"A deal with Thranduil was our only hope!"
"Not our only hope."
Thorin didn't know when this deep belief in Bilbo had formed. Was it so long ago that he had declared that Bilbo had no place amongst them? But it seemed the mad dash at the orcs had changed Bilbo just as much as it had changed him. Now it seemed in every quiet step Bilbo's confidence grew, he crept towards the orcs to spy on them, instead of stumbling clumsily away. He knew he had keen eyes and so kept watch. He knew he had little skill with the sword and so he ducked, hid, distracted, and attacked by stealth using his best weapon – his mind. What Thorin had previously mistaken for cowardice he now knew to be good sense.
No, a deal with Thranduil was not their only hope and he couldn't regret spitting in the eye of his one time 'friend.' Bilbo would probably disapprove as much as Balin and mutter something about 'the stubbornness of dwarves,' an unfortunate phrase he'd picked up from Gandalf.
And when did Bilbo's opinion suddenly become so important?
Still, something in his gut curled and knew Bilbo would come. Thorin gritted his teeth; they were locked in the dungeons of the elven-king's kingdom. Bilbo's luck must have a limit, even if his kindness, bravery and loyalty didn't (and where had this loyalty come from? This bravery? Bilbo was afraid so much of the time and yet he still followed. Why? He had to know. He needs to know.)
He didn't even know whether Bilbo was still alive.
No. He would not believe it. He remembered through the haze of the spider's venom Bilbo cutting them down. Bilbo must've survived the spiders, there was no other option. Was he then lost in Mirkwood? If Bilbo died in Thranduil's kingdom he would make sure Thranduil felt the spider's sting in return.
Thorin sunk into a corner of his cell. Bilbo will come. He can feel the weight of Durin's Day approaching. Bilbo will – has to – come. He can hear the Company shouting around him. He has led them to this. Even Bilbo wouldn't be able to sneak into Thranduil's palace.
"Not in there you're not."
Apparently he could, because there was Bilbo, a terrified cheeky grin on his face and – Mahal bless them all – keys in his hand. The excitement was palpable, for their little hobbit had done it again and they were free. A shadow of some thought entered Thorin's mind and wondered, what happened when the miracles ran out? The thought was quickly banished and forgotten as he watched his hobbit lead and admonish the dwarves, valiantly attempting to get to be just a little bit quieter. He thought, briefly, that it was a shame that Durin's Folk weren't a stealthier race.
Bilbo led them to the barrels and Bilbo tried to convince them (as quietly as possible) to get in. Then Bilbo turned to Thorin, silently asking him to trust him, knowing that if he said the word the dwarves would do it.
Trust.
His attitude to Bilbo had changed recently. He had noted his successes, noted his bravery and loyalty, but trust? Thorin had not trusted any but his own kin in so long, and he has had good reasons for that. Now this child of the west, this soft creature plucked from his comfortable home, he trusts.
He shouted the order and the dwarves tucked themselves into the barrels.
"What do we do?"
"Hold your breath."
And they were plunged into the icy cold water. Well, as escapes went they've had better, although, he allowed as he thought of the trolls, they've also had worse.
"Do we go down the river then?" Dwalin asked.
"No," he replied, staring at the hidden door, "Bilbo hasn't come out yet."
Bilbo emerged, spluttering and thrashing and clung onto Thorin's barrel, "I can't swim," he said in a terrified whisper, as if that part of his plan hadn't occurred to him before.
"Well Master Baggins, you best hang on," he gave a small smile before powering down the river.
Yes, their hobbit had done it again.