#dragond

But she was the only one recieving of the mages on the Flying Islands Mind magic wasn't usual, normal or easy. People didn't learn it for fun. Heck, Leander still thought it was pretty useless and Zephyr still thought she needed to be more protected because of it. She didn't have the energy to argue with the first and she didn't have the heart to protest the latter. Skye liked being protected by Zephyr. It wasn't a cool independent thing to do, but she liked it.

Her flustered feelings made a few thorns sprout out from the ground next to her. She barely managed to change the course without walking straight into them.

Picking up her pace, she tried to ignore her sourroundings, the flush greenery of the towering redwood around her, the warm air filled with the mild spicy smell.

Her mind reached up and over the trees, seeing the world in gray silhouettes as her thoughts and magic rushed through, quick but thorough, running and running... until she felt it. The overwhelming, but familiar presence of Hal, bigger than the ancient trees, robust and hulking like the mountains on the Islands, floating through the clouds, each a separate segment, but holding the same position, as if chained together. He was liked that. A separate piece, and yet always part of the whole, part of the Islands themselves.

In her quick strides and vibrativing sense of victory upon finding him, she almost run the rest of the forest to the clearing. She should have checked longer, before retreating with her mind. That she was surprised upon seeing the dragon standing at the edge of the clearing was shameful for a mage of her caliber.

Somehow she has stopped being sensitive to their presence. They were kinda everywhere, coming from the forest, flying over the gates, napping under the stairs of the academy. And they were always recieving, so in a way, she wasn't pushing with her mind to them to be considerate?

She could present it like that. The truth was more simple though. She was scared.

It was amazing, being on the Islands. She loved how buzzing with life and magic they were, the unique floating, the various landscapes, from waterfalls and calm lakes, from mountains to flat fields, from wild natural cliffs to abondened cities of stone.

She loved the dragons. They were special creatures, intelligent, magical, different, and this was one of the only places they resided in. Her only chance to not only see them feetingly, but actually observe and interact with them. In theory she was excited about that, bubbly feelings of joy and promise rising in her chest.

But when she stood before this dragon, giant black serpent body with wings like pirate sheets on a giant boat, the piercing glare, the feeling turned to a sinking sensation and goosebumps on her arms. Because this creature could hurt her so easily, and that feeling didn't go away, just because she logically undertood it wouldn't.

The dragon looked in her direction them, infinite black pools of ink bearing into her. She shivered. Hesitated. Then hurried to Hal's side. It was rude to show fear in presence of allied dragons.

Hal was Hal and wasn't Hal. He was in the in between state, his body visible and concrete enough for his clothes to hang onto him, but the outline of his body was blurred and transculent, and he seemed to be hovering in space, just about to float away.

He was mind-sharing with the dragon, and so deeply, that his body was losing form. At least he wasn't shapeshifting into anything, like a bird or a rock, that would have been longer issue to deal with.

But like this, she could still just walk up to him, and by hugging him from behind, hold him in place. Apply pressure. Appeal to his physical human senses to bring him back.

It took a bit. She wasn't following exactly, because her eyes were closed, clenched shut so she wouldn't have to look at the dragon. Tempest was one of the oldest dragons on the Island, with a particular fondness for Hal. They all tended to find favourites among them very quickly. She couldn't see the transformation, but she felt how Hal's weight changed in her hands, how his body shifted, shook and then engled towards her, and he stumbled before he caught himself on his own two feet and got his balance.

"You here?" She asked out loud, deliberately, instead of checking with her mind.

Hal coughed and took a deep breath and reached out instead, but she blocked her thoughts, clear and strong like an ice wall between them.

He relented. "Wasn't far away."

"You almost slipped away."

A beat of silence.

"I would have come back." When she didn't reply, he added: "I will always come back."

Although there wasn't a reason for it anymore, she still held onto him from behind, his slim body solid in her hands. Her eyes still clenched, she realized she was leaning into him instead of holding him up now.

Hal didn't move. He let her.

Did he guess it wasn't just that she was worried he would dissolve into thin air? That she was holding him more for herself than for his sake now? Did he feel the tremor in her hands and guess what caused it?

What a stupid thing for a Dragon knight, fearing the Dragon.

Hal shifted on his feet again. Put his hand on hers, crossed over his waist. His skin was cold to the touch, featherlight, ghostly. Then he gently pried one hand away, gripping it tightly and guiding it to his side. He coaxed her clenched fingers in the open, while leaving the other hand clutching the fabric of his coat around his middle still.

They waited. She slowly opened her eyes. The dragon was still there. Hal didn't voice the fear they both knew out loud. Not in words, not in his thoughts. But she noticed upon seeing, that he stood more broadly, more directly in front of her, shielding her from the dragon he loved.

When she didn't say sorry, the sky darkened. A small drizzle started quickly, no preparation needed. Denying her feelings would soon start a rainstorm on the Islands.

Hal didn't move. The dragon, Tempest, kept looking at them. Skye kept casting quick glances in her direction, before looking away, holding onto Hal's hand, shielded by his back. Thankful. Yes that was the word she was looking for. She focused on that feeling, accepted it, took it deeply inside herself and then let it sicker through and outside.

The rain continued, but the sky tore in places, letting sunlight in. Hal turned his head to look at her from the side. Curious. Careful. Patient.

“I heard your raised voices, Ása. What happened?” Bofur’s concerned gaze rested on her.

“I… We…” she put her hand over her forehead, trying to recall all the recent events. “How did I get here?”

“I was on my way to the barn when I met Beorn carrying you here. He said you fainted, but we couldn’t wake you up,” he explained.

“We quarreled… I felt light-headed...” she shook her head in confusion, trying to chase away the haze from her mind. Suddenly, a recollection flashed in her head. Thorin’s face contorted in a wrathful grimace. Beorn’s low, feral growl. Icy fingers of dread grasped at her heart. “Thorin... is he well?”

“He is not here,” Bombur looked away.

“He rode out well before the sunset,” a low but melodic voice came from the doorway. Beorn appeared there, still in his human form, his large frame filling the door opening almost completely. “No blood was spilled.”

For a blink of an eye, Ása felt relieved. Then everything came back to her. That nightmare. Thorin’s terrifying golden stare. His cold, unfamiliar touch. His words cutting like knives. I do not have a wife any longer! Her Azyungal renounced her. A heart-wrenching sensation overcame her.

“Where…,” her voice faltered, “Where did he go?” she uttered these words carefully, in an attempt not to show her distress. The Dwarves avoided her gaze.

“When is he coming back?” she tried again, her vision suddenly becoming blurry, fear grasping her heart. 

Bofur sat beside her and spoke softly, “You need to rest, lass. We can talk tomorrow.”

“But… I need to see him, I have to speak to him, he needs to know, he is not himself, it was all a misunderstanding… Wasn’t it, Beorn?” sobbing, Ása lifted her head, meeting his uncomprehending grey gaze. Only then did she realize she was addressing him in Khuzdul, the words of the common tongue gone from her befuddled mind. Swallowing her tears, she turned to Bofur and Bombur. “He needs to return, I’m his wife, he is my One, we are meant to be together. Aren’t we?” she spoke frantically, taking fast, shallow breaths. “We found each other. As Mahal foreordained… We held hands, and said our vows, he braided my hair, and here, here is his bead, do you see? And it can not be undone, can it? Our oath was set in stone. I’m his until the end of days, he said it himself, I’m his Other Half... He… He couldn’t have gone away… He couldn’t. Not now... He has to come back… Winter is coming, and he will be cold, I haven’t finished mending his warmest doublet yet... He couldn’t have left… he hadn’t meant what he said, had he? I’m still his wife… I’m still his...”

Words failed her, and Ása rested her forehead against Bofur’s shoulder, giving under the weight of her emotions, sobbing uncontrollably, gasping for air. A cold wave spread through her body. She couldn’t stop shivering.

“It’s alright, lass, everything is going to be alright,” Bofur murmured, patting her back, but neither his embrace nor his reassuring words could lessen her distress.

***

The silence was her only companion when Ása rested her head on her pillow, trying to fall asleep. It was late in the evening and she was alone in her and Thorin’s bedroom. She needed sleep, and she needed her Thorin, but none of them would come. A small part of her still hoped that the latest events would turn out to be a nightmare. Closing her eyes firmly, she waited to wake up from this ordeal, hoping that the door would open any moment and her One would return, with his loving, azure gaze set on her face. He would take her in his arms and keep her close, enveloping her in his warmth and murmuring the reassuring words she so dearly wished to hear, and it would be him again, not that cold-eyed being that took the place of her beloved.  

She lost track of time staring at the door, but the stubborn, unfeeling slab of wood wouldn’t move. The bed linen felt cold, stiff, and uninviting. Even the large bed suddenly seemed much too big and very uncomfortable. She kept tossing around until her nose landed in the middle of Thorin’s pillow. His scent still lingered over the fabric, enveloping her completely. A sob escaped her throat as she pulled the pillow closer to her. Her One was gone, and she was alone. 

Ása tried to forget what Beorn shared with her after he brought her to this room. According to him, Thorin had ridden off on his pony, taking his weapons and all his belongings with him. Most of them, at least. One of his doublets was left forgotten, carelessly thrown over the back of a nearby chair. She was supposed to mend a tear in the fabric and finish lining it with fur a few days ago, but she was delayed. And now it was too late. 

She didn’t know what happened to Thorin, but she still clearly remembered that glimpse of blue in his golden eyes, just as she remembered the last words he uttered, I do not have a wife any longer!

It took her a few moments to realize that the weeping sounds she heard came from her own mouth and the pillow underneath her was wet with her tears. Ása’s fingers wrapped around her marriage braid. Thorin pleated it himself that morning, merely hours ago, just after she braided his hair, as it was customary among the married couples. She felt the cold metal surface of the bead that held her pleated locks together. Silver and sapphire, her husband’s colors, the proof that she was his. Had been his. Now he didn’t want her any longer.

If she only could move back in time, Ása would have been more careful. She should not have let Beorn touch her hair, no matter the reason. A proper married dwarven lady would not allow such frivolities. Nor would a lady wound her One like she did, pointing out that he had lost his birthright and his fortune. No wonder he retaliated. She was utterly foolish, what else could she have expected of him? Such words would have hurt him more than that slap on Thorin’s face when he… No, she corrected herself, whoever he was, that creature with a terrifying golden glare wasn’t Thorin. Not her blue-eyed Thorin, the one who would run his fingers through her hair, whispering sweet nothings into her ear while she would rest her head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Slowly, imperceptibly, surrounded by soothing memories, she slipped into the realm of dreams.

She was back in Erebor, running through the endless walkways, tunnels, and staircases, breathless and lost. The darkness that shrouded the dwarven domain seemed to have no beginning nor end. The air was unusually chilly. A thick cloud of breath left her mouth. Despite the cold, she could clearly smell a foul stench lingering in the stale air. Ása shivered. She was completely alone. The Kingdom Under the Mountain looked deserted and desolate. Some of the meticulously carved stone pillars were cracked, some of them broken, and others – completely destroyed. 

Ása’s feet led her to the throne room. The hope of finding someone – anyone – in that forlorn place was instantly snuffed out like a candle. Only emptiness welcomed her. Her steps echoed against the walls of greenish-black stone as she approached king Thrór’s throne, splinters of rock and stone dust grating against the soles of her shoes.

The seat of the great king was vacant and shattered, just like everything else under the Mountain.

Even the greatest symbol of dwarven power and prosperity, the Arkenstone, was gone from the elaborate golden setting it had been displayed in above the throne for everyone to see. It looked as if a large clawed paw had plowed through the stone, destroying it and ripping out the priceless gem from its resting place.

“Thorin!” Ása shouted, feeling panic rising inside her as she backed out from the large chamber. She needed to find him and warn him, something dreadful was going to happen soon, and he had to know about it before it was too late.

“Thorin!” she cried out, looking around, expecting to see him at any moment now. “Thorin, where are you?!”

But there was no Thorin in the lifeless halls of stone under the Mountain.

***

“Thorin! Thorin, where are you?!”

He woke up with a start, feeling wetness on his face, quickly brushing it off. Almost impenetrable darkness surrounded him. Grasping around, he searched for Ása, her voice still ringing in his ears. Instead of finding the familiar, inviting warmth of her body, his fingers combed through the moist blades of grass on the wet ground. It took him a moment to recall where he was. 

He felt the hard ground beneath his back. Autumn chill filled the night air. Thorin realized he wasn’t in their bed in Beorn’s house. Ása was not with him. His face was wet again. It must have started raining recently, he surmised. Wrapped in his heavy leather cloak, he blindly gathered his belongings, moving them under the nearby fir tree, its long branches thick with needles. As he straightened, a rivulet of cold rainwater found its way under his clothes and ran down his back, suddenly chilling him to the bone.   

He lost her.

A chill spread in his chest. Thorin’s muscles tightened up. His hands clenched into fists as he stomped heavily towards the nearest tree. With his right arm bent at the elbow, he launched a purposeful punch to its trunk, his knuckles smashing into the hard surface, chunks of tree bark flying off in all directions.

Thud!

He lost her.

Thud!

His left fist thudded into the tree. You have no right to order me around! Her words lashed at him again from the depths of his memory, her accusing voice kept haunting him. You are not a crown prince any longer! How dared she? Was that what he was to her? A title and nothing more? 

Thud! Thud!

Pieces of tree bark pierced his skin and his fists felt sticky with blood, but that did not concern him. We are not under your Mountain any more! Those were her exact words, equally truthful as painful. He had no home. No family. No kingdom. No purpose in life. She was right. He lost his princely title and his wealth along with it. In the eyes of every dwarven woman, he was no longer a worthy husband.

Thud!

The rain pattered dismally against the ground, against the tree branches, against his back. With his thoroughly wet hair clinging to his head, he slammed his fist into the tree with all his power, his heavy boots sliding in the muddy ground. The wood moaned in protest. The vivid recollection of that fateful moment filled his mind, and he was reaching for Ása once again, drawing her closer to him. Let me go! A loud slap. His cheek burning. The look of disappointment and pain on her face and… fear, yes, fear in her eyes, it was burned into his memory. His One was afraid of him. The dishonorable way he acted that day… And he couldn’t have done anything to stop himself. 

Thud!

He still remembered that terrifying feeling of detachment he felt on that day when he entered Beorn’s barn as if he was observing his actions from afar, not being able to change even the slightest of his gestures. Was that how it had felt for his grandfather? Was Thrór, son of Dáin, King Under the Mountain, also overwhelmed by the powerlessness, a prisoner in his own body, as he kept shouting all those irrational orders at his subjects? And now, it was Thorin’s turn to submerge in the same madness.

Something shackled Thorin’s chest, tightening it, making his breathing harder. He swayed and rested his forehead against the rough surface of the tormented tree. One of his fists was still pressed into the bark, blood mingled with water seeping into its dark brown cracks. Drawing in a raspy breath, he closed his eyes. 

Once again he was looking into the bright blue-green pools of her eyes. He was the Prince of Erebor and Ása, his Ása, just entered the secret chamber they would meet at, the fairest maiden he had ever laid his eyes upon. The only one who made his heart beat faster.

“Thorin! I missed you so!” as soon as their eyes met, she ran towards him with a rustle of her frilly skirts, like a golden ray of sunshine that somehow found its way into the bowels of the Mountain.

He picked her up and twirled her in his arms. His actions were accompanied by her cheerful laughter. Her closeness intoxicated him, her touch heady like Dorwinion wine.

“We have not seen each other for half a day!” he chuckled, enjoying the way her hands felt against his body, resting on his shoulders. Not being able to stop himself, he brushed his nose against hers in an intimate caress.

“I need to confess, my lord, that half a day without your arms around me is more than I can bear,” Ása admitted in a whisper with a small smile, a rosy blush painting her cheeks. Oh, how he adored that smile she had only for him, her silky golden hair that brushed against his forehead, her lovely face so close to his. How he adored everything about her…

“Have I rendered you speechless, my lord?” her chuckle brought him out of his reverie. He was still holding her in the air, her lithe body pressed against his, the smell of lilac and lavender ensnaring his senses.

“I have been pondering about the best way to recompense you, my lady, for my lack of presence by your side,” he spoke with a grin, setting her down on the floor. It felt surprisingly uplifting to know that he was not the only one counting hours until the moment when they would meet again.

“And have you come to any conclusions?” she looked him straight in the eye as he leaned over her, his hands pressing into the gauzy fabric of the gown on her back.

“Only one,” he murmured and kissed her, savoring the softness of her lips. She tasted sweet, like the sweetest spring honey, delicate and light, sensuous and irresistible.

She gave out a small but very distinct moan that brought him back to his senses. With her shining eyes, slightly parted lips, and lovely arched neck, she presented an alluring view, the most breathtaking flower of the king’s court in bloom. Thorin recalled the promise he made to himself. She was a lady and he would treat her with all the honor he could muster.

He took her hands in his and pressed an ardent kiss on each of them.

“My sweet Ása, it pains me to be the bearer of sad news. I am unable to see you for a while.”  

“Has anything happened?” her eyes widened in surprise.

“I am to leave Erebor with my father. We are leaving Erebor for several months,” he admitted, enjoying the way her small, delicate hands rested in his, trying to remember all the little details, hoping that the memories of her would keep him company throughout the trip, easing the pain of separation.

“But… why?” she gasped. “Where are you going? For how long?” her hands tightened on his.

“A diplomatic visit to our kin in the Misty Mountains. I have just learned of it myself. We leave on the morrow,” he pulled Ása into an embrace and she clung to him, her arms twining around him. Her face was buried in the folds of his doublet. Every part of his body protested against being parted from Ása. During recent months, she has become so dear to him, so kindred.

“May Mahal watch over you during your journey, Mizim,” she said in a muffled voice into the fabric on his chest, her forehead resting it against his pectoral. There was a slight trembling tone hiding among these words.

“We are going to return before the Bonfire Festival,” he reassured her.

“I see…” she whispered and a sigh escaped her lips. It was going to be a long trip.

“May I ask for the honor of celebrating it by your side already now, my lady?”

“I will be happy to grant it to you. That is, if I am still present in your thoughts after your return, my lord,” she offered, looking up at him and biting her lower lip.

“Do not doubt it, my sweetest,” he cupped her face and gently pressed his lips against hers, once again taking a taste of the sweetness she offered.

“Nevertheless, I shall give you something to remember me by,” Ása whispered when their lips parted. “Will you close your eyes, my lord?” she asked timidly, hope sparkling in her blue-green eyes, like emeralds.

He obliged her, and after a few heartbeats, he felt her putting something soft and tickling into his hand.

It was a small lock of her hair. Suddenly, Thorin felt out of breath.

“Ása…” he looked at the golden strands in his hand, at her face, and then back at the gift worthy of kings. “But this… This is your hair…”

He was at a loss for words. It was not a simple sign of affection of a dwarven lady to her beau. This was a declaration. A promise. A cherished token exchanged by courting couples. And they weren’t courting, they had spent last months meeting in secret, away from the prying eyes of the court and Crown Prince Thráin’s forbidding glare.

 The lady of his heart closed his fist around the treasure she bestowed upon him, her fingers intertwining with his.

He swallowed, his heart thumping in his chest, “Is this truly what you wish?”

“It is yours now,” she said calmly, lowering her eyes, but he saw how her face darkened with a blush. 

“Then I will keep it close to my heart and safeguard it well as it is now my greatest treasure,” he raised their joined hands to his mouth and placed a lingering, affectionate kiss on both of them. Ása’s cheeks took on the color of peonies in full bloom. She was utterly captivating.

“Am I allowed to hope that you will also think of me while I am away, my lady?” He cleared his throat, trying to curb the storm of bewildering emotions inside him.

She raised her head to meet his gaze. “I might… if I have something to remember you by, my lord,” she winked. “How about a kiss for every day I will be deprived of your company, my Prince?” Thorin didn’t have to be told twice. It was an honor to fulfill a lady’s wishes, after all. As he was sealing her lips with his, the last thing he saw was the tenderness and admiration in her eyes that spoke more than any word ever could.

Thorin held the same lock of her golden hair in his hand now, feeling its smoothness under his thumb. He remembered that day very clearly; Ása’s trusting, loving gaze haunted him. When they last spoke, there was no affection in her eyes, no warmth, only pain and disgust. Everything else was blown off like a candle's fickle flame.

He was no one now. He was not her prince any longer. He had nothing to offer her. Nothing that she wanted. And even if he did, it was too late now.

She was not his wife any longer. It was all his doing.

***

Her moon days were late. Alarmingly late. This thought crossed Ása’s mind, blinding like lightning against a stormy sky. She was bent in half, emptying the contents of her stomach behind Beorn’s barn. Her courses tended to be irregular, but that was nothing out of the ordinary among the dwarven women. The Dwarves weren’t the most fertile of races, and this wasn’t a reason to worry. She missed her moon days before, when the Ironfists were taking her to Orocarni, but they eventually came. Besides, then, she had thought that maybe… It was of no consequence. Perhaps now it was similar; fatigue, stress, and an unsettled stomach. There was no need to hastily jump to conclusions.

She had been feeling tired and light-headed in the morning, despite a long night’s sleep. It had been a puzzling matter. Although the overwhelming heartache and despair filled her mind every single day since Tho--, since he left, Ása somehow spent most of her nights in dreamless oblivion. She forbade herself to speak his name, to think of his embrace, to recall the tender words he would have whispered into her ear as they would have drifted off to sleep together. She ignored the fact of waking up on his side of the bed, trying to find the last wisps of his scent still lingering among the bedsheets. Ása even ignored how wet her pillow was every morning. It would pass, she ordered herself, taking in a deep breath, thinking both of her recurring nausea and utter heartbreak. It all had to pass. 

A hearty breakfast she had eaten before meeting Beorn in the barn hadn’t done much to alleviate her fatigue, but at least it silenced the loud rumbling in her stomach for a while. She and Master Bear were supposed to milk the cows, but as soon as she crossed the barn’s threshold, the unexpectedly intense smell of milk assaulted her nostrils. It was abhorrent. Ása swallowed as a bout of nausea rose in her stomach. Had this really been one of her favorite beverages? She couldn’t even bear to think of its sweet taste and aroma. 

“Are you well, Honeysuckle?” the bear-man tilted his head as his observant grey eyes rested on her, a milking pail in his hands. “You look pale.”

Answering him was the last thing on her mind. The first and dominant one was her stomach frantically demanding attention as the surprisingly foul smell surrounded her. She lunged out the barn door but the sudden movement made the situation much worse. After barely reaching the back wall of the barn, Ása’s body protested. A wave of nausea caused her to retch and her stomach got rid of her breakfast.

Sitting on the ground, she felt her muscles trembling. Ása rested her back against the wall of the barn, taking deep breaths, the smell of freshly chopped wood in the air slowly bringing relief.

“May I ask how far along are you?” the skin-changer quietly asked.

“I… I’m… This is just…” she tried to deny what her body was trying to tell her all that time, what her mind refused to accept, but the words failed her. “How did you…?”

“I can recognize the signs,” he sat next to her, speaking softly. “I have seen them before,” his countenance darkened for a few moments. When he looked at her again, there was a certain solemn quality to his gaze that she couldn’t explain. 

“I have been told chamomile tea helps,” he added. “At least when it comes to my kind.” “My Mother told me she would drink a lot of chamomile tea when… when she was expecting,” she agreed, feeling the warmth of a blush on her cheeks. Lowering her gaze, she noticed that her own hand was covering her stomach. 

“We have plenty of dried chamomile to get you through the winter, Honeysuckle.”

She nodded. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

“Around three months,” Ása spoke finally, replying to his question, still not quite accepting the underlying meaning of her own words. “If I’m indeed… in the family way, that is,” she clenched her hand into a fist, nails digging into her skin. Family. Her blood relatives were far away, Tho--, he, the Dwarf who used to be her husband, was gone too.  She was in the wilderness, with no family to speak of. Soon, she would become even a greater burden to her companions.

A crease appeared on Beorn’s wide forehead. He nodded with a grunt.

“And your friends do not know,” it wasn’t a statement.

“Not yet,” she shook her head. The thought of her having to share this information with anyone made her feel uneasy. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Her husband should be the first one to know. A married couple was supposed to cherish the news in private, until after the customary four months have passed and then they would share the happy news of Mahal’s blessing with their relatives.

“None of them knows? Not even T--”

“None of them,” she interrupted him before he managed to speak the name she refused to hear. Silence followed swiftly, like a dwarven warrior on a battle ram, trying to chase away the ache in her heart, and failing.

“That smell was on your husband, before he left,” the bear-man stared at the wall of trees ahead.

“That smell?”

“It made my ponies worried. You remember my warning.” “Yes, of course,” Ása admitted, recalling the talk she had with Beorn a few months before, under a tree, concerning the dragon egg. Afterwards, she went fishing with… Nevermind. She needed to stop thinking about him. “Do you… Do you smell it on me now, Master Bear? Or on anyone else?”

“No. Only Thorin smelled of it on that day. But never before.”

The sound of his name pierced her heart like a red hot iron. “I see...” her voice trailed off. Her mind was blank. She would not cry, not now, she would not...

“I do not wish for this thing to sow more dissent under my roof,” he looked at her pointedly, his bushy eyebrows meeting in the middle of his forehead. “It is time for you to think of removing this creature from this place. You are most welcome to stay here for as long as you like. Your dwarven secret is not.”

“I… I understand, Master Bear,” Ása sighed faintly, thoughts racing chaotically in her mind. Her grandmother used to say: When it rains, it pours. She wrapped her arms around her belly. “Only… I will need some time.”

“Fair enough,” she heard his response.

The skin-changer stood up with yet another grunt and reached out his large, hairy arm, offering his palm to her. 

Casting a long glance at Ása’s middle, he said, “I do not pretend to know of the dwarven customs, but your companions are anything but dim. They are going to notice your condition soon enough.”

Ása took Beorn’s hand. It was going to be a very long day.

***

Perhaps he was gone, Ása thought to herself while laying down in her bed, but it didn’t mean she would neglect the dragon egg.

Slowly she ran her gloved hands along its dark, coarse surface that resembled more a chunk of rock rather than an egg, a fragile vessel containing life inside it. She sighed in relief. The shell looked intact. It was as hard as the marble of Erebor, but it shielded a precious being inside it. A being that deserved a chance at life. A baby that needed care, and deserved love. Just like her own.

“Don’t worry, I will not abandon you,” she said, laying on her side and patting the angular object, “Your mommy is not here, but you have me instead. I will protect you.” 

“I will protect us all,” Ása whispered after a pause, placing her hand on the slight curve of her belly.

Something stirred inside her under her touch, as if a dozen of butterflies fluttered their wings. The ultimate mother, the night, lulled her to sleep, her arms of oblivion tenderly wrapped around Ása’s unmoving figure.

If a night wanderer were to pass by the window to Ása’s room at that very moment, his eyes would notice a shadow of a movement in the moonlight.

The egg slightly moved and rolled on the bedsheets, stopping only when its surface touched Ása’s belly. There, it stayed, unmoving, throughout the night.

***

A little brown jay flew through the air, enjoying the feeling of wind brushing against his feathers. A few flaps of his wings and he rose higher, above the treetops. The forest below him was dense, but he had a keen eye for things near and far. That was surely the reason the Big Bear chose him for this mission and he didn’t intend to fail him. He owed it to him; it was the skin-changer who took him in and nursed him back to health after he’d broken his wing as a youngling. Thanks to the Bear, he could fly again, soar above the clouds and bathe in the pink rays of sunlight at dawn. The jay lowered his flight as he glided over a forest clearing, noticing a movement. A black pony grazed by a fallen tree, and an unmoving figure clad in dark blue garments sat on the log nearby, sharpening that long chunk of metal the bear-man called a “sword”.

The jay circled the clearing once more, twittering happily. He could return now. His mission was fulfilled.

***

The skin-changer was nowhere to be found and Ása’s mind was filled with the darkest scenarios. Several days after their talk, Beorn informed the Dwarves that he was leaving for a hunt and then quickly departed. At least a week passed since then and there was still no sign of him. There were so many things Ása needed to discuss with him, their winter food stores, the feed for ponies, cows, and other animals, preparing the beehives for winter… and the matter of the dragon egg.

“Have you seen Master Bear today?” Ása asked Bifur who shook his head in response. He was becoming stronger, his health was improving daily, and most of his wounds were healed. Only his head injury was the source of a constant worry. He would often suffer from lengthy headaches that sometimes led to sudden bouts of anger. It seemed that some of his memories were gone, and the injured Dwarf would sometimes stare blankly at a wall for hours, completely ignoring his surroundings. On top of everything, Bifur, who used to be quite talkative – too talkative according to Bofur – apparently lost his ability to speak. He wasn’t able to form words anymore; instead, he resorted to using iglishmêk in order to communicate with the other Dwarves. Talkative or not, Bifur turned out to be a good listener and a caring friend, especially after she informed her companions of her current condition. She realized quite soon that there was no greater force in the world than a bunch of dwarven warriors doting over a pregnant woman of their own kind.

“It’s been a few days since he left. I hope nothing happened to him,” Ása spoke her thoughts. 

“Kaminzabdûna* is watching over him,” he signalled. “There’s no greater beast in this wilderness.”

Beast. She swallowed, lowering her gaze and trying to control the trembling of her lips. There was one she had called “Beast” once; her raven-haired prince of Erebor. And now she was abandoned, her One long gone into an unknown direction, devoured by the endless forests, disappeared without a trace, not knowing that he had left both the wife he rejected along with their unborn child.

A treacherous sob escaped her; and she felt Bifur’s wide, work-worn hand resting on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Bifur, I don’t know what…” her sobbing intensified. “I know I have to be strong, but how can I go on without him? How can I bring my baby to this world, knowing that it may never meet its father? Who will be there to protect us, to help me teach my little one how to laugh? How to fight? How to be an honorable Dwarf? He used to be the most honorable dwarf I’ve ever known… and now...” a wave of silent wails washed over her, but Bifur was still there, holding her hands and patting them gently, being her only companion throughout the storm of emotions that raged inside her.

Ása lost track of time in her despair, barely noticing the familiar hands of a carpenter wrapping a blanket around her and putting a decoratively carved wooden box in front of her, similar to the jewelry caskets she left behind in Erebor. She was sure she had never seen this particular one among their belongings; it had a sheen of newness about it. Running her finger along its smooth, hard surface, she caught the smell that reminded her of newly made wooden furniture.

Encouraged by Bifur’s gestures, Ása opened the box slowly, curious to see its contents. The colorful geometric patterns continued on its inside surface, but there they took on a shape of a dense pine forest. There was even a large brown bear peeking out from between the massive tree trunks.

The Dwarf reached into his pocket, rummaged there for a few moments, and then placed something inside the box, on its bottom part. Ása’s eyes widened.

She moved closer, surveying the wooden figurine thoroughly. The carving of a lady in front of her had long hair, just like her, and its gown was similar to one of hers, but there was something else that caught Ása’s eye. The Dwarf-woman had a tiny smile on her face and in her arms, she held a cute, chubby baby with a lock of hair over its forehead.

“Is it… me?” she whispered.

Bifur nodded and lifted his slightly crooked index finger, commanding her attention. He reached into another pocket and produced three more figurines, placing them around the first one. The first one wore a funny hat, had two braids on his head, and held a pipe in its hand; the second one had a thick U-shaped beard braid resting on his magnificent belly and there was a wooden spoon tucked under his belt; the third wooden Dwarf rested on his spear, a chunk of metal wedged into his forehead. The last figurine was looking intently at the baby from under his bushy eyebrows.

“Oh, Bifur,” she covered her mouth with her palm, but the tears had already started rolling down from her eyes. Without thinking, she threw her arms around his neck, and gave him a wet peck on his bearded cheek. The Dwarf blinked several times and his face turned beetroot red. Trying to mask her own embarrassment, she hid her face in his shoulder. The sweet scent of tobacco and peppermint surrounded her, making her recall the last time she felt this way. This smell transported her back to the home of her grandmother where she would often spend time as a child. A piece of sponge cake with raisins and a mug of peppermint tea would always wait for her there. She could still remember her grandma’s hand ruffling her hair and her steady voice, slightly hoarse from the years of pipe smoking. Her mother’s mother would weave a tale after a tale of ancient times, brave dwarven warriors, and awe-inspiring dragons. Little Ása would sit beside her wide-eyed, forgetting about everything else, until the gracious hand of sleep would brush her eyelids, and every time she would find her way into the safe harbour of dreams. And now, her safe harbour manifested itself yet again in the most unexpected of places.

***

It was a sunny, quiet afternoon, a perfect time to spend in the grove behind the skin-changer’s house. Ása looked down at her belly and a smile appeared on her face. It was definitely not food that made it grow. Well, not only food, to be exact. The delicious lunch Bombur prepared that day may have added to its size a bit, but the main reason was much more wonderful and exciting. A tiny, adorable pebble was growing inside her. She was going to be a mother. A mother. That thought filled her with a myriad of new, indescribable feelings. At the same time, her mind worked on all the things that had to be prepared before the baby came into this world. Making a mental note to add width to her dresses before the winter, she moved her hand along the curve of her belly, feeling its promising roundness. 

“Hello, Little One,” she whispered. “You are not alone. Your mommy is here. And soon, you will meet your wonderful uncles, too.” 

Ása smiled to herself, recalling how her companions’ faces brightened with joy when she had shared the good news with them. She wondered what he would… no, she would not dwell on it. She promised herself not to, but at that moment, her own heart betrayed her. Feeling the noticeable warmth her belly seemed to radiate under her palm made her think that she had a little furnace growing inside her. Scorching hot, just like him… She swallowed, attempting to chase away the unwanted thoughts once again. 

An unexpected gust of wind chilled Ása to the bone. Shivering, she wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and returned to her sketching. There was a brown jay perched on a branch of a nearby tree, looking at her curiously, and she wanted to catch his lively pose. While she was working, Ása’s thoughts wandered off to Lady Barba’s comfortable parlour. If Ása were in Erebor now, she would be sitting by the fireplace together with her guardian, drinking tea, crackling flames dancing in front of her eyes. She wondered what the dwarven matron could be doing at that very moment. Was she well? Was she terribly worried for Ása after her sudden disappearance? Was Lord Beldrum’s rheumatism any better? And what was her dear Jutta up to? Had her leg healed completely? What about Thorin’s mother, Lady Sigrun? How was she faring with her son cast out of Erebor?

The jay tilted his head, directing one of his beady eyes at her, but he didn’t seem to have any answers for Ása.

“Winter is in the air,” a low, rumbling voice pierced the soothing silence around her. Startled, the jay flew away with an irritated squawk, leaving a wobbling branch behind.

“Thorin?!” she gasped, whipping her head up, barely believing her ears. The one who used to call her his wife once, stood stiffly in front of her, only his chest was rapidly rising and falling, as if he had just finished a long run. Both his long mane and beard looked unkempt, there were tired lines under his shadowed eyes, dirt spattered on his clothes, but it was most definitely him.

Ása stood up quickly, holding her parchments to her chest. Taking a few quick steps back, she instinctively put the tree stump she had been sitting on between them. Her heart was beating frantically, like the wings of a wild bird flapping against the bars of a cage.

“Do not be alarmed, my…” his voice faltered, but he didn’t move. “I am… I am myself now.”

Suddenly she noticed that her hand was tightened in a fist, crumpling a piece of parchment. Taking a deep breath, she raised her gaze, finding the familiar depths of his azure eyes darkened to a sullen tint. His hair danced in the wind like bare branches of a solitary tree.

“It is really you…” Ása whispered with relief, taking a couple of steps towards him and stopping herself halfway. The last words he spoke to her on that fateful day rang in her ears, just like they did during these last weeks. Her vision blurred and a lump grew in her throat. “W-why have you come here?”

“Is it true?” Thorin’s widened eyes rested on her slightly protruding belly.

Of course. The irrational spark in her heart dimmed before it had the chance to kindle the fire of hope. He hadn’t changed his mind. He didn’t come back for her. Ása wrapped her arms around her belly in a protective gesture, the heat of a blush spilling on her cheeks.

“And what if it is?” she retorted, mustering her courage. “How is this possible?” his piercing gaze rested on her face, and she suddenly felt like a small boat trapped among the waves of a stormy sea.

“Have you forgotten your education, my lord? It takes two Dwarves. A woman and a man…” Ása cleared her throat, hoping that the trembling in her voice would go away. “Unless you are implying that I’ve added adultery to the long list of my misdemeanors.”

“I… forgive me,” he rasped out, sounding more like a wounded animal than a Dwarf, and swiftly strode towards her. Before she could react, Thorin fell on his knees before her with a thud. His arms wrapped gently around her waist and he hid his face in the folds of her dress, his forehead resting against her sternum.

Ása froze. She could barely breathe, her eyes set on his wavy hair spilling down his shoulders. A dried leaf was tangled in his raven strands, along with a small twig. How long had it been since he brushed his hair last time? Where did the abrupt urge to bury her fingers in his hair come from? Why did she feel such a strong need to take care of it, to wash it, comb it and braid it again? And why was she thinking about it? She had no right to it any longer. He had rejected her, left her, shunned her, she was no longer his, she reminded herself.

“I never doubted you... never… in my heart… You expecting… I never dreamed… So soon… I never hoped...” his words came out jumbled. Ása could understand his bewilderment; dwarven couples usually took a long time to conceive, years if not decades. But now, at that very moment, she couldn’t stop thinking of his strong arms around her. It was equally difficult to ignore the warmth of his body against hers. They had always fitted so well together, like two pieces of the same rock. Biting her lip hard, she tried to stop the tears, forbidding herself to make even the slightest movement. 

When Thorin looked up at her, there was an incredible softness in his eyes. They were still blue. Not even a sign of that terrifying golden glow.

“Ása…” he spoke.

“Have you come here to torment me further?” Ása heard her own voice. It sounded coarse.

His eyebrows drew together. “I wish to make amends... The babe… My duty… You need my protection...”

His words pierced her one by one. She understood them all too well. It was only Thorin’s honor speaking, not his heart.

“Let me go,” her whisper was fainter than the rustle of leaves. Deep inside, she wanted to shout: I want you to take me in your arms like you used to, to kiss me, to tell me that you love me, that I’m still your wife! Tell me that all will be well between us!

But her lips remained closed while Thorin pressed his into a tight line. His chest rose and fell slowly.

In a blink of an eye, his arms were gone, and she took a shaky step back both from him and from the unquenchable longing she felt deep inside.

“You needn’t have come, my lord,” she found some other words as he stood in front of her again. “Do not waste your time. The duty you speak of is already being fulfilled by my companions. I am very well cared for and protected. We both are. And we want for nothing else,” she rested her hand on her stomach. 

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Ása, surely you cannot mean…”

“I am thinking about what is best for the babe,” she interrupted him quickly, before her resolve melted completely. “The Little One needs peace and safety to grow. Emotional turmoil is not among them.”

Ása noticed how Thorin clenched and unclenched his fists, how the muscles in his bearded jaw tightened.

“It is not my intention to cause you any further distress,” the velvet timbre of his voice softly caressed her ears exactly as it used to, making her stifle a sob. “It never was; and it never will, if I can help it. My only wish is to ensure your safety.” Thorin’s thoughts cast long shadows over his eyes.

“Then you can rest assured that we are both safe here. You are free to go your way,” Ása wanted to cup his dear face and bury her fingers in his lush beard, press her forehead against his and tell him how much she missed him, how much she yearned to see his face every morning, to touch him, to hear his laughter.

“You will have to excuse me, my lord. I feel quite fatigued and must retire,” she dropped her gaze to her shoes, trying to ignore the sudden dizziness she felt, blinking away the treacherous tears.

“At least allow me to walk you back to the house,” Thorin moved beside her, with his arm outstretched towards her, concern written all over his face.

“Thank you, that will not be necessary. I will manage on my own. Farewell, my lord,” turning her back towards him was the hardest thing Ása had done in her entire life. The second hardest thing was trying to forget the stricken look on his face, and this time she utterly failed.

A dried leaf fell off from the tree behind her, as brown as the little jay’s plumage. It swirled in the air only to rest gracefully on the yellowed grass, stripping the helpless branch bare from its last adornment.

***

A knock on the door woke her up. A few moments passed before Ása recalled that she was in her bed, in Beorn’s house, and it was already dark outside. Had she slept through the whole afternoon?

The knocking repeated.

Sitting up, she brushed the sleep away from her eyes and invited her guest in.

Bombur entered the room, carrying a tray of food in front of him.

“You hadn’t come for supper,” he explained with a soft smile. “I thought you might feel a bit peckish.” Her stomach agreed with his statement with a growl.

“Thank you,” she confirmed, leaving the bed and sitting by the table where Bombur placed the tray. “I may have overslept,” Ása smiled faintly. This was the best explanation she could offer at that point. He would not want to hear about how she cried herself to sleep, how she could not stop thinking about… No, she would not think of it again. He was probably already far away by now. She could finally have the peace she asked for. A lump of ice formed in her stomach. Or maybe it was her heart…?

“How are you feeling, Ása?” Bombur glanced at her worriedly, placing a plate with a slice of a mince pie in front of her.

“It is nothing… just fatigue,” she explained quickly. “Aye, Bifur’s sister was the same with her firstborn. Kept sleeping so much, we all thought she was turning into a bear in winter,” Bombur chuckled. “But she gave birth to a strong little boy!”

“Bifur’s sister?” Ása looked up. “Aye, Birla is her name. A fine lass. She lives with her family in Ered Luin. Her husband is a skilled miner and only has his eyes for her. I’ve never seen a happier couple than these two. Except...” he broke off and suddenly decided to look through the window instead.

Ása tried not to think about what he meant, what names he wanted to say. It was not important. Not at all. She dabbed at the food with her fork. Suddenly her appetite was gone.

Bombur turned back to her after a pause, something unknown flickering in his eyes.

“I wish you well, Ása. And I hope you know that we are by your side, no matter what. Me, Bofur and Bifur.” She could only nod in response.

 “I’m not a fancy courtier so you’ll have to forgive me for my directness,” he tugged at his red moustache. “But do you know that Thorin returned?”

“I… I do. We talked,” Ása put the fork away, not being able to lift her gaze. She would not cry. She would not. Not now.

“I see. That explains it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He took his things to the smithy. Told Bofur he’d be staying there now.”

“Oh,” she let out a surprised sigh. So, Thorin was still there. Why hadn’t he left after what she told him? Ása did not know how to feel about it. Neither did she know why her heart was suddenly racing.

“You don’t look too thrilled about it,” Bombur observed.

 What was she supposed to say now? How would it sound to him if she tried to explain everything? To describe that terrifying golden glow in Thorin’s eyes she saw on that day, weeks ago? What about the way her own wedded husband suddenly changed? The way he treated her, as if she was a piece of furniture, not a living and breathing person? And the words he said to her…

She brushed away a stray tear from her cheek.

“I didn’t… didn’t expect him to return,” she whispered.

Bombur leaned slightly towards her and patted the back of her hand. “Whatever happened between you, he found his way back to you, and that has to mean something, hasn’t it?”

Bombur’s words wouldn’t leave her alone long after he left her room for the night.

***

The Tiny Khuzdul Dictionary: Azyungal – lover, meaning here: The One Kaminzabdûna – Yavanna Iglishmêk – the dwarven sign language If you’ve been wondering how Ása looks like, please check out this amazing fan art by @estethell​. Thank you so much, Este! 💙

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