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It's right after the trolls, and Thorin would despair it took any of them that long to realize something that should have been entirely too obvious, but in their defense, the hobbit holds no braids to identify with and so far has worn nothing but trousers. Not that the trousers make any difference to any of them, though it is how Men differentiate, and they had seen many a hobbit lass while still in the Shire, wearing their dresses and skirts and their long hairs besides.
The burglar is one confusing creature, who wears the hair at mid-back length, trousers and vests, and well. Thorin will admit that dwarves don't often pay much attention to such things, for it does not make much of a difference to them for the things that truly matter, and it was also none of their business besides.
Even so, a Dam would never just bathe out in the open, is all Thorin has to say to any other arguments.
They find a stream not far from the troll cave and it's determined that they all should bathe, of course, smelling as they do, and not knowing when they could find another stream between there and however much longer they have to go until Rivendell, considering they've lost their ponies.
It doesn't take much for the dwarves to get undressed and in the water, washing some of their lighter clothes as they go, to lay them to dry on some of the bigger rocks that'd get the most sun for whatever is left of daylight.
The hobbit waits on the shore until all of them have gotten into the water, playing close attention to the deeper sections of the stream, and finally satisfied, gets in the water without taking any clothes off, scrubbing at them with a bar of soap to get the troll snot out.
Later, Thorin would remember that moment as if it happened so slowly he could recall every single movement and article of clothing. How one by one the burglar takes his clothes off—the jacket, the waistcoat, the trousers. He stands giving his back to them, setting his clothes on the edge of the stream on a little patch of grass as to not dirty them again before he can lay them out to dry, so it is understandable, Thorin would argue, that they do not realize when the trousers come off, that the burglar is not a he at all.
Bilbo stands in the water, submerged to the waist, having taken off the vest and the shirt underneath, wearing nothing but a thin, white chemise and drawers that fall just above the knee. Standing there, entirely wet and lathering still her waistcoat before turning around to dunk it in the water and scrub it with some sand, the outline of her breasts is unmistakable. There is a soft curve to her wide hips, a narrowing to her waist, a terrible softness to the roundness of her stomach, and the slight hang to the heaviness of her breasts, with the little pebbled nipples standing to attention at the coldness of the water. A very small handful for dwarven hands, to be sure, but evident and proportional to the little hobbit.
She is so engrossed in her task that she doesn't realize the stream has fallen silent and there is nothing but the soft humming of her own lips that can be heard around the water. The dwarves stand still, as if turned to stone, some frozen mid-action with their hands on someone else's back where they meant to scrub or in their hair where they meant to untangle a braid, eyes wide and staring at her. Once she's finished with her waistcoat to her satisfaction, she smiles, nods, lays it on the grass and proceeds to sit on the water and dunk her whole head in, getting soap on her hair when she comes back up and scrubbing at it with her eyes closed.
Thorin's hold on Dwalin's arm, where he was checking the scratches he got getting thrown on a tree by one of the trolls, has suddenly become tight enough to bruise, not that Dwalin is paying enough attention to actually care, for both their jaws have gone slack and their eyes wide. Fíli and Kíli are holding onto each other, with both their bodies submerged all the way to their neck, still as they've never been before. Balín, Oín and Glóin sit on grass a ways away, with their feet in the water and their pipes slack in their hands or the edge of their mouth, a breeze away from falling. Ori has turned completely red, to the tip of his ears, all the way down to his neck.
It's not until Bilbo has rinsed her hair and is pulling her chemise up and off, and a high pitched noise escapes Nori, that Bofur of all people turns sharply to them and says something truly harsh in Khuzdul, startling the poor hobbit rather badly and getting the dwarves moving to cover their faces.
Bilbo gives a squeak, jumping and turning around, trying to figure out where they're being attacked from, only to realize that nobody has moved other than to cover their faces.
"What!?" She says, still looking around, trying to figure out what's happening.
"Miss Baggins," Bofur says, still with his back to her, making Bilbo frown. They have called her 'Master Baggins' or just 'Bilbo' this whole time, and she thinks it's quite rude that they would disregard her title like that at this point, if they're not going to use her name as friends. She is, after all, the Master of Bag End, not a simple 'miss', and she had thought at least Bofur to be her friend enough to use her given name. "Miss Baggins, have you put your shirt back on?"
"What?" She says, more confused by the second.
"Your underthings, lass!" It's Dwalin who says, sounding almost angry if he weren't covering his eyes and blushing to his scalp.
Bilbo looks down at herself, "why, I hadn't even taken them off yet!"
Slowly, as if afraid, the dwarves start uncovering their eyes, still not quite looking at her.
"By Mahal," it's Fíli who says, pulling on his hair and clenching his eyes before opening just one of them again. "I think that's worse, now she's just all…"
"Wet," says Kíli, regretting it immediately, putting his head on his hands and starting to sweat despite the cool water he's fully submerged in, and making every other dwarf groan as if pained.
"Burglar," says Thorin, a lot softer than he has talked to her so far, looking up at the sky instead of looking at her. "Burglar. What… are you doing."
It's not really a question, Bilbo notes, though she's not sure how else to take it. "Bathing! What on earth do you think I'm doing? You said we should bathe and I was covered in troll snot. What, do I not get to bathe? Now, you'd have another thing coming if you think you can keep me from using the stream," she says, shaking her finger at him, even though he's not looking. "I'll have you know it was me who got the worse of it when it comes to being in close contact with those creatures." She shudders, making Ori whimper.
"No," is Bombur now, surprisingly, with one hand over his eyes and the other up, as if trying to placate her. "No, miss Baggins, he means why are you bathing now. Here. With us."
That makes Bilbo frown in confusion. "Well, where else was I supposed to bathe?" She pulls at her chemise, which is getting clammy and cold now that she's not actively cleaning herself, just standing there, exposed to the wind, and hears someone softly curse and trip in the water. "Hobbits don't swim, I didn't want to go too far, you know. Just in case. This seemed like the best spot, which is why, I assume, you picked it for us to bathe?"
"Have you no decency!?" Someone on the shore says, possibly Glóin.
"I beg your pardon!" She huffs, quite offended.
"Miss Baggins!" Says Thorin, before she can go off on another tangent, when it's clear that they're not understanding each other. "Dwarves don't… we don't share. Our baths. With our women folk."
"Oh." Bilbo stops. Thinks about that for a moment. "Well, that's silly," she decides, sitting back down in the water, causing some of them to sigh in relief that is rather short lived. "What do you expect me to do now, then? I'm not getting out until I'm done, I'm already all wet."
"By Mahal," is Dwalin who despairs now. "We didn't even know you were a lass." He sounds close to tears.
Bilbo stares at him and can't decide whether to laugh or be upset, so she lets out a snort. "You mean to tell me, all this time we've spent together, you've thought I was a bloke," she says, while not giving a care and pulling her chemise all the way off, scrubbing at it a little before putting it on the grass, purposefully ignoring the swearing around her, then taking off her drawers and doing the same, now sitting completely naked in the water. "That's all it takes to make you all lose your sense," she does giggle now, standing up to finish washing her body. "Like you've never seen a naked lady before. At least some of you must have! I know some of you are married to a wife. I'm not even a dwarf!" She giggles some more, fully opening her arms, as if to make her point quite clear.
And it is clear, Thorin thinks, trying very hard not to look at her, and miserably failing. He knows he's not the only one. His nephews refuse to come up from the water. Her shoulders are much narrower than they would be on a dwarf, even a Dam, and her hips much wider. Her breasts are two little, round things that look both soft and firm. Her skin is a soft brown, even all over, as if she lays naked in her garden, taking in the sun, and something breaks inside Thorin at that idea alone. Her legs are short, though perfectly proportional to the rest of her, with surprisingly hairy thighs, with light, soft-looking hair that grows consistently all the way down to her toes, looking short and padded, like it would on a rabbit or other fluffy creature. Baby hairs on her body. When she turns around and bends (at the knee, Thorin is grateful to note) to pick up her clothes, he can see the hair grows there too, consistently, from the lowest point of her back, over her bum, even on the back of her knees. It makes her legs look almost golden against the sun, and it contrasts with the darker shade of the mound of hair between her legs and on the top of her feet, where it grows thicker and longer.
'I'm not even a dwarf,' she says. Like that would make her less appealing when dwarves appreciate beauty in all forms, once they have been moved to pay attention to it. She is a raw gem, Thorin thinks. A warm day under the sun after a long winter. Had she been a male hobbit, Thorin knows, the scandal would have been less but the effect just the same.
"It's simply good etiquette to mind oneself while bathing." She says, smiling, shaking her head as if they are truly being just quite silly. Then she walks away to put her clothes on a hot rock. Thorin is grateful she didn't lose her pack, for he doesn't think they could have come out of the water if she didn't have anything to wear until her clothes dried.
"Maihrim Kaminzabdûna" Thorin murmurs, looking again up at the sky, to soft hums of agreement around him.