#romance ff

Sighing, I heave myself up my long driveway, the backpack on my back seeming much heavier than it was a mere twenty minutes ago. “Just a little further,” I tell myself, droplets of sweat pricking my brows, it is quiet warm tonight and I am wearing a thick sweater. That clearly isn’t helping.

I groan loudly once I reach the top of the driveway and poorly jog to the backyard, unlocking the unitーdumping my backpack carelessly in the doorway and sliding the door closed behind me, locking it again. “Kookie!” I call out, un-tying my shoes and kicking them off before dragging my bag to the kitchen, deciding to put away the small amount of groceries I’d purchased.

“Jungkook?” I repeat, concern lacing my words, normally he’d be trying to climb up my leg by now. Gulping, I place the few cans of fruit salad and beans in their respective spots, quickly running into my room in search of my precious little bunny. 

“Come on, this isn’tー” 

I’m instantly cut off by a small grunt and movement underneath my duvet, I roll my eyes and pull back the covers, a beaming pair of dark doe eyes staring back at meーasking for forgiveness. I chuckle and raise my brows at the guilty bunny curling in on himself, “now.. what were you just doing mister?” I ask with a hum, picking Jungkook up and fixing my bed up.

“You can’t just do that, what if you suffocate? Heck, I don’t even know how you got up there,” I mutter, switching the tv on and taking a seat on the sofa, the remote clutched tightly in my free hand. I watch the tv with interest, keeping a tight yet gentle hold on Jungkook in my lap, chuckling at the current scene.

“Did you see that?” I ask the bunny in my palms, lowering my head to look him, his piercing little gaze causing me to pout and huff out a breath at his rudeness. “Just because you can’t talk back doesn’t mean you can look at me like that,” I complain.

As if he’d understood my words, Jungkook grunts and kicks my wrist, nipping at my skin afterwards, I yelpーtossing him onto the cushion next to me, scanning my hand to see if Jungkook had torn any skin. I sigh when I spot the little scratch running from the back of my hand to my forefinger, “you’re so mean Jungkook-ah.” I whine, standing to get a plaster from the bathroom.

Upon my return to the living room, I see Jungkook curled in on himself, his ears covering his eyesーa tiny pout on his cute little lips. I sigh and look down at the guilty little bunny, sitting myself beside him and picking him up, “stop pouting.” I chuckle, watching as he climbs onto my chest, snuggling into it. A small, barely noticeable smile falls onto my lips as I gaze fondly at the bunny in my arms, what am I going to do with you? I think to myself, petting the fluff ball gently.

knock knock

I blink and place Jungkook down before getting up and walking to the front door, sliding it open to reveal my dad. Sighing, I raise my brow at him, “what?” I ask, noticing how his eyes glaze over the area around me, “your sister drank all the milk, you have some?” 

“I- well, yeah, but not much, I haven’t really bought any this week, I might go shopping with Namjoon this weekend..” I respond, allowing him to push me out of the way and casually stroll into my house and into my kitchen, taking out a bottle of my milk. I scoff and clench my jaw, “how much do you need?”

“Not much, just a cup.”

“Okay, hurry up, I have shit to do.”

He only grunts and take the glass of milk he’d poured, leaving without saying a word, I merely sigh and lock the door behind him, harshly closing the curtain before stomping to the kitchen and throwing the milk into the fridge. 

“Angry old man,” I grumble, scuffing back to the sofa and turning my console on. It isn’t much, just and old Playstation since I couldn’t afford a more up to date one. Humming, I plug in the controller and memory card before switching to the AV channel and selecting a game.

Soulcalibur or Kingdom Hearts?

Tapping my chin in thought, I stare at the two games I have deep interest in and settle with Soulcalibur, a little slash and bash before bed never hurt anyone.

With a triumphant yell, I hit the air with my fist and grin, “kiss my ass Inferno!” I shout happily, a feeling of relief washing over me knowing I finally finished Nightmare’s story. I yawn, checking the time on the small clock I had set up, “bed time.” I tell myself, allowing the game to save as I climb to my feet to turn everything off.

“Jungkook,” tucking the controller away, I duck down to pick up the extra one I’d taken out for my little bunny to see the little fluff ball cuddled up next to it. I smile and gentle pick the two up, gently cradling a bunny in one hand while the other is busy putting a controller away.

Chapter 1: Kisses in the Spring Rain

A dwarf maiden sat resting her back against a great old oak growing on a small hill by the northern trail to Erebor. Her face turned towards the Grey Mountains far in the north. Her eyes were firmly set on the road, eagerly waiting to spot a familiar figure on a horse. It was a quiet, lazy spring day, and the afternoon sun shined on the flourishing land below. A gentle breeze passed through the oak’s branches and nearby bushes. Not seeing any signs of the rider, the young woman sighed and returned to her drawings. Her hand was absentmindedly chalking some abstract shapes in a sketchbook resting against her lap.

“He’s coming back today, I can feel it,” Ása reassured herself for the tenth time that day, not being able to focus on her work. If she could only conjure it up by uttering the words aloud.

The Bonfire Festival would happen in less than two weeks. The whole city of Dale was already busy as a beehive with all the preparations.

Thorin had promised her that they would celebrate it together, as soon as he came back. He was going on this long diplomatic mission, accompanying his father, Thrain. She closed her eyes for a few moments, recalling that day. It was a few months ago when they had said their goodbyes. Much too long. She still remembered his touch, his hungry mouth, and his affectionate words when they last met in their secret place. Her heart was painfully yearning for him with each passing day. But now her Mizim* was finally coming back to her.

Not until the first raindrops fell on her face did she realize she had somehow managed to fall asleep. She sighed, not opening her eyes, and wrapped herself tighter in her shawl. Rain or no rain, she desperately wanted to get back to the dream of her beloved she was having just a few moments ago. She knew she should be heading home soon, lady Barba has probably already discovered her ward has disappeared. As far as she knew the energetic matron, Ása suspected that Barba had half of the Erebor’s guards searching for her by now. She should not have sneaked out again, she knew it very well, but the thought of finally seeing Thorin was overwhelming. Ah, Thorin, the only dwarf she had eyes for...

Suddenly, she felt a whiff of cool air and a rush of quick movement. A very well-known voice whispered something into her left ear... Was she dreaming again?

“What a lovely surprise, my lady," the deep baritone voice murmured, almost instantly making her shiver with pleasure. “May a humble traveler ask who you might be waiting for?”

Her heart fluttered. She opened her eyes and her smile widened. This was much better than any dream. Just a few inches away, she saw his handsome face, tanned during recent travels. His dark beard seemed to be thicker and a bit longer than she remembered. And those deep blue eyes that always made her think of a stormy sea were now expectantly looking into her own. He smelled of fresh air, bonfire smoke, and pines. Of adventure and freedom.

“Oh, but my lord," she whispered, feeling his body heat so close to her, “You must know that I have not been waiting for anyone. I have been simply observing the white-eyed kestrels and sketching these birds for artistic purposes. Travelers, humble or not, do not interest me in the slightest.” Saying this, she sat straight up, just like a proper lady would.

She even moved slightly away from him, breaking their eye contact and trying to look unmoved, but her body betrayed her. She felt her cheeks flush. She swallowed and licked her lips in anticipation, not daring to look at him.

“Is that so?”, his mouth came even closer to hers. Dangerously close. She could feel the warmth of his steady breath on her left cheek. The sensation mingled with the scarce raindrops falling from between the tree branches. Her heart started beating even faster, her cheeks flushed with excitement. He smiled, realizing he was close to winning the teasing game they both knew by now almost by heart.

“Is that so?”, he repeated, his voice deepened even more. His eyes twinkled. “And is it a bit unseemly for such a young lady of a noble house to wander alone and unchaperoned into the wilderness, where the wild beasts roam?”

“I am not afraid of any wild beasts, my lord,” she teasingly moved her face a bit away from him. She made an effort to avoid his eyes and tried to keep her resolve.

His warm fingers touched her right cheek, slightly damp with rain. He gently turned her face towards him. Their gazes met again, and she could almost see the sparks flying between them. She could drown in those magnetic eyes that seemed to never leave her face.

“Then tell me, my lady, what are you afraid of?” he asked, looking at her expectantly.

“I think you know the answer to this question very well, my lord. I am only afraid of a certain Beast... This Beast roams the halls of Erebor and pretends to be fully tamed,” she whispered, knowing she could not resist any longer. Slowly, she leaned towards him, almost closing the distance between their lips.

He chuckled, shaking his slightly wet mane of dark hair adorned with silver beads. She could feel the water droplets landing on her flushed neck.

“If this dangerous beast strikes fear into your heart, my lady,” he murmured, “I feel obliged to alleviate this unpleasant feeling... at once.”

Just then, their lips finally met in a hot, passionate kiss of two lovers kept apart for too long. Thorin tried very hard to keep his resolve, to act like a gentledwarf, but when he tasted her, her closeness and scent made him feel intoxicated. She smelled just like he remembered, with lilac and lavender. And she was finally in his arms.

He had been waiting for this moment for far too long, but it was certainly worth it. Her closeness and her warmth, it was all he needed right now. He gently nibbled on her lips and then placed a flutter of butterfly kisses on her face, enjoying how she responded to him, her breath quickening, a barely audible moan escaping her lips.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, one of them delving into the long hair on his neck, while she playfully sucked on his lower lip. He growled, and then pressed his torso against her breasts, almost crushing them. He skillfully slid his tongue between her lips, moving deeper, exploring, their kiss becoming more and more passionate.

When she purred with pleasure, he grinned and murmured, “I am sorry to inform you, my lady, but I believe this beast can’t pretend any longer that he is untamed. He needs to ravish you here and now.” Saying this, he laid her on the ground, moving on top of her and covering her mouth with his.

“But my lord…” she started, feigning outrage in her voice and pulling him closer to her. He moved to her neck, nuzzling her with his mouth and arousing her even more.

“Oh, Thorin...”, a soft moan slipped her mouth.

“I missed you too, Ása, my love,'' he replied, raising his head and looking into her eyes with the look that made her heart pound even faster.

He playfully smiled with that secret smile he had just for her, and then Thorin’s mouth rushed towards her neck and further, to her collarbone. His hair and beard tickled her sensitive skin. She chuckled.

“Oh… Please, my lord… have mercy on me, my untamed Beast...!” she muffled a giggle.

“Oh no," he growled mischievously into her ear, “nothing can save you from the Beast now,” and returned to nuzzling and tickling her neck even more. She couldn’t contain her giggling.

All of a sudden, they heard a horse quickly trotting, stopping and whinnying in a distance. They both froze, exchanging an alarmed glance. This could mean only one thing. They have been discovered!

“Thorin!”, a voice shouted. “I know you’re there!”.

***

Ása opened her eyes. The hissing sounds, the feeling of slithering, scaly bodies moving around her was gone as suddenly as it appeared. She felt hot, sweaty, and slightly nauseated. Her mouth was parched. Water, she needed some water to quench her thirst and settle her disturbed nerves. Trying to move, she realized that a long, tattooed, and muscular arm lay across her naked body, pinning her to the bed. She turned her head to the side, almost bumping into Thorin’s nose. He was asleep, laying on his side; half of his face was hidden by the pillow beneath it. Ása took a moment to admire his handsome profile, unmarked by worries or tiredness. Her One looked peaceful and at ease; almost like a young boy he had been not that many years ago. 

The unruly strands of hair covered his ear and a section of his face, leaving only a part of his earlobe visible with a silver ear cuff adorning it. His thick, almost black eyebrows cast a shadow over his eyelids. Below was his well-defined nose, so characteristic of the dwarves of the Durin’s line, and the narrow and surprisingly soft lips she loved to kiss, hidden under his whiskers. His facial features were defined by the strong line of his jaw covered by the dark, lush beard. It had grown so quickly during the last months that he decided to wear it differently. She was very fond of pleating it every morning into two warrior braids clasped with silver beads. Ása found comfort in knowing that, as his spouse, she was the only one to touch his magnificent hair. The thought of being Thorin’s wife and sharing everyday life with him still felt wonderfully fresh and new.

As slowly as she could, she lifted his arm and left the bed. In the darkness, her bare feet quickly found the little stool, the same one Thorin had brought to help her climb the enormous bed.

She poured some water into a mug and put the heavy jug back on the table. After quenching her worst thirst, she walked towards the window, the movement of air pleasantly cooled her skin. The first thing she saw were the long wisps of autumn mist rolling low over the pasture beside Beorn’s house, making her recall the abhorrently alien, slithering sensation of slimy scales brushing against her skin. Shivering involuntarily, she gazed at the night sky. The darkness that shrouded the world below wasn’t absolute nor overwhelming, its reign held at bay by the ever-present stars and the waxing moon. Ása recalled one of her grandmother’s favorite sayings: “Even in darkness one can find a flicker of hope”. 

The motionless landscape was faintly lit by the silver light from above, making it look as if the greatest Dwarven artisans of old meticulously recreated it using priceless mithril. Total silence enveloped the eerie scenery. The moon shone at her window as well, casting a narrow, elongated shape on the floorboards, and Ása could almost feel it on her skin, bathed in its silvery gleam. A feeling of peace washed over her, the dizziness and nausea she had felt before were slowly subsiding.

“Ása?” Thorin’s barely articulate murmur reached her in the darkness along with the sound of shuffling sheets.

“I’m here, Mizim,” she responded, turning her head back towards him. 

“Come back to bed…” his words were muffled and barely understandable. A small smile appeared on her lips as she wondered how much awake he was… and whether he was awake at all.

“No peeking?” suddenly, she became self-consciously aware of her own nakedness. They were married, of course, but their intimate moments were still new to her. Enjoying the unrestrained closeness in each other’s arms was somehow very different from parading around the room under Thorin’s scorching gaze. The moonlight by the window didn’t make it much easier. Ása’s modesty painted her cheeks pink. He would see everything clearly, her hips that were not as wide as she would like to, her breasts not full enough to be considered enticing, and her arms not as well-rounded as Dwarven men would appreciate. She swallowed.

“Yes, peeking…” came a very coherent murmur from the bed accompanied by a movement and she could see his eyes shining in the darkness, the moonlight reflecting in them. She froze for a blink of an eye and then quickly moved to the side of the window, into the safety of the darkness, covering herself with her arms.

“I can still see you, my sweet,” Thorin informed her, sitting up in the bed and running his fingers through his unruly hair. His intense, silvery-blue gaze refused to leave her.

“Then close your eyes,” she demanded, her arms still modestly covering her body.

“May I remind you that there is nothing I have not seen before,” he retorted. “You look enchanting in the moonlight, your curves…”

“Thorin, you’re embarrassing me…” she interrupted him, feeling her cheeks reddening even more.

“Very well, I’m closing my eyes,” he agreed quickly, putting his hand over his eyes to demonstrate it.

“Thank you.” Relieved, she quickly started approaching the bed.

“But it is my duty to remind you that you are wedded to me, wife,” she was close enough to see his mischievous smile. “And that means that… you are mine!” his arms shot out and grabbed her, making her squeal before she understood that she was led her into a trap.

Thorin swiftly pulled her towards him and soon she was on the bed, lying on her back, enveloped in his warmth, giggling as he hovered over her with a triumphant grin, golden flecks dancing in the azure depth of his gaze.

“Free me at once, Beast!” she protested faintly, enjoying the closeness of his strong arms resting on both sides of her, but she was still covering herself.

“No,” his hair brushed against her cheek as he shook his head, growling. “Not before I refresh your memory. Allow me to demonstrate what is mine, wife,” he lowered his face to meet hers. Ása could clearly see the little smile curling up his lips, his half-lidded eyes darkening with passion, a little scar cutting across his dark eyebrow. His nose nuzzled her cheek. “This is mine,” he placed a gentle, lingering kiss on her mouth. Her breath hitched as his beard softly rasped against her skin. Thorin’s lips brushed against hers and then he proceeded to nibble on her lower lip.

“Help, my husband is a cruel beast!” she whispered, slightly dazed, slightly out of breath, trying to sound terrified. Unfortunately, she chuckled when Thorin’s hair tickled her sensitive skin.

“Shhh... You are interrupting my demonstration, wife,” he pressed his index finger against Ása’s lips. She enjoyed the feeling of his coarse skin as he traced the contour of her soft, parted lips, his eyes never leaving her face.

A quick movement and she felt a peck on the top of her nose.

“This is mine too,” he rumbled into her ear. A shiver ran down her spine when she felt a flutter of soft little kisses settling on her earlobe, her jawline, and her neck. “And this... mine. This… and that as well. Mine,” his lips claiming her body piece by piece.

It was as if her skin was a sun-scorched grassland and his lips roused fire upon every single patch of her skin, making her whole body burn with desire within moments, engulfing all of her senses. His touch made her heart beat faster and faster, his kiss left a sweet taste on her own lips as Ása bit on them in an attempt to muffle her own whimpers of pleasure. There was that smell in the air, pine resin, and fresh linen mixed with a touch of musk, the scent that seemed to draw her to him like a moth to a flame, like a woman to the man who captured her heart. She felt his skin under her fingers, his strong muscles flexing underneath it as his mouth traveled lower, a curtain of his raven hair between them.  

His lips covered the soft cleft between her clavicles as he murmured “Mine…” into that sensitive place on her skin, his voice reverberating against it, sending a rush of heat along her spine.

“Beast…” Ása mumbled in return, burying her hand in his wavy mane. A lengthy growl she heard confirmed how much he enjoyed this caress.

Thorin’s mouth moved a bit lower and lower still; marking its trail with unhurried kisses until he reached the valley between her breasts. There he stopped, lifting his face from above her rapidly rising and falling chest. Their gazes met, the cerulean depths of his eyes burning with the golden, all-consuming flame of passion. Drowning in them, she forgot about the whole world; only her beloved Dwarf remained -- her One. She forgot to breathe.

“Do you know what else is mine, wife?” he asked in a whisper, his temple braids framing his handsome face, a small sly smile hiding in his beard. Ása enjoyed this moment too much to waste it on thinking. Licking her lips, she simply shook her head.

“Very well,” his half-smile widened and he lunged between the peaks of her breasts. “This glorious valley is only mine to roam,” she heard his words, each of them punctuated by a kiss. A sigh escaped her as his lush, prickly beard brushed against both of her breasts at once, his mouth working its way towards the southern end of this newly named valley.

“Thorin...” she purred. Her back arched when he peppered both of her breasts with countless butterfly kisses, one of his hands brushing along her side and resting on her hip.

“Are they… oh, are they yours as well?” she teased him clumsily as soon as she caught her breath.

“Mine,” he agreed. “These twin snowy peaks with their summits burning red in the light of the setting sun. Breathtaking. Only mine to admire,” Thorin caught her nipple between his teeth and sucked on it, making her moan underneath him. “Only mine to taste,” he moved to the other nipple and covered it with his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, sending a powerful wave of pleasure throughout the body, echoing in her very core. 

“Oh, Thorin!” she gasped. Red hot blood rushed through her veins, she could hear herself mewling, whispering incoherent endearments. His lips seemed to be everywhere, setting her on fire, claiming her. Impossible heat kept growing, kept pulsing inside her, all the sensations reaching the secret place between her thighs. Thorin’s mouth moved to her belly and soon after his tongue circled her navel only to worship the soft roundness of her underbelly with several scorching kisses. When both of his hands ran down her thighs, she realized that he already found his way between her legs, his strapping body painted silver by the light of the moon. Shivering in anticipation, she felt the wetness between her legs and saw the impressive proof of his arousal that would very soon bring them ecstasy.

“Will you open yourself for me, my sweet?” he rested his darkened gaze on her. Not quite understanding his meaning, as he was already where she wanted him to be, she nodded. Thorin lifted her legs under her knees. As she bent them, he placed them a bit wider apart, lowered himself towards her and started peppering her thighs with kisses.

“These are lovely,” he kissed the inside of her left thigh, and then he tenderly nipped her right one, sending another wave of heat through her. 

“And they are mine,” he stated with a small smile. His gaze darkened when he moved a bit higher and… oh, Mahal! pressed his lips against the golden tuft of hair on her mound. 

“This is mine, too,” he whispered hoarsely. Her eyes widened.

“Th-- Thorin?” a dark, fierce blush splashed on her cheeks. 

“Yes?” he asked in a low voice, but at that very moment, all the words escaped her. Ása swallowed, her face burning in embarrassment, and nodded slightly, tentatively. Watching her intently, he slowly moved his mouth a bit lower and kissed her again, so very close to that place, clearly wanting to see her reaction. 

In the books Ása read, there was a very short and very, very vague passage about married couples bringing each other joy with their mouths but she always thought it referred to kissing. The usual kind. To be honest, this was kissing too, only slightly different. Thorin’s mouth slowly disappeared between her legs and then he kissed her there, not breaking their eye contact. Her cheeks started burning even more. She heard her own whimper as the unknown blissful sensation overcame her. Another kiss. Another gasp. And then… Mahal, his tongue! That was his tongue! Was it supposed to be like this? So pleasant? So heavenly? A moan. Her moan. She wanted to feel more, but his tongue disappeared all of a sudden, and she wanted it back! She gave out a surprised moan and his lips were on her again. A hot, euphoric sensation uncoiled between her legs. Thorin’s curious mouth found their way to her ruby pearl, covering it and sucking on it gently.

“Thorin,” she moaned the only word that hadn’t left her mind yet. “Thorin!”

He lifted his gaze from above her sacred mound and their eyes met once again, but this time she was drifting like a leaf on a strong current of a mountain stream. Ása rushed towards the unknown waters of ecstasy, while she heard his low, alluring voice.

“Thorin… yes?” he purred into the most sensitive part of her body, sending ripples of renewed pleasure through her. Her breath hitched. 

“Or Thorin… no?” he finished, removing his mouth from her, his beard glistening with her juices. 

Her ascent towards a new and incredibly sensual peak of pleasure was suddenly stopped halfway by the absence of his lips. She gasped in protest. She needed more.

“Thorin… don’t stop,” she pleaded.

“At your service, my lady,” there was amusement in his voice and soon his lips were on her again as he doubled his efforts. He was tasting her, moving carefully, curiously, then a bit faster, his attentive tongue was there too, meticulously exploring every inch of her, coming and going, rushing like a mountain stream through her peaks and valleys, finding its way between her folds, caressing, teasing, bringing her closer to the brink of ecstasy with every raspy breath she took. 

She wiggled under his ministrations, demanding more, but he held her steadily, his hand resting on her hip. His beard kept on brushing deliciously against her thighs as his greedy mouth danced over her rhythmically, his tongue flicking over her pearl, twirling around it. Her mind was spinning, her back arched, she fisted the fabric underneath her, spiralling towards the inevitable. She was like a barren landscape suddenly flooded with fresh, life-giving water, taking in all the pleasure he was giving her.

“More, Thorin… more,” the words that left her mouth were intertwined with her gasps and moans; she was begging him not to stop, to continue throughout the night and until the end of the world, but never, never stop.

“I will continue until you are satiated, wife. Because you are mine,” Thorin growled. His fingers dug into the skin of her buttocks and raised her slightly, while he attacked her mercilessly at a new angle. Her moans filled the room as her whole body tingled with pleasure, sweet, hot passion running through her veins.

“I will… I’m almost…” she mumbled, words escaping her. But he understood. As his tongue continued spinning its magic, Thorin’s finger ran along her moist folds and delved inside her, spurring her, once, twice, thrice, more, she lost count, her heart was pounding, she was dizzy with passion, and then he did something marvellous with his fingers, and at that very moment she let the ecstasy claim her completely.

“My beautiful, beautiful Ása,” he hummed into her arched body, continuing his ministrations. A wave after a wave washed over her.

“Keep riding it, my sweetest, ride it longer, let me drown you in ecstasy,” his words rang in her ears, heralding a new wave of pleasure as his long arm moved to her breast, catching her nipple between his fingers. Her head was spinning from the continuous onslaught of pleasure that didn’t seem to stop; she didn’t want it to.

“Yes, that’s it, perfect, Amrâlimê, let it consume you,” he purred, his skilled tongue and hands relentlessly giving her more than she ever thought she was able to take until she was utterly spent. 

When the storm of her passion subsided, she was like a castaway washed off by a tidal wave on an unknown shore, basking in the afterglow of ecstasy. Her body was limp, her mind completely gone, her breathing slowly evening out. There was only the softness of the mattress beneath her and then a pair of strong arms around her, turning her to the side, her back pressed against his very warm chest. Thorin’s mouth pressed a kiss on her shoulder.

“I take it that my demonstration was sufficient?”

“Very,” she sighed, her hand patting his arm clumsily.

“Good. We established that all of this beauty is mine,” he moved his hand along her side suggestively, “So you cannot be embarrassed about it, can you?” she felt Thorin’s gaze on her face, but her eyes refused to cooperate and open. He was behind her now, but she could imagine his face now, one of his eyebrows raised questioningly, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Well...” the proper words wouldn’t come and she was sure there had to be a flaw in his statement, but her mind was out of order, drifting in a sweet haze as she enjoyed Thorin’s closeness. 

“Let me rephrase my statement. Can one be embarrassed by perfection?” he nuzzled her neck, embarrassing her yet again this night. She had no other choice. The only way to stop him making all these ridiculous claims was to kiss him, and so she did, turning towards him. 

As their lips met for a few short tender moments, she realized she could taste herself on him. A red rush of embarrassment painted her cheeks.

“I… I liked your mouth… on me,” she whispered, looking away. “Very much.”

“Then it will be my pleasure to repeat it someday,” he grinned, kissing her again.

“But… but my books didn’t say one could do such things!” she interrupted the kiss halfway, her curiosity taking over. “How did you know what to do? What book did you read?”

“I…,” Thorin’s cheeks darkened as he cleared his throat. Now he was gazing away from her.

Ása narrowed her eyes and huffed, “There were no books, were there?”

“A few drawings, perhaps…” his voice trailed off.

“Only drawings?” she hissed, feeling her anger growing inside her.

“It was before we met,” he tried to disarm her with an innocent gaze of his baby blue eyes and a quick kiss. She refused it and huffed again instead. Not a chance!

“Who was it?” she demanded.

“Ása, my sweet, does it matter?”

“Yes, it does! I want to know! ” she poked at his chest.

“A gentledwarf keeps such things to himself.”

“I am your wife! There are no secrets between us!” 

“You wouldn’t know them…” he shook his head.

“THEM?!” she roared, a green serpent of jealousy raising its ugly head. The thought of someone else sharing such intimate moments with her husband was barely bearable. Were there many women? Dwarven ladies or perhaps maidens of Men? What about Elf-maids? Were there any male Dwarves involved as well? She was perhaps inexperienced but at the same time aware of what the washerwomen often whispered about back in the Iron Hills. Relationships between Dwarves of the same gender were quite common, especially among men, since there were so many of them. A lady like her wasn’t however supposed to hear about such things and getting certain ideas into her head. She had been destined to marry a noble Dwarf and give him children. Ása glanced at the noble Dwarf she did marry and furrowed her brow. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. He was hers now and no Dwarf, man or woman, would lay their hands on her One. Not if she could help it.

“Let us leave those things in the past, my sweetest,” he cupped her face, looking deeply into her eyes. “Since I met you, there was no one else. Do you believe me?”

She nodded, although the anger in her didn’t want to subside. “But on our wedding night... you said that you haven’t…”

“My words were true. But there are other things you can do… instead,” he admitted, tilting his head slowly and kissing her affectionately. Ása forbade herself to melt under the softness of his lips. “I was a curious Dwarf back then, I must confess,” he offered her another kiss. “But I have never felt the way I feel now, with you, Amrâlimê. I have only you in my heart,” more tender kisses followed in the wake of his words. The green serpent in her chest started to swoon, hiding its teeth. Mahal have mercy on her, she was melting under his touch, feeling his hot skin against hers once again, her heart skipping a beat...

“Azyungal,” she whispered, although she didn’t need to remind herself that he was her One. She felt it in his caresses, she saw it in his eyes. Their lips met yet again, she was intent on showing him that she approved of his explanation. The green serpent was gone, but the feeling of unease was still with her. But so was Thorin, holding her close, covering her face with small kisses, his nose brushing against her earlobe, and then his mouth trailed down her neck, and he murmured something sweet, and his hand slid down to cover her bottom, and she wanted to gasp in pleasure but instead… she yawned. Her own body betrayed her by making her yawn. Outrageous.

“I’m sorry…” she yawned again.

“Let us sleep, my sweetest,” he covered them both with a blanket.

“But we haven’t finished, were we? You haven’t...” she blushed, feeling selfish for enjoying all the pleasure by herself. He might have had some previous experiences before but now he was hers and only hers and she would do everything she could to make sure he would forget about those experiences very soon.

“There is always tomorrow,” he placed a kiss on her forehead. 

“Tomorrow, then,” she agreed, stifling another yawn. “But don’t you dare dream about any other women than me!”

“I only dream about my One, the most alluring lady in all of the dwarven kingdoms,” he murmured, hugging her tighter, whispering words of affection in that velvety voice of his into her ear. Before Ása could react, sudden tiredness took over her body and soon she was fast asleep, cuddled up against him, enjoying the warmth he gave off, hot as a furnace.

“My wife… only mine…” were the last words that reached her. Dozing off, she managed to let out a satisfied hum and wrapped her hand around his temple braid. He was only hers.

When Ása woke up again, it was already after dawn. Thorin was still asleep, his face looked peaceful and content. Absentmindedly, she played with the smooth dark hair that dusted his broad chest. Her fingers brushed against the hills and valleys of his stone-hard muscles, admiring his meticulously sculpted body. Most of the Dwarven women preferred men with an admirably rotund figure, like Bombur for example. It suggested that such a Dwarf was prosperous, healthy, strong and, as some even whispered, virile and insatiable in bed. When it came to her tastes, Ása was different. She would gladly trade even ten Bomburs, no matter how kind and sweet the Dwarf was, for one Thorin. Her fearless warrior. He was the prince of her heart, even though his royal title had been taken away from him. He was her One. 

Tracing her finger along Thorin’s pectoral made him playfully tighten the muscle. So, he was awake now, wasn’t he? She smiled and repeated her caress several times only to be rewarded with the same reaction every single time. Finally, they both chuckled when he grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss on her palm. Then, he placed it over his heart and covered it with his, their fingers intertwining, ending their small teasing game. 

“Good morning, Ása,” his chest rumbled. “Do you know I love you?” his eyes twinkled, golden flecks swirling in their depths.

“I just might. And I love you, Thorin,” smiling, she pecked the back of his palm in response and rested her cheek against his chest, enjoying its slow, measured movements. A ball of warmth grew in her heart as he lazily caressed her back, his fingers running back and forth, along her spine, sending pleasant ripples across her body. That was how happiness had to feel like, she decided. Happiness and safety. These were the feelings she desperately needed -- and lacked -- in the strange serpent dream she had had before. She shuddered.

“Are you cold, my sweet?” he pressed his warm hand against her back.

“No, it’s not it,” she whispered into his skin. “Thorin… I have to tell you something.”

An encouraging purr was his only response.

Ása took in a deep breath and said, “I had a dream.”

***

Next evening

She had to be vigilant, Ása reminded herself, carefully holding the dragon egg in her arms. It was wrapped in a loose burlap sack, so if she was to meet anyone on her way, she could always say that it was laundry or something similar. Luckily for her, it was late evening already. Beorn wandered away on one of his nightly escapades, and the other Dwarves were getting ready for the well-deserved night’s rest. As for her, she had a plan to execute, or rather, two plans. The first one involved the egg and the other one, well… It involved her husband. She made a promise to him and she intended to keep it. Today. And besides, after she had fulfilled that promise, he would not think about anyone else (and that included his past experiences).

Still blushing both at the memory of their previous night and the ideas in her head, she tried to focus and recall their latest talk. After hearing about her dream, Thorin worried that the dragon egg was behind it. Since he remembered Beorn’s warning, he decided to build a special iron-reinforced chest that would keep their treasure safely hidden: away from any external danger, from Beorn’s paws, and from influencing them both in the way it had influenced his grandfather. That is why Ása was about to meet him. They would lock the egg in the chest he made and then store it in a safe place.

Ása looked around. Not seeing anyone, she gingerly moved towards the building on the other side of Beorn’s garden. There was a smithy complete with a small forge. “Small” only by Beorn’s standards, of course. Whatever its size was, she was supposed to meet Thorin there. The sound of metal clinking against metal rang in the air throughout the day. When he finally stopped working, she knew it was time for her to join him. Quietly she approached the bright lights of the smithy and then carefully stepped over its high threshold, looking under her feet. 

And then she looked up only to be rewarded with the sight of Thorin's bare chest in front of her. It glistened with sweat and was marked with dark streaks of soot in some very interesting places. Here, over his left bulging pectoral, running across one of his tattoos, and there, across the taut muscles of his abdomen. Her eyes started following the trail of his chest hair, black as soot, towards his navel, only to be very cruelly interrupted by his wide belt that held his trousers in place. 

With a sigh, she glanced up and saw a small smile on his dirt-smeared face. With his height, he looked almost like a demon straight from the hottest bowels of the Lonely Mountain. Perhaps she could convince him to take a bath in the river and she would help him, oh Mahal!, she would help him wash very, very thoroughly. Hygiene was important, wasn’t it?

“Good evening, my sweet,” he flashed his white teeth at her, his eyes shining with the reflected light of the flames that were slowly dying down in the forge. When he turned to the side in order to put away his leather apron, she noticed that his hair was gathered in a loose ponytail on his strong back, some of the dark strands clinging to his damp skin.

“Evening, my dear husband,” she pecked him on the cheek when he lowered his face to greet her. Her nostrils filled with the smell of iron, leather, ash and smoke, a sharp, masculine scent.

“Where should I put it?” she pointed her chin at the egg and started removing it from the sack.

“Allow me,” he took it from her hands, his skin brushing against her as they both held the egg in their hands for a blink of an eye. For a moment, Ása thought she felt a slight tingling in her fingers, but it quickly subsided.

“The chest is ready,” he showed her a large chest with multiple iron fittings. It was standing on the floor, close to the forge, with its lid closed. Ása could feel the heat of the fire on her face as she praised his work. It looked sturdy and well-made.

“Let me open it for you,” she said, reaching down and trying to keep a casual tone of voice. “Oh, and by the way, I saved you some supper before it disappeared in several dwarven bellies.” As she was bending down to the ground, she presented, by accident, of course, the roundness of her bottom to Thorin who was standing behind her. She heard him stepping closer towards her.

“I am a lucky husband,” he replied huskily.

“And why is that?” she turned back to face him, straightening her skirts and smiling at him innocently.

“Why, the dinner, of course,” he winked. “If not for you, I would probably be left with a bowl of thin soup and a slice of stale bread!” Thorin admitted with a chuckle while his eyes wandered to her exceptionally low cleavage. Lady Barba would have been shocked if she could have seen her now, but Ása was determined to get on with her plan. Meanwhile, Thorin placed the egg inside the opened chest that was already filled with straw. 

“I need to keep my husband strong,” she placed her hand on his rock-hard bicep as soon as he stood up. Her pale palm looked exceptionally tiny and fragile against his suntanned arm that was as thick as a wooden log. She felt a strange tingling in her fingers and something started buzzing in her head. Her heart was hammering in her chest.

“Have you come here to check whether I’m still sufficiently strong for you?” his eyebrow wandered up. A voracious grin hid in the darkness of his beard.

“Perhaps,” she bit her lower lip, moving her hand from his bicep to his chest. Suddenly, a surprised squeal escaped her as Thorin rested his hands on her waist and stole a kiss from her. He lifted her into the air as if she weighed nothing more than a feather and placed her bottom on a workbench.

“Satisfied?” he rumbled, standing in front of her. Sitting on the high bench, she could almost reach his mouth without him having to lean down to her too much. 

“More or less,” she teased him. The thought of kissing him back was becoming more and more tempting.

“Is there anything else you wish to check?” he moved his face towards her, closing the distance between their lips. 

“A thing or two,” teasingly, she moved back a bit, licking her lips,  even though her whole body protested.

“Such as?” she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. Not yet, she told herself, just a moment longer...

“I was hoping that you could help me with my stockings,” she explained and started lifting her skirts slowly, exposing her ankles, her calves and then her knee, baring her skin to his gaze. She heard Thorin taking in a deep breath.

“You are not wearing any,” he rumbled, his darkening eyes set on her bare knees. The corners of his lips moved up slightly.

“Ah, that would explain why I’m feeling so cold!” she chuckled. “Perhaps you could warm my legs a bit?”

Her plan was working. About time, she thought, she could barely contain herself. Her body wanted him badly, urged her to claim him, to take him in, her mind drowning in a haze of lust, her chest heaving impatiently. Thorin moved his blacksmith’s hands from his ankles up to her knees, his rough skin brushing against hers. A ball of heat started growing in her underbelly. He even found his way between her legs when she spread them slightly, as an invitation. Encouraged, his hands moved up along her thighs all the way to her…

“Ása,” he said in a low, coarse voice. “There is another garment you forgot.”

“Oh, did I?” she tried to look like an embodiment of innocence, while her palms were slowly sliding down his chest. She wanted to lick every single inch of his skin. What? Something stirred inside her. Where did this indecent thought come from? Ása took a deep breath, trying to ignore the thick haze that filled her mind, but then she heard Thorin’s raspy voice.

“My wife is a scandalous temptress,” his lips brushed against hers. She couldn’t stop herself. She needed to kiss him. Now. Their lips crashed together, ravenously, ferociously. Thorin’s impatient hands busied themselves under her skirts, making her moan while her shaking hands worked rapidly on his belt buckle. She mewled in anticipation, her resolve completely gone, a haze of lust filling her mind. A small voice in her head told her that she was supposed to prolong it, to tease him mercilessly, but her willpower was gone, completely melted under his touch. Soon, his trousers were finally unbuttoned and Ása quickly wrapped her hand around his manhood, making him hiss in surprise. 

“You are in a hurry,” he mused, moving his lips to her ear, ”and so wet for me already.”

“I need you inside me,” she heard herself say, surprised by her own improper words. But it didn’t matter now. Only he mattered now. Her game. Her prize.

“Shameless, utterly shameless,” with a smirk on his face, he whispered hoarsely through gritted teeth as she moved her hand up and down his thick shaft. “Utterly mine.”

It was as if the fire from the forge roused their passion to new heights in a blink of an eye. His hungry lips burned her neck and trailed down to her shoulder, while his strong hands moved her closer to the edge of the bench. The heat between her legs was growing, aching, and he was the only one who could put out the fire in her just as he made her burn for him. She arched her neck as he nibbled on her skin a bit harder than usual, he would leave marks but she didn’t care, she needed more of him, she craved the intensity of their coupling as she had never craved before. He was almost there, positioning himself at her entrance, rubbing himself against her heat as she purred enticingly, moving her pelvis towards him, covering him with her juices.

Her hand delved into his hair, and then their lips finally met. That was when he pushed inside her, filling her in one steady thrust. 

“Yes,” she moaned in satisfaction. She had wanted him so badly, she thirsted for him, yearned for them becoming one. Wrapping her legs around him, she barely noticed that he lifted his face to see her, his eyes almost as dark as the night around them, golden flecks swirling in their depth. Thorin attacked her mouth fiercely, ravenously, their tongues intertwining. One of his hands cupped her naked breast, she hadn’t noticed when he pulled down her blouse to reveal her upper body, but that didn’t matter either. His scent drove her wild. The cool, silky air surrounded her while his firm touch burned her, his calloused fingers leaving smears of soot on her skin and clothes. He held her hip steadily and started thrusting in long, measured movements. Thorin’s body was like an unyielding hammer pounding into the red-hot metal of her ecstasy.

Ása clung to his robust frame, her nails digging in his back, her legs around him spurring him to move faster.

Her loud moans came in between his low grunts as he was devouring her, his beard leaving a delicious burning trail on her exposed skin, the primeval fire of uninhibited lust raging freely in their bodies.

“Mine... mine... all of you... mine!” he roared, claiming her lips fiercely.

“Only yours, Azyungal,” she moaned, carried away by the currents of their combined passion, their insatiable need.  Her nails tore through the skin on his back as his love bites intensified, his teeth sinking into her flesh, making her wail in pleasure. 

“Only you, always you,” he growled, mercilessly picking up the pace with every vigorous swing of his hips.

“You… No one else can claim you.” she moved against him harder and harder, demanding more, taking more, her core brimming with the all-consuming pleasure, his wild strokes bringing her on the brink of ecstasy.

“You are mine. My One.”

“You belong to me.”

“You are my mountain.”

“You are my king.”

Her back rested on the bench and he lowered himself over her body, his pace never wavering, never slowing down. His hips bucked against her, his movements becoming faster and more erratic. One final thrust and he let out an animalistic growl, spilling inside her, filling her completely, quenching her thirst while her world exploded, turning white under her eyelids in an avalanche of ecstasy.

She was drifting endlessly on the velvet sea of elation, and he was there with her, their bodies tangled in a passionate embrace.

An eternity passed.

“Ása,” he whispered, pressing his burning forehead to hers.

“Thorin,” she purred, her mind completely blank. Gone was the haze from her mind, the buzzing, the insatiable hunger. Only they remained, together, their lips meeting in a tender, lingering kiss among the embers of their bliss.

***

Ása sat in Thorin’s lap by the large chest, enjoying the last heat of the forge. She touched the uneven shell of the egg that seemed to sparkle in the firelight. Its surface tingled funnily against her skin. It was warm. Almost hot. And it was pulsing. She saw it very clearly.

“Do you feel it too?” she looked at Thorin.

He placed his fingers on the egg as well and she found the confirmation in his stare.

“It is… as if…” he said.

“...something was moving beneath it,” they said in unison. Their eyes widened simultaneously.

“What about…” Thorin started.

“... the tingling?” she finished and recognized it at once. It was the same tingling sensation she felt before, when she touched Thorin moments after meeting him in the smithy. Moments before they delved into the most passionate lovemaking in her life.

None of them lifted their hands from the egg. The pleasant tingling seemed to spread throughout her arm. Ása didn’t want to let go of it. At that moment, a flood of new thoughts and unknown sensations filled her mind.

“I know what you ate for supper,” she heard Thorin’s pensive voice, his brow furrowed, his head tilted as if he was listening to something in a distance. “Chicken and mashed potatoes. I know how it tasted.”

“I can feel your hunger,” she gasped, recognizing some wisps of emotions that swirled inside her and, at the same time, outside her. In fact, it felt as if she was in two places at once, in her and Thorin’s mind, as if they were joined by an invisible thread. She could clearly hear his thoughts. “You are hoping that it won’t rain tomorrow.”

“You want to kiss me again,” Thorin spoke slowly, his eyes darkening again.

“And you… you want to carry me off to bed,” she retorted, her cheeks covering with a blush. She heard what he thought and felt seeing her reddened cheeks. She knew he heard how much she enjoyed his mouth on her.

Their lips met suddenly, hungrily, rekindling the uncontrollable, fiery passion from moments ago, the haze descending on Ása’s mind again, making her forget of everything else around them.

Ása gasped. She was looking in Thorin’s wide-open eyes, as puzzled and confused as she was. He was on his back and she was on top of him, her hands pressing into his chest. They were both panting as if they just finished a long run. The haze disappeared from her mind as quickly as it appeared. She didn’t remember how they landed on the ground nor when they stopped touching the egg, but she felt a faint echo of their intertwining thoughts.

“It all felt so intense… again,” he shook his head, sitting up. “Just like before, on the bench,” her cheeks burned, recalling the shameless, uninhibited way she acted -- then and now. Was that really her doing all those things? She could still hear the echo of her unrestrained passion reverberating in Thorin’s mind along with his own raw, primeval emotions filling his mind in the moment he took her. She remembered the magnitude of their joined ecstasy, fierce and triumphant, as if they both had fallen prey to their primeval instincts.

He nodded and said, “Let us not touch the egg. Not with our bare hands. It is not safe.”

“I could hear your thoughts. I heard us kissing… in your mind,” Ása tried to describe the multiplied, echoed sensations she felt before.

“I felt what you felt when I kissed you,” Thorin admitted. They stared at each other without a word and then, at once, looked at the egg. It was still warm and pulsing. The green flecks on its dark surface were clearly visible and seemed to keep the same rhythm.

“What if it is trying to influence us this way?” he wondered.

“I felt something slightly similar when I heard the dragon’s roar in my head, back in Dale. Only it brought me pain. But this… this was different. Hearing your thoughts felt right.”

“That it did,” he covered her hand with his in a tender gesture, “But I do not wish us to be controlled through our thoughts by the inhabitant of this egg. I do not wish it to poison us,” Thorin replied after a pause, averting his gaze. Ása wondered whether his thoughts drifted off to his grandfather, King Thrór. “And what about this strange pulsing? And the smell? It makes me nervous. It feels… It feels…”

“As if it was alive,” Thorin finished for her.

“But it is ancient!” she protested. She dreaded the only logical conclusion. The dragon egg spent hundreds of years in the treasure chamber of Erebor and nothing happened. Nothing. Until now.

“Dragons are ancient,” he reminded her with a deepening frown, his eyes never leaving the egg. 

“What if… what if it is starting to hatch?” she covered her mouth. A newly hatched dragon, a firebreather, wreaking havoc on their surroundings, attacking everyone in sight. She recalled the words she had spoken to Beorn: “No danger will come of it to anyone here. You have my word.”

“We need to cool it down,” Thorin said abruptly as if he still could read her mind. “And let us pray to Mahal that it is not too late.”

With his hands covered in thick leather gloves, Thorin quickly carried the egg to the far corner of the smithy. Following him with a knotted stomach, Ása observed how he put the egg into a bucket filled with water. Its shell hissed in protest while it submerged under the surface. Slowly, very slowly, the green specks on the egg’s surface faded and the pulsing disappeared completely. A sigh of relief left her lips. 

When the egg was safely returned to the chest, Thorin locked it and hung the cord that held the key around his neck. Only then did Ása dare to let out a sigh of relief and embraced him as tightly as she could. His strong arms around her never felt so good.

“All will be well, my sweet,” he nuzzled the top of her head, his nose brushing against her soft hair. “We will need to make sure it does not happen again.” “We will have to check the egg every day. I don’t want any more surprises,” she offered, raising her head to meet his gaze. There was a shadow in his eyes.

“No surprises. At least not the dragon-related ones,” he agreed and continued after a pause. “And now, let us return. I’m famished,” he changed the subject with a sudden grin, “Where is my, supper, wife?” 

He pecked the tip of her nose and chuckled. Squinting, she realized that it was completely covered in soot.

“Thorin!” she furrowed her brow.

“Do not look at me, it must have somehow happened on that bench,” he grinned, pointing at the place that had been the sole witness of their shameless passion a while ago. “If you have forgotten the encounter, I would be honored to refresh your memory,” he made an elaborate bow.

“Thorin! We are going to take a bath first!” she demanded, blushing fiercely at the thought of the things they did there. He was embarrassing her on purpose. Besides, there was no way she would march in back into Beorn’s house looking like a filthy, disheveled demon from the deepest mines of Erebor. And she had to do something about her torn blouse. Another garment ruined by her husband… but she had to admit that the ruining was done in a very, very pleasant way.

“Whatever you say, my heart,” he quickly agreed. Suspiciously quickly. Ása gave him a scrutinizing look as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it ardently. Sparks of amusement danced in his deep blue eyes when he replied.

“But first, tell me, my sweetest, is my beard really that prickly against the bare skin of your lovely breasts?”

“THORIN!”

* * * * *

The Tiny Khuzdul Dictionary: Mizim - (my) jewel Amrâlimê - my love Azyungal - lover, meaning here: The One Bunnelê - my treasure of all treasures

Like it? Reblog it! Thanks! ☺️ 

With these words, Thorin jumped down to the ground and ran towards the approaching enemy. They had to be intercepted before they reached the wagon. And Ása inside it.

“Couldn’t they have waited until after supper?” Bifur appeared by his side, spitting a very savoury curse in Khuzdul, his impressive spear in his hands.

“Let us make sure the Orcs are not going to live that long,” Thorin responded and lunged at the nearest Orc, knowing very well that they were outnumbered. This did not matter at the moment. Efficiency did. Each slash of his sword hit its target. The Deathless was a worthy blade made by the best weaponsmiths of Erebor and it served Thorin well since he reached battle age. The prince hoped that his weapon would keep the death away from them all for as long as he held Deathless in his hand. Now, he needed to buy time for his companions. For Ása. Mahal, keep her safe! The Orc filth would not lay even a finger on his wife, he would make sure of it. 

Another slash. And another. A growling Orc looked at a stump of his own arm in surprise and fell to the ground as his head rolled down his shoulders. A burly creature nearby was pierced by Bifur’s boar spear and stumbled, making a gurgling sound. One by one, the enemies were falling around them like trees in a windstorm. 

Parry. Lunge. Thorin’s well-trained body moved with great precision. Attack. Dodge. The Orcs were swarming around them. Feint. Block. Riposte. Counter-attack. He reminded himself to conserve his strength. New enemies were continuously coming out from the forest, their deformed faces contorted in menacing grimaces. The dark blades of their weapons seemed to devour the dying light of the day. 

A quick glance back told him that Bombur had a very slim chance of succeeding with maneuvering the wagon. The ponies were too terrified to obey him and kept trying to bolt, only Bombur’s strength kept them in place. His brother, Bofur, was running towards Thorin with his mattock and soon joined him and Bifur in the fray.

“Ása?” the prince asked quickly, piercing a staggering orc with his blade.

“Safe with Bombur,” Bofur responded in a reassuring tone of voice. Thorin had yet to see the red-haired Dwarf’s skill in battle, he hoped however that this declaration meant that she was in good hands. The thought of her sitting inside the wagon, hidden behind a flour sack and terrified by the noises of the battle made him attack the Orc filth with doubled strength. He imagined her petrified face, her eyes widened in horror, and her pale, trembling lips. She must not be harmed. He would keep her safe until his last breath and beyond. As fresh air filled Thorin’s lungs, he charged at the nearest group of his enemies, determined to take down as many of them as he could. 

The prince immediately focused on the filthy creatures charging at him. One of them was much taller than him and held a strangely curved, rusty blade. The second Orc had a spiked mace in his meaty paws and lacked an ear. The third one was not as impressive as his companions, but he was armed with two broadaxes. An ugly scar slashed his face in two, claiming one of his eyes. All three of them met the same fate, their blood dripping from Thorin’s sword, sinking into the dry soil. The fourth one found quick demise from Bofur’s accurate blows, bludgeoned mercilessly. Who would have thought that a mattock could be such a terrifying weapon? Somewhere nearby, Bifur kept shouting the most obscene curses Thorin had ever heard with every fierce attack he performed, piercing enemies left and right, more and more of them avoiding the reach of his spear. Thorin grinned. It seemed that the Ered Luin dwarves knew how to fight. It would be a privilege to enter the halls of his forefathers with such warriors by his side. His sword traced deadly patterns in the air, spilling dark Orc blood, while the blood still flowing in his veins sang an ancient battle song. 

“Thorin, they are breaking through!” Bofur warned. Another wave of bloodthirsty Orcs attacked, but there were too many of them. Several of the enemies were already running towards the wagon. 

“Bombur, protect Ása!” the prince shouted, turning to follow them, but a large Orc sporting enormous fangs blocked his way. He wore a pointy helmet and some kind of makeshift chainmail with spiked pauldrons covered his body. The cruddy creature’s bearing suggested that he was not just a regular footsoldier, but someone more important. Several raspy words in Black Speech left the Orc’s mouth as he swung his deadly weapon, the morning star, at the prince. Only Thorin’s swiftness prevented him from being hit. He growled. The ‘Orc Captain’, as he called him, was now standing between him and his One. A wave of fury took over Thorin as he struck a series of heavy blows. Once again Deathless proved to be a reliable weapon, but the enemy, clearly a seasoned warrior, parried most of his attacks. 

From time to time, the prince caught glimpses of Bombur fighting off the nearest enemies by the wagon, his rapid movements blurred into long streaks. A spark of hope ignited in the prince’s heart. Perhaps Ása still had a chance to escape, before the Orcs would reach the wagon.

That was when the Orc Captain’s spiked morning star finally reached him, but Thorin was fast enough to cover himself with his shield. A sharp pang of pain shot through the prince’s body, making him sway. Glancing at his left forearm, he noticed that his shield was completely shattered. 

Bifur appeared in front of him out of nowhere and started mercilessly attacking the huge Orc in an attempt to draw him away from Thorin. The prince clenched his teeth, ignoring the pain in his arm, and joined his companion, attacking with doubled fervour. His sword was just about to pierce the enemy when a gangly Orc jumped in and blocked his attack, an axe and buckler in his paws. At the same time, Bifur’s jagged spear reached the Orc Captain’s arm, tearing through his flesh. The huge Orc howled in pain and recoiled, dropping his morning star. Thorin lunged at him, seeing his chance, but once again his gangly opponent blocked him, forcing the dwarven prince to retarget his attacks. The disarmed Orc Captain grabbed Bifur’s spear, hit him with its shaft with a force that made Bifur fall and threw the weapon far away from his reach.

“BIFUR!” Bofur shouted from his right flank, fending off the attacking Orcs one by one, trying with all his might to reach his cousin before it was too late.

Thorin knew he was already too late when the gangly Orc’s lifeless body slumped down onto the grass in front of him. He was much too late when the Orc Captain grabbed an abandoned battleaxe from the ground and delivered a deadly blow at Bifur’s head, the axe’s shaft cracking in half. The prince could only watch when Bifur’s body fell to the ground like a lifeless rag doll. Bofur’s scream rang in his ears.

With a battle cry on his lips, Thorin assaulted the Orc Captain, his mind livid, focused only on avenging his comrade, the Deathless becoming one with his arm, aiming flawlessly at the most vulnerable places on the Orc’s body. The inner side of his thigh. The pulsing vein on his neck. The small but clearly visible piece of Orc flesh between the pauldron and the filthy, torn gambeson. The Orc Captain’s surprised blood-shot eyes when he lay on the ground, life quickly escaping him along with dark rivulets of blood spilling onto the ground.

And then something whooshed next to Thorin’s ear. Someone whinged behind him. He whipped his head back and saw a large group of Orcs approaching him. The closest one was about to strike but instead made a gurgling sound and hit the ground, a dwarven arrow sticking out of his throat. Thorin’s eyes widened in disbelief. Another whoosh, another arrow. It missed its target, but his sword quickly remedied that, an Orc fell at his feet. The next arrow hit an enemy nearby. He silenced the creature’s shrieks of pain with one swift move of his blade. At that point, he was able to spare a moment and trace back the arrows towards the direction of the wagon. Ása! She stood on the wagon with the halo of her golden hair around her head, firmly holding a bow in her hands, sending yet another arrow towards their enemies.

“Bunnelê…” he murmured to himself in surprise and attacked the enemy with a half-smile on his lips. She was indeed his treasure of treasures. 

He had to do everything he could to slow down the incoming Orcs, knowing that Bombur was still engaged with the group of enemies in the vicinity of the wagon. Thorin was about to grab a shield in place of his shattered one but the dull pain in his left arm reminded him that it was not possible. No matter, his right arm still worked well. He had enemies to decimate, his fallen companion to avenge and his One to protect.

A red haze of battle frenzy enveloped him completely and Thorin lost track of time. Orcs were everywhere; Orcs pressed forward; Orcs swung their weapons; Orcs shrieked in pain; Orcs leapt at him; Orcs surrounded him; Orcs spat filthy words, attacking him continuously. Some of them tried to circumvent both him and Bofur who now fought beside him, but the prince would lunge at them, and pierce, and maim, and attack again. His chest heaved, sweat covered his forehead, but he was unstoppable now. Mahal gave him strength, Deathless greedily drank Orc blood, demanding more. His enemies fell to the ground one by one run through by his sword, while several more were struck down by arrows sent by a slender-fingered hand he adored so much. Thorin didn’t know when Bombur joined his side, fighting as ferociously as Bofur whose mattock turned into an instrument of sudden death. Neither did Thorin know when his fingers on the grip of his sword became sticky and slick with blood nor whether the blood belonged to his enemies or to him. The only certain thought that filled his battle-fevered mind was that there were more Orcs than them and the dwarves’ strength was wavering. Bofur’s cry in pain came as a surprise. Orcs surrounded them even though Ása’s arrows flew through the air, finding a target after a target. As Bombur swiftly turned to help his brother, the rain of arrows suddenly stopped. Thorin clearly saw how she reached behind her and froze. A cold wave of apprehension rushed through him. Her quiver was empty. 

“Ása! RUN!” he yelled, blocking an attack. At the same time, the blade of his sword sent sparks flying into the air as it clashed with the Orc falchion. Ása, his One, his true love. He caught a glimpse of her jumping off the wagon. She needed to escape, to run away as fast as she could, to save herself while he held the rabid Orcs at bay. Thorin’s heart clenched at the thought that he would not hold her in his arms again under the boundless sky of Arda. He would not feel her tender caresses ever again, nor dance with her, nor laugh, nor will he spend his life with her by his side until the end of their days. He would not know how it would be to wake up to her smile every day and fall asleep with her in his arms every night, to share both the joys and miseries of existence with his Azyungal. Nevertheless, he was ready to pay this price for her safety. If he prolonged the fight just a little while longer, Ása would survive. She would disappear in the forest without a trace, she knew how to survive there, he reassured himself. Soon after, he would cross over into the halls of his forefathers and patiently wait for her until Mahal decided it was time for her to join him. Thorin would make a plea to the all-seeing stars to watch over Ása for as long as she lived until her golden hair turned silver and her last breath escaped her lungs. Only then he would welcome her by his side and only then they would spend an eternity together, finally united after death. But until then... Mahal, save her from harm.

His silent prayers were interrupted by Bombur’s words. “It is an honor,” the surprisingly fierce red-haired warrior gasped as he slashed an enemy through his chest, “to have fought,” he added, parrying an attack with his mace, “beside you,” he crushed an Orc skull with these words.

“Aye, lads, an honor it is,” Bofur chimed in a strained voice, his face pale, his tunic bloodied, but he still fought relentlessly. “Bifur will give us a royal welcome on the other side.”

The price swerved and launched a deadly blow at yet another Orc.

“The honor is mine,” Thorin spoke solemnly, “May Mahal ensure our honourable passing into the halls of our forefathers.”

The battle raged on. They were not going to survive.

Suddenly, a deafening roar preceded by a terrified yell from Orcish throats reached Thorin. Multiple ripples shot through the ground somewhere ahead of him, as if a herd of angry mountain goats stampeded towards him… or was it perhaps one very, very large buck?

Something tore through the Orc ranks like a sudden hurricane through a forest. They bolted in panic, escaping as fast as they could in all the possible directions, deserting the battlefield. 

And then Thorin saw it. He blinked in bewilderment. 

“By Mahal’s beard, what is that?!” exclaimed Bofur, not expecting an answer. 

Thorin looked ahead once more. Perhaps he was losing his mind. Or perhaps he had already moved on to the afterworld and this was a vision sent to him by the merciful Mahal.

Deadly streaks of black fur. Lightning-fast movements. Petrifying roars. Long, sharp claws ripping the Orc flesh left and right. A pair of glowing eyes, burning with rage. Massive jaws. Pointed fangs, white as the snows of Erebor. 

Thorin had never before seen such an enormous beast. It rushed through the Orcs as swiftly as a knife through butter, leaving no survivors behind. Observing the enormous creature wreaking havoc among the Orcs, Thorin cast a quick glance at his companions. 

Limping slightly, Bofur approached Bombur, trying to help him stand up. Thorin didn’t know when the rotund dwarf had fallen, but he joined in their efforts at once. The beast would soon reach them and they needed to be prepared. Soon, all three of them were on their feet and Thorin was met with Bombur’s confused gaze, his face speckled with blood.

“Is this beast sent by Mahal himself?” his red-haired companion asked, taking in the sight in front of him.

The Orcs were dead, their bodies littered the ground. Silence reigned in the gorge once again, the trees as unmoving as they had been before. The beast lifted its massive head, purposefully smelling the air and emitting a long growl. Its eyes rested on Thorin, Bofur and Bombur, the only living beings standing in its vicinity.

It roared loudly, presenting all of its sharp teeth at the dwarves, its huge body towering above them.

All three of them grabbed their weapons firmly, preparing themselves for its imminent attack.

A faint smell of lavender filled Thorin’s nostrils. Before he understood what was happening, Ása passed by him, her pace fast and steady. She gave him a soft smile, and faced the feral beast in front of them. The prince was about to reach out, pull her behind him and face the vile beast’s anger himself when she spoke in the lightest possible tone of voice.

“Good afternoon, Master Bear! How are you faring today?”

***

“Ása! No!” Ása heard Thorin’s raspy voice. She turned to him and smiled, trying to make his frown go away.

“All is well, Mizim. He saved my life once before,” she explained.

The beast sniffed at her and gave out a rumbling purr as his flickering grey eyes rested on her, the first sign of his subsiding battle rage.

“Please do not harm them, Master Bear. They are my dear companions,” she gestured towards the three dwarves behind her. He growled as his gaze rested on them, but there was no threat in the sounds he made. Then, the enormous bear shifted his attention to her and snuffed again, his black nose moving, taking in the smell. Something very akin to a questioning look flickered in his grey eyes.

“I am unharmed, Master Bear. And what about you? Do you have any wounds I should attend to?”

The beast dismissed her question with a decisive snort. She wondered whether the wound he received fighting with Zohur and his Orcs was still troubling him. After a few moments, the beast turned to the battlefield behind him and gave out a triumphant roar.

“Thank you for defeating them and coming to our rescue,” Ása added, hearing only a long, acknowledging purr in response. It seemed that something else caught the giant bear’s attention. He started striding through the area, stopping from time to time and sniffling at the air, as if searching for something.

A pair of strong arms twirled her around and pulled her towards a very familiar broad chest.

“Thorin!” she mumbled, wrapping her arms around his chest, her face pressed into his tunic, feeling the furnace-like warmth beneath it. He smelled of blood and iron, leather and woodsmoke, a warrior after a battle, and he was so close and alive. His chest rose and fell as he slowly exhaled. She noticed that the tension in his muscles slightly lessened. The dread that had filled her heart throughout the battle as she watched him facing the Orcs was slowly diminishing as well.

“Are you wounded?” she lifted her head to meet his gaze. There was dirt on his face, and some dried blood, his hair caked with dirt and sweat, his grime-streaked beard braid almost untangled, the silver bead gone, but his azure eyes burned brightly, resting at her face.

Before she managed to pry an answer out of him, his mouth found their way to hers, crushing them in a fierce kiss, as if he was a drowning man who suddenly found his way to the surface, gulping for life-giving air, demanding her closeness, her caresses, tasting her lips gently, as if to check that she was really there, and then devouring them once again, insatiable, unstoppable. She gasped softly into his mouth, her body yielding to his, blood rushing through her veins in elation, and she clung to him, responding to his ministrations with equal fervour. Yes, he was truly alive, and they survived the encounter with Orcs. She trembled, the strain of the battle slowly manifesting itself. Thorin’s right hand cupped her cheek as he rested his forehead against hers.

“Ása, my sweet Ása,” he murmured huskily, placing a small, feather-light kiss on the top of her nose, and on her cheek, on her eyelid, her forehead, her jaw, and then on her other cheek, raining her with affection, glancing at her time and again, emotion splashing in his eyes.

“I’m here, Thorin, with you,” she threw her arms around him, her eyes filling with happy tears as he pulled her closer to him in a tight embrace, nuzzling the top of her head. There was no other place in the world she would rather be.

“No! Leave him alone, you beast!” Bofur’s desperate cry made them both turn towards the source of the ruckus.

Bombur was sitting on the ground, shedding rivulets of tears clearly visible on his dirt-streaked face. He held his cousin’s bloodied head on his lap, his face unnaturally pale. Ása gasped. There was an axe head wedged into Bifur’s head, just above his forehead, sticking out of his black hair.

At the same time, Bofur was trying to drive the giant bear away. The beast’s snout was gently pushing into Bifur’s side as if trying to move his limp body. 

“Leave him be, I say! Let us give him a warrior’s burial in peace!” Bofur shouted, waving his hands in front of the bear’s eyes as if to shoo him away. The beast only huffed and emitted a short growl, baring his teeth.

Without thinking, Ása let Thorin go and ran towards them, hearing his hastened footsteps behind her.

“Let me talk to him, Bofur,” she started and then turned to the gigantic animal, his dark fur glistening in the setting sun.

“What is it, Master Bear?” she approached the huffing beast. When the huge bear met her gaze, she noticed that his eyes were as grey as riverbed stones and just as still. Only his broad forehead remained furrowed. Master Bear’s busy nose moved towards Bifur’s body, snuffing at it. It hovered over the dwarf’s unmoving face, prodded it gently, and then his eyes rested on her face once again, as if he was trying to convey an important message to her.

“What does he want?” Bombur asked wide-eyed.

“He is trying to tell us something,” she spoke as if to herself.

Immediately, she kneeled beside Bifur, her fingers resting on the side of his neck. Nothing. His skin was cool under her touch. In the corner of her eye, she noticed Bofur standing beside his brother, suddenly speechless, his eyes set on her hands, his head bare, his hat rumpled in his nervously moving hands.

“I need a clean blade,” she continued her examination. 

Joining her, Thorin presented her with his sword, its pommel towards her. Ása took a deep breath. She had to do this. Trying to control her shaking hands, she carefully moved it under Bifur’s nose. A few long heartbeats passed uneventfully in total silence, and then something fogged the silver surface of the blade. 

“Mahal...” Thorin sucked in a breath. 

“He’s breathing!” Bombur exclaimed.

“What are you saying?!” demanded Bofur, falling on his knees by his cousin's unmoving body.

“Bifur is still alive,” Ása spoke in disbelief, her words accompanied by Master Bear’s approving growl.

* * *

The Tiny Khuzdul Dictionary: Bunnelê - my treasure of all treasures Azyungal - lover, meaning here: The One Amrâlimê - my love