Hobbit 1. Chapter 1

_That time when Thorin payed for a wench, while Wren needed a wee bit of wine to get to the point._

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Thorin stretched on his bed in a dim inn room, tired muscles in his back finally relaxing. He closed his eyes, wine pleasantly coursing in his blood, when a polite knock at his door announced the man he had spoken to previously had arrived.

"Aye, it's open," Thorin barked from his bed, the man wasn't worth getting up. The visitor entered, slightly bent in a perpetual submissive bow, followed by a small girl.

Thorin hardly glanced at her and then shifted his eyes at the crook. A sordid cloying smile was playing on the visitor's lips, and he pulled the girl after him, his dirty hand firmly grasping her wrist.

"Good evening, my lord. I hope you are enjoying our inn." Thorin sat up on his bed and sneered through clenched teeth.

"How much?" He just wanted the procurer to leave faster.

"The usual price, my lord. And this one is new, she is a bit timid. But then again, so fresh, so innocent," the pander stepped behind the girl and pushed her towards the Dwarf. Thorin finally gave her a look. She was skinny and a redhead. Neither of the features was to his taste, and he assumed she was hardly popular with other clients. She was angular, had no breasts or hips, and judging by her shaking one could hardly expect much skill from her either. Thorin was in a foul mood to start with, the view of the unappealing bird aggravated it.

"I'll pay you a half, or you can take your slip of a girl with you." The crook pretended to be outraged, but agreed rather quickly. Thorin assumed she was indeed unwanted, since in a few minutes later the pander left, coins jingling in his palm.

Thorin got up and locked the door behind him. He turned and looked at the girl. At the first glance she had only one merit, luscious thick mane of copper curls, but Thorin knew that among Men such colour was considered a flaw. He walked around her and stopped looking at her face. Her eyes were widened, terrified, her white teeth were worrying the plump bottom lip. Thorin was momentarily distracted from his vexation by the view of her mouth. It was wide, almost disproportionate, corners of her bright red lips curled up, the upper one curved. Something in her mouth made him suddenly hot under his collar. He snorted in irritated surprise. It had been years since he showed any interest in particular parts of women's anatomy. He customarily just wanted to satisfy his needs quickly and concentrate on more important matters.

"What's your name?" He found it was easier for wenches to loosen and start already when he showed them slight humanity.

"Wren," she croaked, and furious blush spilled on her cheekbones. "My lord..." She hastily added, and suddenly he saw her eyes fill with tears. Her lips that he still couldn't tear his eyes off started trembling. "Forgive me..."

He sighed. He obviously should have sent her back to her pander, but he was tired and again, when he went to close the door he caught a glimpse of her backside. Skinny as she was, she had appetising buttocks, round and pert, and he stepped to her and softly took her hand.

"Come, Wren, sit with me..." She hesitantly stepped after him, and he sat on the bed patting the covers near him. She lowered herself, and he noticed she didn't take her hand away. She had a nice long neck, her skin pale, bright freckles peppering a turn up nose, and altogether after a more attentive look he decided she wasn't that bad. He cupped the back of her head and pulled her to his lips.

He rarely kissed the women he bought, but the procurer was right, there was an air of freshness and innocence about her. She was also very clean, for a inn wench, her hair glossy and clothes poor but laundered. She smelled of lilacs and tasted very sweet. He wrapped another arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. She wasn't moving, but he didn't expect her to. She wasn't fighting either, pliable in his hands, and he turned and toppled her onto the bed.

He lifted his head and gave her a look over. He mentally confirmed that indeed he really liked her neck and greedily pressed his mouth to the pulse frantically beating on the side of her delicate throat. She made a small whimpering sound, her body went rigid, and from the corner of his eyes he saw her fingers clasp around handfuls of sheets.

He grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled up, his fingers grazing her thigh, and she suddenly thrashed and sobbed loudly. He lifted his face and met her eyes. They were rather odd, slanted, of some strange colour, neither brown, nor green, and he saw silent tears running from their corner down to the temples. He felt sharp prickle of irritation and sat up.

"Get out."

"Oh please, no!" She sprang up and rushed to him. She clumsily scampered, and kneeling on the end she moved to him. "I am sorry! Forgive me, my lord!" Her small hands were folded in a pleading gesture, and suddenly she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his. The kiss was intoxicating. Whether her agitation pushed her to perform so well, or she had slightly more experience in these more innocent actions, but her lips moved just the right way and soon he felt her sleek warm tongue brush his lips. He groaned into her mouth and cupped her head. She arched into him, and he felt her puckered tips through his tunic and her thin dress.

"Please, let me stay, I can do better..." She murmured, and suddenly her lips slipped from his onto his cheek, she placed several little bites along his jawline and then caught his earlobe between her lips. Something wasn't right, his mind meddled. He grabbed her shoulder and pushed her away from him to have a better look into her face. Her eyes were giant, pupils flooded her strange irises, and he stared at her. She had just made his member swell by a few small caresses of his jaw, quite a feat considering how irritated he was an instant ago, and yet she still seemed frightened and inexperienced. Her eyes were pleading, and he exhaled.

"My lord, it is my third time..." She was fisting her small hands, her cheeks burning, and she dropped her eyes. Her voice was hardly audible, "And I have never lain with a Dwarf." He was studying the orange crown of her head. "Could I please have some wine?"

His brows hiked up. That was quite a forward behaviour for a cheap wench, but then again wine could help her. He moved to get up, but she pressed her hands on his shoulders. "Allow me," she was obviously eager to please, and he nodded. She jumped off the bed and rushed to the table by the window. She poured wine into two glasses, her hands shaking, and she cursed when she spilled some. The curse was so mild and demure that he smiled involuntarily.

She returned with the glasses, and he took his while she toppled hers into her throat hurriedly. He was right, she was trying to alleviate her tension. He took a sip and gave her the glass back. She didn't take it though, staring at his expectedly, and he chuckled. He assumed in some other circumstances she would even seem bossy. He finished his wine, and she took his glass and pushed it on the bedside table. He opened his mouth to tell her to sit when she lunged at him and caught his mouth in another greedy kiss. She was standing in front of him, he grabbed her buttocks and pulled her into him.

His hands were roaming her body, from the perky bottom to narrow back, while she was devouring his mouth, her hands at some point pushed into his hair. She was scraping the back of his head, and only when she started sucking at his bottom lip he realised that she was behaving much more wantonly than before. He paused in his ministrations, some sort of apprehensive feeling nagging at his mind, but suddenly she dropped on her knees in front of him. His eyes fell into her cleavage, small or not, her breasts were perky, and he grabbed the collar with two hands and jerked down and to the sides. There was the sound of ripping fabric, and he pushed the bodice down, baring her upper body. He cupped both breasts, and suddenly she arched into his palms, a loud lustful moan falling off her lips. His head started spinning from suffocating arousal, and then her hands lay on his belt.

"Wren..." He wasn't sure what he was saying, when she suddenly licked her lips. Something exploded in his head, from the view of her small wet tongue running over the very red lips that made him keep her in his room at the first place, and with a growl her pushed her on the floor and covered her body with his. She moaned, spread her knees wider, and he bit into her bare shoulder. He felt her legs wrap around his waist. Her small cool hands slid under his tunic on his back, and she clawed at him.

And that's when he understood that his head was swimming, and his mad arousal had nothing to do with it. He lifted his head and shook it, the waves of his hair brushing at her face. She snorted, and he met her eyes.

In them he saw none of the innocent girl who was crying on his bed. One of her brows lifted sarcastically, she gave him a mocking look.

"Blimey, it works on Dwarves so much slower than on Men. And all that considering I doubled the dosage."

He blinked forcefully several times, trying to rid himself from the disgusting haze his head was swimming in. She pressed her hands into his chest and pushed him off her. His body wasn't under his control anymore, and he awkwardly rolled on his back. She shifted, and he suddenly realised she was straddling him.

"Well, honourable Dwarf, let's hope you have enough gold on you to pay off for all the trouble I had to go through here." She gave him a studying look. He tried to lift his arm, but all his extremities felt numb and unresponsive. She tried to adjust her dress and tut-tutted, "What a brute!" She sounded as if she was complimenting him though, her eyes were sparkling with laughter, and she took a shred of fabric and dangled it in front of his nose. "That will be taken out of your gold. Oh wait! All your gold will be taken." Her small deft hands ran along his body, and she pulled out his coin pouch. She weighed it in her hand and clicked her tongue with merriment. "Maiar help me, you are rich as a King. Well, sweetpea, what is your name? So I know which cities I should avoid in the future. I do travel a lot, but I try to only meet new people. It expands one's horizons." She gave him a sly smile.

He glared at her. He felt that he could still talk, while the rest of his body was quickly losing any ability to move. She tilted her head and smirked.

"Maiar, save me, you're a looker. This is glorious," she ran the tip of her delicate index finger along the bridge of his nose, "And the rest is just…" She released an exaggerated sigh. "I almost regret that the draught started working. I didn't even get a chance to rid you of your tunic, and my oh my, how I love myself a hairy chest." She threw a hungry look over his spread body and licked her lips again. "I have to say, to convince the mack to work you was an aggro. Are you important, sweetpea?" He clenched his jaw and tried to move his fingers. He was unsuccessful. "Or plain dangerous? Should I worry?" She climbed off him, and he heard some rustling in the room. She returned in his field of vision, her dress fixed, his coat over her shoulders. She twirled in front of him as if showing off a new dress to her husband and giggled.

"I do look good in blue, but I have a suspicion I shouldn't take it. It is rather distinct, sweetpea." She shook it off and sat on the floor near him. Her fingers were lazily drawing squiggles on his chest while she was studying his face. "Common, love, you have about five seconds left to speak. What is your name? Should I perhaps stuff a dagger between your ribs to be on the safe side?"

"Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror," he rasped out, and her eyebrows hiked up.

"Dear me!" Her eyes were once again giant, and she pressed a hand to her forehead. She stayed silent for a few seconds, her eyes fixed on his face. "Oh sweetpea, that is quite a plight we are in here. To end you and potentially leave the honourable race of Dwarves without the next King, or leave you be and have you very, very upset with me. You are very upset with me, sweetpea, aren't you?" She threw him an almost flirty look, and suddenly he realised he wasn't. Unless she decided to kill him, he could find this ridiculous adventure almost entertaining. She seemed to have guessed his mind and laughed in a silver voice.

She straddled him again and then leaning down she quickly pecked his lips. "The draught will wear off in a couple hours. No irreversible consequences, I'm not cruel." She placed another kiss on his lips. "Maiar help me, you are to die for!" The third kiss was long, he couldn't reciprocate but enjoyed it nonetheless. She lifted her face, her lips swollen and eyes feverish. "I wish we had a chance to take it a wee bit further, sweetpea. I didn't have a peek but can make an educated guess," her small palm lightly brushed over his crotch, "I am certain I am missing a lot," she giggled. "Such a pity, sweetpea. Such a pity." She climbed off him and quickly left the room, softly closing the door behind her. Had he the ability at the moment, Thorin would have guffawed.


	2. Chapter 2

_That time when Thorin met the inn wench again, while Wren was unsuccessfully trying to hide._

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**A/N: Well, ****my lovelies****, the story was supposed to be the collection of one-shots of their **_**first **_**meetings, but since several of you asked, and my muse is your b**** :D here we go!**

**Thank you, ****GuestReaderA****, for the prompt, and I think several other readers are clapping to you right now :)**

"Alright, sweetpea, I can explain," she was sitting on his bed, orange curls scattered on her shoulders, over a lacy nightgown that was, to be honest, hiding none of her tempting curves whatsoever, his blanket covering her below the waist. Thorin froze in the door of his inn room, his hand on the hilt of the Deathless.

"What in the Durin's name are you doing here?" It was a dim question, but he couldn't come up with anything better.

"I am hiding, sweetpea. I ran into some unsavoury characters last week, and I suppose they are a bit mad at me," she gave him a fake innocent smile, and he stepped inside the room closing the door behind him.

"Are you hiding a dagger under my blankets, Wren?" He venomously drew out her name, and she giggled.

"I would never," she gracefully pressed her small hand to her chest and battered her lashes. His eyes almost unwillingly fell on her peaks clearly visible through the intricate lace, which he assumed was the goal of her gesture to start with. "And it is my real name, no need to sneer, darling." He folded his arms on his chest and gave her an evaluating look.

"It still doesn't answer my question, what are you doing in my bed?"

"I heard voices on the staircase, they were going up to my room. I had no place to run, so I hid in your room."

"So you just happened to stay in the same inn as I am?" He cocked a brow and slowly approached the bed. His hand was still on the sword, she could have had accomplices, she could be hiding weapons. He quickly recalled whether there was any strange taste in his wine or food that evening. She leaned back on his pillows and smiled to him coyly.

"It is the only decent inn in the town, love. And I do love their sheets," she was purring, and it was working. He approached the bed and firmly grabbing the corner of his blanket he jerked it off her. There was no dagger. The nightdress was bunched up above her knees, showing slender shapely legs and tiny feet with pink toes. She wiggled them and laughed.

"Well, you are not armed..."

"Not all weapons are made of metal, darling," she murmured and swiftly got up on her knees in front of him. He gave her a sarcastic look from under a lifted brow. "I need to stay in your room for the night, sweetpea. I was hoping we can arrive at some sort of agreement." He came up closer to her, and the slender arms wrapped around his neck. The freckled turn up nose was very close to his face, and he smirked. He was a fool that last time not to see it, she was captivating. The lips, the high cheekbones, the strange slanted eyes, confident and laughing, there was an intoxicating originality in her, and he leaned in catching the fragrance of lilacs. His palm lay on her back, just above the enticing pert little buttocks, and she caught his mouth. He realised he remembered right, her lips were magic.

She was pulling him closer, making him step clumsily ahead, his knee pressed on the edge of the bed, and he felt her strong hands roam his body. And then he caught her around the wrist and shook her hand off a hilt of a dagger on his belt. He was going to move away, but she doubled the efforts of her mouth. He quickly decided it was worth it. They continued the dance, where he would be savouring her lips, while at the same time battering her hands off his various weapons. After a while he decided it was easier to remove the temptation and started pulling the daggers and swords out of scabbards and hurling them in the opposite corner of the room. She unclasped his belt.

"Just take the whole thing off. You are distracted," she murmured between little nibbles on his bearded jaw, and he chuckled and threw the belt away.

Her deft little fingers quickly unbuttoned his doublet and pushed it off his shoulders. He cupped the back of her head, tilted it to gain more access to her neck, greedily kissing the delicate throat, when he remembered there was a long narrow dagger hidden in the lapel of his vest. He grabbed her hand firmly but gently just when she was about to pull the blade out, and he flipped the hand and kissed the inner side of the wrist.

"Behave," his voice was low and velvet, and she giggled.

"But, sweetpea, I never do!" He grinned lopsidedly, and the dagger followed the previous items. The vest flew through the room, and he toppled her on the bed. She laughed throatily and wrapped her legs around his hips.

"You are heavy, darling," it sounded like a compliment.

"You are dangerous," he murmured back, and she nodded.

"I know, but wouldn't it be boring otherwise?" He lifted his torso above her on straight arms and gave her a look over. With flushed cheeks, smiling eyes, and a love bite on her neck she looked ever so enticing.

He dove in again, licking her collarbones, hiking up her leg higher on his waist, greedily inhaling her smell. She purred and arched into him, her hand pushed into his hair. The moment when he realised there was only one hand gently scraping the back of his head was the moment when she smashed the water jug over it. The blow was precise and effective. Everything went black.

He came back to his senses to the noise of a sword fight and loud swearing. He sat up and rubbed his head. Surprisingly he quickly realised she was the one swearing. There were two men in his room, and she successfully was pressing both of them back. It probably had something to do with the fact that one of them could hardly see anything from blood pouring over his eyes. Thorin could relate. While she probably held back with him, he just got a goose egg, the bloke had obviously received a full scale blow to the head with the flower vase considering that a poppy was stills sticking out of his hair. The second one was lulling his shoulder. She was fighting with a short sword, Elven craft, light and curved. She lunged ahead, quickly retreated, and followed up with an astonishingly fast volte. The man yelled and jumped back. The poppy one was trying to come around her and received a sensitive blow to his temple with a mug that she hurled into his head with a shocking precision.

She jumped on the table, the only unturned piece of furniture in the room, except for the bed that he was sitting on and staring at her. After placing a knee kick into one man's head, the ale from the mug had blinded him, she turned to Thorin and smiled widely.

"To your information, sweetpea," she beat the second man's attack and dropped her sword's plummet on the top of his head. He made a funny gurgling sound and fell down like a sack of potatoes. "These are not mine. They are here for your sake!" The man still standing turned and looked at Thorin with terrified eyes. He obviously didn't expect the number of his opponents to double. Thorin saw his sword carefully placed near his hand and grabbed the hilt. The man on the floor groaned and lifted his head to see Thorin starting to move off the bed. The men followed the only reasonable course of action and scampered out of his room.

She was standing on the table, breathing heavily, on all her glory, curls in a halo around her head, the sword confidently clenched in her hand.

"Blimey, they ruined my dress," she was looking herself over, and he saw a deep bleeding cut on her thigh. "It will come out of your gold, darling. Since I am not getting the bounty for your head."

He got off the bed and stretched his hands to her. She paced her small palms on his shoulders, and he took her down. Her face ended up very close to his, and he gave her red lips a quick kiss. She grinned.

"I have a headache, little one," he grouched, and she laughed.

"At least you still have a head. There is a pretty juicy price on it, sweetpea. You should be more careful." He picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. There were a few bruises and cuts, but the one on her thigh was the worst.

"I have bandages in my sack, it's under the bed." He pulled her sack out and hiked up his brows in surprise.

"A healer's sack?" He asked rummaging through it in search of bandages and balms.

"It's a wonderful disguise, and I do look so very respectable in the robe. And men have a soft spot for a spinster healer, all demure, boring braid and no jewellery, and just waiting to be introduced to the world of sensual pleasures," her voice was sign-song, and he snorted. She pulled up her skirt, and he started tending to the wound. She hissed, and he saw her hands clenched on the sheets.

"Why didn't you agree to share the bounty with them?" He asked without lifting his eyes from his work.

"Maybe I was planning to get it all for myself. You were unconscious, I couldn't have easily gotten rid of them and sell your majestic head to the one who offered most." He looked up at her from under a cocked brow, and she stuck her tongue at him.

"Uh-huh," he gently smeared some balm on the jagged edges of the cut, the thigh tensing under his fingers, "I can hardly see how you could have done it after you put my sword right under my hand."

He quickly wrapped the cloth ribbons around her thigh, tied the knot and placed a small kiss on the round knee.

"All done, little bird." She inspected the thigh and nodded.

"I'm always surprised by the dextrosity of Dwarves, you lot do have deft fingers," she wiggled her brows suggestively, and he sat near her on the bed.

"Well, look what you did to my room," he was aiming for a grumpy tone, and she smirked and bumped her shoulder into his.

"They will think you had a night of wild debauchery, it will only improve your reputation, oh the King Under the Mountain," she murmured and half turned to him. Her hand lay on his chest, and she clawed at him playfully. "I'm sorry I knocked you out."

"No, you are not," he turned to her too and buried his hand in the thick curls at the back of her head. She lifted her face to him in a clear invitation. "What exactly were you planning to do?"

"Hide here for a bit and then escape," she smiled to him, "I was going to tie you down and gag you when they barged in." He threw a look at the floor, a few long ropes were coiling on the wood boards. "I am very good at tying men down to bedposts." He looked into her eyes again.

"You are wounding me. All this trouble just to avoid lying with me," he tut-tutted, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I do not liked to be forced into it, sweetpea, by people or circumstances alike." Her eyes grew serious for a moment, but then the flirty expression was back in them. "I feel no pressure at the moment." She leaned in to his lips, and he tenderly met her in a kiss. He cupped her narrow jaw with both hands, her tongue brushed his bottom lip, and his arousal flared up. There was a fair share of tenderness there too, he noticed with astoundment. He pressed her into him harder, but she seemed to be returning the sentiment. Her hands rushed into his hair, and she moaned into his mouth. After a few seconds he felt her cools palms on his waist under the tunic, and then she pulled the hem of it up.

He carefully picked her up and placed her on his lap facing him, conscious of the bandages and a few angry bruises on her body. She straddled him, her legs crossed behind him, when a loud knock at his door made them both halt.

"We know that whore is there! Open the bloody door!" She looked at him, and he smirked darkly.

"Would you like me to open the door, darling?" He asked in a fake polite tone, and she mimicked his intonation.

"If you don't mind, love. I do feel I need to lie down." He gently placed her on the bed, quickly kissed the tip of her nose, picked up his sword and marched to the door. She tilted her head and purred apparently enjoying the view of his backside. He threw her a glanced over his shoulder.

"Hold the thought." She giggled and curled in his sheets. He couldn't wait to get back between them.


	3. Chapter 3

**And so begin…**

**THE ADVENTURES OF ANTI-WREN AND HER SWEETPEA**

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**The plot of this story is moving along based on your ****prompts****! Please, leave them in the reviews! Thank you, and all my love to you, my darlings! :D**

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_That time when Thorin was pulling Wren out of fine mess, while Wren decided to go and find out how much his head was actually worth._

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**A/N: Thank you, ****Wynni****, for the prompt! **

Thorin jerked the door open, and the two crooks standing at his threshold winced back. A barechested intimidating Dwarf with a wide heavy sword in his hand wasn't exactly what they expected when the innkeeper told them that he thought the woman they were looking for was in the room with 'one of them short ones'.

"Can I be of service to you, gentlemen?" His tone was polite, and one of them gulped loudly.

"We are looking for a woman," the other one was brave enough to speak, but his voice was rather shaky, "Wee one, about this height," he showed with his hand somewhere around the level of Thorin's head, and then jerked it back realising he just pretty much implied that the gods scary Dwarf in front of him was 'wee', "Redhead, possibly in a state of undress."

"And what is your business with the aforementioned redhead in a state of undress?" Thorin continued this decorous conversation as if there were absolutely nothing remarkable about two men speaking to a half bare Dwarf in the doors of his inn room. He might as well be leading a mannered discussion over dinner of venison stew and best Bree ale.

"She stole our money!" The second one finally remembered he had a voice. "Sneaked in and looted out… savings." Thorin lifted one brow and gave the men a sarcastic look quite obviously signifying he was aware of the nature of their 'savings'. "She is fast and quiet, and she can't be trusted." That Thorin already knew.

"Gentlemen, I'll be direct. At the moment the redhead is in my care, she is my responsibility, and any grievances you have to settle with her are to be addressed to me. Do you have any grievances?"

The men seemingly suddenly developed lapses in memory and shook their heads. The first one though couldn't help but add, "You'll regret it." Thorin lifted the brow a bit higher. The men shrank further away from him. "Don't get us wrong, my lord, not from us... But her, she will chew you and spit you out alright."

"I know how to manage a woman," Thorin snorted derisively and stretched his hand to close the door to their faces. "Worry not, she won't be any trouble any time soon." He smirked in anticipation, "For couple days for sure."

"My lord, we thought such a scrap of a girl couldn't harm either, but..." Thorin decided he had had enough of this nonsense, and the door banged loudly.

The bed was empty. The sack was gone, as well as his gold pouch. The window was small, and when he stuck out of it he shook his head in disbelief. There were no ledges, lanterns or gutters near it, and he was on the third floor. That was quite a skill she had shown.

On the bed he found a bottle of exceptionally good red wine with a lace garter tied around its neck in a playful bow. He laughed and popped the cork. The garter smelled of lilac, just like her skin, and he leaned on his pillows, sipping wine and still slightly chuckling.

An hour later he decided that one bottle wasn't enough and went down into the common room. The barmaid put wine and cheese in front of him and smiled to him with meaning. He assumed he might as well enjoy that evening and winked to her. She giggled, and two hours later she was sitting on his lap, drinking wine in small sips and chatting non stop. He was still pondering whether this endless babbling was annoying enough to get rid of her or he could potentially withstand it long enough to invite her upstairs, when among her mindless chattering he caught something that was actually worth his attention.

"And so they tumbled down the stairs, all battered and bruised, and I said to Elen, those two do not look that well, one had a poppy sticking out of his hair! Can you imagine? A poppy! And they are swearing and hiccuping, and they sat down and asked for some wine, and I thought that is strange, you know, if you get beat up would you stay in the same inn? And then some time later, they already finished their wine, the entrance door opened and she came in. I saw her before, when she arrived earlier that evening, and I'll tell you, my lord, no woman should dress like that, especially if she is such a twig, and those breeches! She was dressed like a man! And she had a whip! And then clap! It first made like a swirl over her head, went in a circle and clap! It was so loud, and those two men fell of their chairs, and she swung it, and wrapped it around on one them, right in the middle! You know, around his stomach! You should have see how he was squirming, he was big but she did look scary, she pulled him and he wasn't fighting, sort of just crawled to her and she asked him about some money. I don't know what she wanted, but she kept on asking how much it was wroth? She said she decided to stop on her way out! I didn't see her go down, to think of it. I don't know, but he named the price, you know, like in a whiny tone, and she said, is that all? That majesticness costs more, she said! Don't know what they were discussing, but she was sort of lost in her thoughts, you know, and then slightly kicked him and rolled up her whip, and I swear it was the longest whip I've ever seen, and then she said something like, not worth it, or something, and sauntered out, I'm telling you my lord, I've never seen a woman like that. And tiny like a kitten, and not the most pretty of them all, I'll give you that."

By the end of her speech Thorin was roaring with laughter. He shook her off his knee and throwing some coins on the table he headed back to his room. The girl was staring at his back in confusion. He was walking up the stairs, thinking that tonight he'd have to release the tension on his own, no one would be enjoyable in comparison.

**A/N: Just a reminder that all your "first time" prompts will be fulfilled later, once either you or I decide we had enough of these two :)**

**Make it hard for me, my lovelies! Throw them all in, I'll fulfill them all, and remember, I do love challenge! :P**

**The next one is Wren on stilts :)**


	4. Chapter 4

_That time when Thorin was being eaten alive by mosquitoes, while Wren was stuck on stilts in a marsh._

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**A/N: My darling ****RagdollPrincess****, I love you! I bet the inspiration for this prompt was the marsh wren (Cistothorus palustris) and its ability to hold on to two cattails, its funny legs at 90 degrees to its body! It's a ninja wren, and that is what you are getting in this chapter :)**

**My lovelies, seriously****, google the bird! It's to die for :)**

Thorin was lost. He cursed the wizard, he cursed the map he had in the inner pocket of his coat, he cursed the innkeeper in Bree who gave him directions. He was not in any way in Hobbiton. He was in the middle of a swamp. And he was slowly but surely sinking into it. And he was devoured by mosquitoes that were, he could swear, twice their normal size. He had thought he was staying on the path, he could see the white stones marking the safer ground, but at some point all of them were gone, and he thought he was still doing fine. He wasn't. He poked a tussock near him with the handle of his axe. It sank with a disgusting squelching sound. That wasn't good. He poked around some more, with the same result.

He swore loudly and with gusto. He had had no desire to go and meet this hobbit, he doubted Gandalf's judgement in regards to a choice of a burglar, but at the moment he was in danger of having no chance to tell the nosey parker of the wizard off. He'd die in an unknown swamp. Slowly and humiliatingly. Half eaten by mosquitoes before he would actually drown in stale swamp water. He thought with relief that at least no one would know how his demise found him, when he thought he heard some approaching noise from around the nearest low hill. He pulled his sword out of the scabbard, lamenting his limited mobility, by then he had sunk so that the water had reached his family jewels, and he did mean the buckle on his belt, and if the person approaching were not to help him but to slay him, he'd be doomed.

He almost dropped his sword when she appeared from around the mound. His jaw slacked, and he stared at her. Firstly, it was her, and what were the chances? Secondly, she was dressed in narrow leather breeches, nothing left to imagination, and a short leather doublet, all in black. Thirdly, and most importantly, she was walking on stilts. She stopped and gaped at his as well. And then just as he managed to guess a second in advance she started laughing. It was a merry silver laughter, she folded in two, dangerously rocking on her stilts, and then she sobbed out, "Maiar help me, sweetpea, didn't you know Dwarves can't swim?" She finally looked at him, "It is you, darling, isn't it? I can only see the top half, and I have to confess I was more interested in what is currently hidden under water when we met before." He assumed she refered to his money pouch on his belt. Her eyes were shining with mischief, and he cocked a brow. She walked around him, like some sort of an exotic crane, and after a few minutes of search she found the solid ground. She deftly jumped off her stilts and started unbuttoning her doublet. There was a thin gauze tunic underneath it, and she tut-tutted, "Keep your scorching eyes to yourself, sweetpea."

"Consider it the dying wish of a doomed man," he grumbled and watched her unwrap the rope previously ties around her waist under the doublet.

"Would you like me to lift the tunic then, or you prefer me to throw you the rope?" Her tone was sarcastic, while she was clearly preparing to hurl him the end of the rope.

"The choice is rather difficult to make, Wren," he lifted a brow, and she giggled, "I'm tempted to die for just one glance."

"Oh you are a smooth talk when you want to be, sweetpea," the rope hit him to the nose, she had exceptional aim as he knew already, and he tied it around himself. She had strong arms and legs but it took a while to pull him out. Finally he fell down on the path near her, and she spread on the ground like a starfish. She was breathing heavily, and her chest was rising under the lace bodice.

"Eyes on the dreary swamp, Oakenshield," she breathed out, and he guffawed. She turned her head and smiled to him.

"Thank you," his tone was earnest, and she nodded. He moved closer, she was still smiling, he leaned in, and she placed her small hand on his lips.

"Don't even think about it, you stink like a bog, and there are probably leeches enjoying the blood from the line of Durin at the moment. I found a cabin not far from here, we can spend a night there. It's getting dark."

He got up and stretched his hand to her. Her fingers lay on his palm, and he pulled unnecessarily hard, bending at the same time, catching her mouth. The bog stench didn't seem to bother her this time, since she grabbed handfuls of his hair and enjoyed him fully. At some point her deft little tongue ran on his upper lip, and she purred, "Common, I even have a bathtub there." Never in his life had Thorin Oakenshield walked so carefully and so quickly through a swamp. The view of her perky buttocks while she was leading the way was additionally beneficial for his motivation.

The cabin was on stilts as well, he helped her carry hers, and they came in. There was one large room, with a wood stove, a table with one chair and a bed. She had obviously made herself comfortable in the cabin. There were luscious sheets and furs on the bed, wine, cheese and bread on the table, and indeed a wooden bathtub in the middle of it. On the stove there were large cauldrons with water for it, and she lit up the wood in it. His hands flew up to the clasps on his coat with the speed of lightning. She laughed and started putting up a kettle on the fire.

"I do not drink much," her tone was almost apologetic, "But I would love some tea. Will you have some?"

He had shed most of his clothes by then, and she was right about leeches, he noticed with disgust, and he came up to her and stood behind, without touching her. She was right about the stench as well.

"I'll have what you have," his tone was warm, and she looked at him over her shoulder. She was shamelessly flirting with him, and he laughed. What a kitten!

He helped her with cauldrons, his hand as if by accident brushing at her buttocks, each time he'd be rewarded with an askew glance full of feigned exasperation, and soon the bath was ready.

"It is too small for both of us," she sounded wistful, and his member rejoiced. "You take it, I already had one today. I'll see to the tea meanwhile."

He was soaking in scorching water, having given up on reigning his erection, enjoying the sounds of her rustling at the back of the room. At some point a glass of wine was pushed into his hand, and he smiled without opening his eyes. He wasn't naive, fool me once, as they say. He was sitting with his eyes half closed, watching her make tea and cut cheese, when she noticed he wasn't drinking.

"Oh for the glory of Maiar," she came up to him and looked at him as if derisively, "You do not trust me at all, do you, sweetpea?" He smiled wider without opening his eyes. She picked up the glass from his hand, his eyes flew open just in time to see her take a big sip from his glass. Her red lips grew even brighter, coloured with wine, and her throat moved. His length was sticking out of water like a bulrush. She gave him the glass back, quickly pecked his lips, threw a glance at the "reedlace", sighed wistfully and went back to her affairs. He was drinking wine and making plans.

They settled on the bed, kissing and feeding each other bread and cheese, and although he felt like he was going to explode like flashfire pot any moment, there was a certain thrill in prolonging the game. She was in his arms, taut and flexible, only her bloomers and chemise left on her. At some point when he was kissing her stomach, bunching up the undertunic, when she suddenly wiggled out of his hands and jumped off the bed. He stared at her, she quickly pitter-pattered to the stove and came back with a cup of tea. She took a small sip and licked her lips.

"Want some?" She definitely wasn't talking about tea, and he lunged at her. She laughed and pressed her hand to his chest, "Careful, you brute! It's hot! I'll burn myself." She drank some more, he caught her mouth in a kiss, her breath smelt of mint and some flowers, and he picked up the cup from her hands and drank it in one gulp.

"See? No more tea," he pushed the cup somewhere blindly, "Now you can finally spare me some attention." She laughed melodically and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I'm all yours, sweetpea." He with all honesty had never heard anything better than this little purr of hers. He toppled her on the bed and proceeded kissing every inch of her. The skin was silky, cool, intoxicating. She was making small happy gasps and moans.

This time he got as far as almost pulling her flirty lacy bloomers off, when he noticed his drugged state. He lifted his face from the hipbone he was kissing and asked with sincere astonishment, "How?!"

"Oh it's just belladonna, sweetpea. You'll get a few hours of healthy sleep and probably won't even have any headache tomorrow. I'll leave you breakfast and a map of how to get out of here. I'm done with my affairs here anyroad." She was smiling blissfully to him, twirling a thread of his hair around her delicate index finger.

"But we shared everything! Was it wine?! Or tea?!" He was starting to slur.

"Both actually," she smiled merrily as if he had just complimented her cooking, "I spent the last few years building up an immunity to belladonna powder. And worry not, love, I am very careful with dosage."

He gave her a sad look, and his head fell on her warm stomach. Her deft little fingers gently scraping the back of his head and her even breathing lulled him to sleep. The last thought swimming in his drugged mind was that all and all this encounter went better than the previous ones, at least he didn't get a goose egg. He changed his mind in the morning when he realised she took his gold pouch again. And his favourite dagger as well.


	5. Chapter 5

_That time when Thorin thwarts Wren's robbery, ties her up and decides to have a chat, while Wren gets the better of him again._

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**A/N: Oh thank you, thank you, ****dearreader****! Your prompts are always marvelous, but this one made me giggle and rush to my keyboard right away. To be honest it's so good that this chapter was written before the previous one :D You are glorious!**

**A/N#2: Regarding **_**Princess Bride **_**reference in the previous chapter and how all of you caught it, that's why YOU ARE THE BEST OF READERS! And I love you-u-u! Thank you for bearing with the love outburst and, please, proceed to reading :) **

Using the redhead's map Thorin successfully managed to navigate his path to escape the swamps and finally reach the Shire. He found an inn, it was very late, and he couldn't possibly arrive to the house of the burglar where all his company would be awaiting in the state he was in. The evidence of the swamp dunking was obvious on his clothes, although his hair was clean and brushed, after the bath he was offered in the stilt cabin. He gritted his teeth remembering how full of blissful plans he was in that very bath. After some consideration he decided that humiliation he had endured almost impeded the gratitude he felt towards her for saving his life.

Perhaps his mood was so sour from the embarrassment of being asked to pay for his room in advance because of his appearance and being able to offer the innkeeper in "Green Dragon" only half of the payment. He haughtily said that he never paid fully in advance as so many inns failed to satisfy their clients, and the innkeeper conceded, but Thorin didn't enjoy the short moment of not being sure he would even get a room that night. He dragged the clothes off him, gave them to a maid for cleaning, sat in a hot bath and grumpily started wondering where he would get the second half of the payment. He rarely travelled without sufficient funds and was unaccustomed to the current frustration. On the other hand, the fact that she had stolen his favorite dagger was still more infuriating than the lack of his gold pouch she had looted.

He was sitting in the bath, fuming and coming up with different, highly unrealistic scenarios of executing revenge on the cursed redhead, but then he noticed that the images he had in his head had changed. While he had started with finding her hideout and taking all her loot, he was now imagining bending her over his knee and smacking her delicious bum until the perky buttocks were was nicely red and sensitive. When he understood that he was industriously imagining how she'd be squirming under the slaps and moaning loudly, he sighed and brought his hand to his member. Thorin didn't enjoy having mixed feelings, so he concentrated on the easiest to understand and started pumping his hand.

In the morning he woke up before the sun rose and found his clothes on a chair by the door. He quickly got dressed and considered escaping through the window. He was no thief though, he was an Heir of Durin, so he left his second dagger as a pawn and went down into the common room for a hurried breakfast. He was planning to return for the blade on his way from Hobbiton.

She was sitting in the common room, decorously drinking tea, dressed in a healer's robe and a neat dark blue cloak. The robe indeed made her look respectable and innocent, even younger, although she looked no older than twenty in any dress, and he grabbed her upper arm and started dragging her upstairs. She wasn't fighting, although after a few steps he understood how inappropriately he behaved. He was just so angry from the humiliation of asking for a favour from a simple innkeeper, and she was the reason for it after all. He thought, quickly walking up the stairs, that had she started screaming, hobbits and a few Men in the inn would have helped her, but she was quiet. He couldn't see her face under the hood that had fallen down and was covering the upper half, only her red mouth visible.

He pushed her into his room, locked the door behind him, and pushed her on a chair. She giggled and shook the hood off. She was smiling coyly, and he saw red. He quickly jerked the sheet of the bed and tied her to the chair.

"Sweetpea, don't you think it's a bit excessive?" Her tone was purring, and he grabbed another chair and straddled it a foot away from her. She was studying his face, and he assumed she was trying to determine how much of her plans he was aware of. He knew nothing, but he could play the game too.

"Well, knowing you, darling," he drew out venomously, "Since there is furniture, water jugs, food and drink in this room, I prefer you immobilized." She giggled again.

"You are taking all the fun out of this situation." He thought that she seemed a bit nervous though hiding it. While he knew she had no reason to, she did save his life twice and he would never hurt a woman, he decided a small scare would serve her well.

"I can still have _my_ fun," he murmured darkly, and he saw her eyes widen.

"I saved your life!" She squeaked, "Twice! Is that how you are planning to pay me?" She jerked her shoulders, and suddenly her eyes filled with tears.

"Do not bother, I have seen your rendering of an innocent girl before. Your fake tears won't soften me." They did, he suddenly felt horrible. Her eyes grew slightly pink right away, and the plump bottom lip trembled. He felt like an animal.

"Are you angry because of the dagger?" Her voice was shaking. "It's in my sack. And the gold too." He got up and picked up the bag. She had sadly dropped her head, and he saw a tear drop on her lap. He opened a sack, saw something lacy and peach coloured, felt even worse and put the sack back. It could wait, and he felt almost sick from the thought of rummaging through her belongings.

"What are you doing here?" She didn't lift her face and sniffed. "I am waiting. What are you doing in this inn?"

"What is it to you?!" She bit angrily back and lifted her face. Furious blush was burning on her cheeks, and for the first time he saw her eyes vulnerable and emotional.

"I have learnt of your ways by now, and I just don't understand what you could be doing here. There is no one to rob here, honestly speaking, it's a tiny hobbit village, nothing of value. A dishonourable crook like you has nothing to do here."

He was feigning coldness but he was one instant from untying her and apologising, he had overreacted, when she suddenly yelled at him, angry tears bursting from her eyes, "I was following you, you swine! I was worried and followed! There is a price on your head." She turned away from him, and he was staring at a small burning ear. She was red in the face and shaking, and he quickly untied the sheet.

"I can take care of myself," he started, when she jumped on her feet and slapped him across face.

"Curse you, Thorin Oakenshield, do whatever you want! Drown in a bog, let them cut off your head, do whatever your insensitive, miserly, avaricious self wants!" She was yelling at him, drumming her small fists at his chest, and he caught her wrists and pulled her into a kiss. She bit his lip vengefully, but he kept on pressing, and soon she relaxed, her arms went around his neck, and she moaned into the kiss. He tenderly cupped the back of her head, her slender body pliable and familiar, and piercing pleasure flooded him.

"I am sorry for the sheet," he murmured into her lips.

"And I'm sorry for the vase," she murmured back.

"What vase?" He asked distractedly, and everything went black.

He came back to his senses tied to the very chair he had pushed her into. Two thoughts came to his head. One, it was getting repetitive. Two, he wondered how she managed to manhandle his unconscious body onto a chair. He was very heavy. But then again, she did manage to pull him out of a bog. He shook his head clearing his vision and saw a note pinned to the chair in front of him with his own dagger she had taken from him at the swamp.

"_Sweetpea,_

_I'm returning your dagger. I wish I could say it was taken as a memento of the wonderful sensual moments we spent on all those beds together, but honestly it just looked very expensive. You seemed rather sullen about it though, and I assumed it's a family heirloom. While I seem to be managing you quite well, the last thing I need is your kin being frustrated with my habits. So, here is your blade back._

_Answering your question sincerely (and yes, sweetpea, I have lied. Did you honestly think I'd cry tears over unrequited but adamant love towards you?) I heard the rumours that twelve Dwarves were to pass this village in the nearest future, and your kind does carry a lot of gold with them. Even if they were looted of it twice by then by the same person. I am leaving now of course, since I seem to be __intimately__ familiar with one of these twelve Dwarves._

_And honestly, did you think I'd believe your threats? You are as scary as a moon old wolf pup._

_W._

_P.S. I left you half your gold from before to pay for the room. They will come to clean it in a few hours, hope you won't need to attend to your basic needs before it."_

Thorin loudly swore and tried jumping on the chair. She knew knots, after a few minutes of enraged wobbling and rocking he only achieved one result. Now he was lying on his side, the chair still tied to his backside, and he considered banging his head to the floor. And what he hated most of all was that she had been right about everything. He did indeed feel an urge to attend to his basic needs. Curse the ginger.

He also thought that when he finally arrived to the burglar's house he'd tell his men he got lost. Anything was better than the truth. Yes, he decided, he got lost, twice, that was a good explanation.


	6. Chapter 6

_That time when Thorin gets to rescue Wren for a change, while she's trying to find out who's behind his bounty._

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**A/N: ****Wynni****, thank you for the prompt!**

**And ****UKReader****, I already have three more chapters written since I fulfill prompts in the order they were submitted. So I LOVE that I have to put your trolls somewhere now where they don't fit at all. I ADORE challenge like that! :) And all of your ideas are rad! That is going to be so much fun!**

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"We have to get out of here," Dwalin rasped, but then they heard Ori's panicked voice.

"We can't! We have no ponies. They bolted."

The mad wizard with dung on his head, and surely someone should have said something to him, suddenly puffed up his chest and offered, "I'll draw them off." Thorin was willing to agree. The old tosser wouldn't last long, but munching on him would keep wargs occupied for a while.

Gandalf of course just had to interfere, "These are Gundabad wargs. They will outrun you!"

The answer from the madman was predictably barmy, "These are Rhosgobel rabbits. I'd like to see them try."

And so they ran, through the valley, ducking behind boulders, hearing the barking and roaring of wargs in a distance. They tried to stay together, Thorin felt he was herding them like sheep, when Ori stepped ahead, from behind a large rock while the Orc pack was once again not too far.

He barked, "Ori, no! Come back," and jerked the boy's collar back. They pressed their backs to the large stone, and that's when he saw her.

She was hard to miss, with her bright orange curls, and the already familiar black outfit, the tight trousers and the double breasted doublet, clearly visible against a wind worn boulder. Her eyes were widened, and she was holding her curved Elven blade in her hand. He assumed all his companions had the same shocked expression on their faces as him. Her eyes met his, as if asking him what his opinion of her was these days, and without thinking he stretched his hand to her in a clear invitation.

She rushed across the space between their boulders and pressed her back to the stone near him.

"My lord," her voice wasn't shaking, as if she was greeting him in a common room of an inn.

"Lady Wren," he mimicked her tone. "Pleasure to have you with us." She gave him a smile, and they she slightly nodded to the grey wizard.

"Gandalf the Grey, I presume." The old man's attentive eyes studies ehr, and then he smiled and gave her a small bow. "I'm Wren of Enedwaith."

"What in the Durin's name are you doing here?" Thorin asked peeking from around the rock to see the pack.

"Just taking a walk." Her tone was light, and he gave her an exasperated stare.

"Why do I always find you in trouble?"

"Me? I seem to recall you arse deep in a bog once, and the last time I saw you, you were tied to a chair." Their squabbling was clearly heard by the company, who all were staring at her in pure astoundment.

"No time for your marital discord," grumbled Gandalf and rushed ahead, "Common, stay together!"

She ran after the wizard, and Dwarves followed her example, each one passing him would give him a questioning look, when Fili walking the last asked, "Who is she, Uncle?"

Thorin didn't spare him a glance, and here they were moving again, hiding behind rocks. At some point he asked the wizard where the latter was leading them, but didn't get any answer. They ran again, and suddenly neither the wizard, nor the redhead were anywhere to be seen.

They killed the warg and its rider who spotted them, but the pack noticed. They were surrounded and fought when suddenly he saw the wizard's pointy hat and the mane of mad copper curls sticking out from the middle of a group of boulders. They all slid in, Kili and Fili last, he quickly exhaled in relief, the boys were too eager to stay and fight, and he followed.

That's when they heard the horn, and then a dead Orc rolled down into the cavern they were hiding in. They all jerked back from the body, and she squeaked and pressed into him. He felt her shuddering, and his hand instinctively lay on the back of her head protectively.

Still pressing her into him, he pulled an arrow out of the dead Orc, and in disgust he understood it was Elven. Dwalin meanwhile found the passage leading out of the cave. All the Dwarves moved along following Dwalin when she suddenly pulled at his sleeve.

"I'm not going there. I'll find a way out. I don't like Elves." Her tone was irritated, and he thought he might like her even more than he thought. He met the wizard's eyes asking for a minute, and the old man nodded and followed the rest of the company. The hobbit nervously twitched his nose and left as well.

He grabbed her shoulders and looked her in the eyes, "There is an Orc pack there."

"They are probably dead by now, haven't you heard the Elven horn?" She wanted to step back from him but he didn't let her. "I'll be fine, it's not my first day in the wild." He was still full of doubt, when she suddenly cupped his face. "Thank you for worrying for me."

"Why are you always on my way?" He grumbled, and she chuckled softly.

"Perhaps you are just that lucky," she quickly leaned in and kisses him lightly. "Or it's destiny."

"What were you doing here?" He had no time for mawkishness, he needed to go, but he wanted one more moment with her. Maybe because he had almost died just now, or perhaps because of how scared for her he felt when he saw her at that boulder.

"I was looking for those who put a price on your head." He narrowed his eyes trying to decipher her meaning. She was looking directly in his eyes.

"To sell it or to save it?" There was no time for equivocal talk.

"I was going to decide once I knew the price." She jerked her chin up, and he assumed that was the honest answer since he didn't like it. "The Orcs, by the way since you didn't ask. Some big Orc leader wants your head. I haven't found out much more, and then I ran into them here."

He nodded and released her. "Is it big? The price?"

She smiled and adjusted the strap of her sack preparing to run, "Yes. Just like the head itself, Mister Oakenshield." Her eyes were mischievous, and he quickly regretted there was no time for one more kiss.

"Till we meet again, Wren." He gave her a small bow.

"Mahzirikhi zu gang ghukhil, melhekhuh." _Have a safe journey, my King. _Her Khuzdul was impeccable. She disappeared over the edge of the rocks, and he was still standing frozen when Dwalin called his name, and he rushed after his company.


	7. Chapter 7

_That time when Thorin was eating supper, while Wren was suspended from the ceiling._

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**A/N: Hahahahaha, my lovely ****RagdollPrincess****, you seem to be enjoying the ninja Wren idea just as much as I do! Note the tight black outfit I gave her in previous chapters! So cue mission impossible-esque Wren :)**

**A/N#2: ****Dearreader****, you are fantastic! You are right, there are five more chapters written already, and guess what, there is a scene of a heart-to-heart in the goblin caves, exactly the way you described it. It's written around the "Thorin is having a weak moment" prompt. I hope you'll like it.**

**Please, ****my darlings****, leave the prompts in the requested format :D The less you give me in the prompt, the madder the result will be :P**

Curse the Elves, curse their Lord, curse the wizard, curse their ponce manners and their boring food, curse the eerie music, curse everything and anything in the cursed Rivendell! And especially curse his empty stomach!

Thorin stretched on his excessively long and wide bed, and surely he was given it to mock his height, and stared at the ceiling. He was so irked by Elrond, Gandalf and Bilbo and their cursed decorous dinner conversation that he ended up hungry. He wistfully thought of ham and eggs. Why exactly this dish he wasn't sure, but he did indeed love ham. And cheese. He scolded himself, daydreaming of food, and especially cheese, would aggravate his sullen mood even more, but he couldn't stop.

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. They just needed a bit of rest, he now had learnt what the map said, of course the cursed Elven Lord just happened to know how to read it under the moonlight, and in the Durin's name what's with an unnecessarily spacious cave just for that purpose? And if it was specifically built for deciphering ancient Dwarven runes, why for Mahal's sake the table was so tall?!

There was a knock at his door, and he opened his eyes. He counted three heartbeats before he decided he wasn't running a fever and the redhead swinging from his ceiling on a rope tied around her waist wasn't indeed a result of hunger induced delirium.

"My King, it is Bofur, we brought you supper," he heard the familiar voice from behind the door. The situation was so ridiculous that he just stayed motionless. "Bombur made sausages, and there is vegetable stew."

His eyes met hers, and she smiled widely. His hands flew up in a questioning gesture, and she pointed at the door with a delicate index finger. He decided that he couldn't do much in this situation anyway, and he jumped off the bed and opened the door.

Bofur and Balin were standing in the corridor, a plate of food in each of their hands, smiling from ear to ear. They were very pleased with themselves, he quickly threw a glance up and to his left. She had successfully moved from the arch she was previously suspended from to the top of a decorative column and was stretched, like a cat between two rows of fences, on top of it, trying to reach the next arch. He wasn't fond of Elven architecture, it was too intricate and filigrain to his taste, but he couldn't complain at the moment. She was pretty much in a split, her appetising small body taut and tense, her perky bum sticking out in the very best of ways.

He grabbed the plate and pressed his hand to Bofur's chest who was clearly planning to enter the room.

"Thank you for the supper," he was going to quickly close the door, when Balin shoved the second plate towards him.

"Don't forget the stew, Thorin."

The moment of tense silence stretched. Were he to take the plate, he wouldn't have a hand to close the door and prevent them from entering. Bofur was obviously still intending to come in, there was bread and cheese on the other plate he was holding, it was obviously for Thorin. Balin was still smiling happily, pleased to feed his friend. Thorin screw his eyes and saw her sitting on some ledge, sniggering silently in her hand. He cursed internally and wondered whether there would ever be an encounter between them when he wouldn't look like a massive idiot.

He pressed his shoulder into the door, keeping it in place, grabbed the plate with bread and cheese from Bofur and put it on top of the bowl with stew in Balin's hand to the astonishment of the latter. Then he grabbed the second plate from Balin's hands and put it on his own head. Both Dwarves stared at him as if he had gone mad, and he wondered if he had. Then he grabbed the bowl with the plate on it from Balin's passive hand, smiled quickly, muttered, "Thank you," and closed the door with his foot. Their faces were beyond description but he assumed he wouldn't be bothered anymore.

The giggling from above made him sigh, and he put the food on the table and looked up. She was stretched on a bar under the ceiling, like a cat, on her stomach, her little feet in soft leather slippers dangling in the air. He lifted a plate and slightly shook it as if trying to coax a wild animal to approach him.

"Come have some food," he sing-songed, and she burst in silver laughter. "I bet you are hungry."

"Immensely, but I am not coming down. There are sheets and chairs in this room," she giggled, and he shrugged feigning nonchalance. He sat at the table and tucked in. The food was exceptionally good.

He knew she was still in the room, there was that strange excited tingling at his nape he always felt around her, and he spoke without turning around.

"I thought you disliked Elves."

"Them yes, their gems not so much," her voice was merry, and he saw a fishing line with a hook on its end to go down in front of his nose. He smirked and watched a sausage being deftly picked up from his plate. One swift jerk, and he lifted his head to see her still on her stomach and eating it with zest. He remembered her healthy appetite when he had been feeding her cheese and bread in the swamps. As skinny as she was, she was in no way sickly or frail. The line went down again.

"Bread, please," her tone was endlessly decorous, and he hung a slice on the hook. He thought for a second and added some cheese on it. "No, thank you, I'm not fond of cheese. Ate it for your sake at the swamps." He shook his head, chuckling, took the slice off the hook and popped it in his mouth.

"They will catch you," he spoke intentionally lightly.

"Not today. They are still bedraggled by your visit, and currently they have even more important matters to attend," the second sausage left his plate, "An old wizard and an Elven Queen arrived to Rivendell a few hours ago." He stopped eating and turned in his chair to look at her. She was sitting on the bar now, her legs dangling off it.

"A wizard and an Elf?"

"Lord Saruman, the Head of the Istari Order, and Lady Galadriel. They are having a council right now, in the Western Tower, Lord Elrond and Gandalf are there as well."

"What are they discussing?" He felt he lost all appetite and pushed the bowl away from himself. They were surely conspiring how to thwart his quest.

"I don't know, I just saw them heading there. I was on my way to the Eastern Tower, to the treasury, but then I had to make a detour. Wine, please," he watched her suddenly drop off the bar, holding to it with bent legs, and she was hanging in front of his eyes, upside down, a few curls having escaped the braid going around her head. She was grinning and stretching her hand towards his glass. He absentmindedly picked it up, and slightly rising he pushed it into her hand.

"We need to leave," he muttered. She pulled herself up, without spilling a single drop, gracefully twisted her body and climbed on the bar again. She took a sip and nodded.

"I'd go through the Northern Gates, they are unguarded at the moment." He looked up at her. She was smiling and saluted him with a glass. There was no time to lose. He rushed to his clothes and started pulling on his brigandine. She was watching him with shiny eyes sipping the wine.

He asked for directions, and she explained in details. Meanwhile, he was all dressed, and lastly he clasped Orcrist to his back.

"I love the sword, it suits you well. You are even more appetizing these days, darling," she purred, and he cocked a brow. She giggled and blew his an air kiss. "As lovely as it was, sweetpea, we both have matters to attend. But it was nice, we should have dinner together again." He stopped his hand already on the door and looked at her attentively, his eyes roamed the small body in the provocative black outfit, graceful lines of her face, small hands and feet.

"Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal." _May we meet again with the grace of Mahal_. The goodbye was formal, as if not fitting to be bestowed to a small girl of Men, and a thief for that matter, but he felt a stir of something genuine in his heart. He shook the mawkishness off and turned away.

"Mukhuh Mahal bakhuz murukhzu, baheluh."_ May Mahal's hammer shield you, my darling friend. _Her voice was tender and wavered at the end. He jerked his head up but she was already gone.


	8. Chapter 8

_That time when Thorin was about to bed a prostitute, while Wren crawled in his window and interrupted him. _

**A/N: Thank you, ****RagdollPrincess****, for the prompt!**

The wench was straddling him, only breeches left on him, all her clothes already on the floor. The woman was massaging his shoulders, while gently biting his ear. She probably had had Dwarf clients before, ears were indeed sensitive in all Khazad. He was kneading her hips and buttocks, round and appetising, feeling tension leaving his body. That was their last stop before they would venture into crossing the Misty Mountains, and they all were trying to have as fulfilling of rest as possible. He assumed that out of all their company, the hobbit was the only one who didn't have a "guest" in his room at the moment. Thorin was quite enjoying his, she was merry, traditionally pretty, thick wavy brown hair, pink lips like a tender flower. She had opulent bosom, and he sighed with pleasure when her strong, experienced hands moved to his pectoral muscles. He was tired after so many days of walking, he had paid for a few hours, he had nowhere to rush. The inn, and he was willing to pretend that it wasn't just a well hidden brothel for those travelling on this route, was clean and well guarded. Nothing unexpected was to happen.

"Oh Maiar, sweetpea, I didn't know you were busy!" The familiar voice sounded apologetic. His eyes flew open, and he saw her standing on his windowsill. The woman squealed and rolled off him. He only felt relieved his organ was still in his breeches, that would have hurt. The redhead was once again dressed in her black attire, a looped rope in her hands, and her eyes were shining merrily. "Would you like me to stop by later?" She threw an appraising look at the wench. "Hmm, three hours?" He sat up on the bed and closed his mouth finally with a clank of his previously slacked jaw.

"Is there something I can help you with, my lady?" He finally croaked, and she sighed and jumped into the room.

"I am afraid so. There is this one frustrating matter that you would be most fitting to address," she once again looked at the woman, who was pressing her clothes to her naked body. "But with all honesty, I wouldn't want to impose. I can wait and come back once you are done." Her tone was completely nonchalant, but Thorin told himself she was hiding her jealousy. Obviously she couldn't be as unaffected by him bedding another woman. One way or another the two of them were involved, women always ended up pining over him. He decided to spare her feelings.

"I am done here," he jumped off the bed and started gently pushing the wench towards the door. It was never without humiliation when it came to once again meeting the red haired thief, and at that very moment the inn slag decided to demand what she thought was rightfully hers. She had indeed spent about half an hour in his room, though nothing had happened, and he pushed a coin pouch into her hands. It was way too generous, but he needed her out of his room as quick as possible. The view of the redhead's round buttocks, she had turned away from them and was picking at the food on his table, was urging him to get rid of the distraction as fast as possible. The thief's back was straight, and he assumed she was hiding her distress. He felt slightly remorseful that he had to put her through this, but on the other hand he owed her no fidelity. The inn wench was finally out of his room, and he locked the door behind him.

The redhead turned around and smiled to him softly, "You honestly shouldn't have."

"You have saved my life twice, lady Wren, I owe you all my time," his tone was tender, and he stepped to her. There was something endlessly tantalizing in that outfit of hers, and not only its tightness, and as he was aware, the dishonest purpose of it, but the two rows of the small button on the doublet and three matching buttons on each of her hips were just asking to be open slowly and sensually.

"There is a man in this brothel, he owes me money. I don't want to steal it from him, it's mine rightfully, but he is here with his crooks, and there are seven of them. I was hoping you could help me out." He was still ogling her calves when the meaning of her words reached his mind.

"What?!"

"I am certain you wouldn't have to do anything!" Her tone was as she thought comforting, "Just show up with me there. I'm certain he'll pay once he sees you." She was thoughtful for a second, and as if he couldn't feel enraged and humiliated enough she added, "Alright, maybe take that big one from your company with you too, the one with the tattooed head. Just to be on the safe side."

He clenched his fists and snapped. "I am a Dwarf and a King! I am no small time muscle crook to be used for racket!" He roared at her. Her eyebrows jumped up.

"It's not racket, it is my money. You won't even have to do anything, just have my back there, and I'm certain..."

"Get out," his voice was low and menacing. He could hardly keep himself under control. She paused and narrowed her eyes.

"Just like you said a moment ago, Thorin Oakenshield, you owe me your life. Even if you consider you have saved my life in that valley with Orcs, you still owe me one. And I'm calling the favour now." He was shaking from indignation, but she seemed in no way affected by his anger. She stepped to his bed and picked up his tunic that was crumpled on the floor near it. She threw it to him, and he noticed she wrinkled her nose. The heady smell of rose water the inn wench left on it when taking it off him hit his nose as well. It made him even more furious, she had no right to judge. And to think of it, just a few minutes ago he wanted to spare her alleged feelings! He once again was being a massive idiot around her.

He started getting dressed, gritting his teeth and fighting his temper. She was right though, it was a question of an honourable debt. One thing was clear, he wasn't going to take Dwalin with him. No one would find out about this.

They walked down the stairs, in a small room, adjoint the common room of the inn, where eight men were sitting around a table, drinking ale and groping a few barmaids serving them. Since all help in this inn was also attending to visitors in their bedrooms, it was already quite unclear where waiting stopped and whoring started.

The man sitting in the head of the table had a long scar across his face, he was large and burly, and Thorin quickly gathered he was the most dangerous out of them. The rest were drunk, and even in their sober state they were hardly any threat. He derisively thought that if not for her he'd never find himself in the company of such scum.

"My of my, isn't it our little bird?" The beef sneered through his teeth, taking a swig from his mug. "What brought you here, red? And with a beau no less, didn't know you had a taste for stumped ones." The men laughed, and Thorin clenched his fists. He was staying a few steps behind the redhead, everything inside him charred with humiliation.

"I am here for my payment, Reek. You got the ream swag, I want my gold." She seemed completely unaffected by everything around her. The man spit on the floor and gave her a measuring look. She remained calm, her hands relaxed near her hips.

"Why would I pay you, birdie?"

"Because you wouldn't break the Code," her voice was even. "You wouldn't want honorable people around Middle Earth whispering that Reek doesn't respect the laws of the trade."

The man's mug went on the table with a bang, "Do not threaten me, girl. I'll break your jaw, and you won't wag your tongue where you shouldn't."

Thorin wondered how much of this talk was actual threats and how much was a chat between old friends. He felt twice as irritated since he couldn't shake off his jealousy. The thief leader's eyes were roaming her body, displayed for everyone to see, and Thorin thought, perhaps to touch later. How would he know how the contracts were sealed amongst the likes of her!

"Unlike you, darling," she purred, "I have other ways of letting people know what a blower you are. I can always write little notes and start shoving them under people's doors." She gestured a little rectangular in the air with two index fingers, her voice sing-song and sarcastic, and the beef jumped up on his feet. A few other men shifted, and Thorin's hand lay on the hilt of Orcrist.

But the man at the table suddenly laughed in a booming voice, "Oh, you've always been a funny one. And calm your lover boy down, we wouldn't want him to trip and cut his finger." Thorin snarled. "Why would you even go for a mountain filth when there is a man here waiting for you?" His voice was low and dirty, and Thorin saw red. His temper flared. In the next few seconds he stayed on his spot only because he couldn't quite choose between chopping the man's head off with its sleazy grin and sullied hair, or leaving her here to enjoy the scum's advances.

And it was because he was so full of rage and jealousy that he didn't notice the slight movement behind him. Only when three men jumped at him at the same time, he returned to reality. He swirled on one spot, blocking their attacks, and from the corner of his eyes he saw her kick the man lunging at her in his crotch, her sword already out of scabbard.

The room was small, he couldn't take full advantage of his long blade, but he also wasn't planning on shedding blood in the inn he might want to return to at some point. The sheets and ale were exceptional, and he had seen enough death in his life. She seemed to have similar ideas. She was jumping from table to chairs and back, showering men with blows and kicks, using the dull side of her blade, and less and less of them were standing every passing second. At some point she slid across the table on the side of her hip and kicked a man right at the back of his head. At that moment one of them grabbed her across her middle, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

That was what distracted Thorin enough to let another crook bury a dagger hilt deep into her right shoulder. She screamed, and Thorin rushed ahead. She was sagging on the floor, when he cut the man under his knees with his blade, and her assailant cried shriekingly. She got up, swayed and stepped back to the wall. She was pale, and blood was rushing between her fingers, her hand pressed to the shoulder, and Thorin roared and hit the last man standing, except for their leader, to the temple with the hilt of his sword. And Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver pressed to the throat of the one they called Reek.

"No!" She screamed, her voice surprisingly firm. "No murder. It's against the Code."

"I am not following your code," Thorin snarled, and his second palm lay on the dull side of the blade's tip. He pushed slightly, staring in the thief terrified eyes, a trickle of blood starting to run down his neck.

"You are doing what I tell you to right now," her tone was authoritative and leaving no doubt that she was certain he would listen, "I don't need a dead body on my hands. I just need my payment."

She stepped towards the two men, he could see she was unstable on her feet, her doublet soaked with blood, but she leaned in close to the beef's eyes.

"You have two seconds before he disengages your head from your body. Where is my rim?"

The man lifted his hand, it was shaking violently, and pointed at one of his men, a fat man in glasses, perhaps a treasurer of the gang. She stepped to the unconscious body and pushed her hand into his doublet pocket, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She pulled a pouch, peeked inside, and then bobbed it on her hand weighing it. There was no clank of coins, and Thorin understood that was no gold inside.

"We are even, Reek. No one died tonight, and no one should. Let's forget our misunderstanding, and no one will know that your gang was coughing and gagging on the floor once one little girl and a Dwarf were done with you."

She stepped towards the door. Thorin still couldn't quite let go of the idea of a small decapitation, when he heard her firm tone, "Come, sweetpea, I need a bath after all this wallowing in the dirt."

She stepped out of the room through the back door, he followed and caught her a second before she hit the floor. Her lips were white, and the lashes fluttered closed. He quickly carried her in his room, found her sack and once again proceeded to patch her wound. At some point when he was stitching up her shoulder, she whined, and he made soft comforting noises.

She slept for two hours, he sat in the chair and watched her. Without her snarky smile and the thief clobber, she looked very young, her hand on the pillow, delicate little fingers slightly curled. Her red curls scattered on the sheets, and she was breathing evenly. He put the second blanket over her and sat on the edge of the bed.

"You can't leave me here," she suddenly spoke without opening her eyes. "They will sober up in the morning and will come for me. It's my fighting arm." He brushed his fingers on her temple, moving the heavy curls off it, and she sighed.

"We are going across the Mountains now, it'll be dangerous for you to go with us. Especially with your wound." He knew there was no choice. He felt as if acid had spilled on his insides, it was his fault. He owed her a debt, he was there to protect her, and he let her get wounded because of his disdain and his jealousy. She opened her eyes, and her small hand lay on his. It was cold, and he felt like pulling the tiny fingers to his lips and warming them up.

"You will take care of me," her tone was soft, "You won't fail me the second time." That was a low blow, like a dagger jabbed under his ribs, but he deserved it. Their eyes met, and he nodded grimly.


	9. Chapter 9

_That time when Thorin had a weak moment, while Wren was watching and was very affected._

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**A/N: Thank you, GuestReaderA, for the prompt!**

She was sitting in the corner of the cave, her knees pulled to her chin, and he understood she was trying to get warm. She had been walking relentlessly, keeping up with others, hadn't complained a single time. With secret pleasure he realised that despite her wound she was still better than the hobbit. She had a fur adorned cloak and practical iron toe boots. Fili offered to carry her sack at the beginning, and she agreed without fake protests. She just handed it to him and kept on walking behind him, measured steps, leaning increasingly more heavily on her walking stick.

Dwalin went at the back of the cave, and Thorin prohibited Gloin to start the fire. He came up to the girl and threw his cloak over her shoulders, studying her face. She was very pale, her usually red lips had a purplish tinge, and she nodded weakly. He sat down near her and carefully wrapped his arm around her, mindful of the wounded shoulder, and pulled her into him. He felt her shaking. She pressed her cold nose to his neck. He knew sharing warmth was a good idea but he also suddenly needed to feel her close.

"How's your wound?"

"Bandages need changing," her voice was very quiet. He moved away and looked at her face. She apparently was weaker than he initially assumed, on the brink of losing her consciousness he realised, and he cursed internally. He should have taken better care of her. He helped her up and walked her in a secluded corner, behind a large boulder. She was limp and obedient, and he carefully pulled off his and her cloaks off her, and this time he cursed out loud. Her coat was soaked with blood, and he realised it had been seeping through it for several hours. The fur on the cuff of her sleeve was crimson. He pushed the coat off her shoulders, and she winced. He let go off her and stretched his hand to her sack, only to rush back to catch her sloping body.

"Wren..." She opened her eyes and tried to focus on him. "We should have stopped earlier, you should have..." He added an intricate swearing in Khuzdul.

"We couldn't. I just had to hold on a bit," she mumbled and weakly rubbed her face with the left hand. "The clay jar… You need to put that balm over the wound."

Under the doublet there were two more tunics, she was dressed very wisely, and he had to remove most of her layers, until he reached the thin gauze undergarment. He unlaced the collar and gently pulled one shoulder down. The darkened streaks of blood were especially striking on her pale shoulder, and he gritted his teeth. He was tending to her wound, when he realised she was studying his face. She lifted her left hand, and the delicate fingers brushed between his brows.

"You are indeed a looker, sweetpea, even when you are such a grouch," her tone was tender, and he wondered whether she was delirious. She didn't feel hot though, her skin was cool just as he remembered.

"This is hardly the time and place for flirting, Wren." She chuckled weakly.

"It is always time and place for flirting, Thorin Oakenshield." He lifted his eyes from her shoulders, and she smiled to him shakily. He slowly started bandaging her shoulder, and she hissed.

He was fighting a fair amount of self hatred at the moment. She got wounded because of him, he was dragging her across snow covered mountain, she had almost bled to death and he didn't notice, pushing further on. She could die because of him.

"You shouldn't blame yourself," he heard her soft voice and jerked his head up to stare at her. She had her eyes closed, seemingly she was even paler, greenish shadows lying on her temples. "They almost died there, on that stone giant's lap, and you are blaming yourself, but you shouldn't. They went on this adventure because they believe in its cause, and they are good boys. And strong." He realised she was talking about Fili and Kili. She thought he was distressed by their near death. He was of course, but he had pushed the worry back for a while. Her trembling hands and the pulse weakly beating on her elegant neck concerned him much more at the moment.

"I know," he muttered and rubbed her limp hands between his palms, warming them up. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"I got very scared, but I knew you'd get us out," there was some new sadness in her eyes, and he couldn't understand where it came from. "They all follow you, because you are their King. I hadn't seen it before… Good thing I didn't kill you that first night." He was helping her get dressed again.

"Doesn't the thieves' code prohibit murder?" She chuckled quietly.

"The Code advises against it." He pulled the coat over her shoulders and lifted her hands to his lips warming them with his breath. "The Code says nothing against getting rid of an annoying Dwarf who constantly is in the way." She pulled her hands back and suddenly leaned into him, her face pressed under his chin, her wet hair tickling his nose. "You are so warm..." He opened his coat and wrapped its sides around her. They were sitting in silence for a bit.

"That's a heavy burden..." She spoke and rubbed the bridge of her delicate nose to the downside of his jaw. "That quest of yours… The mountain, the dragon, they live but for a thousand years unless killed, I doubt he is dead, and of course the gates are sealed, your kin know how to fend undesired visitors away from their hoards... All this gold, all those gems..." Something changed in her tone, and he shifted and looked at her from the corner of his eye.

She was smiling, still sluggish and wan, but he saw the light back in her slanted eyes.

"How are you going to enter the mountain, Thorin Oakenshield? Do you know another entrance?" She murmured, and he felt her left arm go around his waist. He chuckled.

"Are you trying to use your charms on me even now, miziminh?" She quietly giggled and settled more comfortably in his arms. He noticed she stopped shaking, some colour returning on her cheeks. He'd never admit it but he felt relief to see her greed and mischief awake. He also would never admit he liked her like that, as opposed to compliant and passive, with no fight in her.

"Am I a 'jewel-lady' since that is what I am after, or I myself am such a precious gem, sweetpea?" He pressed his lips to her temple.

"So you are after my jewels after all. I should have known." He felt her cold hand deftly slide under his brigandine, then the doublet and vest. There was only a tunic left between their skin, and he clenched his teeth to control shudder. He reminded himself that a small girl of Men was hardly capable of affecting him thusly. It was certainly the guilt that made him care.

"Always," she murmured, and he looked down at her. She looked sleepy, but her eyes were mischievous.

"You should rest, miziminh, we are leaving with the first light." She yawns with gusto.

"Could I have some water, my lord? I'm athirst." He got up, telling himself he in no way regretted losing the contact with her hand, and walked back into the cave where other Dwarves had already settled to sleep.

That was when the crack opened under his feet. All he had time to do was to scream to others, and then they fell. The last thing he saw was her widened eyes, her Elven blade glowing blue, already clenched in her hand. She was on the boulder they had been concealed behind before, and he could see she was in no danger to follow them.

They rolled and slid, and finally landed, and now he had bigger problems than slight confusion over his feelings towards the treacherous ginger.


	10. Chapter 10

_Thorin rescues Wren from the trolls, while Wren appears to take a shine to one of his nephews._

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**A/N: Thank you, my darling ****UKReader****, for all your prompts! **

**A/N#2: ****My duckies****, I will need THREE more prompts before the next one by UKReader, since it is already with Thranduil. We can have more fun before it! **

**And I bet this Wren (unlike other Thorin's gingers) will have more trouble choosing between the two Kings ;D after all, unlike Thorin, Thranduil is minted:D**

They were running through the goblin passages, Thorin twirled his Elven sword in his hand, three ugly heads rolled, and he skewered two more goblins. The blade slid out of them with a disgusting squelching sound, and Dwalin who was running ahead of him had to slow down shaking three more monsters off his shoulders. The tattooed warrior twirled on one spot, Nori lowered his axe, and Thorin passed them, lunging towards the next group of goblins. The sword drew an eight in the air, a loop on each side of his body, and two headless corpses dropped on the ground. Thorin ended up in the head of their company, and he sped up. Suddenly, after turning around the corner, he saw the path divide in two equally dark, stuffy passages, and he took to the right. He made three large strides, when something small and orange flew by him, and he realised his tenacious little thief just cantered in the opposite direction.

"The other passage!" She yelled over her shoulder, and he dug his heels into the ground. Other dwarves bumped into him, one by one, and after seven sensitive blows into his back he growled.

"Back!" He roared, and they scampered. He turned around and followed the mop of copper curls. He caught up with her, and they dashed in the other passage.

They dove out of the tunnel and once again were racing on the wobbly swinging bridges of the goblin kingdom.

"What are you doing here?!" He yelled at her, he had been hoping she'd be safe, but she didn't answer. Another corner, and ahead of them he saw what seemed to be an exit outside. There was a small crack, the heavily guarded gate was slightly open, and with exhilarating joy he saw a glimpse of sunlight.

The Dwarves behind him roared with elation and rushed ahead. And that's when two cave trolls stepped in front of them. She halted abruptly, and he reached her, wrapped his arm around her middle and jerked her back, at the very moment when the troll's heavy battle hammer dropped at the place where she was an instant ago.

The fight was short. They were tired, battered, but very very angry. And nothing spurs a Dwarf like irritated exasperation. The trolls roared with pain, they sounded almost confused to Thorin's ears, and instead of fighting they disappeared in one of the passages, stomping and dragging their drivers behind them on the chains coming from their collars.

The Dwarves quickly took care of the guards and rushed outside. Thorin took a big gulp of fresh air and groaned in relief. Everyone was standing breathing loudly, some pressing their hands into their knees, some leaning on the pines. Gandalf was counting them, but Thorin was too exhausted to object to being treated like sheep.

"Where is Bilbo? Where is our hobbit?" The wizard suddenly raised his voice, and they started tiredly looking around.

"He didn't go into the caves with you," she answered weakly, and Thorin saw her sway. "When the goblins rushed you in, he stayed by the entrance. I don't know what happened…"

"Why did you even go down?" Thorin barked at her. She had no business going into the caves, he assumed she'd stay on the surface. She looked at him angrily. "That was stupid! Have you lost your bloody mind?!"

She suddenly grew paler and pressed her hand to her forehead. He remembered of her wound and stepped to her, but she suddenly stretched her hands towards Fili. The boy instinctively moved to her, and she sagged, into his arms.

"Uncle, she is too weakened. Give her a break," Fili had never before antagonized him, but Thorin felt too remorseful to note his nephew's insolence. She probably tried to help. Her lashes fluttered weakly, and Fili picked her up. The slender arms went around his neck, and she hid her face under his chin.

"So, the burglar has bolted," Dwalin swore intricately, "Or got lost. Curse the hafling!"

The Dwarves and the wizard started squabbling and discussing who, where, and when saw the hobbit last, while Thorin feigned nonchalance and pretended he wasn't watching Fili sit on the nearest hillock and settle the red haired thief on his lap. Her head on his shoulder, she stroked his chest with her small hand and murmured something. Suspiciously there was no trace of paleness and weakness from a few seconds before. Fili smiled to her and picked up her hand. He pressed her knuckles to his lips, and Thorin decided it was enough. First, she pretended to faint, now she was meddling the boy's mind.

At that moment the hobbit stepped seemingly out of nowhere, and Thorin decided that the day couldn't possibly get any worse. Everyone spoke at once, showering the burglar with questions, and Thorin frowned. With all honesty he couldn't summon why and how the little man could come back.

Bilbo was pronouncing his pathos filled speech while Thorin was watching from the corner of his eye how the ginger playfully traced Fili's line of moustache with her tiny index finger and then flicked the bead on the end of his stouche braid. Fili chuckled in his chest, and Thorin saw the redhead's red mouth stretch in a playful grin.

The howl of wargs was almost a relief. They pulled their weapons again, she jumped off Fili's lap, and Gandalf ordered, "Run!"

They ran, and then Thorin realised that while they all followed the wizard she sprinted to the side. The move was smart, the wargs and their riders would obviously follow the Dwarves. She ran quickly, gracefully jumping over pine roots and boulders, and he shortly prayed to Mahal she succeeded. They meanwhile reached a cliff, and all they had left to do was to climb the tall pines on the edge of it.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: My darling ****dearreader****, thank you! I indeed had this one written already, I was hoping someone would prompt something fitting, and you did. Yay! **

**And the Mirkwood one about hallucinations, that's so rad! It's GENIUS! Oh I'm going to have so much fun with it ;)**

**A/N#2: OMG! I just watched **_**The Desolation of Smaug**_** EE scene with Beorn and just had to rewrite the beginning. And god, am I in love with this man! :) 3 seconds of Thorin left me panting, and sorry, but all the following is based on the film and not the book:)**

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_The time when Thorin was once again jealous, while Wren knew how to talk to the skinchanger._

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"And is that it?" Beorn growled, "Are there anymore?" His eyes were scanning the twelve Dwarves lined up behind the wizard and the hobbit. Thorin stepped out of the house, onto the porch, and his eyes met the golden irises of the skinchanger. The man's face wavered, and a strange smirk appeared on his lips.

"Are you the one they call Oakenshield?" Thorin walked slowly and stopped in front of the company and nodded ceremonially. "I've heard a lot about you." Beorn jabbed his ax into the chopping block and looked at the wizard. "You can stay. You are lucky," he once again gave Thorin an odd look, "We seem to have a mutual friend."

They were having breakfast and discussing Beorn's family, Thorin brooding away from the table. The mentioning of a mutual friend worried him, and while the wizard seemed to trust the beast-man, Thorin felt such trust had to be earned.

Suddenly the door opened, and quite a familiar figure sauntered into the room. She looked well, colour had returned to her face, though he could still see bandages on her shoulder under the light white blouse. She wore a strange attire, and Thorin felt his jaw slack. He recognised the cut of her wide trousers, with a silken belt, at the bottom tied with strings on her ankles. Such were the bottoms Haradrim women wore. She had no corset on, and he could see the lace on her undertunic through the gauze fabric of the blouse. Her mad curls were in a simple braid, and altogether she looked very domestic. There was a large basket of vegetables in her hands, probably freshly picked in the garden, and she froze in the doorframe her eyes jumping from one face to another.

"Lady Wren!" Fili joyfully jumped up on his feet, and she threw him an absent-minded smile.

"Your Dwarf is here, little bird," the skinchanger's voice was sarcastic, and she blinked and schooled her face in a nonchalant expression.

"So are your squashes, darling," she entered the room and placed the basket on the nearest stool. The Dwarves, Gandalf and Bilbo got up to greet her, and she gracefully gestured them to sit.

One of the cows leaned in and gently poked its nose into her hair. She giggled and patted its velvet nose.

"I love you too, Grumpy."

"She named my animals, impossible woman," there was tenderness in the raspy voice of the beast-man, and Thorin gritted his teeth. Could the skinchanger be any more proprietal? Beorn started pointing at the animals, "Doc, Happy, Bashful, Dopey, Sneezy, Sleepy, Adorbs, Sunny, and that one," he pointed at the cow who was still nuzzling the redhead, "The black one with white streaks and blue eyes, Grumpy."

And here Thorin was, thinking that all her previous escapades were the epitome of humiliation. Apparently there were many other ways she could stomp his dignity into mud. Most of the members of his company managed to suppress laughter, Kili being the least successful, he was quite obviously snorting into his mug, Ori was coughing loudly, Fili pretended he dropped something and disappeared under the table.

She kissed the cow's noise and walked up to the table. She pinched a piece of bread, indeed like a small bird, and then she looked the table over.

"Where is the elderberry jam?"

"Still in the cupboard," Beorn waved his hand towards a tall shelf, and she popped the bread into her mouth and started pushing a chair to the wall. She then climbed it and stretched to get a jar from a shelf. Her perky bum was on perfect display, and Thorin had to take measured breaths not to growl. Every line of her slender body seemed clearly visible under the gauzy blouse and the light fabric of the trousers, clinging to her shapely legs, her buttocks sticking out, while she was unsuccessfully scraping the very tips of her fingers on the shelf of the cupboard. The resemblance with a cat was uncanny. She was standing on her tiptoes but was still too short.

Thorin felt his temper rise. Not only he was herded into this house like kettle, dependent on the mercy and a whim of the skinchanger, he also had to watch the domestic bliss between the very reluctant host and the woman that managed to escape Thorin's hands so many times. And how in Durin's name was the association between the two even possible? Thorin tried not to imagine the mechanics of the intimacy between them, and immediately did.

"Love, I can't reach." The beast-man gave out an fake exaggerated sigh and handed her the jam. She deftly opened it, dunked her finger in it and licked it. That was the last drop. Thorin jumped up on his feet.

"Will you help us or not?" He barked, and the skinchanger gave him an understanding look. Thorin hated being in this house ever so more now.

"These lands are crawling with Orcs, their numbers are growing and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive. I don't like Dwarfs, they're greedy and blind, blind to the lives of those they deem less than their own." Thorin met his eyes in a direct stare. Whatever race, the two men seemed to understand each other though. Beorn threw an askew look at the redhead who seemed completely absorbed in spreading her jam over a slice of bread, her tiny feet dangling from a wooden stool that was utterly too large for her. "But Orcs I hate more. What do you need?"

They discussed the provisions and transport, and Beorn suggested they started their journey before they lost the light. Several more things had to be taken care before they could go, and while the Dwarves were saddling the ponies, they took turns to take a bath and change, many of them also needing bandages and balms after the goblin caves and the encounter with Azog. Thorin required medical attention more than any, but he was busy supervising their preparations and ended up the last to go at the back of Beorn's dwelling to wash in a stream running through it.

He dragged his brigandine off and realised his tunic was stuck to his body, dried blood sealing it to his skin. He was going to jerk it off when he heard a teasing voice behind him, "That is not how it is done, sweetpea. And Maiar save me, have you been chewed on?"


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thank you, Wynni, for the prompt! :)**

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_That time Thorin got a bit of his own back on Wren, while she's being nudged along by the giganto bees or the intelligent ponies._

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He turned his head and glared at her. She had an apron over her exotic attire, and he noticed little leather slippers on her feet. The domestic nature of her footwear for some reason made him lose the leftovers of his self-control. She was mocking him, she was humiliating him, and she was canoodling with the skinchanger! Mahal forbid, how was that even physically possible? He once again tried to avoid imagining her small body in the paws of the beast-man, and failed. Curse the Dwarven libidinous imagination forcing onto him the image of her slender body wrapped around the creature, and surely she'd break in half in the middle of an act!

"I do not require your service at the moment, my lady," he sneered through his teeth and shook off his boots. His hands lay on his belt. She was standing on the bank of the stream, a small smile playing on her lips, and he growled, "Are you staying to watch, my lady, or perhaps you could make yourself useful and help with packing?"

She stepped closer, and he noticed a basket with ointments and balms in her hand. "Don't snarl at me, sweetpea, I'm here to help. You are stiff and that," she pointed at his tunic, torn and soaked with blood, which now had turned into a disgusting crust, "Needs addressing."

He jerked the belt and angrily pushed his armour legwear and trousers down, only light breeches left on him.

"It is nothing, and Oin will look at the… scratches," he still hadn't touched his tunic, surely the tooth and claw marks from Azog's mutt would start bleeding again. He didn't need her pity.

"I'm certain he is knowledgeable, but nothing beats several years of faking healership and wearing a stolen robe," she chuckled and rolled up her sleeves. "Sit, sweetpea." She pointed at a wooden bench, visible in the water, its legs firmly buried in the bottom of the stream in the shallow waters. She quite probably used it for her baths, and he clenched his jaw again. Everything in Beorn's house bore traces of her presence. There were smaller plates in the cupboards, her clothes were drying on a line in the yard, and now the bench. He dropped his backside grimly on it. The water reached him across the chest. He realised she stepped in the stream behind him and small hands lay on his back. There was some tangy smelling balm on them, she carefully tended to his back and managed to peel off the fabric without causing much pain. She grabbed the hem and pulled it off.

He glared at her from the corner of his eye. She plodded back on the bank, picked up more bottles and a bar of soap and returned to him. He was pretending to attentively study the landscape before him. She pushed a large dipper into his hands. Small cool hands lay on his back again, this time lathering soap on his skin, then the strong palms and fingers ran on his shoulders, upper arms and slid down to his elbows. In order to do so she had to lean, and he felt her breath on his left ear.

"Are you angry with me, sweetpea?" Her voice was purring, and he shivered.

"I do not have any feelings towards you, fair lady," he grumbled, and she laughed in a silver voice. Her small hands were surprisingly strong, but then again she had lots of practice climbing walls and picking locks, and he groaned when she kneaded tense knots in his muscles. She massaged the shoulders, the neck and the upper arms, and he closed his eyes in bliss. She picked up the dipper from his lap and carefully poured water on his back. Another cork popped out of a bottle, and he felt her lean in again. This time he felt her breasts pressed to his back. She was careful, not touching the wounds, but he felt her puckered tips brush his skin through her blouse and thin undertunic. A shudder ran through his body, and he told himself she affected him thusly since he was starved for carnal pleasures. Any woman would surely have the same effect on him at the moment, she was nothing special.

He felt her pick up his strands, and his hand flew up. He grasped her around her wrist, and she hissed from pain. He wasn't gentle. But in the Durin's name he had been humiliated enough, he wasn't going to allow a dishonourable wench touch his hair, her behaviour obscene, especially presumably in the house of her lover.

"Don't," he rasped, and she pulled her hand back. He didn't turn, but knew that her body grew tense. She dropped the dipper on his knees again, a bottle of what he assumed was soap essence for his hair in it. He heard angry steps behind him and threw a glance over his shoulder. She was stomping to the bank, her wide trousers soaked with water, her back straight.

"There is balm for your back," her voice was enraged, and he finally turned around. She was squeezing water out of one wide leg. "I'm certain you can find someone worthy of the honour to touch you." She straightened up, angrily threw her braid over her shoulder, and started walking away from him.

He exhaled and returned his attention to the dipper in his hands. He was perhaps too harsh. They were only allowed to rest and given provisions in the skinchanger's house because of her vouching, and she was tending to him just now. Perhaps he should have explained the significance of touching a Dwarf's hair. He shook off his discomfort as a nonsense. Surely she knew she had no right to expect any deference from him.

He heard a yelp behind him and sharply spun on the chair. His eyebrows flew up, and in complete astonishment he watched one of the Beorn's ponies move backwards towards him, its backside round and silky, a tail merrily swooshing from side to side, the small woman's trousers on her bum pressed between the pony's teeth. She was digging her heels into the ground and mumbling in confusion, "Periwinkle, what are you doing? Periwinkle?" The pony entered the water and then suddenly let her go. She made a few wobbly steps forward, moving in the momentum of her previous efforts, when suddenly Periwinkle ran around her and charged at her from the other side. She flailed her arms, there was commotion, and she flew into water, the orange braid flashing in the air. With a squeal and a splash she ended on her backside and started spitting water.

The pony emitted a neigh that sounded suspiciously like a mocking guffaw and trotted away happily swinging its mane and tail. At the bank it looked back at Thorin, and he would never confess it later but he could swear the animal winked at him conspiratorily.

He turned and looked at the redhead in the water. She looked so flabberghasted that he couldn't contain a booming guffaw. She glared at him and started flailing her arms in the air trying to rise. He got up and stretched his hand to her. She battered it away, tried to rise, fell down twice, to his immense pleasure each time a fan of splashing water would fly into her face, and finally got up. He choked at his laughter. With her blouse wet, she was as much as bare in front of his eyes. She stood, her chest rising, angry red spots on her cheeks, and he gulped.

"Consider this show your dessert, Mister Oakenshield," she sneered and jerked her chin up haughtily. Her eyes were probably furious, but he wasn't looking at them.

"I doubt our host intended this treat for his guests," he bit back, and she suddenly lunged at him. He didn't expect the assault, and she cut him down under his legs. He dropped in the water, swallowing a fair amount of it, and remerged coughing and spitting.

"Now your precious hair is clean without being desecrated by my dirty hands, dharg!" He saw red, she called him a _troll_! He grabbed her ankle, and she fell again. She started yelling slightly ruder things to him, mixing Common Speech, Khuzdul and Sindarin, and kicked him with the other foot. Her ankle still in his hand, he jerked her towards him, she twisted her body, and her small fist met his ear. He growled and grabbed her across her middle. They rolled in the water, he himself wasn't sure what he was trying to achieve. He was telling himself he was trying to calm her down, she was like an enraged cat, hissing, kicking and even trying to bite him, but perhaps he was aiming for a bit of groping as well. In fresh cool water she was magical.

He caught her by the back of her neck and pulled her to his lips. She landed a sensitive blow with her knee under his ribs, though he noticed it was not the side bruised black and blue by Azog's warg's teeth. He oomphed and rolled on his back. His hands were on her sides, and he lifted her. She couldn't reach him with her nails, but she made a valourous attempt. She also hissed and threw a rather obscene swearing at him, this time in Rohirrim. His arms were much longer, and he held her firmly above him. He saw her narrowed eyes, green and furious, her hair had unbraided and stuck to her neck and shoulders in dark copper waves.

"Birashagimi," his calm words in Khuzdul made her stop in her tracks, and she lowered her arms. _Forgive me. _"Achrâchi gabilul, Wren." _I regret it._ She gave him a scrutinizing look, and he softly lowered her on his body. She didn't resist, and he felt her stretched on him, every inch of their bodies touch.

"Brute," she murmured, and he nodded. She kissed him first, her lips soft and almost hesitant, and he gently stroked her shoulder blades. His hands then dove into her wet hair, soft and heavy, and he felt her sigh into his lips. His head swam, and then he remembered the duty of a guest. He twisted his mouth from under her lips and pressed his forehead to hers.

"Wren..."

"I am unattached," her voice was soft, and he caught her mouth again. Whatever could be said of her and him, they did understand each other. He momentarily wondered about the strange synchronicity and kinship that seemed to flit between them, so quickly and almost unnoticeably that sometimes it felt he had imagined it, but then she opened his mouth with her clever warm tongue and he stopped thinking.

Her hands wandered his torso, she twisted her neck and bit into his beard. Her little digits were caressing his neck, and she murmured into his ear, "I was scared for you." He cupped her face and lifted it slightly to look into her eyes. They seemed sincere and vulnerable, but he had been wrong before.

"It is nice to know you care," his answer sounded more sarcastic than he intended. Her face remained concerned, her browns frowned, and he quickly kissed her. She moaned into his mouth and gently bit into his bottom lip.

"I do, sweetpea," she murmured placing a row of small kisses along his jaw, and her lips ended up near his ear again, "I wish I didn't, but I do."

He grabbed a handful of her hair and led her mouth to his. Her deft little palms caressed his chest and sides, never grazing the bruises. His hands were grabbing her buttocks, when she lifted her upper body and looked into his eyes.

"Take me with you," she asked, and he gave her a studying look. She suddenly smiled sunnily, "My visit to Rivendell has been very productive. I think an equal courtesy to King Thranduil is in order." He guffawed and stroked her cheekbone with a thumb.

"Why would I take you with me? I doubt we'd be welcome in Mirkwood. To bring a thief with me would only endanger my quest more."

He cocked a brow, and suddenly her small palm slid down from his chest, onto his stomach, making him jolt, and over his erection. She firmly squeezed it, just the right amount of pressure, he took an open mouthed breath in, and she whispered in his ear, "Just think about it, sweetpea. Right now all your companions are waiting for you, you need to dress and march to that forest, but if you take me with you, you'll have another pair of keen eyes in your company, a person who can sneak into the house of Lord Elrond and back without being caught, and you and I will surely find some time for ourselves on that journey."

Thorin would like to claim it didn't work but that would make him a liar. And so, two hours later thirteen Dwarves, a wizard, a hobbit and a thief mounted Beorn's ponies and were ready to head for Mirkwood.

The skinchanger fixed a belt on her saddle and gently stroked her knee. She smiled to him, leaned in and quickly kissed his furry cheek.

"Thank you, my friend. Until we meet again."

He tenderly touched his forehead to hers, and then turning to Thorin he narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth. The message was clear. If anything were to happen to the redhead, Thorin would be held personally responsible. The Dwarf gave the skinchanger a solemn nod, almost an oath, and the company set on the road.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thank you, ****deareader****, for the prompt!**

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_Than time when in Mirkwood Wren hallucinated they were married, while Thorin seemed to think they were King and Queen of Erebor._

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The air in Mirkwood was heavy and foul, and Thorin felt his boots weigh him down. He kept on walking, his mind muddled, and his garments suffocating him. Nori ahead was mumbling something about the cursed Elven path, and Thorin looked back to see other Dwarves look no less pale and sickly. He was trying to count them, when something hit him into the chest. He blinked several times to clear his vision and focused on a petite redhead in front of him. First, he couldn't quite place her face, it was odd and angular, but strangely alluring, and then he realised it was Wren, his little bird, and a wide idiotic grin spread on his face.

"Thorin, I am worried!" Her voice was like a song, like springwater sensually murmuring in the stream, her lips like petals of a poppy, her neck… Thorin shook his head. Something was confusing his mind. He tried concentrating on her face, but it helped little. His eyes roamed the high cheekbones, the delicate nose, adorable freckles peppering it, his will wasn't strong enough, and he stared at the red lips again. "Thorin, something isn't right! I think we are walking in circles!" He picked up a run away copper curl and twirled it his fingers.

"Kidhuzel..." _Gold of gold. _He murmured, and she punched his shoulder again. So that was what the blow was. He chuckled. There was no malice in it this time, not like those times she clobbered him to the head. He frowned but then smiled again. Whatever preceded the blows was worth it. He remembered her spread on the bed, his hands sliding on her delicate shoulders, only the thin chemise covering her breasts, and he pushed his hand in her hair at the back of her head.

"Thorin..." She started protesting, but he cupped the back of her head and stroked it sensually. Her lashes fluttered, and she swayed. "What are you doing? It is hardly the time for..." She slightly dropped her head back, quite clearly fighting the effect he was having on her, and he smirked ferally.

"Not that long ago a small bird told me it was always the time and the place..." He purred, and she inhaled loudly. He pulled her closer, she resisted, but then Balin who was passing them by, they had stopped in the middle of the path, slightly pushed Thorin, making him step ahead. Or perhaps she did, it was hard to tell, but the feeling of her silky skin and the fragrance of lilac that he finally caught made him rather uninterested in the mechanics of what was transpiring.

Her cloak and coat were open, and he hungrily looked down at the row of small buttons on her doublet. She saw him looking and inhaled deeply, her chest rose, and he licked his lips. He did remember her small peaks quite well.

"Thorin… There is something wrong with this forest..." Her voice was breathy, and she tried to step back, but he held her tight. He scraped the back of her head gently, and she closed her eyes in pleasure. "Maiar help me..."

"Pundurul..." _Just like a cat. _He considered his observation a compliment. And then he remembered her fluid cool body, the way it stretched and moved in his arms, so feline and sensual, and he rumbled low in his chest. She purred and stepped closer to him. She pressed her head back, into his palm, he leaned closer, without touching, and mesmerized he watched her slowly open her eyes. There was longing and desire in them, and he cocked one brow.

Her arms hung along her body, and he placed one palm on her shoulder. He slowly ran it down her arm, keeping their eyes locked, her lips slightly opened, he knew without looking, he felt the soft fur on her coat cuffs, and then finally his fingers grazed hers. He intertwined them, and she moaned quietly.

"Hurus..." _Hot._ She breathed out. "This is not right..." He started pulling her closer, and she allowed, pliant and warm. "This is not right, something isn't..." Her body finally touched his, and she gasped. She jerked her hand out of his, their fingers previously intertwined, his thumb caressing her palm, and before he could protest her arms went around his middle. She pressed her face into his neck and exhaled loudly. "Findu… Ughlakh…" _Wide. The best._

There was something not quite right in what he did next but he pushed the thought at the back of his mind. He cupped her face and caught her mouth in a heated deep kiss. She moaned in his mouth, and her knees buckled.

On one hand, the two of them probably had more important matters to attend, on the other hand why couldn't he kiss his wife when he felt like it? Wasn't it the point of marriage? There was something once again erroneous in this argument, but she grabbed his ears and opened his lips with her tongue, and he decided that thinking was overrated.

She was pressing into him more and more firmly, grinding her hips into his, her hands greedily grabbing his shoulders and hair, and he groaned. She was mumbling in at least four languages he knew and three he didn't, and he heard a lot of compliments to his taste, technique and beard. The beard ones were mostly in Khuzdul, his lips received praise in Sindarin, and the Common Speech parts made him very uncomfortable in his trousers.

"Thorin, shouldn't we be going?" He heard the voice of Bilbo and growled in irritation. What in the Durin's name was the halfling doing in the royal bedroom? Didn't he know the King and the Queen were never to be disturbed in their halls? There was always a great chance to run into them in a compromising position. Thorin did bed his Queen at least thrice a day, and those were restrained days. "Thorin?" Bilbo's voice was demanding, and for an instant Thorin remembered where he was.

The redhead in his arms apparently didn't. One slender arm was wrapped around his neck, while the other deft hand had already reached his belt. The buckle clicked.

"Guchiruh," she whispered sensually. _Master mine, _the common appellation for a husband made him forget about the halfling, and he looked at her, "Surely a small rest is in order? Perhaps the company should stop for a bit, over there, near those shrubs? Nice, thick shrubs, nothing to be seen behind them..." She pointed at some bushes, and he licked his lips. The shrubbery was indeed thick and could conceal them quite efficiently. His member, already painfully turgid, twitched. Her, on the ground, her attire in disarray, copper curls splayed on the ground, him between her legs, thrusting… "Although perhaps the company should set a camp a bit at a distance," her face was pensive, "I am quite a screamer."

That was his undoing, and he shoved her into the nearest tree, pushed his knee between her legs, lifted it, making her straddle it and jerked the collar of her doublet. The small buttons scattered, and she loudly moaned, "Finally..."

"Don't do that!" The halfling squealed, "The forest is sick! It won't take kindly to such obscene dalliances! Don't you hear the trees moaning?"

"Oh there will be a lot of moaning now," Thorin growled through his teeth, and she mewled approvingly. She rubbed herself to his knee sensually, while sucking on his neck, and he started pushing the coat off her shoulders.

"I've missed you, oh my darling..." She whined and started peppering him with kisses, her hands in his hair. "Don't leave me for long like this… It was a torture! It is like I can't even remember your body on mine anymore..." Her voice was raspy, and it caused some sort of fireworks in his head.

"Never… never..." He jerked the collar of the tunic he found under her double and sucked on the muscle between her neck and her shoulder. "I'm burning for you, yasith..."

"And I for you, guchiruh… Azyungeluh, zabaduh, mekekuh..." _My love, my lord, my half… _

"Oh I can't watch this!" The hobbit pressed his hand across his eyes, and for a second Thorin tore his mouth from her collarbones that had been visiting him in his indecent adolescent like dreams and snarled at the hobbit.

"Then don't. Make yourself useful! I don't know, climb the tree to find the path, or something!"

The hobbit seemingly scampered, the Dwarves were wandering around, and perhaps she was right and they were walking in circles, but at the moment all he cared about was her body pressed into his and her lips on his neck. Something stirred in his mind, and for some reason he needed to make sure.

"Wren, Wren..." She moaned to show she was listening, although he doubted she was, and he moved away from her. He pressed his forehead to hers not letting her catch his mouth again, and she whined in disappointment. "Wren, uh?" _Mine?_

"Nul, Thorin, nul." _Yours. _She whispered ardently. Her eyes were suddenly unclouded, earnest, and he sealed the strange fluttering in his chest with a kiss.

That is when the spiders attacked. He heard a screech, let her go and swirled. She fell on the ground, her backside sensitively landed on a root, her head swung and bumped into the tree she had been pressed into, and she hissed.

Two furry paws went around his shoulders, the cowardly monster attacked from behind, and before the world grew dark and the suffocating viscid wed covered his shoulders and face he saw her lunge into the nearest shrubbery, her Elven blade in her hand, and for a moment his mind cleared. What in the Durin's name was that? A sheer thought of a petty thief as the wife of the Heir of Durin? Absurd!


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thank you, my darling ****UKReader****, for the prompt! I haven't thought of it, but she most certainly would :P**

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_Thorin wanders off the path in Thranduil's kingdom while Wren takes a shine to the key of Erebor._

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The cursed Elfling was holding Thorin's sword in his hands, and the Dwarf gritted his teeth. It was almost as painful as seeing his woman in the arms of another. He shortly wondered what sort of balderdash this thought was, he had no woman, and then he shortly wondered where the thief was. He hoped she had escaped the spiders and the Elves, but he couldn't be sure she was safe.

The pale pointy eared bastard mumbled in his unpleasant discordant language, "This is an ancient Elvish blade. Forged by my kin." Thorin scoffed, he would prefer to forget where his blade had come from. It was a Dwarven sword now. "Where did you get this?" The Elf added in Common Speech, and Thorin clearly imagined wiping the ground with the puffed up, poncy face of the wood wimp.

"It was given to me," he growled, and the pale bastard had the nerve to point Thorin's blade at its master.

"Not just a thief, but a liar as well." The following images in Thorin's head were more violent. The Elfling called his pathetic soldiers, and the company were being herded to be escorted, when Bofur turned to him.

"Thorin, where is Bilbo and the lass?" Thorin quickly looked around. Apparently the halfling made his escape as well. Thorin shortly thought he had underestimated the hobbit, he was more agile that Thorin had initially given him credit for.

The Elves chained them together and led them through their gates, going as far as sometimes slightly pushing and shoving them to keep them aligned. Thorin clenched his jaw and endured it as the King he was.

Inside, the detestable Elven kingdom was even less welcoming, walls made of some ridiculous trees and passages being pretty much giant roots. No railings of course. Thorin snarled. They were led through towards what he assumed were the cells, when suddenly on one of the branches substituting for a column he saw a dark green ribbon tied in a playful bow. He recognised it immediately. Some remnants of the haze he had been overwhelmed with in Mirkwood were still floating in his mind, and he remembered running his hands through the red haired thief's curls and pulling at the ends of the ribbons braided into them. They slid through his fingers, silky and smooth, of this exact fern green colour. He made a step to the side and quickly pulled at the ribbon, hiding in in his sleeve. It earned him a gentle but firm shove, and he returned into the line.

He smirked and allowed them to escort him into his cell. He was informed that he was to see King Thranduil in a few minutes, while his companions were pushed and stuffed into their cells. He felt a prickle of disappointment when they managed to find the last dagger hidden in Fili's coat and more than a prickle of irritation when he saw Kili exchanging mawkish glances with the Elven Captain of the Guard. Thorin agreed, there was certain charm in her, like in all redheads, and then he remembered that he never even liked redheads, and felt even more irked. He blamed the fog and poison of Mirkwood for this muddlement, it caused him to see "certain charm" in an Elven lass! Mahal help him, he was growing senile!

The Elfling who took his sword stepped towards him and spoke in his annoying nasal voice, "Are there daggers hidden in your garments as well, Dwarf? Do not make us search you, give them to us."

Thorin jerked his chin up. The Elfling flared his nostrils and grabbed the collar of his coat. The disgustingly long fingered hands ran over Thorin's body, and suddenly his coat was jerked open, and the Elf pushed his hand into the hidden pocket inside Thorin's waistcoat. The latter prepared to fight, that was where the map and the Erebor key were hidden, when Elfling straightened up. In his hand Thorin saw a lacy, peach coloured garter. The Elf cocked one brow and gave Thorin a derisive questioning look.

Thorin recognised the garter. Its sister was tied around the bottle of wine he was presented with, the second time the red haired thief bested him. He couldn't help it and smirked. The Elf threw the offending piece of undergarments into the cell prepared of Thorin, who was then pushed after it.

The Elves left, probably to inform their King, and Thorin turned around and gently picked up the lacy item from the floor of his cell. It still bore the light fragrance of lilacs, and he clasped it in his palm. His situation was rather depressing, but suddenly he started guffawing loudly.

He was mostly laughing at himself, at his confusion, at the memories of the odd life he saw in his daze that was never to take place, at the fact that he still had no idea whether she'd take the map and the key and loot the Halls of his ancestors, or whether the ribbon on the branch meant she was telling him she was coming for him. He was still chuckling loudly when the guards came to escort him to King Thranduil.

**A/N: This one is short, so one more today :) And remember, reviews are highly appreciated, especially after each chapter ;)**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thanks, Wynni, for an emergency, fill-in-a-gap prompt! It's awesome!**

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_While Thorin was surprised to see cheese delivered to his cell, Wren once again proved she shouldn't be allowed near wine._

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Thorin sat in his cell, his back to the wall, his head dropped. For the first time since his journey had started, he thought that perhaps they wouldn't succeed. He heard his companions exchanging hopeless remarks from out of their cells.

"I'll wager the sun in on the rise. Must be nearly dawn." Thorin heard Bofur's voice and felt almost sick in the stomach. Bofur was always the most cheerful, hopeful out of all of them, now even he seemed like he was giving up.

Ori's voice was trembling as if from hardly controlled tears, "We're never gonna reach the mountain, are we?"

And then… "Not stuck in here you're not." Thorin couldn't believe it, the halfling!

He jumped up on his feet and rushed to the bars. He could hear locks clicking, and even before he saw her he understood that there were two people opening doors at the moment.

She was grinning from ear to ear, and his door flew open. He rushed to her and cupping her face he firmly pressed his lips to hers. He decided he'd question it later. She giggled into his mouth and lifted a bag she held in her hand.

"I have wine and cheese, my lord, we can celebrate your escape properly later," her tone was mischievous.

"Do you have my map and the key?" He asked quickly, and instead of answering she gave him a sunny smile, pushed the bag into his hands and rushed to Balin's cage.

Someone cheered, and Bilbo shushed them, "Ssh! There are guards, nearby!"

Thorin saw Balin step out of his cell and give her a low bow. She giggled and quickly kissed his cheek, to his utmost pleasure, as it could be seen on his face.

One by one Dwarves were escaping their cells, Fili stepped out and grabbed her around her middle. He swirled around, her small feet swung in the air, and she emitted a feigned frightened gasp.

"Put me down, kalilal!" Thorin clenched his fists. At least she called the boy _trickster,_ and nothing more intimate, Thorin pretended he didn't remember all those monikers she had moaned to him in Mirkwood.

They headed for a passage that quite obviously led up, and hopefully towards the exit, but suddenly the hobbit started ushering them downstairs.

"Not that way." He was mumbling and gestured them to follow him, "Down here, follow me!" Bombur rushed after him, and then other Dwarves one by one, when suddenly she grabbed Thorin's sleeve.

"I'm not going there," her voice was firm, and he clasped his hand around her upper arm.

"It is no time for greed, Wren. The Elves are dangerous!" He couldn't believe it, she still was thinking about her loot. "Wren, be reasonable..." She smirked lopsidedly, and he growled. "Woman, in the Durin's name..."

She stepped to him and pressed her lips to his. He released her arm and grabbed her around the waist. He pulled her in, she complied willingly, their kiss passionate and short, and then she pushed him away.

"Bilbo will lead you out, and I have some unfinished business here." She gave him a sudden attentive look over, and quickly pecked his lips again. "The key and the map are in the bag, and if we never meet again," her voice wavered, but she shook off her sudden sentimentality and smiled impishly again, "Don't say I've never done anything for you, sweetpea."

She was dressed in her usual attire, the tight trousers and the doublet, top buttons missing, and an Elven cloak over it, it was too long and too wide for her, and she shook it off. Orcrist was clasped to her back, and she took it off and pushed it into his hands. He froze, not believing his eyes, and she stroked his cheek with her strong little hand.

"Farewell, my King," she sprinted away from him, into the passage they initially were planning to take, and he shook his head. It was time to admit he was no match for this woman. He followed his company, down into the cellars, and they saw the guards sleeping, their heads dropped on their arms on a table. They were snoring loudly.

"You're supposed to be leading us out not further in!" Bofur hissed at Bilbo, and the latter glared at him.

"I know what I'm doing!" He sounded irritated, and added, "And there is no need to keep your voices down. I don't believe the guards will awaken any time soon. Lady Wren assured me her herbs ensured healthy and deep sleep for many hours."

Thorin hid a small smile and lovingly ran his fingers on the hilt of his sword. What a woman!


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Thank you, ****UKReader,**** for the prompt!**

**\+ the two following chapters will include ****dearreader****'s ideas since the prompts "galloped ahead," but the ideas are ace! :)**

* * *

__Thorin goes to the stream to collect some water, while Wren is burying something at the foot of a tree on the opposite bank.__

* * *

_The time Thorin got really jealous of Bard when Wren liked the way Bard handled his boat (or bow)._

* * *

They climbed out of the barrels, coughing and soaked, and Thorin thought that perhaps the thief had been wiser than all of them. Surely, there was a better way to escape the Elven Kingdom. He quickly looked at his companions, making certain they all were present, and noticed Kili's ashen paleness. The boy's leg needed binding.

He felt endlessly miserable, in wet, cold clothes, he had always hated water. Dwarves were not made for swimming. He heard Balin and Bilbo discussing the lake lying between them and the mountain. He remembered it from his young years, the endless glossy surface, barges moving on it. He liked going to Dale and watching them, but at the moment it was nothing but an obstacle.

They were catching their breath, pouring water out of their boots, squeezing it out of their clothes, and he quickly recounted what they had. No weapons, no provision. He at least had his blade, but there was an Orc pack at their tail, what good could one sword do? He looked around, in a futile attempt to find some answer to what he was to do now, with his quest and with his people, hiding from himself a small hope. He surely wasn't hoping that the red head would pop up now, as it did so many times before, that would be absurd. And again what good would it do?

Then the Man showed up, with his bow and his barge, and Thorin quickly sent Balin to negotiate. The old Dwarf was the most tactful and cunning of them all. He started softly, with the discussion of children and wife, and Thorin internally smirked. He himself would barge in, no pun intended, with the request to take them across and would surely spoil the deal. Thorin stood aside and saw Dwalin's temper rising. Thorin frowned to him showing his discontent, and the tattooed warrior turned his back to the talking men. And only because Thorin was keeping his eye on him to make sure he wouldn't snap, he saw her on the other bank.

She was dressed in a new, clearly Elven attire, perhaps intended for a child considering her height, tight trousers and a long coat, in gentle green, no cloak, but her sack was back. The little spade in her hands was also of Elven craft, shaped like a leaf, with a carved handle, and he assumed the same was the origin of whatever she had in the bag at her feet. She had dug up a hole and lowered the bag in, quickly filling the hole with ground again. An orange curl fell on her face, and she blew it away.

She probably felt his eyes on her and lifted her face. A wide smiled bloomed, and she waved to him in a funny childish gesture, her little fingers splayed in a fan. He shook his head in amusement and beckoned her to approach. She shook her head and mimicked running away with her hand.

He needed to let her know that a pack of Orcs was nearby, but the river was too wide to shout, and again, Balin seemed to be achieving some success in his negotiations. Thorin screw his eyes and noticed that the bargeman seemed more favourable towards their offer now.

And then an idea came. If she knew _aglab, _the spoken Khuzdul, there might have been a chance she knew Iglishmek as well. He gestured the signs for "Orc" and "danger" to her. She was wiping her hands to a cloth and froze staring at him. And then she signed back "here," and there was a certain questioning in the tilt of her head. He beckoned her again, she stuffed the spade in her sack, got up, and he received two more gestures. "Soon" and "wait." He felt shortly irritated, she was ordering him around.

The bargeman finally agreed to the payment, and the Dwarves headed for his boat.

"We have to wait," grumbled Thorin, "We have another passenger to join us."

"That was not in the agreement," the Man exclaimed, "There are too many of you already, it'll be troublesome to foist fourteen people into the city, and you want to add another one!"

"I hardly require any foistering," the thief's sarcastic voice was suddenly heard from behind the rocks near them, and Thorin once again wondered whether she possessed some sort of magic. Surely, no one could move so quickly and silently. She stepped from around the boulders, and the Dwarves cheered. She bestowed them with a theatrical bow, gave Fili a wide smile, then her eyes shortly paused on Kili's face, and then she finally turned to the bargeman.

"Am I to transport a thief into my city now?" The Man grumbled, and Thorin's hand lay on the hilt of his sword. She might have been one, but no one was allowed to show the littlest disrespect to her.

"Only if the thief is bearing gifts, Bard the Bargeman," she answered in a quiet menacing voice and narrowed her eyes at the Man.

And then both of them suddenly burst into laughter, and he opened his arms in a wide embrace. She ran up to him and slightly jumping hung on his neck.

"Wren of Enedwaith, in the name of all Valar!" The one called Bard twirled her, and Thorin heard her silver laughter, "Do not tell me you are travelling with these 'simple merchants'!" The bargeman's voice sarcastically dropped around the last words, and he put her on the ground. She smacked his shoulder and grinned impishly.

"You know me, Bard, I walk by myself, I just sometimes require… escort," she gave him an attentive look over, and her sunny smile wavered. "I see the affairs haven't improved since I saw you last. How are Bain, Sigrid and Tilda?"

"They are well," the man's voice softened, and Thorin assumed they talked of his children, "Miss their favourite auntie." She smiled and started rummaging through her sack.

"Wait, give me a moment," she pulled out a bottle of something and pushed it into his hands, "Your favourite cordial, all the way from Bree, and I got Tilda that doll she was talking about." Bard shook his head.

"You are spoiling them." He gazed at her face with warmth, and that was when Thorin learnt what the true jealousy felt like. It wasn't her flirting with Fili or her supposed lodging with the skinchanger, but the warmth and domesticity between her and the bargeman that made his insides churn. There was no lust between them, but she was obviously accepted and perhaps even loved in the house of the Man, while she quite obviously felt the same way, and that what afflicted Thorin most. In the last few weeks he grew to think of her as his, in a way he couldn't quite name even to himself, and now he saw she never was and probably never would be.

"So, do you vouch for these Dwarves, Wren?" The bargeman looked at her, and she nodded. "Well, that settles it. Only they will have to get into the city the usual way." She giggled, and Thorin felt that was not a good omen.

They boarded the small boat, and their journey began. The air was cold and humid, and pieces of dirty looking ice were floating in the water of the lake. Thorin sat by the board and looked in the foggy air. It was quiet, except for the creaking of the tiller, and a murmured conversation between the Dwarves.

She walked between them, patted a few shoulders, exchanged looks and smiles with them and the hobbit, and came up to him. Dwalin, who stood beside him, gave her a small bow. Even before, Thron wondered at the approbation the warrior seemed to show towards her, always polite and respectful, making sure she was safe and warm during them crossing the Mountains. Dwalin was never fond of Men, thieves, or women, for that matter, to think of it he was hardly fond of anyone or anything, and yet there he was, treating her like a royalty. She bowed to him in return.

"Master Dwalin, I was happy to see your unscathed, though I have to say I can hardly imagine anything to harm you," her tone was playful, and Thorin saw the miracle of all miracles, a smile on Dwalin's face.

"I'm glad you are with us, lady Wren." She patted his massive forearm, and he left to the other end of the boat giving them privacy.

She smiled to Bilbo who was standing not too far away and sat down near Thorin. Her shoulder bumped into his, and she asked softly, "How are you faring, sweetpea?"

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Have you been successful in Mirkwood?" He sounded irritated but didn't feel this way. He hardly knew himself what he felt.

She put her head on his shoulder and purred, "Quite so. And you? Did you enjoy your barrel ride, my King?" Her tone was teasing, and he snorted.

"Vixen." She giggled, and suddenly she snaked her small hand into his and intertwined their fingers. They sat in silence for a while, her little digits caressing his palm.

"You can trust Bard, he is one of the few decent people in Laketown." Thorin scoffed. "And he is an exceptional bargeman, you are safe in his boat." Excellent, Thorin thought, now she was admiring the man's skills as well.

"How do you know him?" He tried to hide his jealousy, but probably failed. She rubbed her cheek to his shoulder and moved even closer. He felt the warmth of her body through their clothes. He looked at her askew. The hair was clean and braided intricately, the mesmerizing copper gold colour, she smelled fresh and sweet, of lilacs and forest she wandered, and he suddenly felt embarrassed for his dirty clothes and stench that probably was coming off of him. His looks and cleanness had never concerned him before. He clenched his jaws, she had too much effect at him. He should have pushed her away, instead he pressed his face into the soft curls and sighed. She still hadn't answered his question. "Wren?"

"Shush, sweetpea. I am enjoying the last minutes with you," she sounded sincere, and he slightly moved away from her and looked at her. She then quickly smiled, and he felt uncomfortable from the impish sparkle in her eyes. "Soon you will be too disgusting to hug." He cocked a brow questioningly, when the bargeman slowed down his boat.

"The Tall Gate is ahead of us, I will need that money now, Master Dwarf." Thorin opened his mouth to tell him he'd pay upon getting into town and receiving the promised provisions, but he felt her small hand lightly squeeze his forearm. She kept her eyes down, no one would knew she interfered, but he listened to her and pushed the money into the bargeman's hand.

Bard moved away, and he looked at her. She had a small smile on her lips, and then she got up, her fingers sliding out of his, and he refused to acknowledge how much he missed her touch right away. She picked up her sack from the bottom of the boat, and Thorin heard Bilbo's distressed voice, "Are you leaving us, my lady?"

"I have some matters to attend in the town, and I'll be honest with you, Master Baggins, I do not approve of the manner people have to enter this city if they want to stay unnoticed." She smirked and turned to Thorin. He had gotten up with her and was now standing his arms folded on his chest, frowning and pretending not to care about her departing.

She stepped closer to him, her sack already on her back, and cupping his face with her hand she looked into his eyes. "Do me a favour, sweetpea." Her tone was tender and serious, and he nodded solemnly. "Have someone look at Kili's leg, he doesn't look well. His wound worries me." That wasn't what he expected, but he nodded again. She leaned in and brushed her lips to his tenderly. "I'll return later."

She stepped to the board of the boat and pulled a grey cloak from her sack. Wrapped in it she was easy to miss in the fog and disgusting sleet falling from the clouded skies.

"Bard, I'll be back soon. Tell the kids I'll be at your place by dinner." The Man nodded and maneuvered the barge close to the remnant of a column sticking out of the freezing water. She made a few steps back, and then after two wide spring steps she leaped ahead. Thorin rushed to the board, he could hardly believe it was possible to jump that far, but there she was, on the top of the column. She turned around, blew him a kiss, tucked her bright curls under the cloak and disappeared as if in clear air. He heard Bard chuckle behind him.

"Well, Master Dwarves, it is time for you to get back into your barrels."

**A/N: ****My darlings****, I seem to have developed a carpal tunnel with all my dissertation writing (and no, of course it's not from fanfiction :P) so my updates might be slightly irregular these days, but I'll be back soon :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: ****UKReader****, I ADORED the prompt! It's perfect! Just the right amount of vague and challenging, and oh so ingenious! Thank you!**

**A/N #2: Oh ****dearreader****, this idea was just too delicious to pass, so I added it into the beginning of the already written chapter :) Thank you :)**

* * *

_Thorin tries to plan ahead for his next encounter with Wren, while Wren does the same._

* * *

_The time Wren was burglarizing the Master of Laketown's house, while Thorin was trying to burgle the armory._

* * *

"We are the Dwarves of Erebor. We have come to reclaim our homeland. I remember this town in the great days of old. Fleets of boats lay at harbor, filled with silks and fine gems. This was no forsaken town on a lake." Thorin saw the eyes of men and women of Laketown sparkle, and he added volume into his pathos filled speech. "This was the center of all trade in the North! I would see those days return. I would relight the great forges of the Dwarves and send wealth and riches flowing once more from the Halls of Erebor!" The people cheered, and Thorin felt he was winning, when the cursed bargeman stepped ahead.

"Death! That is what you'll bring upon us. Dragonfire and ruin. If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all." Thorin clenched his jaw. Apparently more promises needed to be made. Whatever they said of Dwarves, greed was every race's sin. Everyone wanted their share of his gold, and again, Men were a weak lot, how long did they live? Eighty at most. None of them could remember the bane and the ruin of Smaug's attack.

He spoke more, convincing and cajoling, and of course the fat Master was the weak link. The background of the cursed bargeman helped a lot as well. So, he was a descendant of Girion, no wonder his boy was telling all those fairy tales about the Black Arrow to the hobbit.

Thorin locked his eyes with the Master, "I speak to the Master of the men of the lake. Will you see the prophecy fulfilled? Will you share in the great wealth of our people?" Diplomacy might not have been Thorin's strength, but he knew how to overpower a man's will, "What say you?" And surely, three, two, one…

"I say unto you...welcome! Welcome and rise! Welcome, King Under the Mountain!" The crowd cheered, and Thorin couldn't lie, he enjoyed the title to be chanted by the townsfolk.

He stood tall, his legs set wide, jerked his chin up and looked over the town, his eyes above everyone's heads. And then he saw a small figure on the roof of a house across the street. She was sitting, one leg folded under her in her habitual habit he already knew, another dangling from the edge. In her black burglar outfit, she was hardly noticeable, but this time she wasn't hiding. She clapped to him dramatically, and he slightly tilted his head, showing her he appreciated the gesture.

There was a treble hook in her hands, with a rope tied to it, and she jumped on her feet, swung it, and it silently flew through the air. The rope was taut and solid between the houses, across the street, and he watched from the corner of his eye how she quickly walked on it keeping the perfect balance, right above the head of the unsuspected crowd, her slender figure and spread arms an alluring spectacle. Thorin turned to the Master pretending to listen to what the latter was mumbling about the feast they were to have now, and he saw her quickly disappear in the top window of the Master's house. The end of the rope slithered after her. Thorin chuckled and allowed them to lead him away, strangers' hands clapping his shoulders, other Dwarves smiling.

They were firstly given the best rooms in the town's inn, baths were prepared, clean new clothes provided, and Thorin sank in the hot water with a groan. He pretended the window he left open was for the fresh air and not a certain elusive redhead. She didn't show up, and he assumed she was having dinner in the bargeman's house as she promised.

He felt slightly irritated. The man antagonized him, and she prefered his company. Exactly, he thought, that was what he was going to concentrate on, how she always prefered the company of others, how she always had her own agenda, how it was never about his quest, how every time he ran into her she was robbing another unsuspecting dimwit. The men in Bree, Elrond, Thranduil, the Master, he was not going to become one more of men who underestimated her. She was not going with him to Erebor. She was foolish enough to give up the map and the key, now she wouldn't have a chance to get her deft little hands on his gold. Satisfied with this thought, he washed with pleasure, scrubbing grime and dirt off him, finally tending to his hair.

Thorin was buckling his belt, when excited Bofur came to tell him that the feast was served in the town hall. Tables were brought, food and wine abundant, it seemed the whole town was coming. Thorin was heading down the stairs of the inn when someone bumped into him. He opened his mouth to tell them off and froze with his mouth half open.

He had never seen her in a dress before, if one were not to count the meager scrap of a cloth she wore the very first night they met, when she was conning him pretending to be a wench. This garment was dark burgundy, velvet and gold thread brocade on a tight bodice, a low cut, peach coloured lace from the undertunic peeking flirtily around her cleavage, skirts full. In her hands she held a small fur lined coat, her hair in an elegant do, and she smiled to him.

"Good evening, Master Dwarf! Everyone seems to be waiting for you." Her neck was long and elegant, skin as if glowing, and she gave him a look from under her lashes. He looped his arm.

"Will you join me, lady Wren?" She giggled and put her hand on his forearm, not looping hers through his though.

"I would prefer to stay in the shadows, just a mere guest at your feast, my lord, but..." She stepped closer, her hand slid up to his shoulder, she made a few steps around him, and he felt her fingers brush his neck at the back. "Perhaps I shall see you after the feast."

"Perhaps." He threw her a look over his shoulder. She leaned in, and he felt her breath on his ear.

"That decided then, leave your window open again," shudder ran through his body from her whisper, and little fingers stroked his beard. The skirts rustled behind him, he turned around and stared at an empty space. He smirked and quickly started walking downstairs. Tonight it was then. Long overdue.

**Personal A/N: A wrist brace, a new desk and an office chair, and kkolmakov is back :) I am resting my arm though, and thank you all for all your get better wishes! I love you all! You are the readers every sort-of-writer can wish for :)**

**The next chapter is almost ready and, Mahal help me, I am so excited about it, but also I'll be hiding under the blanket from shyness when I post it :P**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: ****Please read the following**** :)**

**My darlings****, I have to warn you that this chapter is NUTTY (and not steamy as some of you assumed, that's why I'm shy :D) and not to be taken seriously! (As if any of them could be :D) It's being written on Halloween night, and as an unofficial ginger I have strange reaction to many substances. Chocolate makes me barmy, and my kid was very successful in looting our neighbours :) So, here we go!**

**A/N #2: ****Wynni****, thank you for the prompt and reminding what a wonderful soundtrack Disney songs make :)**

**A/N #3: I do suggest having "Prince Ali" in your earphones when reading :P**

* * *

_That time Thorin was fending off unwanted advances, while Wren was seeing twenty shades of red n green._

* * *

He realised he was in trouble when they rolled the sixteenth barrel of ale into the town hall. Tables were loaded with roasted meat, pies, fried fish and crowded with mugs. The mob was laughing, talking loudly, food flying around, someone yelled, Bofur was once again throwing pieces of meat across the table, Bombur catching them with his mouth, Fili just walked by Thorin balancing five mugs, the Master was already sleeping on the table, his ferret like crony was nowhere to be seen, and a busty lass just slipped on Thorin's lap.

"Evening, my lord," she wrapped her arms around his neck, and his eyes fell on plump pink lips. She was tempting, he couldn't deny it, and he had a fair amount of ale in his blood. And though he had plans for tonight, he knew he'd be able to enjoy two women in one night and hardly get tired. There had been precedents. A stubborn thought to prove that he was no redhead's boy toy was thrashing in his mind, but he gently picked up the woman around her waist and moved her off his lap.

"Thank you, fair maiden, but perhaps you should find yourself another Dwarf." The woman laughed throatily.

"There are plenty of such here tonight, it seems," she leaned in and kissed his cheek, "If you change your mind, my name is Thea." She walked away, her round appetizing hips swinging tantalizingly, and Thorin took another large gulp of his ale and looked around. He saw Fili chatting with two women amicably, another one, plump and blonde, was giggling and twirling Bofur's moustache around her finger. All of them, even Ori had company, either drinking and laughing with men of the town, or enjoying a company of a lass or two. He felt irritated, his mood mightily affected by the amount of beer he had consumed, but still surely, he was being a massive idiot. She'd stand him up again, in the best case, or clobber or drug him again, and he'd deprive himself of all merriment such feast could provide for the sake of another disappointment.

Half an hour later he had a laughing maiden on each of his laps, and one of them, he seemed to recall her name to be Thea, was kissing his ear, while the other one stretched her hand and picked up the braid on the side of his face. He cringed, such honour was to be reserved for his wife or at least a constant mistress, but he disregarded it. He was not going to bed either of them, he had to admit, the thought of the redhead's promise never left his mind, but surely little fun never harmed anybody.

The one called Thea whispered into his ear, "Excuse me, my lord, I have to abandon you for a wee bit, but I'll be back." He looked at her, and she suddenly caught his mouth in a passionate kiss. She knew what she was doing, and he cupped the back of her head, his hand full of her heavy silky curls. She tore her mouth off his with a gasp and murmured, her eyes slightly glassy, "Maiar help me, no wonder she's so fussy..." She shook her head clearing her thoughts, and he was too relaxed and inebriated to question her words. "I will be back soon, my lord, and I'll come bearing gifts." She slid off his knee and left quickly. He had no time to lament her absence, since the second woman decided that since Thea had had some taste she was entitled as well. She was less experienced, but her lips were no less soft.

He dove out of the kiss when he heard a loud pointed cough above him. The thief was standing in front of him. At least he assumed it was her, since the lower half of her face was covered by a thick black veil, and he choked. She was dressed in a similarity of a Haradrim outfit, slightly bastardised, to be wearable in a city of Men, but there were wide trousers, a long scarlet tunic, heavy golden earrings and a choker on her neck. There was black paint around her eyes, and they were burning. That was how he recognised her right away, by the eyes, their slanted shape and the thick lashes, and the everchanging colour of the irises.

"Do you like the gift I brought for you, my lord?" He heard Thea's mocking voice, and momentarily he felt angered. The wench was the thief's spy, and he was played like a wet nosed tot!

"Oh how lovely, a Northern vagabond!" The Master half lifted his head from the table and slurred, "A song! A song!"

A couple men joined him, and soon all the hall was chanting demanding a song. She unclasped the veil from the golden chains weaved into her hair, and he saw a cold smile playing on her lips.

"Will she play tambourine? They always have tambourines!" An excited voice in Thorin's ear reminded him that there was a lass still sitting on his lap, and like the last half-witted adolescent caught in a compromising position he panicked and did the most foolish thing he could. He pushed her off his lap like a sack of flour. He should have kept his dignity and behaved as if nothing was wrong in his conduct. And by Durin's beard, there was nothing! Now he had one enraged woman who rose from a floor and punched his shoulder, while the other one, who honestly speaking was the one that mattered, was giving him a derisive smile.

The redhead stepped back from him, and indeed there was a tambourine in her hand. She sprinted across the room and jumped on a table right in front of Fili. He yelled in excitement clapping his hands, and she threw him a look over her shoulder, her perky buttocks right above him. Judging by his dazed look, her outfit was having a potent effect on him. Thorin couldn't argue. The wide silken belt wrapped around her miniscule waist, wide flowing trousers, her tiny feet in leather slippers, and the scarlet tunic, overall she looked like an exotic bird or a tongue of flame. She twisted her body in a seductive movement and gently banged the tambourine to her hip. Thorin was certain every man's eyes immediately fell on the said part of her anatomy. She started lightly shaking the instrument, her tiny foot tapping an obvious rhythm, and Thorin cursed the musicality of his race. All Dwarves immediately started stomping supporting her rhythm, spoons followed, mugs, kettles and bottlenecks, and soon she had a wonderful background for her song. She sharply turned, and her burning eyes met his. She bent is a slow low bow, her orange curls swished in the air, and her red lips twitched derisively.

"The song for the King, King Thorin!" Her voice was strong and confident, upper red lip curved stubbornly, and she started singing, her slender, limber body moving at the rhythm, steps measured and light, her feet sliding between dishes on the tables.

_Hey! Clear the way in the old borough!_

_Hey you! Let us through! It's a bright new star!_

_Oh come! Be the first on your block to meet his eye!_

_Make way! Here he comes!_

_Ring bells! Bang the drums!_

_Are you gonna love this guy!_

She pointed at him with her index finger and thrust her hips sideways.

_King Thorin! Fabulous he!_

_Thorin Oakenshield!_

_Genuflect, show some respect,_

_Down on one knee!_

_Now, try your best to stay astute_

_Brush up your sunday salute,_

_Then come and meet his spectacular coterie!_

She sang and danced, her body lithe, her arms drawing mesmerizing waves in the air, the amber eyes outlined by the black shining, and with each step she moved closer to his table. He felt hot under his collar. She was somehow terrifying and at the same time the most desirable woman he had ever seen in his life.

_King Thorin! Mighty is he!_

_Thorin Oakenshield,_

_Strong as ten regular men, definitely!_

_He faced the galloping hordes,_

_A hundred bad guys with swords,_

_Who sent those Orcs to their lords?_

_Why, King Thori-i-in!_

_He's got twelve glorious Dwarves,_

_Lovely nephews, he's got even two!_

_When it comes to exotic-type serfs,_

_Has he got a hobbit?_

_I'm telling you, it's a world-class menagerie!_

She ended in front of him, and continuing to sway her hips in the most enticing way she lowered herself in front of him, and her hands, the little fingers curled, raked his chest.

_King Thorin! Handsome is he, Thorin Oakenshield,_

_That physique! How can I speak, weak at the knee-e-e?!_

She jumped up, exaggeratedly pressed her hand to her forehead and swayed, feigning faintness, and then moved again.

_Well, get on out in that square_

_Adjust your hats and prepare_

_To gawk and grovel and stare at King Thori-i-in!_

While singing she made a circle around the hall, since the tables were standing in a line along all four walls of it, and she was beckoning other women. Several of towns women rushed to Thorin and hands started brushing his hair, ears and neck. Her cohort, Thea was especially industrious, her hands wandering his chest. She bend backwards and pointed at the women surrounding him with her tambourine,

_He's got plenty of willing love monkeys_

And his Dwarves had the nerve to join in,

_He's got the monkeys, let's see the monkeys!_

To which she smiled coldly and continued,

_And to view them he charges no fee!_

_He's got slaves, he's got servants and flunkies_

She snapped her fingers, and the Dwarves chimed in,

_Proud to work for him!_

She jumped off the table and bent backward, lifting her leg, which formed a straight line with the other one, and he took a spasmodic breath in. She placed her palms on the floor behind her, both legs suddenly pointed at the ceiling, in a perfect handstand, and then she slowly lowered them, completing a flip, and straightened up.

_They bow to his whim, love serving him_

_They're just lousy with loyalty to Thorin! _

_King Thori-i-in!_

Three wide strides, graceful like leaps of a mountain lion, and she was in front of his table. She dropped her torso on it, stretched her arms towards him. The tips of her fingers quickly ran his chest, she rolled on her back, and her angular face with the wide open eyes was right on front of him. As if without his will he lowered his face, but she gracefully slithered off the table, when his lips were just an inch away from her red mouth, he could almost taste that upside kiss on his lips she deprived him of, and she straightened up and twirled around the hall. The long ribbons of red and orange silk unwrapped from around her neck, and he watched her transfixed. She spun quicker and quicker, her voice gaining more and more strength.

_Majestic he! Thorin Oakenshield!_

_Heard your mountain was a sight lovely to see,_

_And that, good people, is why _

_He got dolled up and dropped by_

_With thirteen Dwarves, beards galore,_

_With his hobbit and wizard,_

_An Elven blade and more,_

_With his stormy brows, his grouchy looks, his braids, and_

_His Dwarves that warble on key!_

_Make way for King Thori-i-in!_

She dropped on the floor, her back arched, one arm in the air slightly shaking the tambourine, as if in the aftershocks of her song, and the town hall exploded with applause, cheering and whistles. She slowly rose and beckoned him with a finger. He decided that manners be damned, this invitation was enough. He jumped over his table, lunged to her and grabbed the stretched hand. She pulled him closer, breathed out into his burning face, "Your room, now!" and dragged him out of the town hall. He rushed after her, grabbing a jug with wine from the nearest table, congratulations and innuendos flying after him. She rushed across the street, her strong little hand in his, her mind-blowing outfit flashing in front of him in the darkness of the cold night, on the stairs of the inn she let go of him and sprinted. He picked up speed, and finally they were in his room. He slammed the door behind him, and she slowly turned around, her eyes burning, red lips stretched in a feral grin, cheeks flushed, and hair in a halo around her head.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Thank you, ****UKReader****! This one is so cute and flirty! The chapter hasn't turned out such, but it's not the prompt's fault :)**

**A/N#2: ****My lovelies****, that's the LAST PROMPT I have! Time for you to join in and leave me more in the reviews!**

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_That time when Thorin has daydreams about braiding Wren's curls, while the Ginger Ninja is checking out Thorin's bum._

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He locked the door behind him, without breaking the locked gaze with her. She was taking sharp shallow breaths in, her chest rising under the tunic, feverish red spots on her cheeks, and then she sharply rushed to him and grabbed the wine jug from his hand.

"I'm not touching it now that it has been in your hands," he murmured and cocked a brow. She laughed loudly and then lifted it to her lips and took a few greedy gulps.

"Would you also like to remove all vases from the room, sweetpea?"

"I'm considering it," he made a step towards her, and she gave out another short throaty laugh and jumped away from him.

"I'm rather good with chair legs as well," she licked her lips, and some sort of flashfire exploded in the back of his head.

"No interruption today, little one, so furniture might have to go," he moved the chair she deftly placed between them from his way, "Except the bed." He gave it a thought, "And the table perhaps." She pressed her hand to her chest and batted her lashes in a pretense shock.

"Oh Maiar help me, sweetpea, someone is in the mood." She took another large sip of wine, and he nodded shortly. He was, and perhaps she did need a bit wine to relax. He was a lot to take.

He lunged ahead, she giggled and dashed away from him. His fingers missed the scarlet fabric by hardly an inch. She swirled, aptly wrapping one of the ribbons from her collar around his neck, and he grabbed the end of the silky scarf. He pulled, and she spun, fabric slithering off her skin. Apparently the tunic was just wrapped around her torso, the ends holding it in place being tied around her neck. He froze, he hadn't realised the attire would be so easy to take off, but here she was, in a gauzy undertunic that hid nothing, only adding to his hunger, the amber coloured lace making her skin even more enticing. She jumped on the bed and suddenly swayed. He stepped closer to support her, and she threw him the end of her belt.

"Care to find out whether you can manage the lower half just as well?" Her voice was throaty, and he pulled slowly, suddenly remembering to savour the moment. She spun on the spot, it took four turns to finally divest her of the sash, and he hung it around his neck. There was a row of little buttons on each of her hips, just like on her burglar trousers, and he couldn't wait to get his hands on them.

"Thea said you fought the temptation valiantly," her tone was mocking, and he lifted his face to meet her eyes. He was standing by the bed, her stomach in front of him, and he just couldn't decide where to start. Since he met her that first night, he had made so many plans, and embarrassingly enough had so many indecent dreams, that he felt almost dizzy from arousal and anticipation. She had escaped him again and again, but there she was, right in front of his face, and his eyes ran down her long elegant neck, to the collarbones, he did love them, and to her small perky peaks. The tips were bright red and puckered, and he made his choice.

He was no brute, he loved women and enjoyed them, it was never just about his pleasure, unless it was for a payment of course, but even then he was considerate. And again, making her enjoy it and crave it again and again afterwards would be the perfect revenge for all her previous transgressions. He would make her beg, first to go on and never stop, and then to take her again. He knew women, and he'd make sure she'd plea for the repetition of this night. A pleasant image of her offering her body and begging for his flashed through his mind.

He gently put his splayed palm on her back, and indeed there was a certain thrill in bedding a small woman. His hand covered her from her shoulder blades to her buttocks, he pulled her to his face and placed a slow kiss on her stomach. He caught the lilacs fragrance and the sweet smell of her skin, almost floral itself, or perhaps reminiscent of some pastry from his childhood, and she moaned. He felt her body jolt, and she murmured something, surprisingly in Khuzdul. He decided he wouldn't waste any time, she was where he wanted her, and he moved his mouth on her, caressing her through the gauze. She was breathing labouriously, and he noticed from the corner of his eye her small hands to fist and unfist frantically. He pulled her closer and gently nipped her skin, she gasped, and her knees gave in. Her hands fell onto his shoulders, she dropped her head, run away curls brushed his cheek, and his palms lay on her hips. He tenderly rubbed up and down and then shifted his hands in slow circular motions, grazing her round buttocks. They turned out so much better than he remembered from the short tumble in the cabin on the swamps.

"What... How are you doing it to me?" Her voice was coarse, and she started sagging. He caught her under her arms and gently put her on the bed. While he was lowering her body on the sheets, he caught her little burning ear between his lips, and she moaned loudly. He remembered Mirkwood and her saying she was a screamer. He had to let her go for a moment to adjust his cock in his trousers. To say his erection was painful would be a horrible understatement. For the first time in his adult life he felt a worry he might not last long.

He sat on the bed near her, she had one hand on her stomach, the other arm thrown over her forehead, half lidded eyes watching him, and he decided he'd pleasure her with his mouth first, then two more times, and only then he'd take her. He was still adamant regarding his plan to show her what she's been depriving herself of because of her foolish stubbornness.

He picked up her hand from her stomach and placed an open mouthed kiss in the centre of her palm. She giggled, and he tenderly bit the fleshy part at the base of her thumb. She giggled louder, and he froze.

That wasn't a reaction of arousal, not a giggle of a lustful woman tickled by a beard, that was mocking sniggering. He lifted his eyes, and surely enough he saw her biting her bottom lip to suppress laughter. He lifted one brow flirtily, continuing to caress her palm with his thumb, but he had a very nasty feeling in his stomach.

"You have such a ridiculous face..." She choked out, and he understood what felt wrong. She was drunk. Completely, indubitably, irrevocably bladdered. She suddenly took away her hand and flicked his nose. "So full of yourself, so puffed up..." She mimicked a frowny expression, and he noticed she was pretty much cross-eyed, "And you have this face!' She giggled again and spoke in a mock low voice, "I am the King Under the Mountain, and I'm going to bed you majestically!" She burst into drunk laughter at her own joke.

He picked up her chin and looked her in the eyes. She hadn't drunk that much, just a few sips, surely she couldn't have been so muddled from a bit of wine. Unless…

"Have you been drinking before coming here?" She snorted and clumsily waved her hand before his face. He assumed she was trying to touch him.

"Why would I? I can't drink. Even a few sips of wine, and I'm pretty much done with..." She finally managed to connect her hand and his face and curled her fingers into his beard, "Oooh, fluffy..."

"Why did you drink then?" He felt his temper rising, he was starting to understand she played him again.

"Will you believe me if I said I was nervous?" He opened his mouth, but she interrupted him with a very happy squeal, "And you'd be wrong. I just knew you'd not be interested in me like that," she emitted another evil snigger, "You want hunt, and chase, and finally submit me to your will, and not a..." She frowned and blinked several times, "What was I saying?"

"You were saying you got drunk to avoid sleeping with me," he snarled through his teeth.

"Dead fish!" She yelled triumphantly, and he winced away from the volume, "Dead fish is what I am when I'm… drunking." She twitched her nose and shook her head. He could see she was getting more and more muddled with each passing second, and he saw red. He grabbed her shoulders by both hands and shook her. She whined, he was hurting her.

"Why?! Why would you do this? Just say no, why offer yourself to me and then back away?" She tried to get out of his painful grip, but she was so wobbly and uncoordinated that she couldn't even push him away with one hand. The small fingers weakly brushed his chest, and he shook her again.

"It hurts..." Her eyes filled with tears, and he remembered all those times she pretended to cry in front of him. He gritted his teeth. "Pain..."

"I'm in pain too! You cursed wench, driving me up the wall, and dangling it in front of me like a carrot!"

"I didn't..." She sobbed, and her hands limply brushed his neck, "Please..." He pushed her away in disgust. She fell on the bed, curls scattered, and she whimpered, "I got scared… I was going to come, through the window, but I got scared…"

He jumped on his feet and strode to the door. He should have left, he opened the door, he wouldn't allow a strumpet to stomp his dignity into dirt, damn her saving his life, damn his plans, damn whatever it was he felt sometimes and was hiding even from himself, but she was crying on the bed, so desperately, so sincerely, and he already had one foot out the door, and she wasn't trying to talk to him, and for the first time in his life he faltered.

He stood in the door, white rage still coursing his veins, but he wasn't leaving. She sobbed, and he heard her small voice, "You will hurt me… You will hurt me… You will..." She was mumbling, and he turned around. She was crying into her folded arm on the bed, and something broke in him when he saw her other hand curled in a small fist in a vulnerable gesture. He stepped back and closed the door.

"I am sorry for grabbing you..." His voice was raspy, and she shook her head, orange curls swishing in the air.

"It's nothing… Nothing compared to seeing it... to the feast..." She sobbed louder, and suddenly she lifted her face. Her eyes were red and puffed, pupils dilated, irises suddenly green like grass, burning, and she cried out into his face, "You were kissing them! You will hurt me… There will be always this..." She vaguely gestured all over him, "The Dwarf thing… The King, 'I'm entitled to it' poppycock..." She spat the words out, and he halted. She was jealous! She wiped her nose with her sleeve, and he stared at her astounded. She certainly was too decorous for such gestures, always so elegant and collected, but there she was, sniffling and hiccuping like a child. She sat up and wiped her eyes with the inside of her sleeve this time. She was swaying from side to side, clearly half-conscious, and then guilt and shame spilled like poison on his insides. Angry red bruises from his hands were clearly visible on her pale slender shoulders, and she sniffed. "I'll lie with you and will catch this… pestilence..."

"I do not bear lovers' diseases," he grumbled, his eyes still on the bruises, and she waved her hand at him scoffing derisively.

"There are herbs for those..." She cringed in disgust, inhaled and spat out, "Feelings!.. That's the disease... The plague of the weak… And you will hurt me… I'll care, and you will abandon me..." She lifted her index finger and wiggled it in the air. Whether she was shaking it or trying to make some other gesture was unclear, and he stepped closer to her. Suddenly she bellowed, and large tears started running down her face again. "Why did you have to come back? My life was so nice, dresses, and robberies, and I just got the new boots, a bit of gold here, nice gems there, there was this fabrics shop in Bree, such lovely rolls..." She smiled blissfully, lost in her pleasant memories, and then her eyes momentarily focused on him. "And you just had to pop up in my life again..." She hiccuped loudly, "With your eyes, and pride, and the lips, and this backside… Maiar, the backside… So glorious... " She pointed at his hips with a wide gesture of her hand, but she miscalculated the angle, her body started slumping off the bed, and he quickly stepped closer and caught her. "Maiar help me, you smell nice..." She mumbled and nuzzled him. "So warm, so so delicious… I dream of it so often..." He put her back on the bed, and she suddenly wrapped her arms around his middle. "I want to kiss you all… every inch..." Her eyes were closing, and she whined weakly, "Maigrid, Thorin lansur, tatharrabi kurdu..." _Feared be Thorin who evokes love and passion, as he is to steal a heart. _She had mixed up several grammatical forms and her pronunciation was sloppy, but he held her in his arms, her breathing slowing down, small fists clasped around handfuls of his tunic, and he gently stroked her hair.

He was lying on his inn bed, the small red haired thief curled into his side, his fingers running through her hair. The excitement of the evening was ebbing, the ale in his veins thinning out, and he closed his eyes. Sleep didn't come, but dreams did. He saw his life in which the key had never come to him, where there was no quest, his small house in Blue Mountains, and suddenly he clearly saw her stretched on his bed, nothing but her habitual jewellery on her slender body. He imagined picking up strands of her mad orange hair, braiding them and tenderly adding them to the mane scattered on her silky bare back. He saw kisses between touches and heard her soft laughter, simple life, simple choices, to stay for another week or travel further, to stay in the inn or spend a night under the stars, to steal or to pay, to kill or to spare, and he clenched his jaw. Feared be Wren of Enedwaith who evoked doubt in the heart of the strongest warrior, as she was capable of making him forget his quest.

He opened his eyes and let himself look at her attentively for the last time. Her delicate nose, freckles peppering its bridge and her cheekbones, long lashes lying under her eyes, and of course the red lips, the bottom one wide and plump, the upper one curved. He gently brushes the tips of his fingers at her cheekbone and smiled, allowing himself to just watch for a few minutes. Her breathing was even, and he marvelled at how a simple girl could instill so much in the heart that he had thought could only care about his throne and his people.

Even without having the name for what she was to him, he knew it was the end for them. He'd either become the king his people deserved and take the throne of Erebor, or he would fail his quest and perish in the mountain. Either way, there was no room for her in his life. And for the first time in his life he was willing to admit that there could have been a person who could take up a half of it. From now on there would be no other, though she could never be the one.

And then the moment of weakness was over, and he rose from the bed careful not to waken her. He threw a quilt over her slumbering form and left the room. The dawn was rising, and the last day of Autumn began.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: I love you, ****Neewa****, for being the naughty rascal! The prompt is gorgeous, and so are you!**

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_That time when Thorin keeps on looking back as if he will catch a glimpse of the redhead thief, while Wren is determined to make Thorin hers, even if it is one night only._

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They walked among the rocks, the air cold and sharp in their lungs. He had forgotten it, and the memories of his youth rushed into his mind. Other Dwarves and the Hobbit seemed to tread heavily, under the weight of the clothes and weapons given to them by the men of Laketown, but he felt energized and excited. Everything seemed familiar, thought perhaps he was just imagining. Erebor was near.

There was some small noise to his right, and he sharply jerked his head. It was just a bird, bobbing from a rock to a rock, and he clenched his teeth. The decision was made, he had given up his ridiculous preoccupation with the thief, and yet he realised for one short instant he hoped he'd see her flaming mane. He repeated to himself, no good would come from meeting her again. Were he to succeed he'd be a King and a girl of Men and a thief had no place beside him. Were he to fail, he'd prefer her in the safety of Laketown, away from the inferno.

By midday they were standing on the Overlook, the ruins of Dale lying in front of them. Thorin listened to Balin telling Bilbo of the town, while his eyes wandered the landscape in front of them. Dale, Erebor, the valley, the Gate, he remembered them so well. He allowed himself one moment of mawkishness and then started rushing the Dwarves to go. The Hobbit of course wanted to wait for the Wizard, but honestly, they were so short on time!

The sun was low, and exigency was growing in his heart. They searched the mountain slope, and he suddenly lamented the absence of the thief. She'd be very useful now, and he secretly threw a look around. He knew he was allowing himself feebleness, but he could almost imagine her slender figure appearing from around a corner.

The Hobbit after all found the door, and that was when his heart broke. There was no keyhole. The light was escaping like the sand through his fingers, and there was no keyhole. He did not understand, they followed the map. If anything, through the quest he had doubted they'd get that far, that they would even reach the mountain, he doubted they'd survive, there were so many dangers, trolls, stone giants, Azog's Orcs on their tail. They made it, and there was no keyhole…

He turned to Balin and stretched hands to him helplessly, showing him the map that was still hiding its secrets from him. It was lost and found, stolen and returned, they had to go to the cursed Elves to read it, he almost lost it to the Elfling, the thief saved it, he didn't hope she'd give it back, and for some inconceivable reason she gave it up willingly, and still the door didn't open.

"The last light of Durin's Day...will shine upon the keyhole." His voice broke, but the despair made him disregard his own weakness, "That's what it says. What did we miss? What did we miss? Balin..." Never in his life had he turned to others for answers, for guidance, but never in his life had he been that lost either. The old Dwarf shook his head hopelessly.

"We've lost the light. There's no more to be done. We had but one chance. Come away, lads. It's over."

It felt as if ice was spreading in his chest, encasing his heart and lungs in ache and white pain. He stood petrified, Dwarves started moving, leaving, one after another, their heads dropped. He heard the hobbit's confused voice.

"Wait a minute, what? Where are they going?" Thorin hardly understood his meaning. "You can't give up now! Thorin!"

He stepped back and pushed the map into the hands of the halfling. It was over. He opened his palm, letting the key slide out of his fingers. The string grazed his skin, and he heard the clank of the key to the stone underneath his feet.

"If I were you, sweetpea, I'd pick it up," her voice was slightly sarcastic but there was warmth in it, and he jerked his face up. She was sitting on the crown of the stone statue they had used to climb here. She pointed her little finger at the key and then at the door, "And I suggest you wait for the moonlight, love."

She gracefully climbed down, the Dwarves and the hobbit frozen in their tracks, some of them already on the stairs, but all their eyes glued to her. He stood like a dimwit, not believing his eyes, and she stopped in front of him and smiled.

"The last light of Autumn, sweetpea, is not the light of day. It's the light of the moon. I doubt your Forefathers would give you a tool, and no hole to put it into," she tilted her head playfully, but he was too dumbfounded to react to her innuendo. And too full of sudden, unreasonable hope. She quickly picked up the key, lifted it and dangled it in front of his nose. He stretched his palm as if against his will, and she lowered the heavy object onto it. He closed his hand around it and twirled on his heels to look at the door.

He held his breath and watched the rays of moonlight crawl on the wall, somehow completely and indubitably certain she was right. She made a step back, and he was grateful. It was his moment. But then his heart clenched, and he blindly pushed his hand back. Her strong, small fingers wrapped around his, she gently pressed his hand, and the keyhole opened in front of his eyes.

He gasped, she gave him a small encouraging squeeze of his digits and let go. He stepped ahead and opened the door to his lost home.

Erebor.

The Mountain.

Home.

He felt someone approach, and he saw Balin, the old man's eyes were full of tears, and so were Thorin's. Without looking back he stepped in. Nothing could ever compare to that moment.

"I know these walls. These halls. This stone. You remember it, Balin. Chambers filled with golden light."

"I remember," whispered Balin.

One by one his company entered the door, the thief stepped in last. She stayed by the door, in the shadows. He caught her eyes though, there were tears running down her cheeks, and she smiled to him shakily.

He turned away from them, he needed a moment to collect himself. Balin and the Hobbit were discussing the engraving on the wall. His heart was beating painfully, and he clenched his teeth to reign tears that were close to spilling.

"The Arkenstone..." The hobbit mumbled, as it tasting the word, "What's that?"

"That, Master Burglar, is why you are here," Thorin had finally reigned his emotions and turned back to them, smirking.

"I wouldn't want to meddle," the thief's quiet but confident voice from the door made them all turn around, "And in no way I doubt Master Baggins' proficiency, but shouldn't I try to go first?" He stared at her in shock, and she grinned lopsidedly, no trace of her sentimentality from minutes ago on her face. "After all, if there is a live dragon down there, I have a better chance of going there and coming back with your stone, sweetpea."

That was it, that was the moment of truth. There was gold down there, just a few passages down, the hoards and hoards of his ancestors, the gold that drove his Grandfather mad, the gold that brought the dragon upon them, so much of wealth that could turn any decency into greed and betrayal. Was he letting a thief, who had tricked and played him again and again before, enter the halls of his Grandfathers?

She stepped closer to him, and he leaned in to her face to see her eyes better. They were sparkling with mischief. She was well aware of his inner conflict. She didn't offer any help to him, didn't bring up any arguments. She just stood in front of him, in a new black outfit, small and lithe. The door was the only entrance, he had the ability to prevent her from entering Erebor, or he could place the destiny of his people into her hands.

"Why are you here, Wren?" She smiled to him softly.

"I can see three possible reasons for it, sweetpea. Either I came because I decided I needed at least one night with you, even if it never came to happen again. Or, I came to help you get your mountain back and fulfill your dream. Or, I am hoping to get my hands on your gold. Choose any." He studied her face.

"Which one is it?" He should not have asked, she was quite obviously not planning to answer, but he stepped closer and pressed his forehead to hers. He was tired of fighting his heart. "Which one is it, Wren?" He whispered, and she brushed her palm on the side of his face.

"All three at once, I suppose," her voice was warm and tender, and he straightened up.

"Will you recognise the Arkenstone?" His decision was made, and he prayed to Mahal he didn't regret it later. She gave him a toothy grin and quickly pecked his lips. He decided that the time for such silly gestures was over, he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into a full blown kiss. She moaned in surprise, and her hands flew up in the air. He didn't let her go, almost not caring that the others would be staring at them in shock, and she relaxed into the kiss. Her arms lay on his shoulders, and she pressed her body to his. There was passion and desire, but less than before. Tenderness took their place, and he sighed into her lips. She moved away first, but her eyes were dazed, and she blinked several times collecting her thoughts.

"Well," she croaked and cleared her throat, "I'll be off." He nodded, and she turned to the company. She smirked into their dumbfounded faces, waved her hand in a familiar childish gesture and softly stepping disappeared in the passage.

"Was that wise?" Dwalin's voice was careful, and Thorin did something he had never done in his life before.

He shrugged and mumbled, "Mahal only knows. But I suppose, we will find out rather soon."


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: My lovely ****dearreader****, the previous chapter was already written (no carpal tunnel can stop me, there is always voice input :D) so I pulled some ideas for this one from your review :) **

**Also ****Wynni**** had already dropped her _smut bomb_ on me, so I needed a build-up towards it :)**

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_That time when Wren saw the mountain as the opportunity of a lifetime for a thief, while Thorin became convinced that two burglars are better than one._

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Four hours passed, and there was no sign of the thief. He stood at the ledge, watching the dark landscape in front of him, trying not to listen to the quiet conversation the Dwarves led behind him. Except for Balin and surprisingly Dwalin, the members of his company were starting to grumble. The Hobbit was sitting to the side, on a boulder, and in Thorin's opinion looked relieved that he wasn't the one sent inside.

Thorin didn't like the thoughts that were whirring in his mind. He started by questioning the sanity of his decision, he rarely doubted himself at all, and such state was distressing. She was a thief, she'd loot him. She even stated she was here at least partially for the gold, and yet, he sent her to the treasury of his ancestors. And then he started thinking that perhaps the woman he couldn't stop thinking about was about to be eaten alive by Smaug. He wouldn't be able to say even in his mind more than just that about her, but the prospect of her finding her demise there suddenly became glaringly evident to him, and he felt terrified.

"She'll be fine," he suddenly heard Dwalin's quiet voice, and shaking off his stupour he looked at the warrior in surprise, "She is a tough lass. And a fine crook. She'll be back." Thorin noted that Dwalin worried whether she'd be safe, but didn't doubt her loyalty. Thorn wished he could say the same about himself.

"We should send the Hobbit after her," he suddenly heard Gloin's grumbly voice, and he realised the Dwarves were arguing quite loudly by then.

"She needs time! We wouldn't want to waken the dragon!" Dori disagreed.

"She must have bolted by now," Nori's voice was derisive, and Throin felt a prick of irritation. It takes a thief to see one. He turned to the company, and they grew silent. Sending her was his decision, no one would oppose it openly.

"I'll go," the hobbit suddenly rose at his feet and stepped, puffing his chest. "One way or another she is not back, and perhaps she needs… assistance. I will go." The Dwarves exchanged looks, different emotions dancing in their eyes, and then they all looked at Thorin waiting for his decision. He reminded himself that the quest was above all and nodded.

The hobbit left, fisting and unfisting his hands nervously, and Balin followed him to give him a pep talk. Dwalin stepped to Thorin.

"The halfling will meddle. She knows what she is doing." Thorin couldn't help it anymore, he needed to understand what the always so mistrustful warrior saw in a small thief from Men.

"Why are you on her side?" Dwalin folded his arms on his chest and gave Thorin a pensive look.

"You chose her." Thorin looked at him in confusion, and then a small smile tugged at his lips. He did indeed. She was his. He fought the desire, he tried to forget her, to talk himself out of it endless amounts of times, but even though he might not have her to himself, he indeed chose her.

"I honestly thought it would be bigger. But again that does happen a lot," the thief's voice was teasing, and Ori yelped at the background.

Thorin twirled at his spot. She was standing in the door, a bag in one hand, the Arkenstone in another, an arrogant smile playing on her lips.

He guffawed in disbelief and heard Dwalin's low chuckle. The Dwarves jumped up and started talking at the same time, but her eyes were only on him. And then she looked around and frowned. She noticed that the hobbit was gone.

"Don't tell me you sent him after me," she shook her head in disbelief, her lips pressed in a stern enraged line, "You do realise there is a bloody dragon down there, right? It was sleeping but I doubt it'll last. Master Baggins is hardly subtle." The Dwarves exchanged alarmed murmurs.

Thorin's eyes fell on the Arkenstone in her hand, and he stepped towards her.

"Give me the stone, Wren." He saw her clench her jaw, and she narrowed her eyes, her anger rising.

"Or what? You are going to beat it out of me? Maiar help me, you are such shukashuk!" _Petty coward. _She spat out the words and threw the stone to him. "Here is your rock, since it's all you care about." She threw the bag over her shoulder and stomped towards the stairs.

The Arkenstone lay heavily in his palm.

"Where are you going?" He called after her, his eyes still on the white gem on his palm, she didn't answer, and he looked up. She was by the stairs already. "Wren?" She gave him an enraged look over her shoulder.

"I did my job, I got you your heirloom, I'm considering this bag my fair payment." She started going down the stairs, and he stood frozen. He insulted her. He doubted her even after he had allowed her into Erebor, after openly accepting her help. She had every right to be furious.

"Go after her, laddie," he heard Balin's quiet voice, meant only for his ears, and he met the old man's clever eyes. "We will try to find the halfling, and you go after the woman." Thorin was ready to follow the advice, when Balin caught his sleeve and added, "And be careful. An offended woman is much more fatal than a dragon."

She was going fast but he sped up and caught up with her. He grabbed her sleeve, and she hissed.

"Anything else I can help you with, Mister Oakenshield?" Even in the darkness of the night he saw her eyes burn, her lips twisted in a venomous smirk. "Oh should I say, my King?" She gave him a mocking bow, "Now that you have your rock, you are the King Under the Mountain."

"Wren..." She jerked the sleeve from his hand.

"What? Are you going to apologise again? You do that a lot, treat me like dirt, then show me some warmth and respect, then insult me again, then apologise. You know what your fault is?" She pointed her small finger at his nose, "You are afraid. Afraid of your own desires, of your feelings. And believe me, I understand it better than anybody. Maiar be my witnesses, I have been scared of you from the start, I knew I could fall for you. But I came now, and I helped you." She took a deep breath in collecting herself. "I told you I don't need anything from you. I got my payment," she repeated firmly and turned to leave.

"You wanted one night..." He spoke slowly, his voice raspy.

"I changed my mind," she squared her shoulders. "You are a coward, Thorin Oakenshield. If you chose to trust me, you were supposed to be on my side till the end. You endangered us all because you thought you allowed me in your mountain because of your mawkishness. Your heart frightens you, and you make wrong decisions." She turned away from him, but just like the night before he couldn't leave, she didn't move either. They stood in silence, and then he spoke in a low voice.

"Of course I'm afraid. Naihriri, Wren." _We belong with each other. _"And nothing will come out of it. Does it not frighten you?"

Her shoulders twitched, and then he heard a joyless chuckle. "Enough to make me drink all that wine." He stepped closer and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Wren..." He didn't know what to say, but she turned around and smiled to him sadly. Nothing needed saying, and he gently put his hand on the other shoulder. She winced, and he remembered the bruises. He wanted to jerk his hands away, but she stepped closer and presses her temple to his. She was only an inch shorter, and he felt her body pressed flush to his. The bag dropped from her hand on the ground, with a metal clank, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I'm scared..." She whispered into his ear, and he tenderly embraced her.

"Of what?"

"That this night won't be enough." He moved away and looked into her eyes.

"This night?" She didn't answer, and his brows jumped up in surprise. "Now?"

"I am taking herbs, there is a dragon in this mountain, a clumsy hobbit went in, and we have to stay here and wait because we can't abandon him. I would say it's about time." He chuckled and gently brushed a curl off her face.

"Just killing time then?" He jested, and she pressed firmer to him.

"One night, Thorin Oakenshield, one night, and I'm leaving." Her eyes were serious, lips slightly opened, and he nodded. He cupped her jaw, his fingers under her ear, their tips buried in her hair, and she pressed her face into his palm like a cat. He brushed his thumb to the corner of her lips. He lowered his face, she met him halfway, and their lips joined. The familiar intoxicating daze filled his head. She was magic.

After a few minutes it became clear that if they didn't find a safe, private spot, he'd take her right on these stairs, and they would probably fall to their demise off it into the abyss. He tore his mouth from hers and pulled her after him.

"What?... Where?..." She was raspy and looked completely disoriented, he pulled harder, she stumbled. He rushed by his companions, dragging her behind him, catching the Dwarves' astonished eyes for a second. They dashed into the passage through the secret door, he passed two turns and pushed her in the nearest nook, assuming such distance from others would suffice. He opened his mouth to ask her if she was certain, when she jumped at him, her mouth greedy, her hands roaming his torso, pulling at clothes, and he growled. A faint memory of all the times he had been disappointed in such situations stirred in his mind, when she jerked his belt off and started peppering his face with kisses, her hands then jumping to his ears.

"Don't… Don't doubt me now… Not now… Not in this..." She punctuated each phrase with a kiss, like a little promise stamped on his skin, her mouth hot and skilled, and he grabbed her around her middle and pulled her into him, his hands grabbing her buttocks, hair and waist. His mouth covered the frantically beating pulse on her throat, and then he grabbed her collar and jerked it to the sides. The little buttons scattered, and suddenly she started laughing.

"Oh that's what happened… I couldn't remember..." She cupped her face and made him look into her eyes. "You already tried this on me in Mirkwood."

"You wanted to feel my body on yours," he rasped out, and she inhaled sharply.

She caught his mouth again, and he pushed the doublet off her shoulders.

**AND NOW SMUT...**

**But first a few personal thoughts :)**

**I brought The Desolation of Smaug Extended Edition DVD home, and I'm in heaven. Couple things stood out, and of course I need to share them with you, my lovelies :D **

**1\. Richard and the stuck key, this scene was a FF goldmine! We got a guffaw, clearing of throat, a chuckle, and later in the same scene a loud sharp exhale. All of it is going into the next chapter, my darlings. It's written but I'll up the stakes, I'm affected! :)**

**2\. Richard sinking in the freezing water in the barrel scene. I'm so sorry but all I could think that that is how Thorin looks in his climax *furious blush***

**3\. They made "real" Dwarven coins for Erebor treasure with five different designs. One of them is probably a raven, but it's so round and fattish that looks a lot like… a wren :D That is so going into a fic :D**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Well, I guess there is no way out of it now. Well done with the prompt, ****Wynni****! I'm cornered and give in :P **

**(It is all part of my evil plan, by the way, muwahahahaha :D)**

**A/N#2: My darling ****dearreader****, unfortunately your idea won't fit but it's brill! I'll keep it safely tucked in drafts folder, and will use it for another chapter. Or perhaps as another "first time" prompt! That would make an awesome way for them to meet :P**

* * *

_That time Thorin made Wren climax six times, while she was heard caterwauling clear to Laketown._

* * *

She pulled her arms out of the sleeves of the doublet, and it slid on the ground. She unbuckled his belt and pushed two coats off his shoulders at the same time. The light white tunic she had left on was surprisignly modest, and he gently placed his hand at the lacing at her throat. She picked up his hand, flipped it and pressed a kiss on the inside of his wrist.

He looked at her in surprise, it felt as if he had never seen her properly before. She seemed to glow, her strange face suddenly the perfection of lines and angles. Her eyes were shining, and she smiled to him softly.

"Wren…" She nodded and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

"We hardly have much time, sweetpea. Any moment either a hobbit, or a dragon will show up," her teasing was good-humoured, and he chuckled. She was meanwhile getting rid of another layer of his clothing. "Maiar help me, you are like a cabbage… We need to haste."

"I'd rather take my time and never arrive at the completion than have a hurried tumble with you on the ground," he lifted one brow, and she unbuttoned his next garment.

"How noble of you, my lord," she giggled and pulled two tunics off him at once. There was only one thin undertunic left, and she ran her hands over his chest. "But I do want my completion." He guffawed and suddenly picked her up under her buttocks, and turning deftly he pressed her back into the wall. Her neck ended up in front of his face, and he nuzzled her.

She wrapped one arm around his neck, the second hand snaked down his body, and she found the strings on his trousers. The years of filching wallets and picking locks paid off, and he sharply sucked in air when her strong fingers encircled his base.

"Maiar help me, it is generous..." Her tone was playful but nervous, and he opened his eyes and looked at her. She was chewing her bottom lip, "I have never bedded a Khazad before. I have heard, but..." He gently kissed the corner of her lips.

"Wren..." All of a sudden she smiled to him sunnily and leaned to his ear.

"You have to put me down, sweetpea, I am overdressed." Her legs were around his waist, his palms under her buttocks, but she hardly weighed anything. He shifted her on one of his forearms and grabbed her trousers and bloomers with another. Her eyes widened an instant before the loud sound of tearing fabrics rolled in an empty stone passage.

"Brute!" She gasped, but he silenced her pressing his mouth to hers. Judging by her shuffling and wiggling she didn't object to the overall approach, and suddenly his tip brushed her hot center. He groaned and dropped his head on her shoulder. She shifted, and his length pressed into her folds.

"Wren, zudur..." _The one who matters. _She moaned and rubbed herself to him, eyes closed, her face distant. He felt her moisture, and she greedily caught his mouth. He pressed one palm into the wall and thrust into her.

She was indeed a screamer. A loud bellow she emitted was triumphant. He almost lost consciousness from her tightness and heat, he rolled his hips into her again and again, sheathing deeper, moaning and mumbling words he didn't want to acknowledge. She sobbed, and her nails dug into his shoulders. He pauses, taking loud short breaths in, and then worry took him.

"Wren… Are you?.." He mumbled into her neck, he was overwhelmed and hardly controlling his body, he was starved and wanted to thrust into her, to crush her into him, to take her, and to make her his. Some feverish thoughts thrashed in his head, but a tiny part of him remembered who she was. The redhaired thief, the woman who saved his life, the woman he loved. He needed to take care of her.

She exhaled through rounded lips and emitted a half sob, half chuckle. "You are too much… Almost..." She twisted her head and rubbed her nose to his cheekbone. "Give me one more… instant..."

He suddenly felt the need to be tender. He slightly turned his head and kissed her cheek, then the corner of her lips, then the nose.

"I am sorry..."

"I am not complaining," she laughed shakily. Their eyes met, and he saw the warmth in hers that he was certain was mirrored in his. "Thorin..." Her voice wrapped around his name, and he started moving. His thrusts deep and slow, he buried himself into her again and again, giving it himself fully, showing her what he couldn't say, what he had no name for. She met his every time, loud moans bursting out of her, her strong thighs squeezing his waist, and suddenly she screamed. It was a high pitched unrestricted scream, and his rhythm stuttered. A flicker of consciousness returned to him, fully absorbed in the pleasure before, and he made himself look at her. He wondered if he had hurt her. There were tears running down her cheeks, and he felt almost sick, she was sobbing loudly. Her body arched, she was mumbling something, and suddenly he realised she had just climaxed.

"Wren?" Just muttering her name like a dimwit seemed to be all he was capable of doing today.

"I've never… Maiar, that was..." She slagged in his arms and dropped her forehead on his shoulder. "Maiar..." He stood not sure if he was supposed to move when he realised she was gently rocking, rubbing her inner walls to his length. Her hot little mouth was suddenly pressed to his neck, and then she gently bit into a tendon. He assumed that was his signal.

He started slowly and gently again, but he was losing control quickly, and soon her body was rising sharply with his plunges, her back arching again, her hands grabbing his hair painfully, and she breathed out, "Yes, Thorin, oh umal..." _Greater pleasure. _She sank her teeth into his shoulder through the fabric, and with her screams muffled, she climaxed again, her body quaking, her walls constricting around him, and he groaned loudly himself. She rocked her hips, prolonging her rapture, murmuring his name, and after a second her body, strained and taut, slumped again.

He was close, his head spinning from desire and hunger for release, and he realised he was pleading, "Please, Wren, I need..." She nodded weakly, and he plunged into her several more times. His whole body was burning, pleasure born somewhere under his skin, and then white agony exploded in his head, almost painful pleasure erupted in his member, and he roared, thrusting into her seeking completion. She was crying out loudly, and he swayed and leaned into the wall, his legs hardly holding him, her back scraped the stone but she didn't seem to notice. His member was twitching inside her, and she mewled.

He pressed his feverish forehead to the cold stone of the wall, and her arms went on his shoulders again. He felt her fingers running through his hair.

"I should have agreed the first night," her tone was pensive, and he chuckled weakly.

"I am glad you enjoyed yourself."

"That is not how I would put it," she laughed throatily and rubbed his ears tenderly. "Are you going to put me down?" He nuzzled her neck and then caught her earlobe between his lips.

"Well, so far no hobbits and no dragons..." He murmured nibbling on the sweet little lobe.

"Are you jesting?" Her tone was disbelieving, and he lightly pushed his hips into her. She choked on her next words, unlike him she apparently was unaware of his next erection, and she shook her head in shock. "Maiar, that was quick..." He smirked into her neck, placing small kisses on her skin, salty from the previous exertion. He wondered if he should have asked her, when suddenly she clenched her walls around him and moaned in her throat. He inhaled sharply and buried his length into her deeper. She loudly cried out, and then she grabbed his ear and pulled painfully.

"Under the knees… Pick up..." She wasn't making any sense, her eyes closed, and head dropped back, and he was losing the clarity of thoughts already, her sweet little quim hugging and caressing him. But her tone was demanding, and he blinked to concentrate. "Pick me up under my knees."

He growled and complied. She opened up to him, the shreds of her trousers and undergarments still on her legs, he spread her, and with his first thrust a loud scream rolled through the walls of his ancestors. He was too far gone to care. She greeted each assault with a honest, unrestrained howl, sometimes replaced with "more" or "deeper," as well as their equivalents in Khuzdul. She climaxed again rather quickly, for some inconceivable reason it was followed by words of gratitude from her, sobbed and mumbled, and he reached his release watching her flushed face, her red lips moving pronouncing the words he couldn't hear from the overwhelming, pure pleasure that burst in his mind.

He started sagging on the floor and pulled her into him to make sure she wasn't scratching her back to the wall after all. He ended up sitting, she wrapped herself around him, her legs crossed behind him, arms around his middle, her head on his shoulder.

"I think this one was double..." Her tone was lazy, and he pressed his lips to her temple. Small orange curls were stuck to her wet skin, she was still breathing heavily, and he clenched his teeth. The words he had no right to pronounce were ready to fall from his lips. Her slender body, the small gentle caresses of her hands, her digits drawing absentminded swirls on his forearms, he exhaled sharply shaking off the pleasant relaxed sluggishness.

"Do we need to go already?" Her voice was sleepy, and he kissed her cheek.

"Or we can use this time more beneficially." She moved away from him and gave him a measuring look.

"I have heard of Dwarven stamina, but surely..." Her eyes were roaming his face, she seemed to be trying determine whether he was making fun of her, and he laughed out loud and caught her lips. They were magnificent, soft and warm, and already so familiar. He caught the bottom one between his teeth, and she suddenly ground her pelvis to his. His member, still inside her, jerked and quickly started swelling. She giggled and moved away from him. There was a peculiar mischievous expression on her face.

"Is your backside suffering on the cold stone?" She tilted her head and licked her lips.

"I am a Dwarf, Wren, we are rarely concerned with comfort." Her little fingers suddenly tickled his waist.

"Then you won't object to this either," she picked up the hem of his tunic and pulled. He guffawed and helped her. The tunic flew somewhere to the side, and she clawed at his chest, purring and mumbling eloquent compliments for some reason in Rohirrim. He was not very proficient in the dialect, but he appreciated the sentiment.

He dropped on his back, pulling her after him. She quickly bent her legs and squeezed him with her knees. She lay on him, her hot palms on the sides of his face and her lips an inch away from his.

"Thorin..." Her breath brushed his lips, and he buried his hands in her now dishevelled curls. She smiled to him softly and started moving. He slid his palms under her tunic, and his fingers met on her shoulder blades. The act was intimate and tender, no fight for dominance or snark from her, her hips moving as if lovingly, his hands caressing her back and sides. She was so small, cool, and fluid. He could encircle her waist in his hands. He started moving to meet her, his hips rising slightly from the ground, and the release took them at the same time. She fell, curled around him and purred. He wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes. She nuzzled his neck and sighed contently. Pleasant tiredness spilled in his body, he was languishly stroking her back for a few minutes when she stirred.

"Still no hobbits or dragons?" She murmured into his skin, and he chuckled.

"Are you hinting on something?" She hummed noncommittally and rose slowly. They looked at each other, and she giggled.

"You have a peculiar face at the moment, sweetpea. Oh Maiar help me, is that how your smile looks?" Her tone was almost believably shocked. He gave it a thought and slapped her round bum slightly. She laughed merrily and places her palms on his chest. The little fingers curled, she apparently liked the hair. Meanwhile he apparently wasn't done. He pushed his hands under her tunic and tenderly stroked the sides, implying and coaxing. She cocked a brow questioningly, and he slightly bucked his hips.

"Oh?" She rounded her lips, and he sharply sat up.

"I would offer you to switch places, but the ground is indeed cold and there is sharp gravel there." She put her arms on his shoulders and feigned pensiveness. She then leaned backwards, picked up couple of his discarded garments and spread them on the ground. He once again thanked Mahal for her flexibility, his member stayed in her through the whole time, and her wiggling worked wonders on his arousal. She then slipped off his length and lay on the ground. He covered her with his body, supporting his weight on his elbows, and kissed her deeply. He knew it was probably their last bout, and he was adamant to make the best of it. He then knelt in front of her and picked her up under her buttocks. He pulled her towards him, and she squealed excitedly. Her legs in the air, spread wide, he sheathed into her, and she arched with a loud raspy moan.

"Oh so good, so good, Thorin..." He had to agree with her, it indeed was. He rolled his hips into her, and she howled. She was probably sensitive, even he started feeling the strain in his muscles, but it was worth it. He was thrusting forcefully, and they were shifting on the floor. She was loud, truly not holding back anymore, and then her voice reached unprecedented pitch. She thrashed, her whole upper body lifting from the ground, nails scraping the stone of the floor, and he swore loudly from the grip of her inner walls, pulsating and squeezing him in her release. A wave of incoherent loud bellowing poured out of her mouth, he could only comprehend there was his name there and a few swearings, and he groaned and kept on moving. She was tight, her inner walls almost feeling greedy before, but nothing could compare to her quim in the middle of climax. She screamed with each of his thrusts, louder and louder, and he thought the world was ending. He was blind and deaf to anything but the perfect pleasure that was spreading through his body.

He dropped her on the floor, she reacted with a loud wail, and he picked up her feet, bent her and placed them on his shoulders. She announced her agreement by calling him 'biraitrib', _skillful, _and 'mamasmûn', _a marvel, _followed by loud proclaiming to the world that his cock the best she had ever had, in three languages.

"Wait for me…" He growled feeling her quim once again tensing, he needed to arrive there with her, and she stretched her arms behind her head. He grabbed her hips. Each of his plunges made her body shift on the ground, her mad orange curls slither on the floor, and he snarled through his teeth and released into her, her climax milking and multiplying and prolonging his pleasure. She was probably screaming again but he didn't hear. The most perfect climax he had had in his life flooded his body, born in his member, but overwhelming his whole being, his hearing and vision gone, and he fell on her, mumbling words of love and gratitude. She tightly wrapped her arms around his neck, sobbing underneath him, and murmuring the proclamations of her returned feelings. He buried his face into her neck, breathing in the fragrance of lilacs and her skin, pushing his hands under her shoulder blades, scooping her in his arms, his lips pressed to the pulse on her neck. He didn't remember where and who he was, but the world was perfect, consisting of a small body in his arms and the feeling of her small hands lovingly stroking his hair and nape.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Hahahahahaha, ****Wynni****, what can one say to something like that? :D Thank you, I guess :D ****The act itself is in the previous chapter, let's deal with the aftermath :D**

**A/N#2: Darling ****RagdollPrincess**** and ****Wynni****, the beginning of this chapter is for you lovely ladies, for all your teasing ;)**

* * *

_That time Thorin buried himself to the hilt with Wren's ankles around his ears while Wren announced her climax so loudly that Smaug turned around with the WTF expression that allowed Bard to make the kill shot that saved Laketown._

* * *

"We are in a vent room," her voice was sober and mundane, and he wondered how speaking even worked. He groaned and heavily lifted his head, supporting himself on his elbows. "It means we were pretty much using the shaft above us as a speaking trumpet." She didn't seem upset by the revelation, but he suddenly imagined the magnitude of the show they had just performed. He looked up and confirmed she was right. And she was loud to start with. He might have participated as well. It was uncharacteristic to him, but nothing from his previous experience could have compared to lying with her. He asked himself if he cared, and realised he didn't. "I also think that the dragon is awake."

He looked at her in shock. He couldn't believe it, was she indeed offering him another innuendo? How could she even joke about it anymore? "The dragon is unconscious, Wren," he rasped. She looked at him in confusion and then suddenly laughed.

"Oh the cockiness of men! Is that how you think of your organ? I meant the actual dragon, the one that slept in the treasury? You do remember Smaug, the destroyer of your kingdom, the bane of Durin's folk?" He looked at her not understanding. "Love, during the last bout there was a rumble and the ground quaked..."

His jaw slacked. It did indeed. Right after her first climax on her back, the mountain shook and there was a roar. It all started coming back to him, and he jerked. She hissed, he was still inside of her, and he groaned. Every muscle in his body ached.

"We need to go back." She nodded agreeing and started moving, but he pinned her to the ground with his hips and caught her mouth. One more kiss. She readily opened her mouth to his caresses, her tongue brushed his, and her sweet taste flooded his senses. It was a goodbye but she was still here, and he told himself that until he got up, he still had the right. Her hands tenderly scratched the back of his head, he thought of saying something, but surely she knew, and he deepened the kiss, pouring all that he felt into it.

It was over too soon, but he knew it would never be enough, and he moved away from her. Her eyes slowly opened, and she tried to smile to him, but her lips trembled, and she bit into the bottom one. They got up and attempted to get dressed. He was in a better situation than her, he just needed to pull all of his layers back on, but she was standing studying her destroyed undergarments and trousers. She fixed and adjusted them, picked up his belt and wrapped it around her waist twice supporting the falling trousers. The pale skin of her thigh was showing through a gap on the side, and she gave him a measuring look.

"Give me that blue coat of yours." He handed her the garment, and she draped it around her shoulders and tied a sash around her waist. Somehow she made it work, it looked elegant and modish, and she smiled proudly. He chuckled, and she squared her shoulders. "Ready to face our audience?"

The Dwarves sitting on the ledge smoking their pipes were completely nonchalant, they were after all a libidinous race. Only Ori was perhaps writing in his journal a wee bit too industriously, but the hobbit who apparently had returned seemed half dead from mortification.

"Master Baggins," the thief sounded completely unbashful and happy to see him, "You are alive! Such a relief!" The halfling grew even paler and swayed. Thorin hid a smile in his beard. "We were worried you were eaten by the dragon..."

"I almost was!" The hobbit shrieked, apparently incapable of keeping it in anymore. "There was a live dragon there! Red! Enormous! Gems! The Arkenstone! Dragon! Tail!" Short shrieks escaped him, he started hyperventilating and slid on the ground. The Dwarves looked at him with pity.

"What our burglar is trying to say is that he encountered a live dragon downstairs," calmly announced Balin, and she nodded.

"I did say he would."

"And he was awaken. And flew towards Laketown to execute his vengeance on Men who as he thought had sent Master Baggins after the gold."

"What?!" She gasped and stepped to Balin. "The town?!"

"It is safe," he rushed to reassure her. "Your friends are safe. More so, your friend Bard has slayed him with the last remaining Black Arrow." Thorin grabbed Balin shoulders.

"The beast is dead?"

"Aye, the ravens have brought the news." The thief pressed her palm to her chest and sagged on the nearest boulder.

"They are safe… Maiar be blessed..." She suddenly started sniggering, and Thorin looked at her in confusion. "We leave for one moment, and the destiny of Middle Earth has changed completely." Thorin wanted to remind her it wasn't one moment, but she roared with laughter, and he joined her. The Dwarves and the hobbit stared at them in shock, and he dropped on the boulder near her. They were laughing, grasping for each other, she was wiping tears, he pressed her into his side.

"One thing for certain," he croaked when their frolics finally subsided a bit, "That is not how it is to be recorded in the annals of Erebor history. I will not be remembered as the King who was engaged with his trousers around his ankles when the glorious city of Esgaroth has slayed the dragon." It caused a new bout of loud laughter out of her.

"Oh you don't know everything yet," Dwalin's voice was mischievous, "Apparently the beast got distracted by some loud howling that came from the mountain, he looked back, which allowed the lippy bargeman to find the weak spot in the lizard's skin."

That was too much for Thorin and his thief. Hiccuping and sobbing from laughter, they fell backwards from the rock, roaring and howling, their legs in the air, their hands clasped, her forehead pressed into his neck.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Wow, ****UKReader****, that was unexpected :) Love it, let's roll :)**

**A/N#2: This chapter is a bow to one of my favourite films: "Other People's Money" :D I love everything about it, don't let me start on it :) I can go on for days!**

* * *

_That time when Thorin cupped his ball sac, while Wren counted to ten._

* * *

"Erebor is ours again, my brothers!" The Dwarves answered with cheers and roaring to Thorin's speech, and he almost felt tears roll on his eyes from warmth he felt towards them. "The beast is dead! Let us explore Erebor and see our treasure, for it is finally to return into Dwarven possession!" More cheers and saluting exploded, but Thorin noticed that two people were not joining the exultation. The hobbit stood a bit to the side, a frown on his round face, while the thief was sitting on the same boulder they were just laughing together on, her lips twisted in a wry smile. Thorin turned away from them and gestured widely at the secret door, "My brothers, let us return to the home we have reclaimed!" The Dwarves who had jumped on their feet when he started talking agreed loudly and enthusiastically and headed inside. The hobbit was the last to pass by Thorin, while the thief remained on the rock.

Thorin wanted to go in, to see the halls, to breathe the air of his lost and reclaimed home. He couldn't wait to cleanse it of dragon stench and return Erebor to its old glory, but the memories of her body pressed to his were still fresh in his mind, and the elation of the day was still coursing in his blood, and he stepped over his pride and fell behind his companions. Balin walking before the burglar caught his eyes and nodded to him slightly. Thorin understood that the old Dwarf was telling him they would wait for him, wouldn't go in deeper without him, and he nodded in return. He just needed to deal with the odd behaviour of the stubborn woman, and he surely had very little time for it. He felt impatient, and yet he made an effort.

"Wren?" He sounded as irked as he felt.

"Yes, sweetpea?" She gave him an exaggeratedly attentive and polite look, and he gritted his teeth. He wanted to bark her to pick up her adorable backside and march inside, but he knew by now that such approach would wield sad results. He took a deep breath in.

"Would you please accompany me inside?" He wondered if his attempted smile looked like a snarl. Her lips twitched sarcastically, and he prepared for a snarky answer, but then her face softened, and she simply shook her head. "Wren..." His tone was menacing, she stood up and started rocking on the heels of her feet. The gesture was strangely unbecoming her usually collected self.

"I won't. I am leaving. Just like I said before." He opened his mouth, but she didn't let him talk. "Let's not start the discussion. I have gotten everything I wanted out of this adventure. I helped you get your mountain back, I got the gold, and I had my night." She lifted her eyes she previously kept on the ground, and he saw them emotional for an instant, but immediately cold and her gaze unreadable. "I'm leaving, sweetpea. I don't fare well in established settlements, and you obviously can't wait to clean up your home." He cringed, she talked of Erebor as if of a village house. He had patience for one more polite line.

"Wren, I want you to stay. To.. be with me. Whatever we thought were the obstacles for us still remain true, but I'm willing to set upon resolving our differences." Her eyebrows jumped up, and suddenly she laughed.

"Is that how you see it? That we can't be together," the last word was pronounced venomously, "because we are different?! Let me get this straight, is that about you being a King and me being a petty thief? Or you being a glorious Heir of Durin while I am, pitifully, of Men?" He was holding on to the shreds of self-control. She dared talking derisively to him!

"All of the above. Surely, you wouldn't argue..."

"I don't _want _to stay with you!" She interrupted him, and he froze with his mouth half open. "It's not about you deighing to an undeserving woman, it's me not wanting to stay locked in your mountain. All the gold in Erebor can't keep me here! And all of the majesticness of your cock wouldn't keep me in your bed!" He stepped to her and grabbed her upper arm.

"You spoke words of love to me in the vent room!" She jerked her chin up.

"And I am not taking them back. But I never promised to be your slave." He couldn't believe it!

"Is that how you see it? I am offering you the place beside me!"

"Will I be allowed to leave when I wish to?" Her voice was bitter, and he snarled.

"In the reasonable limits, of course."

"And whose reasoning will it be? Yours? And what about me burgling and robbing? Will I be allowed to do it?"

"You won't have to!" He couldn't understand, she was talking nonsense! "You can share into my wealth!"

"I don't want wealth! I love burgling and robbing and conning and drugging fools and clobbering them to the heads with vases! It has always been my choice, and mine alone!" It should have been the end of the conversation, but he couldn't let her go. He was Khazad, he was taught to find his One, and Mahal help him he had. Surely, she was supposed to see reason! And he did what came naturally but was the worst mistake. He shook her and growled at her, his face close to her wide open eyes.

"I am tired of your palaver, woman! Gather your wits and understand what is offered to you! I will not tolerate your insolence! You will stay even if I have to chain you! You will do as I say even if..."

He didn't get a chance to finish his threat since she skillfully kneed him. The pain was excruciating, she knew what she was doing. He let go of her hand and sank on the ground with a low groan. A dagger was near his throat, and he stared at her in disbelief. And that was the woman who not longer than half an hour ago was sobbing in his arms calling him "malansun," _my beloved_, and "hedan karadi" _the key to my heart_, peppering his face with kisses!

"Listen to me, Thorin Oakenshield, and listen very attentively. I do not owe you anything. What happened in the vent room was just another adventure of mine, and I enjoyed it immensely, but it ends here. And you are never to order me again, are we clear?" She pressed harder, and he felt blood trickle down his neck from the cut. He clenched his jaw. He could certainly overpower her, but he still couldn't conceive what was happening. "And more so, I expected gratitude from you. Perhaps the bag I gathered for myself is too small, since I am not getting the reward for my heart," she sneered at him, "Such as heartfelt thank-you's and much obliged's." She pressed the blade up, under his jaw, making him look up and into her burning eyes. They were the brightest green he had ever seen in his life, "As for calling me "a woman," as if it were to insult me, I want you to cup your balls now and repeat after me..." His brows jerked up, and she pressed the blade harder. It was starting to sting. "Cup. Your. Balls. I am counting to ten, and if I don't like what I see I might consider them unworthy of remaining on your glorious body. One… Two… " He had a choice of listening to her, or trying to lunge at her, potentially hurting her or both of them, or continuing to glare at her. They were alone, and she was very, very angry. "Three… Four..." He dropped his hand of his private parts. She gave him a distorted venomous grin, "Good. And now repeat after me, _The fact that I have something dangling between my legs doesn't make me superior to the person who happens to have tits and gave me my Kingdom back._" Their gazes were locked for a few seconds, and then he dropped his eyes. She had won.

"The fact that I have something dangling between my legs doesn't make me superior… to the person who gave me my Kingdom back." He emitted the tits part, but she nodded and stepped back from him.

She pushed the dagger into a scabbard on her belt, calmly picked up the bag she had brought from the treasury, and left without looking back. He wiped the blood from his throat and heavily got up. It was time to enter Erebor and be the King he was. The chapter of his story with a small red haired thief in it was done.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: This is your glory moment, my darling ****dearreader****, you have propelled the plot ahead! :D**

**A/N#2: Dear TwistIt, that's pretty much what you meant, right? :D**

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_That time when time Wren went with Bard to the Mountain after the fire to negotiate with Thorin, meanwhile Thorin received from her the best treatment for gold sickness._

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The cursed hussy! The dishonourable wench! The whore, the witch, the jade! Thorin had been smashing and shattering everything around him for the last three hours, and still he didn't seem to feel any better! Balin came to him once but quickly left the hall, where Thorin had by then armed himself with a mace and with vindictive pleasure realised he was producing more damage this way.

With each blow he was dropping on columns and walls he was recalling every time she had outplayed him, fooled him, turned him into a brainless buffoon! Because this time she had exceeded herself ten hundred times! The hustler had taken the Arkenstone!

While he was whimpering and whining like an enamoured dimwit he was and her blade was pressed to his throat, her deft little hands pulled the gem of Durin's folk out of his clothing. And, which somehow he found most infuriating, she concealed her loot in his own coat!

He hollered and crushed the mace into the nearest wall. A wide crack ran along it, and he fell on his knees breathing loudly and labouriously. If only he could get his hands on her… He clearly imagined his fingers locked around her pale neck. The harlot, the strumpet, the good-for-nothing, double-faced, canneving tramp! On the other hand he felt almost relieved. It was easier to hate the thief than to crave the woman. He could now concentrate on imagining choking her throat, rather than pressing his lips to it.

He rose on his feet, swaying heavily, and joined his companions. Terror was written all over the hobbit's face, and Thorin snarled at him. It was time to explore Erebor and devise a plan of returning the Arkenstone.

A few days later a company of spearmen appeared under his gate, bearing the green banners of the Elvenking and blue ones of Laketown. He addressed them from the wall, wearing his grandfather's crown he felt endlessly uncomfortable in but felt it was required by the circumstances.

"Who are that come armed for war to the gates of Thorin, son of Thrain, King under the Mountain?"

Bard the Bargeman stepped ahead and answered, "Hail, Thorin! Why do you fence yourself like a robber in his hold?"

And then the whining started. The Men, who dared to drag the cursed wood wimps into this story, were demanding a share of his gold! Why would he be surprised though? They were always greedy and lusting after the treasures of Erebor!

And then it even turned out that the despicable pale wimp of Elvenking was aiding the Laketown people in their need! Thorin had to agree, dragon fire had brought ruin and desolation to their dwellings, but somehow he couldn't recall having received the same treatment from the Elves when his home was devastated by the same calamity! Thorin felt the best answer to them was to repeat what he previously stated, that they should ishkh khakfe andu null, and prepared waiting for Dain Ironfoot's army to join him.

Days passed slowly and wearily. They searched Erebor, cleared passages, evaluated the damage Smaug had left behind him. More and more often Thorin found himself in the treasury, the even golden glow seemingly calming his nerves. Only surrounded by the gold and gems of his ancestors he managed to forget the treachery of the cursed redhead for a few blissful hours. He would wander the dunes of gold, and for once the cold clasping at his heart would seemingly melt in the warm golden glimmer.

And then they came to bargain again, and he was ready to dismiss them again, when they claimed they had the Arkenstone. He felt sharp pain in his chest and only grasping to the wall, his knuckles white, allowed him to hide his moment of weakness. He should have known she'd betray him for the sake of the bargeman. Surely she was his doxie. And the Elvenking's as well, she did say her trip to Mirkwood had been successful! How could he had been so blind! She was in a conspiracy with them from the start! Kamnul uhfar! _Dirty traitor. _Narg kurdu rukuhz!_ Black hearted demon! _Kalfel!

"How came you by it?" shouted Thorin in gathering rage.

And then the cursed halfling squealed from his left, "I gave it to them. Well, she gave it to me, and I gave it to them."

His rage was blind and devastating but the shreds of his mind held on to the memories of the halfling jumping in front of Azog's warg to protect him, and he threw the cursed hobbit out of Erebor, sparing his life.

He gritted his teeth and agreed on the conditions of his enemies, but remembered that Dain was on his way. With his help Thorin would recapture the Arkenstone and withhold the share of the reward the halfling was demanding shaking some dirty piece of paper in front of Thorin's nose. Thorin could hardly remember signing some ludicrous contract in the halfling's burrow, all he could think of at the moment was how they all, all of them wanted some of his gold, the gold that didn't belong to them, his, his gold.

He rushed into the treasury, gasping for air, his dark blue attire suffocating him, he jerked the collar of the fur adorned outergarment, and fell on his knees on the golden coins. It was his, only his, he didn't need anything else, they all had betrayed him, the woman, the friend, the wizard who suddenly turned up in the enemy camp…

And that's when excruciating pain bloomed in the back of his head, and the world grew black. He swam in the disgusting haze for Mahal only knows how long, and then he stirred and heard the voice even before he managed to open his eyes.

"According to Elves it is called cognitive recalibration and should work on your anger management problems, but I am starting to worry for your wits, sweetpea. Not that you had much to start with, but from all this clobbering you might really lose some balls in the upper department."

She was sitting on a heap of gold, playing with a golden coronet that belonged to his grandmother. She was dangling it on her finger, and he growled and lunged at her. At least he tried, he was apparently tightly and securely tied to a column, sitting near it, nothing but a thin tunic and trousers left on him, barefoot, and she tilted her head and tut-tutted.

"I am rather cross with you, sweetpea. I was on my way East, happy as a lark, when I heard of all the mess you'd brewed in here." She gave him a measuring look and put the coronet on her head.

"Take it off, uthrab! You gave up any right to touch my gold!" The crown sat slightly askew on her curls, and she laughed loudly.

"I never had any right to touch it to start with. Never stopped me before," she was dangling one foot and picked up a gem. She twirled it between her fingers and wrinkled her nose. "Besides the obvious coocoo going on in that big head of yours," she vaguely gestured all over him, "I would assume you've been breathing dragon fumes for way too long. And again all the malnutrition..." She tut-tutted again. "What do you have left of provision, probably just cram, the Elven crackers, am I right? How about some wine and cheese, love?" He glared at her and kept silent.

He discreetly pulled at the ropes. There was no way to escape them, she knew knots well. He watched her pour wine in a goblet and pull out a block of cheese from a sack at her feet. She theatrically dangled it in front of his face, and he growled.

"What do you want, shaikmushz?" She feigned shock and pressed a hand to her chest.

"Rude, so rude! First you call me 'a thief,' now 'a rat', sweetpea! The next thing you will say you are not happy to see me!"

"You betrayed me!" He couldn't keep it inside anymore, and he thrashed as much as the ropes allowed, in a desperate, helpless rage, snarling and grinding his teeth. She seemed completely unaffected, cut a neat little slice of cheese and stretched her hand with it to him.

"Cheese, sweetpea? The best Esgaroth can offer. Well, could, since there isn't much left of Esgaroth," she twirled the treat in front of his face, and he gave her a hateful stare.

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for them? Their ruin is none of my concern!" She hummed and popped the cheese into her mouth. She was chewing thoughtfully and then got up and stepped to him. She lifted the goblet with wine to his lips and grinned lopsidedly.

"It is just wine, no addings this time, sweetpea." She pressed the cup to his lips, and he jerked his head, the goblet flew, dark red wine spilling on his clothes and on the gold around him.

She sighed, stepped back and returned to the heap she was sitting on before.

"I knew you'd be hard to reason with but I didn't expect you to be that far gone."

"Untie me right now!" He hated her, hated her so much at that moment, that given a chance he'd break her like a twig! He hated how calm she was, just sitting a few feet away, looking at his attentively, as if nothing happened, as if she hadn't broken his heart, twice, all of her familiar and so dear before!

"I think we have agreed, sweetpea, that you are not to order me anymore." She rose and walked closer to him. She knelt in front of him and stretched her hand to his face. He considered biting her hand, and then to his own endless shock he leaned into her palm, familiar cool skin brushed his cheek, and he closed his eyes. "I'll tell you a story, sweetpea. When I was thirteen I was an apprentice of a healer in Bree." His eyes flew open, and he stared at her. A healer's apprentice?! "I was very driven, I considered healing my calling, but more so, I had the best mentor a healer could hope for. And among other things he used to help those who couldn't help themselves around wine, or gambling, or women. He had a mad idea that some people have an inborn tendency to get attached to certain habits, substances and behaviours." She stroked his beard and then her little fingers found his ear. "My mentor thought that he could find the right treatment for each of his patients. Some needed service to take their mind off their habits, some needed company, others distraction. And then one of his patients ran him through with a dull knife for the few coins my mentor had in his pockets, and since young girls were his guilty pleasure my mentor was treating him from, he came after me." Thorin suddenly wondered how old she was, this story hardly could have happened more than a decade ago.

"And what happened?" He didn't recognise his own raspy voice.

"I gutted him with my new surgical instruments and decided healing was not quite my cup of tea." She let go off him and stood up. "But I remember what my mentor kept on telling those people." Her eyes grew distant, lost in her memories, and she spoke softly, "Somewhere deep inside yourself, you can find that very little key to your own salvation, the little thread that keeps you afloat, not letting you slide into complete madness. There is always the way out, and you yourself would be keeping it hidden close to your heart."

Thorin watched her glowing face, her mesmerizing eyes shiny, her chest rising in shallow emotional breaths, and he whispered, "Wren..." She looked at him, her eyes warm and slightly mischievous, and a small smile played on her lips.

"And you know what I found hidden close to your heart, under all these layers of the regal garments that you are so pompously wearing these days, Thorin Oakenshield?"

She stretched her hand ahead, and hanging on her little index finger he saw her peach coloured garter, that he had with him at all times, since the day he picked it up from the floor of his cell in Mirkwood. It lost its lilacs fragrance long ago but he grew into habit of lightly stroking the silky lace with his thumb, clasping it in his hand, when sleep would elude his through endless and endless nights.

"I don't know where it came from..." His voice was coarse and disobedient, and she knelt in front of him again, her eyes right in front of his.

"Liar..." Her breath hit his lips, and he jerked in his ropes, seeking her mouth. She allowed him, but stayed still, she let his lips press to hers and then she pulled away, leaving him hungry and livid. He hollered at her, and she got up in front of him. He had no words left, just a scream of pain and despair, and he thought the column shifted from the strain he was putting on it.

"No need to be angry, sweetpea. I will give you what you want in just an instant," her tone was calm, and he stilled listening to the strange authoritativeness in her voice. "But you have to decide what it is that you actually want." Her hands lay on the buttons of her doublet. He saw it was the same one he almost destroyed in the vent room, it had been mended. She shook it off, and then her hands lay on the waist of her trousers. She pushed them down and stepped out of them leaving her boots on the ground behind her as well. She was left in a thin tunic, all lace, delicate, ivory coloured, and bloomers hardly reaching the middle of her thigh. She bent down to pick up something from the sack on the ground, and he groaned from the view of her slender body flex and move under the gauzy undergarments. And then he saw the Arkenstone on her palm.

"So _what_ is it that you want, sweetpea?"


	26. Chapter 26

My darlings,

I'm considering reorganizing this fic. I will delete the chapters that have nothing to do with Anti-Wren and her Sweetpea, and will change the title of this fic to **"Stealing Thorin's Thunder."** As far as I understand, it won't change anything for you in terms of notifications, only the title and the chapter numbers will change.

The chapters I'll delete will be posted in a new fic, I'm keeping **"First Time, Every Time**" title for it. Once Anti-Wren's adventures end, I will go back to it, and I do remember that I have two prompts stashed for more chapters in this one.

Also, I will lose all the reviews for "first times," so if you feel like indulging my vanity and review those again, I'll be endlessly grateful to you :)

Love you all, my lovelies!

kkolmakov


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Well, ****deareader****, isn't your prompt just perfect? ;) It also gains the second half (for format unity purpose :D) from ****UKReader****'s one. How could I pass an opportunity to talk about Wren's knickers? :)**

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_The time when Thorin had to chose between dazzling sex with Wren or the dazzling Arkenstone, while Wren wanted to wash her smalls._

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"You can take the stone, sweetpea. Here it is, just say it, it's yours again," she stretched the open palm with the glimmering gem on it, "I will have to give it to Balin perhaps, and tell him where his King is, as he is slightly tied up, I don't think untying you myself would be wise..." She stepped closer. The fragrance of lilacs tickled his nose, and his eyes ran along her slender body, its outlines clearly seen through the delicate lace.

"Or you can choose differently now, Thorin, son of Thrain," her tone was serious, and his eyes flew to her face. It was solemn, earnest and sober, as he had never seen her before, "You can choose to remember that you are the Heir of Durin, the King Under the Mountain, remember that you have your duty to the Khazad and other peoples living around you, and that the war is the last thing you want to see in your home." She stepped one more step towards him and placed the stone on the pile of gold nearby but out of his reach. His legs were tied together but he could probably try to stretch them towards the white gem. He didn't, though his eyes stayed glued to it.

"You have seen war, Thorin. It took your father, your grandfather, your brother. This one will probably take your friends. Balin, Dwalin, Fili and Kili perhaps, Bofur, Bifur, Bombur, Ori, Nori, Dori, Oin and Gloin, any of them might not see the light of day after you unleash war on the Men from Laketown and the Elvenking. Do you think Dain alone will overpower the army of Thranduil? His archers and his swordsmen? The war will come to your home, Thorin. And many will die. So, do you want it?" She gently pushed the stone with her tiny bare foot towards him, and he clenched his teeth.

He should have said yes, and she would follow through. He knew that much about her by now. She came back to help him again, following some sort of train of thought of her own again, but that much was clear. Were he to ask for the stone now, she'd give it to him and leave. He could just nod, and the Arkenstone would be his. He tore his eyes from it and looked in her eyes. She stood, relaxed and seemingly unaffected, her beautiful slender arms hanging along her body.

"Don't get me wrong, sweetpea, politics interest me not." Her tone was almost lazy. "As much as I care for Bard personally, his city is none of my concern. But I love _you_." Her voice didn't waver, and he felt his heart clenched at the calm even tone. "And Thorin I fell in love with wouldn't wallow in this madness. I know that sharing your gold is not in your nature, but neither are unreasonable decisions that endanger your people."

His mind whirred, dark suspicions and foolish hopes flashing through it. Was she sent by the bargeman? Was she in conspiracy with the Elves? Did she actually love him? Why did she come back? Was she right in pointing that he had been mad and blind? He was grasping for some sense and logic, trying to organise his thrashing thoughts, trying to find his ground again, and then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"If not the stone, what do I get?" He opened his eyes and looked at her face, a wide smiling immediately blooming on it, her eyes crinkling in relief and merriment, and she moved quickly and suddenly straddled him. He forgot about the ropes and jerked his arms again.

"You get to become the King your people deserve, you get to see Erebor rebuilt, and trade bloom in these lands. You get to be the man you have always wanted to be." Her tone was soft, and she cupped his face. "You get to be the King Under the Mountain, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, the King of carven stone, the lord of silver fountains, your crown upholden, your harp restrung..." She talked in sing-song voice quoting the poem and then suddenly giggled. "By the way, I've wanted to ask you for a while, do you actually play harp?" He gave her a disbelieving look, and she grinned in return. Her hands stroked his chest, ran along his neck, treaded into his hair, and she finally kissed him. It was an sincere and earnest kiss, passionate and deep, and he moaned into her mouth. She ground her hips into him, he gasped and tore his mouth from hers.

"Untie me, Wren… I need my hands..."

She twisted her head and caught his earlobe between her teeth. She nibbled and sucked and then whispered into it, "I am not certain you can be trusted as of yet, sweetpea. Persons with compulsions tend to be very good in faking recovery. I need to do more examining to determine whether you have sufficiently returned to your good health." In accordance to her words her strong small hands were roaming his torso, and she nuzzled his neck.

"Are you certain it has nothing to do with you simply enjoying my helplessness?" He cocked one brow. He desired her painfully, the ropes he kept on pulling at were cutting into his body, but he felt saner than ever since she had left him at the secret door. The strange buzzing in his ears and nauseating dizziness he had been fighting since then were subsiding, and he took a freer breath in. His nose filled with the sweet fragrance of her skin. She caught his mouth again, and he felt her deft little fingers on the strings of his trousers. He once again jerked his head from under her caresses, as much as he hated to lose contact with her hot greedy mouth.

"You cannot deprive me of that, I need my hands… I will be rather useless without them..." His voice was scratchy, but he was feeling merrier than he had in days. She chuckled and tut-tutted.

"Among many reasons why I prefer you the way you are at the moment is that I am rather fond of these bloomers. Were you hands free, they'd be in shreds already, love." He met her eyes, and an unpleasant heavy thought visited his mind.

"You do throw this word around liberally, Wren." The same old pain returned, dull and mind-numbing. She had left him, she didn't want to stay with him. She gave him a small sad smile and cupped his face.

"I did come back to you, Thorin."

"Will you again?" Their gazes locked she was silent for a few instants and then nodded.

"As long as you want me to."

"Always, Wren," the words fell from his lips effortlessly, and he saw her eyes fill with tears.

"Hikhthuzul, Thorin?" _Always?_

"Hikhthuzul, kurdu." She pressed her lips to his, and he lost himself in the sweetness of her mouth, the soft caresses of her tongue, her hands on his skin under the tunic she bunched up, and he only returned to a resemblance of clarity of thought for one instant when his member slid into her. He gasped, his head dropped back, and he loudly groaned. She was still, her temple pressed to him, her body trembling on his, and he suddenly guffawed. He forgot he even could laugh.

"Vixen... How?.." She laughed shakily in return and lifted one hand. There was a ribbon in it, it was part of her undergarments, and apparently held the bloomers whole before. He shifted and looked down at where their bodies were connected. The bloomers had turned into a semblance of a skirt, apparently the ribbon was weaved between the legs before. "Ingenious construction..." He couldn't help but approve.

"My friend Thea is an undergarment seamstress. You just wait, I have the most exciting items in my possession." He kissed her under her ear and then gave her neck a long lick.

"I am afraid at this stage I'd find you appealing even in a potato sack." She giggled.

"What about some nice Elven dress?" He feigned disgust and cringed theatrically.

"That would certainly trial my feelings for you, but as long as it was gone quickly..." She smacked his shoulder and shifted her hips. He hissed. He was certain she was clenching and unclenching those muscles on purpose. "Wren, can I have my hands back? I feel my reason has been very much restored, and to be honest my arms and legs have fallen asleep." She straightened up and placed her hands on his shoulders.

"I am sorry, love, but you will have to wait for a bit more. I have a few things to say to you, and I'm worried you might get unsettled again. So I will just..." She rolled her hips into him, and he growled. Last time in this position their love was intimate and romantic, this time she was quite clearly intending to show him her skill. Her hips were moving forcefully, muscles caressed him in determined, measured strokes, while an intoxicating twist was added into the thrusts of her pelvis. He was losing his mind, in a very different way this time. He moaned loudly, she was unraveling him, he felt like a musical instrument she was playing, and yet he welcomed it. "I gave the white gems back to King Thranduil."

The meaning of her words reached his brain much later, and when it did he jerked and opened his mouth to yell, when she sank especially deeply on him, and he mumbled, "Oh, damn with the cursed gems, let him have it..." She laughed in a silver voice and halted. She caught his eyes and smiled to him.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, yes, just keep on moving..." She did, and her lips were by his ear.

"Tell me you approve, tell me why you do..." Her whisper was soft but commanding, and he rasped out.

"He will not go to war… Mahal… I do approve… He always wanted them, it's a… Mahal help me… smart move… He now has no claims… Oh yeah, to the left… for Erebor's treasure..." She did something especially magical, and he cried out coarsely.

"And Bilbo..." She seemed to be losing command over her voice as well, "He was right, Thorin. You did promise him and Laketown a share of your gold..." He clenched his teeth, grasping for some sort of sanity.

"Why are you on their side?" She stopped moving sharply, and he growled. Her hands lay tenderly on his cheeks though, and she made him look into her eyes.

"I am always on your side. Men lananubukhs menu." _I love you. _"But you are a man of honour. You won't forgive yourself if you break your word." He kept silent for a moment. She was right. She apparently saw his mind in his eyes and smiled to him softly and slightly mischievously, "I wouldn't share, but again I'm nothing but a petty thief."

"Amlakuh, Wren." _You are my half, Wren. _He felt almost angry with her, no one was allowed to speak of her this way, even she herself. She smiled gratefully and wrapped her arms around his neck.

She once again whispered into his ear, "Can I untie you hands now, sweetpea?" He groaned showing his agreement, and then she bit into his jaw and sniggered, "Nah, I think I'd rather not."

He was planning to express his distress when she shifted, her thighs squeezed his impossibly tightly, she bent backwards, her upper body rising up sharply and plummeting down, the ridge of his cock catching on the ring of her muscles with each of her jumps, she started chanting and mewling in pleasure, and he climaxed, with a roar, his body quaking and his breath coming out in rasps. She fell on his body, soft and warm, and purring.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then he felt the ropes slid off from around his body. His arms dropped, no feeling in them, but he pushed himself and clumsily wrapped them around her body.

"Do I want to know where you were hiding the dagger this whole time, haban?" His tone was tender, and she snorted into his shoulder, her head was resting on. One of her hands was still on his chest, under his tunic, and she weakly clawed at him. He moved his arms, twirled his hands, gaining dextrosity in his wrists and fingers, she was breathing on him evenly, and he wondered if she fell asleep.

"Wren?" She hummed and nuzzled him.

"I am not sleeping, I am enjoying. You are very warm. But you need a bath." Her tone was teasing, and he stroked her back and her hair. She was so pleasant to touch!

"Amenities were the last thing we were concerned with, Wren."

"Shows how much you know..." she murmured, and he guffawed. Insolent minx! "Next time I'm visiting I'm expecting luxurious bath chambers and a clean King." He cocked a brow, though she couldn't see him.

"And when exactly will that be?" She heavily straightened up, yawned with gusto and smiled to him.

"When there are luxurious bath chambers in Erebor, just like I said. And to be honest, that coronet over there was lovely. After you make the registry of your treasure, maybe you should consider it among my remuneration."

"It belonged to my grandmother. Are you going to pawn my heirloom?" There was no malice in his tone. He might have been feeling too sated to care about anything. She sighed and stretched. His member still in her, she leaned to the side and picked up a golden coin from the floor near his thigh.

"Are all of these some sort of heirloom and have some pompous significance and can't be looted without me feeling like I'm stomping over your fragile Dwarven heart?" She twirled the coin between her fingers, and he quickly leaned in and kissed her jaw.

"I am going to make it even worse for you. I'm going to allow you to take anything you want, and you will lose interest in stealing anything from my treasure." She gasped in feigned horror.

"You wouldn't dare! That's mean!" He chuckled and kissed her again. He just really enjoyed kissing her.

"Is that a wren?" She shoved the coin under his nose, an impish grin on her lips, and he laughed.

"This is Carc, the Raven of Erebor, one of the guards of Ravenhill."

"Looks like a wren to me. Too round and fat for a raven." She carelessly threw the coin behind her and proceeded to kissing him. He couldn't say he objected.

After she cut the ropes on his lower half, and they made love twice more, on the golden heaps, she curled into his side, her fingers drawing lazy swirls on his skin. He was absent-mindedly stroking her back.

"When I come next time I also expect a proper bed. I think some gems and coins might have gotten embedded into my skin, and now I have the same armour as Smaug did." He cringed, and she looked into his face attentively, "What?"

"Someone will have to skin him to get those back." She mirrored his facial expression.

"Yeah, the stench is rather potent… Even though gold is not supposed to bear smells, these," she picked up a handful of coins and threw them aside immediately, "seem to still stink of dragon. To say nothing of clothes and flesh." He chuckled. She was clearly hinting on him. She was right, he couldn't remember when he took a bath, slept or ate properly last. The memories of the madness of the last days flooded him, and he pulled her into himself tighter. The warm pliant body was real, she was real, and the sickness that showed its ugly muzzle for an instant scampered away again. He sighed, it was time to get up. He wanted to stay like that for at least a week, but there were two armies under his walls, diplomatic relationships to mend, and a city to rebuild. A few more questions needed clarification as well.

"How came you by the Arkenstone again?" She lifted her head and propped her chin on a small fist. He gazed at her lovingly, she was lovely. In the golden glow her skin was radiant and the mad orange curls, scattered on her shoulders were brighter than any jewel in his possession.

"I nicked it from Bard when I heard that the hobbit gave it to him. I didn't expect it, I thought he'd give it back to you. I would rather stay away from politics, but I had a suspicion you would just end up chopping each other to pieces over the gold and over measuring your cocks." He lifted one brow, and she exhaled in exasperation. "And no, I have no idea, haven't seen any of other participants in this pissing contest." He shouldn't have felt so pleased, but the corners of his lips twitched, and she punched him under his ribs. He emitted a completely fake yelp.

"And out of all of us you came to reason with me? Surely talking sense in your friend Bard would have been easier." She supported her head on a bent elbow and spoke quietly, without raising her eyes.

"Would you believe me if I said that I was ready to give it back to you even if it meant it didn't change anything and that I meddled into state affairs, right in the middle of starting war, just because I felt bad about stealing it from you?"

"I'm starting to," he answered tenderly, and pulled her into a deep kiss. She stretched on him and sighed heavily.

"I must have lost my mind..." She murmured into his lips, and he pressed her into him closer. He knew he already had, and he rejoiced to know she was there with him.

Another hour later they got up and started getting dressed slowly. She had her sack with her. She pulled on another pair of lace undergarments from it, which caused a small explosion in his head, and another bout against a column. She had no time to take them off, he pushed them to the side, and now she was studying them, her delicate nose wrinkled.

"Alright, that needs washing. I am starting to get annoyed. Esgaroth is destroyed, you don't have plumbing set up here, the lake is half frozen and full of debris, Mirkwood is too far. I need comfort, I need a bath, proper sleep, and to clean my clothes. Ugh," she stuffed the two pairs of her undergarments into the sack, and pulled clean clothes out of it. He was watching chuckling. She looked like an irritated kitten, hissy and dishevelled. She noticed his facial expression and stuck her tongue at him.

He walked her through several passages, luckily avoiding his companions, and she stopped by a tall window, seeming blocked by rocks. At this stage he didn't doubt her proficiency in escaping and finding routes he couldn't see. Suddenly, she jumped at him and threw her arms around his neck.

"Keep safe, azyungeluh," she whispered, her voice broke, and when she moved away from her he saw that her eyes were full of tears. "Promise me you'll keep safe." She cupped his face and he smiled to her. She worried!

"I promise." Her face wavered, something bothered her, and then she quickly kissed him. Before he could reciprocate she pushed away from him and disappeared between rocks, while it seemed a mouse couldn't have passed among them. He shook his head and started marching to the halls he knew his company was in.

That was when Balin ran into him, wildly gesticulating and telling him the astonishing news. An army of Orcs and wargs was attacking from the North! While Dain was under Erebor's walls, ready to engage the Elves and the Men, the darkness spilled on the valley, thousands of bats like locust filled the sky, hiding the sun from those on the ground, and Thorin rushed into the armoury. He grabbed the armour of his fathers and the Elven blade the small thief had returned to him in the dungeons of Mirkwood. His hand lay on the familiar hilt, and he spoke a short prayer to Mahal asking to keep her safe in the midst of war. He closed his eyes for an instant, and when he opened them again he was the King Under the mountain, ready to fight for his friends, his people and for his allies.

**A/N#2: And that's it, my darlings! I don't have anymore ****prompts****! Give me more, please! And remember, the vaguer they are, the barmier the result :)**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Thank you, ****GuestReaderA****, for your prompt! And even when you can't sign in, I still recognise you :) I love having you here, please, stay even if there is a technological glitch :)**

**A/N#2: I know you might be slightly confused by this chapter, my lovelies, but bear with me :D**

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_That time when Thorin was finally acting like a true king, while Wren was suddenly having second thoughts._

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4 years later...

"I'm having second thoughts..." Wren's tone was pensive, Thorin rolled on his stomach on the rumpled sheets and looked at the small thief. She was staring into her travel sack, frowning and tapping her foot. It looked especially adorable considering she was completely bare except for a heavy pearl and ruby necklace on her neck, her hair dishevelled, curls sticking out in all possible directions.

"Second thoughts about leaving?" He tried to keep hopefulness out of his voice, but it seeped in. She shook her head absentmindedly, but then she noticed his tone and tore her eyes off the sack. Her slanted amber eyes met his, and she smiled softly.

He sat up on the bed, leaning on the headboard, folding his arms on his chest, feigning indifference, and she walked to him, climbed on the bed and started crawling to him, like a silky golden cat, taking her time, her bum sticking up. She was quite obviously manipulating him, but Mahal help him, it was working.

"Is someone grumpy today, sweetpea? You have known I'm leaving for weeks now. Is the severe King Under the Mountain not content with it?" He sighed. Her purring was tickling his spine, and the predatorial glimmer in her eyes made him squirm on the bed. And again, the wiggling of the delicious backside was just something he could never say 'no' to.

"I'm not grumpy..."

"Are you not now?" She reached his sheet covered legs, got up on her knees, and kept on moving along his body, her little fingers marching along his limbs. Tip-top, tip-top, she tickled his thighs, her body already very close to his face, and to his lips, but he remained motionless, very much enjoying her cajoling. "Then what is this?" A little index finger brushed the crinkle between his brows, bright red lips puckered, and then her deft little tongue darted to lick them. He was an instant away from grabbing her and ravishing her in the already mussed up sheets, but he knew how enjoyable her tricks could be if he let her guide what was transpiring. She was still kneeling right in front of him, her shapely legs on the sides of his hips, and he lifted his face to meet her eyes, though tearing his from her perky small breasts was a laborious task. "Do we need to address the King's mood?"

"We might have to," he rumbled back, and a ravenous lopsided grin jerked at the corners of her lips.

"Oh, I have just the thing..." She deftly turned around, his eyes immediately fell on the gorgeous curve of her waist, lower back and the unquestionably most perfect line in all Arda, the pert small buttocks of his mistress. She bent forwards, and his breathing hitched. She was pulling on the sheet, uncovering his lower half. It took longer than one would expect, firstly, because the sheet caught on his raging erection, and secondly, she was quite obviously stalling, teasing him with the view that opened to his eyes. The sheet was finally off, and she sank on his member. He groaned, she hummed appreciatively, his arms went around her middle, and he pulled her into his body.

"Maiar, I love the hair," she purred and rubbed her shoulder blades to his chest. He placed an open mouthed kiss on her shoulder, a merry orange curl got into his face, and he blew it away. She giggled and started slowly rocking her hips.

"I'll be back in four moons," she murmured, her head dropped back, and he caught the little burning ear between his lips. "You won't notice I'm away..."

"Oh I will," he rasped into her ear, and a slender arm went back and around his neck, her hips moving rhythmically but unhurriedly. She loved this position, and he had no complains either. She had peculiarly curved quim, and this position created magical friction for both of them, since his member had a tendency to point towards his left shoulder when he would get especially aroused. "Last time, by the end of it I had obscene dreams… seemingly even when I was awake..." She chuckled, her walls clenched, and he nipped her shoulder.

"I will have to agree with you..." He saw her lashes flutter, she was starting to breathe heavier, her body trembling from acute pleasure, "This part of being away was… inconvenient..." He bucked up his hips, and she gasped. "Alright, I'll say it, it was a torture..." He grinned arrogantly and licked her nape. He knew all the best spots, this move gained him a low moan deep in her throat. "The agreement stands though..." Her second arm wrapped around his neck, she was arching her back, her hips moving more and more forcefully, she was approaching her release, "If you change your mind, put a banner on the Erebor Gates… And I'll know our association is over..."

They had long established that either of them had the right to cease their liaison if such were their will, she was to send him a letter, he was to place a banner over his gates telling her she had no place in his house anymore. They had also agreed that faithfulness was expected from both of them, since they eventually had to accept that they did indeed love each other. If either was to feel an urge to get involved with someone else while apart, it was expected that they would be honourable enough to either restrain themselves, or let the other one know and abandon their relationships. As libidinous as both of them were, they felt the rampant, exuberant time they spent when reunited was compensation enough for months of abstinence. Erebor knew by then that when the small, black clad figure of Barazninh, Bahinh Khazad, red head set proudly and a travel sack behind her back, would appear in Erebor, the King was not to be disturbed for up to two weeks. Most courtiers and servants also tried to avoid the part of Erebor Halls where the royal bed chambers and bath chambers were located, unless they wanted to hear loud screams and sounds of toppled furniture as well as graphic descriptions of the King's anatomy and talent between sheets, proclaimed in at least five languages.

"And you send me a letter..." He rasped into her skin and felt her inner walls convulsing. She bent backwards, pressing her head into his shoulder, her body strained and loud moans falling from her lips.

"Ne, Thorin, ne…" _Never, Thorin, never. _"Ame, ame, izul ame." _Mine, mine, only mine. _She was chanting, her climax took her, and her words slurred, turning into the adorable mewling and soft gasping he loved so much.

She started sagging ahead, but quickly pressed her hands into his knees, she took a deep breath in, gathering her wits, and her hips jumped up along his member. He moaned loudly, dropped his head back, his arms releasing her and flying to his hair. She added a twist into the movement of her pelvis, her walls massaging him, and he roared releasing into her. She shriekily screamed again, either in another climax, or in the continuation of the first one, and then she fell on her side, like a ragdoll, her arms and legs suddenly floppy, and he started guffawing from sheer delight and the waves of pleasure running through his body. She looked especially endearing, he was watching her by half-lidded eyes, she rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling.

"Well, now I need a nap," she yawned widely, and he chuckled shakily. The clarity of thought hadn't returned to him fully yet, and he slid under the covers pulling her after him. She was warm and kindred, nuzzling his neck with a happy sigh, her hands stroking his body tenderly.

His eyes were closing as well, and he mumbled half asleep, "What were the second thoughts about?"

"I need better ropes and gear..." She was also falling into slumber, her small hand curled into his chest hair, leg wrapped around his, "King Thranduil's treasury turned out a bit taller than I remembered..." He smirked without opening his eyes.

The wood wimp would never admit it, but she did indeed manage to sneak into his precious halls five times in the course of the last four years. She was of Men and the mistress of the Mountain King, the Elf would never reveal that she had managed to outsmart him, and he paid for it dearly. Thorin thought of the Elf's humiliation with especially vindictive pleasure. Elrond at least had enough gallantry to offer remuneration for the goods stolen from his house. He was gracious enough to make the bounty known publicly, so that when he left the assigned amount of gold for his heirloom in the right location, he found his belongings returned to him a week after. Thranduil was puffing and huffing and throwing hints around. That only led to an obscene, though artful drawing to appear on the wall of his bedroom. The little thief had little patience for his conceited pomposity.

She left the next morning, and life in Erebor returned to its mundane everydayness, which meant only one thing for him. Boredom. Major renovations had been almost complete in the Mountain, forges worked day and night, trade was flourishing, and Thorin felt blase.

Two weeks later he found himself in a council hall, trying to keep his eyes open during a long and convoluted speech of one of the Elders. Still, he was the King of Erebor, the Heir of Durin, born and raised to take the throne, he had impeccable command over his face, looking stern and attentive while his mind wandered. He lazily pondered dinner, then his thoughts moved to the conversation he had with Fili the day before, about some new patterns of banding and mottling on the blades forged in Ered Luin, and Thorin reminded himself to go down to the armoury to look at them. He sighed and went back to listening to the speaker, though he knew he hardly missed anything of importance.

The day dragged on, he spent three hours after dinner in his study, attempting to handle the correspondence with Thranduil and Bard, but he was distracted. The letters were dull and uncritical, and he spent most of the time trying to convince himself to finally finish reading them as opposed to playing with his letter opener.

Yawning and rubbing the back of his neck he dragged himself into his bed chambers. He was pulling off his doublet, opening the door with a shove of his shoulder, when he found his little thief on his bed. He froze and blinked several times in astoundment. It had only been two weeks, previously she had never returned earlier than she would have claimed. She was also wearing one of her special attires. He would say often they were to be the death of him, and to be honest he wasn't exaggerating. He quite clearly envisioned, of course if they were still to continue their association, as he sincerely hoped, his death to come from a heart attack from the view of one of her friend Thea's creations. Her mastery of lace and silk was unsurpassable, and Thorin often thought he was not young anymore, one day they'd find his corpse on his bed, with a happy grin and a raging erection still in place. Not the worst way to go, to think of it. Thorin's favourite though weren't the most seductive ones, given a simple thought of some of them could ensure him a painful erection for hours, his most cherished were her black lace trousers she had a habit of wearing in his bedchambers. In a lacy tunic and nothing underneath them, she would be lying on her stomach, eating an apple and reading a book, and he would lose all control over his desire for her. She of course knew the power of the lace trousers.

This time she wore a long tunic, similar to a Haradrim robe, with intricate and positively obscene cut outs and lace inserts, the silk smooth and glossy, black feathers on a stand up collar. She wore black at all times, probably as a homage to her burglar outfits. Her hair was pinned with a pair of diamond pins he gifted her in her last visit, diamond and opal earrings heavy in her lobes, her eyes shiny and mischievous. She was sitting, her legs tucked under her, the robe arranged on the bed, one end of the belt on the edge of it in a clear invitation. He threw the doublet on the floor, stepped to the bed and picked up the silk ribbon. She smiled to him and bit into her bottom lip flirtily.

"To what do I owe the immense pleasure of seeing you so soon, my lady?" His voice was low and coarse, his eyes roaming her body. Indeed Thea knew her craft, a diamond shaped lace insert between the thief's breasts made Thorin pull at the belt with double eagerness. The two halves of the robe fell open, offering a stripe of her pale skin to his eyes, and he purred. She smirked but said nothing and beckoned him with one finger. He chuckled and lunged at her.

Three hours later he was spread on his bed, in a uncanny semblance to a seastar, the small thief lying across him, on her stomach, her breasts pressed to his abdomen, her hair in a heavy curtain scattered over his body and the bed.

"I have news..." Her tone was lazy, and he hummed noncommittally and blindly pushed his hand into her mad curls. He adored the hair, soft and heavy, running between his fingers like liquid coppered gold, he felt warm and sentimental, and didn't mind it. "I am staying for longer this time..."

"Magnificent..." His eyes were closing, and he battered the bed without looking, searching for covers, "For how long?"

"Well, if you were a Man, I'd say about nine months."

Thorin's whole body went rigid, he blinked two times, and then sharply sat up. This action threw the small thief off him, and she reacted to tumbling on the bed with an irritated "ooph." He grabbed her under her arms and pulled her to his face. His eyes searched hers, she smiled widely and sunnily, and Thorin felt so happy that he didn't know whether to dance or weep.

"Are you certain?" She laughed and nodded. "A babe?" She nodded again, smiling even wider, and he pulled her into him. She squeaked, he did squeeze her excessively tightly, but he never felt more in love with her, and it was a babe, and he just didn't know what to think and to do. She relaxed into his arms, rubbed her cheek to his and stroked his hair.

And then she suddenly grabbed his ear and jerked it sensitively. "What are you supposed to say, my lord?"

"Akminruk zu." _Thank you. _He eagerly proclaimed grinning like a dimwit, and she nodded loftily.

"Yamal, Thorin." _You are welcome. _Her tone was haughty, and they both roared with laughter and fell back into the sheets, kissing and caressing each other, happy and safe in each other's arms.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: ****DISCLAIMER:**

**My darlings****, this story is slowly coming to its end. In the following chapters I will try to use all of your prompts, so no more new ones, please.**

**And once again THANK YOU all so much for this story and all the fun, it's all because of you, ****my gorgeous readers****! And I LOVE YOU *rainbows, unicorns, cotton candy and confetti type of emotion explosion***

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**A/N#2: Thank you, ****RagdollPrincess****, for the next GLORIOUS prompt, and the Ori centered idea, and of course Wren's favourite raspberries :)**

_That time when Thorin was cuddling Wren and lovingly feeding her raspberries mixed with kisses, while Wren got written into Erebor history all wrong._

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**A/N#3: And just as all those times before, ****dearreader****, you are a genius! Here comes your prompt! :)**

_The time Thorin realized how much he truly loved Wren when he saw her fall in battle, while it wasn't fatal for her but he didn't know._

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The King Under the Mountain, Thorin, son of Thrain was sitting on a low divan in the parlour adjoint to his bedchambers, his red haired thief leaning into his side. He was feeding her raspberries from a clay bowl, settled on her round stomach, she was playing with the bead at the end of the braid on the side of his face. She would pick it up, twirl it between her fingers, and then would slightly push it away, the heavy bead swung, her nails would click on it, and she would catch it only to repeat her game again. He smirked into his beard, but she noticed. She puffed air out and pouted her delectable red lips.

"I can bet all your treasure that you thought I looked like a cat," her tone was almost irritated, and he guffawed. Another juicy red berry was placed in front of her mouth and she slightly opened it. He put it in, enjoying the view of red on red, and the small deft tongue brushed at the pulp of his finger.

"I don't need to wager my treasure in a dispute with you, Wren, it's yours no matter what."

She swallowed the sweet berry and wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, you just had to deprive this matter of any sort of fun." She pushed the bowl with fruit into his hand, slid down, her head lay on his knee, and he started brushing his fingers through her hair. "I am so bored… Can we do something nice?" He chuckled.

"By nice do you mean something potentially dangerous and most definitely dishonourable?" She slightly turned her head and looked at him from the corner of her eye.

"Can we?"

"No," his tone was firm, but laughter rolled underneath it. She exhaled through rounded lips and went back to her sulking. "You are carrying my inudoy, you are not doing anything reckless."

"I know, I know," she tenderly rubbed her round stomach and yawned. "I like it though, you two are snuggly." Thorin smiled to her lovingly. His little thief turned out to possess yet another among her endless merits, an ability to talk to their unborn son. Thorin felt as the luckiest of future fathers. They would lie in bed, and she would tell him about the strong heartbeat she could hear, how his son would yawn and shift inside her, and once even that he sucked his thumb. Thorin's heart would flutter, and he would blink frantically to hide his tears. And then he understood there was no reason to conceal his sentimentality from her, she was equally affected. They were passing through the days of her parturiency in a blissful harmony, both endlessly happy and curious.

"Can you read to me?" Her tone was lazy, and she blindly pointed at a book on the divan's armrest. He looked and saw a heavy volume of ancient Erebor history, according to the runes on its cover it talked of the war between Dain I and the Great Cold Drake. "Thirar isn't sleeping now, he likes listening to your voice." It was her idea to call their child "thirar," _bump_, though initially Thorin felt his son deserved a more majestic moniker. She was on the other hand so nonchalant about carrying the Heir of Durin under her heart that Thorin agreed, chuckling.

"Do you not want to read something closer to our days in time, kurdu? I am sure thirar would like to hear about how his parents reclaimed Erebor." She snorted and rolled on her back. He looked down at her face and smirked. He was taunting her, and she knew it.

"Thirar doesn't need to know all this rubbish," her tone was almost sincerely derisive, and he guffawed.

"Rubbish? Are we talking about the same stories? How about the heroic attack on the left flang of Azog's army, the Dwarven legions led by Khazad Bahinh, the Friend Lady of the Dwarven People?" His voice was sing-song, and she poked a small sharp fist under his ribs.

"Stop stuffing the head of our son with these fairy tales, they are there only because for some inconceivable reason you allowed Ori to write down the official version of the events!" Her tone was frustrated, and he continued laughing. "And it's not funny! I almost regret saving his life! The boy had lost his wits from gratitude, and now I'm this unrealistic figure in shining armour on a battlefield, all heroic and noble!" Her voice was laced with disgust, especially around the last word, and he roared with laughter. "Thorin, it is not funny! The boy was choking on roasted chicken, I did what my mentor had taught me..." Thorin was getting weak from his frolics, almost toppling on one side. He remembered the feast. It had been going for weeks by then, right after their victory in the battle of Five Armies, and then Ori grew blue and started suffocating. His little thief rushed to him, grabbed him around his body from behind, and jerked. The piece of chicken flew out of the little Dwarf, and since then Wren saw no peace.

"Yes, and now you are Barazninh, the Red Lady, and Zudushinh, the Bird Lady of Erebor..." She groaned and covered her face with her hands.

"Technically I wasn't even on that battlefield..." Her voice was muffled and sounded tortured, and he picked up one small hand and kissed the inside of her wrist.

"Well, that is not quite true, you were there… A bit..." He snortled from her exasperated expression.

"Yes, a bit, but I was not as stupid as to charge anywhere, to say nothing of commanding troops!" He grinned from ear to ear, and she narrowed her eyes. A retribution was coming. "Because of all the commotion on the battlefield, no one knows the whole truth obviously, but do I need to remind you how exactly Azog the Defiler found his demise?" He choked on his laughter. "As opposed to the glorious scene described in Ori's manuscripts?" Her tone was menacing, and he energetically shook his head. "Then stop reading this poppycock to our thirar!"

"One thing is true in those stories though," he murmured and picked up the second hand. He pressed her open palm to her lips and tickled the skin with his beard. It had the usual result. The wrinkle between her brows disappeared, she sighed in defeat, and the corners of her enticing lips twitched.

"Alright, tell me, King Under the Mountain, what is true in the pompous text written by an unreasonable youngling?" Her tone was still sarcastic, but since her little fingers were gently scraping his jaw he could safely assume she was in a better mood.

"You did risk your life for me," he purred, and her eyes widened. She jerked her hands back and tried to get up in indignation. It took several attempts, but she was finally vertical, she shifted, and sat in front of his on her knees. She pointed her small index finger at his face, almost poking his nose with a round pink nail.

"Listen to me attentively, Thorin Oakenshield, never again do I want to hear this heroic rubbish! I am constantly painted as this courageous warrior lady who was fighting for her beloved, and I'm tired of it! I wanted your gold, I was fighting for my share, and I was fleeing! I was literally saving my neck when this whole disgusting fighting started! Never in my sane mind I would fall as low as to pull out some ridiculous sword and swing it around! There were orcs and wargs at that battlefield, and I was running to safety! The fact that your nephews turned out on my way, and Fili was stupid enough to rush to save me was the worst coincidence! To say nothing of the fact that I only ended up involved in the fighting around them because I didn't need any saving, while they were almost killed like a pair of tots!"

He was listening to her in complete calmness and content, it wasn't the first outburst of this sort, and honestly she looked most delectable during them. Eyes burning, cheeks flushed, curls escaping her do, pregnancy made her so much more temperamental and enthralling that he was gazing at her like an enamoured dimwit, when she poked his shoulder with her finger.

"You are not even listening to me! How many more times will I have to say it?! I didn't want to ride Beorn into battle, it was an accident! And I was _not_ under any circumstances planning to approach Azog the Defiler! He was the scariest thing I'd seen in my life!" Her voice was ringing, and he started laughing again. She growled at him and smacked his shoulder.

He gently picked her up under her arms and placed her on his lap. She was keeping her back straight, prickly and annoyed, and he gently kissed a small burning ear. The effect was predictable, she looked at him askew but relaxed slightly. He repeated the action, and then moved to the neck. She wasn't tilting her head, which meant more groveling was required, but he just couldn't help it and spoke, his voice exaggeratingly innocent.

"So with all that settled, am I right in assuming that we are now in agreement that you didn't kill Bolg with a perfectly executed Dwarven battle cry _Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!_?" That earned him a kick, and she jumped off his lap, onto her feet. Though in the last third of her parturiency she retained her agility and flexibility.

"There was no battle cry!" She started stomping her feet, and he fell on the divan roaring with laughter. She jumped at him, and the worst punishment befell the King Under the Mountain. Her quick strong hands relentless, she tickled him, first, into screams, then into begging for mercy, and finally weak whimpering. He couldn't reciprocate, firstly she was never particularly ticklish, secondly, he wouldn't want to topple over her adorable round body.

He was weakly jerking on the floor, her straddling him, and she lowered her face, her eyes right in front of his, "Take it back! Take this preposterous lie back in front of our son! I did not under any circumstances heroically save your life! I was protecting myself, and got wounded like a halfwit in the course of it, to be reminded!"

He stopped laughing and sat up suddenly, pulling her to him. He didn't want to even think of the moment when Bolg's blade went through her slender body. He thought it felt like death itself then, worse than death. His heart stopped, the world disappeared, all he could see was her broken, bleeding shape on the ground.

"Men lananubukhs menu, Wren," _I love you_, his voice broke, and he pulled her to his lips. She readily answered, attuned to his moods, her lips eagerly pressing to his, and he wrapped his arms around her. She was here, her body strong and taut, her heart beating assuredly, her warmth seeping through the black silk robe, he grabbed handfuls of her curls and pressed his forehead to hers. "That's all that we are telling to our thirar."

She cupped his face and made him look at her. "I have news, azyungeluh. We can still call him thirar, if you like, but we discussed it and decided on the name."

"We?" He jerked up his brows and then chuckled. "Are the two of you already making decisions over my head?" She stuck her tongue at him, and he shook his head in amusement. "Well, let's hear it."

"Dain," her tones was warm but firm, she picked up his hand and put it on her round stomach. "He says his name is Dain, son of Thorin." Thorin swallowed with difficulty, struggling with his constricted throat, and then nodded, not hiding his happy tears, and they embraced, the strong heart of their son beating between their bodies.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: This chapter is penultimate, ****my darlings****! It's all wrapping up nicely, but I'm slightly sad. I'm going to miss Anti-Wren and her Sweetpea :')**

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**Thank you, ****SkyWolf42,**** for the first prompt and, ****Wynni****, for the pantsing idea in the second one. They do go well together, don't they?**

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_That time when Wren is pursued by a gang of Goblins and smacks straight into Thorin, knocking them both down and out of the way of what would have been Azog's death blow to a weakened Thorin. Azog's swing instead catches the pursuing goblins._

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_That time Thorin tried to contain his laughter, while Wren stole the pants right off Azog in the middle of battle._

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Dain leapt ahead, a wooden training sword in his hand, and his precise heavy blow landed on Fili's leather breastplate. The blond Dwarf laughed loudly and shook his head in disbelief.

"Continue the same way, Dain, and your adad will let you practise with a real sword." Dain gave his cousin a low bow and smiled widely.

His hair was of deep chestnut colour, facial features noble, clearly reminiscent of his father's, but he had his mother's eyes, slanted and of astonishing green colour. Too slender and light for a Khazad, he was nonetheless deadly, remarkable swording talent in him awoken early, perhaps an inheritance from both of his parents. From the earliest age he was allowed to clasp to his belt the scabbard with his mother's Elven blade, and he once overheard his father murmuring to his amad that perhaps Orcrist, his father's renown blade, was to belong to him even before he'd reach battle age.

Weapons interested Dain as any boy but he didn't share Khazad infatuation with it. Strangely, herbs and medicine were his interest, he would spend hours in the Erebor Library. His amad encouraged his pursuit, she would be ready to sit with him, with a book of her own, while he would devour volumes and volumes in the endless solemn halls of the library. Dain was grateful, he knew how Khazad children were brought up, only certain endeavours encouraged in them, and as an uncrowned Queen of Erebor his mother was expected to comply with the customs. Although Dain understood that only those who didn't know her would expect such complaisance from Wren of Enedwaith. She was hardly an obedient Khazad wife material.

Dain walked to his chambers, took a quick bath and changed in his evening attire. It was dinner time, and he was to join his parents in the dining hall adjoint to his their bedchambers.

He found the room empty, though the food was already served, and he sat down. As any youngling of his age he was always hungry but manners didn't allow him to start without his kin. The door opened, and Kili and Fili walked in chatting amicably, and Dain sighed heavily. His father's favourite venison stew with caramelised apples and prunes was steaming in the middle of the table, and Dain swallowed loudly. He had just went through another growth spurt and sometimes it felt he would never feel full. He grew faster than his peers, his amad assumed his development was only slightly different from that of young Men, she also assumed that his half Khazad blood would show itself later, perhaps in a longer life and greater physical strength. At the moment Dain felt he was just as any seventeen year boy from Dale, meaning hungry and impatient.

Kili and Fili engaged him in their lively conversation, and soon he forgot about the food. His cousins were reminiscing about the Battle of Five Armies, its anniversary approaching the next moon, and the two Dwarves were once again having the same heated discussion they had had for years.

"Kili, don't be a plonker. Time after time I'm telling you, you were not there, you can't know! You were unconscious by then, lying on the ground like a hay bale, and..."

"Shut your gob, Fili!" The younger Prince of Erebor interrupted and shoved his brother's shoulder, "I was wounded later, I could still see that part, I was fighting three Orcs at that time, mind you..."

"And one of them later knocked your empty head out!" Fili interrupted in return, and they glared at each other.

"As I was saying I was fighting four Orcs..."

"There were just three of them a jiffy ago! Did they sprout from the ground or one of them gave birth?!" The blonde Dwarf's voice was venomous.

"Shut up!"

"You shut up!"

Dain cleared his throat, "You were saying, Kili..." He had heard such arguments numerous times, but he still enjoyed them immensely.

"I was fighting Orcs," Kili started again, his tone pointed, "And that was when lady Wren showed up. She jumped off the Skinchanger's back, and jumped at Uncle to shield him from Azog's fatal blow, the pale Orc swung his mace, and since both her and Uncle were on the ground, the mace flew above them and smashed and crushed ten Orcs."

"And I'm telling you again," Filfi once again interrupted with an exasperated expression on his face, "That she wasn't trying to shield him, it was her plan from the start, to topple them both on the ground so that his blow fell on the enemy!"

'Don't be dim, even she couldn't have calculated it so precisely! She was going to take the blow onto herself!"

"Was not!"

"Was too!" The two Dwarves started yelling at the same time, sounding like two pups barking at each other, and Dain hid a smile in his goblet. He remembered how many years ago him, his amad and his adad were having a picnic in the woods outside Erebor walls.

* * *

_The day was warm and sunny, Dain had just discovered a small stream in the bushes and was exploring its bottom._

"_Dain, be careful," his father's voice came from the blanket where he and amad were reposing._

"_Don't fuss, sweetpea, he will be fine." _

_Adad's head was on her knees, her small hands playing with his locks, braiding flowers into the dark waves. Adad grumbled something under his breath, but even Dain knew arguing with his amad was foolish. Dain threw his amad a smile and plodded deeper into the stream. There were small silver fish playing in it._

"_I want to visit Beorn next moon, sweetpea. Dain would enjoy seeing the animals and I have heard the rumours that we might soon see a mistress in Beorn's house. I'm curious." Adad mumbled something, which caused amad laugh in a silver voice. Dain threw a glance at his parents, his adad was pulling amad down to his lips, his hand at the back of her head. _

_Dain's parents tended to kiss a lot, and he cringed in disgust. All this slobbering was annoying! Grown-ups thought he understood little, but he by then already knew that amad was no Khazad and that his parents were not wed unlike the parents of his friends, but everyone was treating his amad with utter respect. And caution, by which Dain wasn't surprised. Amad had temper. There were objects hurled into adad's head if she wasn't pleased. _

_Dain felt there was some sort of balance in this world. Yes, his parents behaved more like those courting couples than parents of his peers, they would argue loudly and then adad would grovel, there were always opulent gifts, new jewels, a lot of jewels, but on the other hand, as little of it Dain would like to see, there was a lot more snogging than one would normally expect from parents of such a grown-up boy as him._

_Dain heard giggling from the blanket and rolled his eyes. He peeked, and sure enough he saw his father looming over amad, spread on the blanket, his lips pressed to hers. Dain moved up the stream and was studying a strange plant on its bank, when he heard his mother's purring voice._

"_Don't even try, Oakenshield, we are going. He invited, and I'm not refusing him. We owe Beorn a debt, if not for him we both would be dead."_

"_He threw you at me in a battle, kurdu," Dain's father rumbled in a feigned indignation, "That hardly counts as assistance." Dain stopped poking a slimey boulder at the bottom of the stream and listened attentively. They were talking of the Battle of Five Armies._

"_But it was a good shot. Yes, he used me like a ball in conkers, but the result was very much fortunate!" Amad was laughing loudly, and Dain saw his father fighting a smile. He lost and snorted. _

"_To say nothing of you pulling off the Defiler's trousers in your flight."_

"W_hat can I say," amad grabbed the King's ears and smiled to him widely, "that fishing rod of mine was a handy little tool."_

"_It worked wonders on my trousers," adad commented, not quite understandably for Dain who nonetheless knew by then that such tone was called 'suggestive', and amad wrapped her arms around his neck. _

"_So no grumbling, we are going. We will be back in no time." Instead of continuing their interesting discussion of battles and Orcs, the clueless grown-ups decided to switch to snogging, and Dain sighed and went back to his exploration. _

_At least he would get to visit Grumpy the Cow and Periwinkle the Pony soon. When they had come to the Skinchanger's house for the first time, and amad was introducing Dain to the animals she said, "These are of course not _the_ Grumpy and _the _Periwinkle," which didn't make any sense to Dain, but amad giggled and looked very happy, which was enough for Dain. Nothing felt better than seeing his amad smile._

* * *

Fili and Kili were still arguing loudly when the door opened and Dain's parents finally arrived for dinner. Amad rushed in first, still laughing at something that was said or done outside the doors, she was pulling adad into the room by his hand, and he stumbled in, chuckling as well. They both had their hair in disarray, the King's doublet was buttoned wrong, quite obviously in a hurry, and they rushed to the table.

"Maiar help me, I'm starving," amad snatched a piece of bread from a plate and started chewing it even before sitting down. "Dain, you surely should have started without us, you look famished." Dain immediately grabbed a spoon and started putting heaps of stew on his plate. The King sat down as well, exchanging a few phrases with his nephews, but not before giving Dain a wink and a warm smile. The dinner started, and suddenly Dain's amad started laughing loudly. Dain raised his eyes from his plate and saw that she was looking at the sleeve of her attire.

Dain was very proud of his amad, she was the most wonderful of women he had seen in his life. She was so unique, so mesmerizing, so different from women of Khahad and of Dale. She wore exotic attires, always in black, long tunics and wide trousers peeking from under the hem, so voluminous that they looked like skirts. The fabrics were the most expensive, and she wore the most opulent lavish jewellery that his father would gift her beyond the measure of sanity. She was known to sleep in the monetary equivalent of half the city of Dale, and there were rumours she even took baths in her diamond and her favourite opals.

Such ardent passion for valuables sat well with the Khazad, and while she couldn't be officially be called the Queen, the people of Erebor adored their Uazrakuna Ereboraz, _Mistress of Erebor_. That could also possibly be attributed to the fact that when she would return to the mountain from her frequent trips she would seem to quite enrich the treasury of Erebor, the Khazad happily prepared to close their eyes on the dubious origin of the gems she would carry in her sack. She also disliked Elves and many unrealistic devilments were said to have been performed by her through years towards the Elf Lords of Arda. Also, she had saved the King's life and gave him a son. The Khazad worshipped her, and Dain agreed wholeheartedly. Wren, the beloved of Thorin Oakenshield, was a marvel.

She was still laughing and got up. The men rose as well, and she gestured them to return to their meal. She walked from the table, and on her way she leaned to the King's ear. Dain was sitting the closest, and although he wasn't listening he couldn't help but overhear her suggestive whisper, "My tunic is inside out, you brute. And I might be missing some items of clothing. I'll go change and then will stop by your study and check if they are still hanging on the chandelier."

Dain's adad smirked lopsidedly, feigning nonchalance and taking a sip from his goblet, and she left, leaving a faint fragrance of lilacs in the air. Dain had already forgotten about his parents' dalliances, quite accustomed to them by now, and his attention shifted on Kili who was wildly gesticulating sharing the latest news from the South.

* * *

**Personal A/N****: My darlings, I have finished my thesis! Yay! And it means more FF time! **

**I'm going to be cleaning up the mess on my page and finishing those fics that got stuck but were very close to completion. Currently this one and "Poles Apart" are getting my attention, and if there is one you particularly want to see finished, let me know.**

**I won't be writing my poor sad abandoned multi-chapter fics so far, because I'm all about my Harry Potter crossover, but as usual I could reconsider if you ask nicely :)**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: And here is the last chapter, what a bittersweet moment… :') But it was a great ride, wasn't it, my duckies****?**

* * *

**A/N#2: My wonderful ****dearreader****, the finale is all yours, and what a majestic ;) finale it is! **

* * *

_The time Thorin was felled by a bee sting, while Wren made it all better._

* * *

**And hilarious when paired with the previous one, your much older one:**

_The time Wren saves him once again, he wakes wounded and she is there to help take care of him. Then she bullies him into getting better by appealing to his desire for her, an excellent motivator. A sip of soup for a kiss, he fights for life because she loves him and he has to try harder to get well. A lot of healer tent sex, it is a great cure for wounds, the elves say so. Thorin and Wren are great at improvising and won't let a few bandages or stitches get in the way._

* * *

Years went by, and life in Erebor was peaceful and prosperous. Trade was blossoming between the city of Khazad, the quickly restored city of Dale, the Laketown Esgaroth, governed by its new Master, and the halls of the Elvenking. On the South the Valleys of Anduin became safe lands under the reign of Beorn the Skinchanger, him and his men guarding the Ford of Carrock and cleaning the Misty Mountains of goblins.

In Erebor King Thorin II Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror ruled his people fairly and firmly, his Kingdom quickly returning to its former glory and prosperity, and equally quickly it wealth exceeded the one from the olden times twice in size. The line of Durin was secured when several years later a male child was born in the marriage of King Thorin's older nephew.

As for the King himself, he was happy and satisfied in his, given, illicit association with a small woman of Men. Not his wife and not his Queen, she nonetheless spent at least half a year in his chambers, his son Dain always returning with her from their travels. Bright beyond his age, beautiful and an excellent swordsman, Dain, son of Thorin was the pride and the joy of Erebor.

The winter of the year that concludes this story was exceptionally severe, and it seemed the nature was determined to seal all possible entrances and exits from the Lonely Mountain. The King was busy commanding his people's efforts to survive the snowfalls and storms that seemed to torment the mountain, shaking it to its core, snow penetrating windows and gates, seemingly trying to find its way into the Erebor halls.

* * *

Thorin was talking to Gloin on one of the walls, studying the schematics of one of the fortiments that were destroyed in a storm the night before, when he heard horns of the Front Gate guards announce arrival of guests. Thorin looked down and saw two small cloaked figures enter through a side door. One of them pushed the hood off, and he recognised the flaming locks of his mistress. His lips twitched in a small smile, and Gloin took schematics out of his hands. Thorin patted his shoulder and rushed down the stairs. She was already running through the yard towards him, her small feet in fur adorned boots quick and light, and her body slammed into his, hands flew to his face, and he caught her red lips in a passionate kiss. She had been away for seven months this time, and for the first time since he had met her in an inn in Bree all those years ago Thorin felt that he would not be able to let her go ever again. He kept on pressing her into him, his hands roamed her slender body, and he clenched his jaw fighting sudden tears. His heart had longed for her too painfully this time. He felt he was growing old, and suddenly he knew he didn't want to waste a single other day by not seeing her near him.

"Maiar, I have missed you..." She breathed out into his ear, her arms tight around his neck, and he heard her voice shake.

Dain was standing a few steps behind them, a soft smile on his lips, and Thorin caught his eyes over the shoulder of his beloved. Dain nodded to his father, and Thorin grinned back. His eyes quickly studied his son, and he felt his heart soar with pride and love. With Orcrist clasped to his back, Dain was the man every Dwarf hoped his son to grow into. Dain's green eyes shone with love and respect in return, and he waited for his father to release the small woman in his arms. Keeping the fingers of his left hand intertwined with Wren's, Thorin stepped to Dain and pulled him into a tight embrace with another arm, pressing his temple to his son's forehead, feeling the strong Dain's arm clasp around his shoulder.

"Lanz galikh, adad." _Good evening, father. _

Snowflakes were softly falling on their heads, Thorin pulled Wren into the tight embrace as well, and she wrapped her arm around the narrow waist of their son. All three of them stood in silence for a few minutes, and then the small thief loudly cleared her throat.

"Well, enough of this mawkishness. I'm starving. We managed to lose our provisions on the outskirts of Esgaroth and decided to push through to Erebor, so I feel I could eat a roasted hog now." Thorin laughed merrily, and the three of them went inside his halls.

* * *

"Oy ulnas sanakhiya yadi haggunul?" _So, love, do you come here often? _Thorin's tone was playful, and as a response he received a sensitive blow into his face with a pillow. He guffawed, another smack followed, and he shielded his head with both arms, which left his sides defenseless, and a pair of small strong hands rushed into an assault. He roared with laughter and lunged at her, grabbing her wrists, pushing his face into her stomach, scraping his beard to it, and it was her turn to shriek and try to escape.

Another hour later, sated and exhausted they lay in the bed, and she suddenly giggled. He hummed questioningly. She was stretched on him, her little deft fingers playing with his chest hair, and she nuzzled his skin, still flushed and tingly after the exertions of the past three hours.

"You are growing old, my King. Look at all this grey hair." She threaded her fingers in his chest hair, and he smiled blissfully.

"And you haven't changed a bit. The same impudent little thief I was an idiot to pay for a night with." She chuckled and bit into his shoulder with a fake growl. He snortled, and she slightly rose above him.

"You are shamelessly flattering me, which is rather pointless at this stage. You have already snatched my virtue just now," she giggled, and he gave her a look from under a lifted brow, "Six, no, wait… Seven times, so why bother charming me now? And so unblushingly!" She tut-tutted, "I am faring a decent amount of grey hair these days as well, it is rather hard to ignore." She lifted the heavy mass of her copper curls with one arm, most of the silver in her hair was hiding underneath the still orange waves on top, but it was indeed hardly unnoticeable. "I am approaching the middle of my fifth decade, my King." Her tone was no longer playful, but soft and full of melancholy, and he pressed her into him more firmly.

"You are still the same naith, the same girl," he whispered into her wide open eyes, and she grinned widely to him, seemingly shaking off her gloom. "You and your anaith."

"You love my giggles!" She swatted his chest, and he caught the small hand and pressed to his lips.

"I adore your giggles, and still, I do see the same girl in you."

"And you are still the same smooth talker, sweetpea," she purred and straddled him. He gave her a lopsided smirk and cupped her small buttocks.

* * *

"What interesting events had happened while I was away, my King?" This time they had truly exhausted their strength, and she curled into him, her voice sleepy, and he was lazily running his fingers through her hair.

"Nothing indeed. Trade, forges, King Thranduil's visit two moons ago..." Thorin yawned widely, his eyes were closing, and she sighed contently into his skin. "I got stung by a bee in the autumn..." She snorted and poked his ribs with her little finger.

"And you have found it worthy of mentioning, why, my lord?"

"It hurt," he aimed for a pitiful tone, but couldn't contain a chuckle, "And there was no one here to take care of me." She giggled and kissed his shoulder.

"You do like me taking care of your wounds, don't you?" She purred probably from some pleasant memories, "I do remember your injuries from the Battle of Five Armies being quite substantial and requiring a lot of medical attention." She yawned as well, "Lots of thorough attention..."

"Yours were much more severe, my heart..." He smiled softly recalling the days of the past.

"We were so reckless then," she murmured into his skin, her eyes closing, "If not for our dalliances, we could have healed twice as fast… We kept on overstraining ourselves, and the stitches would come undone..." Her voice was growing softer and softer. He looked at her lovingly and kissed her temple. "And I would repeat it all over again..." And then she was asleep, and he kissed her hair again.

"I would too, my love, I would too."

* * *

Three moons later Thorin was engaged in a heated dispute with a few engineers in his study when the doors suddenly burst open, and she rushed inside, her hair scattered on her shoulders, cheeks burning, dressed in her habitual sleeping attire, a thin tunic and black lace trousers, a long silk robe thrown over them hastily, the belt untied. The robe was thrashing behind her like wings of a raven, she was as much as running, and he froze with a parchment in his hand. The jaws of the Dwarves in the room slacked. She had never been seen in such state of undress, never without her jewels, and especially never in a state of such agitation.

"Forgive me, my lords, but I… I need to speak to the King immediately." She grabbed his hand and started pulling him out of the study. He hurriedly pushed the scrolls in the hands of the closest of his counsellors and followed her. She was pulling, he felt increasingly worried, the whole happenstance was so unusual that he felt panic rising, and suddenly she jerked a random door and pushed him in. He realised they were in a linen closet, and he grabbed her shoulders.

"Wren, what?..."

"I can't walk anywhere else, I need… I need to tell you..." She was wriggling her small hands, her eyes were shining feverishly, and she suddenly pushed her fingers into her copper curls and pulled. He had never, in almost two decades of knowing her, had seen her composure slip thusly.

"What is it, my heart?" He suspected the worst. War? Plague? Something had happened to their son? To her? Was her health in danger? He threw a panicked look over her. She looked well, and again, she resided in his chambers, and he knew she was in exceptionally good health. She looked well too, her cheeks were rosy, eyes and hair bright, and he slightly shook her shoulders hasting her. "Wren?"

"I thought it was over, I honestly did!" She spoke feverishly, swallowing halves of words, and he couldn't understand anything. "It's the age, it made perfect sense. It was to happen, and it was time… So I paid it no heed." She was convincing him in something, but the meaning eluded him. She suddenly pressed her hands to her cheeks, her brilliant eyes wide open. "But I mourned, Thorin, I mourned so much, and I regretted… Now that it was over, I suddenly started thinking I should have returned earlier, should have stayed, when there was still a chance..." Suddenly her eyes were filled with tears, and she sobbed. "I never regret anything, I lived the life I had chosen, but when they were gone I regretted..." That was the end of his patience, and he snarled and shook her quite harshly.

"Mahal, woman, will you start making sense?! What happened, in the Durin's name? Who was gone? What have you done? What are you regretting?" Long forgotten feeling of jealousy and suspicion flooded him, and he growled.

She started laughing suddenly, and he dropped his arms staring at her. Had she gone mad?

"My monthly pains are gone, Thorin." He blinked and raised his hands in a questioning gesture. If she hoped this explanation helped him, she was cruelly mistaken. "I thought I was growing old, and I haven't even thought of… It was time, and I didn't count and stopped following..." She laughed some more, perhaps from his dumbfounded expression, and then she grabbed his hand and pressed it to her stomach. "Nu'dashat, Thorin." _Your second son, Thorin._

He stood for a few seconds, almost not understanding, and not daring to believe, and then he fell on his knees in front of her, pressing his face into her stomach, through the gauzy fabric of her tunic, not hiding his tears, and she stroked his hair, her own tears running down her cheeks unrestricted.

He was kissing her stomach, his palms splayed on her lower back, he was murmuring words of love and gratitude, and then he pulled her down, into his arms, catching her mouth and laughing and crying with her, and finally he rasped, "You are not wandering away from me ever again."

"Lo sullu batazzinîn luzun." _Not all who wander are lost, _she answered and kissed him ardently, "And I have found a place to stay."

* * *

**Final A/N: My darling ****dearreader****, and all of you, MY GLORIOUS READERS, **_**none **_**of my fics will be abandoned completely! Now that I have more free time, I am planning to finish them ALL, I was merely asking which ones people would like to see completed first! **

**The plan for the nearest future is such:**

**1**. "**convince me the winter is over" is still running (it is my most favourite fic of all);**

**2\. Harry Potter crossover is what's mostly buzzing in my head;**

**3\. and now I'm going to start picking up some older, 'paused' fics.**

**So please feel free to PM or leave a review and tell me which of them you would like to see me to return to!**

**LOVE YOU ALL, my darlings!**


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