been won for less than a fortnight. Elves, men, and dwarves all sought the mountain's security. Erebor's healing centres are overfilled with patients. The big braziers around the mountain are lit for the first time in years.
You haven't seen the other members of the company for more than a day. It feels strange to be parted like this, all of a sudden. You spent every single moment together, no matter if waking or sleeping, and now, you're suddenly all alone again. Balin and Dwalin are busy rebuilding the parts of the mountain that were destroyed, Bilbo is healing from his injuries. Bombur is tending to the kitchens; the others are helping the men in Dale. Kili and Fili, you haven't seen them at all since the battle, but you're sure they're helping somewhere else.
And Thorin, well, he is hopefully healing from his wounds. You sigh as you remember his wrecked body being carried inside Erebor. You recall Azog's mace hitting him square over his chest, remember his head flinging backwards from the impact and the sick sound of his bones crunching. You had cried as they both fell, Azog to his death and Thorin, almost weightlessly stumbling backwards. He had held your hand, told you not to worry as you slid on your knees towards him, your own wounds forgotten.
When the other dwarfs came to carry him away, you'd followed them, posting yourself in front of the healers with iron endurance. No one was able to tear you from Thorin's side, at least until you lost consciousness. Once you woke, you found yourself in a good bed, in the royal wing of Erebor, safely tucked away. When you asked the dwarves outside Thorin's room for information, they simply bid you to leave. You told them you were part of the company, but without any proof, they did not let you pass any further. You are not a dwarf, after all.
Thinking of Thorin hurts. You remember the way he looked at you back in Laketown, when he told you about his appreciation for your effort and company. If you concentrate, you can almost smell the memory, salt and smoke as you sit outside the master's house. Butterflies had seemed to flutter inside your abdomen back then when you looked into his dark blue eyes, so warm and gentle as he spoke with you. And then he changed.
In Erebor, you got to know a Thorin you'd never seen before. He was harsh and unforgiving, cold in the way he treated you and the company. The only thing able to console him was that damned Arkenstone, and he set you all to search until you collapsed. He'd screamed at you, more than once, with words filled with poise and venom.
Your feelings for him never changed, not even then.
Behind you, a small stone door opens with a creak. You exhale in surprise and turn around to follow the noise. The sound of the water in your pool splashing disrupts the silence of the cavern. Steam curls around you, blurring the corners of the room.
You immediately recognise the man who's entered. You don't know why it's so obvious, since the man is still shrouded in shadows. Maybe it's his dark blue tunic, or the embroidery on his sleeves and collar. Or the necklace he wears, or maybe you just know the way he walks and breathes and recognise him always.
Thorin steps out of the shadows. His posture is different. His shoulders, once squared with pride and defiance, are now slightly slouched as if, ultimately, his strength had left him. As if the mountain and his responsibility finally got up to him. His dark eyes seem tired, but the cold you've grown so used to has left them. There's just exhaustion now, clouding his every move.
His eyes fall to you and open slightly, surprised. You become suddenly very aware of the nudeness of your body and sink deeper, trying to hide yourself in the dark pond.
"Forgive me," he says, voice rough but not unkind, "I did not mean to intrude." He halts for a second, clearly caught in the same awkward moment as you before adding, quietly, "I did not think there was anyone here."
"It's alright," you answer, ignoring the blood pumping into your cheeks, "You can stay."
A flicker of something hushes over his features. Maybe surprise, or something else you can't quite put your finger on. He doesn't move, but he also doesn't go away. You cross your arms in front of your body and wait for his decision.
Thorin chuckles before his fingers move to his tunic. You watch him open one, two buttons, before you remember your courtesies and turn around, giving him his privacy. You're sure he can see your embarrassment on your face. The air outside the water feels cold and damp on your hot skin.
You hear the rustle of fabric, and then the water ripples behind you. It's way louder than it's supposed to be, but maybe that's just your heartbeat thrumming in your ear.
Thorin doesn't speak right away, and you still feel too embarrassed to turn around, so you fold your arms over the edge of the pool, waiting for something, anything to happen.
Then his voice, softer now, closer. "Turn around", he says.
It's not a command, just a request. You feel it in the way the air feels around you, but still you turn, eyes averted to the surface of the water. The water ripples as your body turns, sending shimmers of gold into small waves that break at the edge of the pool.
Thorin is almost submerged. You can see his chest beneath the water, scarred. There's a big fresh wound right on top of his chest, no doubt Azog's work. Your heart hurts as you watch it, and you wish you could extend your fingers and comfort the man in front of you.
His eyes are watching you. You feel the heavy weight of the dark-blue gaze on you, inspecting you, testing you even.
You lift your eyes to his, arms still around your body like a fragile shield against the attack that is his eyes. His eyes are warm, and gold reflects in the blue depths. There is something almost drowning in his gaze, something that looks dangerously close to the man he was before the mountain. Or longing.
"You're staring," he states the obvious, but there's no bite in his voice. Only a rough chuckle, exhausted and amused.
"Do I frighten you?" He asks after, tilting his head as he waits for an answer.
You shake your head immediately, almost making him laugh from the immediate response. "You don't frighten me..." You want to call him Thorin, but you're unsure whether that's appropriate now, so you simply add a quiet "Your Grace".
"Thorin." He says at once, and you watch a cold sliver pierce his eyes. Suddenly, the distance between you feels vast, as if the golden shimmers have grown dimmer. Gooseflesh pimple your arms, all of a sudden you feel cold.
"Thorin," you whisper quietly, and the coldness leaves his eyes. The water ripples as he moves closer. You can feel the heat of his body, even in the pool. One of his hands moves to ever so softly cup your cheek.
"Thank Mahal," he murmurs. His fingers tremble against your cheek, and for the first time, you think he might be scared. The other hand joins, and now he's cupping your face. In his dark eyes, there's reverence, as if he's praying, and not talking to you.
"You don't know how long I've waited for this."
"I've waited just as long." Your voice feels scratchy and unused as you speak, but your eyes stay locked with his, making him see the truth behind your words.
Thorin exhales, a small soft sound, before his eyes flick to your lips. You are the one who closes the distance, uncrossing your arms, and closer as if all of a sudden you couldn't stay apart anymore. Your hands find his chest, and then his shoulders and a sound akin to a purr rumbles in his chest.
His fingers find your waist, and before you can think about it, you close the distance and kiss him. His lips are soft and warm and inviting, and he leans into the kiss as if he's waited all his life. His warm body envelops you as he pulls you closer. Thorin is so warm, so comforting and soft in his touch. When you part, his face stays close. A tiny smile frames his lips as he looks at you with so much softness it steals the breath from your lungs.
"I've dreamed of this," you admit before him, smiling. Your heart feels free as a bird, soaring through the stone and over Erebor.
"Oh?", he answers, amused grin lighting up his features, "Do I compare, 'Ibinê?"
He looks 100 years younger with the smile on his face, easing away his troubled brows and shadows beneath his eyes. You wish you could frame this moment as a picture, to carry with you forever.
The words in Khuzdul flutter in your abdomen like a trapped butterfly, making you feel giddy. You pretend to wager the question, think for a moment before yielding to him. "Of course," you smile at him, "A dream could never compare."
He kisses you again, there in the grove beneath Erebor, and you melt into him, finally feeling what you should have been feeling long ago. At home.