Chapter Text
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Billa sighed happily as she luxuriated in the feel of water, the silky, honey-scented suds of the soap from Beorn’s halls, and in feeling clean for the first time in days. Gazing up at the sky, she smiled, grateful she’d found the perfect spot, close enough to the company for Dwalin to grudgingly admit they could reach her at need, should she shout, but sheltered enough to cast modesty away, strip to her skin and have a proper bath.
Warm rocks at her back aside, the sun was beginning to dip in the sky, the shouts and splashing of the company were dwindling, and soon someone would be by to politely bellow had the burglar drowned?
She stood, pushed her hair back and made sure all the soap was rinsed off her skin. Satisfied, Billa waded a few feet to fetch her hopefully dry shift spread on a warm rock. She froze.
Thorin, in the act of gathering his own belongings, stood equally frozen a few yards upstream, naked as the day he was born, staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face.
“Your pardon, Miss,” he rumbled and turned his back quickly, which did nothing, absolutely nothing, to make Billa any less gobsmacked, with the dripping hair and the plentiful muscles and the, um. Yes. Dressing. And speaking of which, she should…
“And m-mine,” she stuttered, flinging her nearly dry shift over her head. “I had not realized anyone was so near.”
“I meant to be out of sight before you were done bathing,” he explained, head turned to the side, gaze fixed firmly on the trees. He winced. “Not that I was watching. I meant to keep watch… though Dwalin…” He sighed heavily. “I meant to be nearby, should. Orcs. Or.”
Billa clapped her hand over her mouth to hear him stumble so, something giddy and warm lodged beneath her heart. As Thoirn huffed out another sigh and tugged his shirt over his wet hair, she realized, belatedly, she should have turned her own back long, long ago. With one last look at his sturdy, strong body, she faced the sunset and mimicked his posture of staring at the trees so he could hear her. “That’s very kind of you,” she said softly.
“Not at all,” he replied gruffly, sounding a bit nearer. “You are...our burglar. And you saved my life.”
She swallowed hard, caught between his voice lingering over "burglar," and too-fresh memories of looming, murderous orcs. “I never guessed that came with a bath escort. ”
Thorin huffed the barest laugh. “I never guessed you would be so brave.” His voice was as warm and low.
“Neither did I,” Billa whispered.
He did not reply, and Billa turned her face toward the sunset, not wanting to break this moment of peace and kindness between them. Since the skirmish with the orcs, Thorin had been more accepting of her and often kind in his gruff way, a precious thing, and she hoarded such moments. So, to preserve this, she would not budge, though she heard Thorin wade through the shallows to stand beside her. She could feel his gaze on her face, watching her for a long, long moment, but could not quite raise her eyes to his.
“A pearl,” he said softly.
“What?”
“On the Carrock. With the sun on your face. You glowed like a pearl. I have often thought of it. Think of it.”
“I, I am quite sure a good bit of that was windburn.” Billa looked at him now, standing in the water, sunset gilding his features, damp shirt and pants clinging to his skin, wet hair gleaming, eyes so blue, so intent on hers, and her breath caught. Encouraged, he took her hand in both of his and stroked her palm.
“Dwarrow do not often go to the sea. And so pearls are…rare to us. Precious.”
“Oh. Oh.” His voice and his touch made her feel quite dizzy and glad for the cool slap of the water against her ankles. “You…”
“Miss Baggins. Billa,” his voice was softly urgent, his eyes firmly on her hand. “I formally ask your permission to court you. I swear it will not go ill for you should you say no. Not with me, not with the company. I swear it. But I would be honored if...”
All of a sudden, Billa’s mind stopped whirling about dizzily and made a bid for some sense. “Wait. Until very, very recently, you assumed the worst of me at every turn, and made no bones about letting me know I was a constant irritation!”
He looked up at her, gaze chagrined and pleading. She raised both her eyebrows at him and gave the hand stroking hers a pinch. He bent his head and placed a kiss on her fingers as they clung to his. Without raising his head, he asked, “Do you know how pearls are made?”
“Well, yes, a bit of sand or something gets in, and the oyster covers the irritant…” The facts caught up to her, and she whacked him on the (rock hard) arm with her free hand. “Thorin Oakenshield!”
He grinned, shy and dazzling, then, at her still-indignant eyebrows, sobered and drew his attention to their entwined hands, gently unclasping their fingers to kiss her palm, once and again. Besides the gesture being completely lovely, Billa began to suspect he was using it to both gather courage and keep her close.
“In the beginning yes, but as time and our journey has worn on, I find you unexpected, rare, and precious. ” His voice dipped low, “As I said.”
She took a deep, shaky breath. “That is the most romantic backhanded compliment I have ever, ever heard.”
“Billa,” he knelt and looked up at her, eyes blazing. “I have seen your home. How you live. I know that you are no warrior. This journey has been often painful for you, and for my part in that, again, I say,” he stopped and swallowed, hard “I have never been so wrong.”
He bent his head over their hands a moment, resting his lips against her skin, and when he looked up at her once more, Billa was stunned at mingled regret and joy in his face. How had she ever thought him cold?
“I cannot forget how you spoke to me…to us…promising your help to take back Erebor. So few have offered in all these years. I cannot forget standing on that rock, looking at you, after fire and battle and flight, your face smooth and shining in the sunset, not boasting of your own feats, but simply glad that I was well. In the face of such kindness, such bravery, such forgiveness, how could I not lose my heart? You have quite stolen it from me, little burglar. I did not think to speak of it, not yet, but today, rising from the river, your skin again shining in the sunset, a rare and beautiful pearl....”
Thorin kissed her palm again, this time long and lingering, and again higher, on the bend of her wrist, his beard a rough silk rasp, breath warm against her skin. Billa arched her hand without a thought, as if to offer him the tender skin at her pulse, and shivered, a tiny sound escaping her lips. He stood immediately, hovering protectively over her.
“You are cold.”
Billa, dazed, thought about it and shook her head slowly, “No.”
Something in his face dimmed. “I have frightened you.” He shifted to step back and Billa reached for him, her hand tangling briefly in the fall of hair at his shoulder as she reached up to cup his cheek. “No,” she whispered, watching his eyes slip closed at her touch. “Well, yes, this is all completely terrifying, but no, Thorin.”
The moment she said his name, he inhaled sharply, leaned his cheek into her hand and made a heart-melting sound. Billa shivered again, a flash of heat warming her from head to toe. Thorin opened his eyes slowly and looked down at her. “You still shiver.”
“Mm,” she agreed absently.
He stood there, eyes intent on hers, and drew one hand up her arm, lightly, pushing the sleeve up as far as it would go, then let his hand drift to her shoulder. His thumb caressed one wing of her collarbone, gentle and utterly maddening. “And yet again,” he murmured, his voice husking lower. Billa, still shaking, nodded somewhat ruefully.
“You stand here,” he whispered, voice deeper still. “Ankle deep in a river.” One hand caressed her head, “hair still damp.” The other a warm curve at her waist, “shift clinging to your wet skin.” He shifted closer, “in the ever-lowering sunlight.” He lifted the hair tangling at her neck and bared one ear, his finger tracing over the point, “Shivering, and insist you are neither cold nor afraid.”
Billa swallowed, ”Not.”
“Does this mean, then, pearl of the evening,” he whispered, bending low, his mouth brushing her ear. "That you tremble. For me.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
He pressed his forehead to hers, and suddenly, she realized, the hands holding her were also trembling. “You consent to my courtship?” he rasped, nearly breathless.
Something incredibly fierce and tender seemed break in Billa’s chest, and her eyes blurred with incredulous, joyful tears. “Yes, you majestic idiot.”
A dry bark of laughter and he pulled her into the circle of his arms, “Majestic idiot?”
“It’s your idea to court me because you find me irritating.”
“And beautiful and rare and braver than I ever expected.”
“Not to mention that bit about seeing me naked.”
Hissing through his teeth, he pressed her closer into the curve of his body, one hand cradling the back of her head tenderly, the other low and tight at the base of her spine. She swayed against him, trembling anew as his lips grazed the side of her neck.
"If I kiss you now," he groaned, "I may not be able to stop. "
She laughed and shook and beat her fist against his shoulder. "I will march into that forest for an oak branch," she promised, her voice wavering, "and I will hit you with it if you don't."
He pulled back and looked at her, gravely joyful, more beautiful than the evening stars beginning to shine above them. "Billa. My pearl."
"Yes," she replied, reaching up, and pulled his mouth to hers.