#stgc

I open my eyes slowly. It must be early morning. The light that falls from the window looks pale and fragile, the sun has not graced us with colorful skies today.

In the dim morning light I rest my eyes on Richard's sleeping body. He’s lying on his back with his handsome face turned towards me. The dark hair is in great contrast to the white linen sheets and his beard appears to be even fuller. My skin tingles at the memory of his beard against my heated flesh and just a glimpse of those talented lips sends a myriad of memories through my body. He has pulled one of his strong arms under his pillow and now rests his head against it in what looks like a peaceful sleep. His chest is heaving slowly and I have to restrain myself from reaching out and touching him. Not yet.

Slowly, afraid I might wake him, I shift on the bed. The need to map his body burns in my chest. I know my time close to him is limited, uncertain even. A small knot of insecurity makes its way inside my heart, like an unwelcome visitor from the past I try so hard to move on from. I just met the guy yesterday. And still, the day was beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before. For once I let my guard down and allowed him to rip down the wall that I spent years building around my heart. He did it effortlessly, simply because I let him.

But what was it to him?

With a steady hand I push those thoughts away. There will be a time for brooding, I’m sure, but this is not the time nor place.

My gaze glides over Richard's collarbone where I placed sweet kisses and found comfort when he held me in a tight embrace, over his magnificent chest, no doubt sculpted in the barn, and down his abdomen where his inviting trail of hair is abruptly cut off by the bed sheet. My inner fire flicks, filled with hope, and casts a longing heat over my skin as my eyes travel over the bed sheet, knowing what rests underneath. Even when sleeping, he holds great power over me.

Naughtiness and pure want fills my body and I reach out my hand and gently pull the sheet off him. He stirs in his sleep, but remains sleeping and I smile to myself. His member slumbers against his skin and I can’t stop looking at it. Even now, its blissfully large size is very much noticeable.

As carefully as I can, I pull myself up and then glide down a little closer to his thighs, giving myself more room for what I have in mind. There is no way I can resist this beautiful man next to me any longer. The sound of my own breathing echoes in my ears as I lean down.

I kiss the sensitive skin on his shaft and lick a trail from the base to the top. My tongue slides over the head and I feel him twist. I part my lips and welcome him inside. The beast is awake and so is his master.

“Y/N,” he murmurs. “What a lovely way to say good morning.”

I lift my head to greet him. His azure blue eyes, deep as a well, rest on me. I close my hand around him, stroking him slowly. I can almost feel the blood pumping in his veins and the fast swelling under my touch tells me he craves me too.

He tucks the other pillow under his head as well and when I return my mouth to his full length he lets out a satisfied growl. A small chuckle slips from my lips. Someone is eager to watch. He tastes divine, and his musky scent fills me to the brim with desire. I look at him, drink in his beauty and just like a strong liquor it goes directly to my head. His eyes are burning with desire and the flames lick my skin. It doesn't take long before I feel his hands in my hair, making a disaster of what already is a mess. He twirls it with his fingers and the moans and raspy curses he makes causes the heat to pool inside me.

“Keep your hands to yourself, or I’ll tie you up.” I playfully joke and place a wet kiss on the soft hair covering his groin.

I can feel him stiffen, and for a second I wonder if I did or said something wrong.

Two strong hands grab my upper arms and I’m abruptly pulled up towards him. His sudden movement surprises me and I can’t prevent the yelp from escaping my mouth. Our lips crash together in a kiss that is hard and raw and makes my lips burn against his skin. His tongue claims mine with such intensity it makes my head spin. I moan longingly into his mouth and I feel how his grip tightens. Then he breaks the kiss and pulls my lower lip with his teeth.

”You like it a little rough, don’t you? I should have known, I saw the firestorm in your eyes yesterday when I pinned you down.”

”Yes I do,” I confess, panting, and a breeze of shyness caresses my face while my heart is beating fast, like the wings of a hummingbird.

He holds my gaze steadily, and something new sparks in his eyes, something challenging and alluring. And possibly even a little dangerous. He leans in like he is going to assault my mouth again, but stops just before his lips meet mine. His warm breath fans the skin on my face, and his voice is hoarse and filled with promises.

”I like it rough too. But sweetheart, you’ll never get a chance to tie me up. Quite the opposite. Ask, and I will give you anything you want. Anything you need.” He emphasizes the word need in a way that makes my whole body ache for him.

I never get a chance to answer him, before he rolls over, effectively taking me with him in the movement, placing me on my back and capturing me under his hard body. He watches me closely, searching my face intensely. Then he places a trail of kisses from my chin, down my neck and up to my ear. His voice is now only a raspy whisper.

”Tell me Y/N,” he gives my neck a little bite. ”Tell me what you like. What do you want me to do to you?”

”Oh God, Richard,” I pant as it’s the only thing I can muster.

”What do you need?” He purrs in my ear, and the sound of his voice alone takes me right to the edge of the cliff, my body longing to dive into the sea of pleasure.

”I need…you.”

”That’s a good start, I’m right here,” he breathes against my skin.

”You need to be more precise, sweetheart.”

His thumb brushes over my lower lip, and the intimacy of the small act makes me tremble. Then he catches my wrists with his hands and holds me down, firm against the mattress. His mouth finds mine again and with my swollen lips I kiss him back, feverishly.

I want to dig my fingers in his hair, touch his neck and feel his strong shoulders under my fingertips. But his large hands prevent me from doing so, and when I twist in his grip, I can feel him smiling against my lips. My frustrated moan mixes with a dark chuckle erupting from Richard's throat. He abandons my lips, and looks me straight in the eyes.

”Is this what you want, Y/N? To feel restrained? Just tell me…” his voice fades when I eagerly nod. He watches me closely and the blood is singing in my veins. ”Say it. I want to hear you say it.”

”I want you to… tie me up.”

When he leans in, his lips brush against my ear, his voice is noticeably softer.

”I would love to. I mean to please you, Y/N.” He places his lips on my chin in a brief sweet kiss.

”Stay here,” he whispers with a voice sweet like honey, and dark as the midnight sky.

The mattress shifts as he moves over and stands beside the bed. Then he takes a few hasty steps, picks up his jeans that were so carelessly left on the floor yesterday and with a smooth movement he pulls the black leather belt from them. He walks slowly back towards the bed, not breaking eye contact. The sight of his naked and visually aroused body makes my mouth go dry and I realise I’m holding my breath. When he puts one of his knees next to me I take a deep breath, and he caresses my face with the backs of his long fingers.

”Are you sure about this?” He asks firmly and I see my own feelings reflected in his eyes. Same heat, anticipation and excitement.

”Yes, very.”

A pleased smile erupts in the corners of his mouth and travels all the way to his lovely blue eyes where it glitters like small stars on a winter night. He catches my wrists in his hand and slowly wraps his belt around them and secures his work by pulling the belt between my hands. Then he gently pulls them close to the headboard and pushes the belt between the planks to fasten it.

Richard hovers over me as I try the resistance. It holds. He steadies himself with one hand and with a soft stroke he lets his other hand glide from my wrist, all along my arm, over the outer line of my breast and down my ribs and the feeling of his warm hand makes my skin tingle. He repeats, but more slowly, giving me more time to feel his touch. I shiver under his hands, he’s so gentle in his touch but I feel the strength in him when he’s holding back. The sensation makes my core ache.

”You are so beautiful, Y/N. Seeing you like this…I want you so badly.”

”You have me.” I whisper, and when I say it, I realise I mean it in more than one way.

Richard's mouth crashes against mine, and he uses his tongue to part my lips for him. His growl vibrates through my mouth and throat, sending streams of fire directly to my core. Like he is eager to take advantage of my state, Richard soon deserts my mouth and works his way down my neck, chest and breasts. He sets my skin on fire with his lips and tongue, and when he drags his beard over my lower belly, my whole body arches involuntarily under him.

”Richard,” I cry out. ”Please.”

He hums against my skin, adding his wonderful attentive hands to his physical worship of my body. His beard gently scratches against my inner thigh as he kisses my skin teasingly, and I whimper.

”Please!”

”Please what, Y/N?”

I pull the restraints but the leather is not giving in. I moan as the belt tightens around my wrists by my own struggle. He kisses the most sensitive patch of my skin and melts me like a piece of gold in a furnace, and my voice turns to a plea.

”I need you, inside me.” My voice is trembling now, the power of his heat is almost too much.

”How can I deny you, when you speak like that?” Richard purrs and agonizingly slow he comes up and rests on his knees between my spread legs, his thighs effectively preventing me from moving.

With a low grunt he positions himself and pulls me against him, making my restrained arms stretch over my head.

I welcome him with a muffled moan and feel my body’s tight embrace around him. When he moves, a wave of pleasure washes over me, overwhelmingly increased by the feeling of giving myself to him like this. Never failing to read my body, he gives me all I need and silently asks in return. Richard's upper body soon glitters like dew on a summer morning, his ragged breath blends with sinful moaning. My inner fire explodes into a raging storm, and then, a blissful release of all the built up tension bursts out in my core as I cry out his name. His fingers dig into my flesh and with a few last thrusts he joins me, extending my high far above the endless sky of lust.

Richard leans down to kiss me, his chest is heaving and he’s panting.

”Heavens, Y/N,” he whispers and rests his forehead against mine in an intimate gesture.

Slowly he unties my hands, and brings my wrists to his lips. He softly kisses the red marks left by his belt and then looks at me.

”You really are a Goddess.”

I blush and laugh it off.

”You’re not so bad yourself, Richard. That was amazing. Again.”

He looks at me with such a sweet expression on his face and I can’t help but giggle. He pulls me close in a warm embrace and kisses me softly. I snuggle against his chest and close my eyes. I love the feeling of his arms around me and my body relaxes against his. I want to stay like this.

Tell him, my treacherous heart whispers and I swallow hard. Not now.

I feel Richard letting out a deep sigh and then he gently caresses my hair.

”As much as I’d love to stay here in bed with you all day, I need to get up. Duty calls.”

I nod, trying my best to hide my disappointment.

”Will you join me for a shower? God knows I need one!” he jokes and his contagious smile has me smiling back at him. Then he leaves the bed, holds out his hand for me to take and leads me to the bathroom.

With my hair still damp from the shower, we share breakfast. Such a common thing to do, but for some reason it feels different from all other breakfasts I’ve had. It’s not a grand meal, just cheese sandwiches and tea, but on this particular morning I can’t think of a better choice.

Richard sits at the table with his back to the large window. The sun shines through the glass and illuminates him, giving him a glowing halo. Suitable considering how many times he sent me to heaven, and the intense blessing I felt after our bodies became one. I smile as the feeling of his assault on me still lingers on my skin.

Richard is silent now, and he drinks his tea, no doubt deep in his own thoughts. When he speaks, I almost jump, having lost myself in my own.

”What are your plans for today?”

”I have no plans…I mean, I didn’t plan to…stay the night.” I take a deep breath. ”You probably have a busy schedule and all, maybe I should just…”

”I don’t,” he cuts in. Then he frowns, and I can almost see him battling with his own thoughts.

”You could take Naughty Thoughts out for a ride if you like. I can join you on one of the others… If you want me to,” Richard looks at me, and in his eyes I read…hope. Warmth spreads in my chest, there is still time. Time to tell him. I ignore the flattering of my heart.

”I would love that, thanks.”

His face lights up in a contagious smile.

”Great!”

We finish our meal in silence, but then again, being silent around Richard does not feel awkward. It’s a comforting, peaceful and relaxing silence. It’s the type of silence people who care for each other deeply can have, where no words are needed. Just the presence of the other person is enough. The content silence I saw my parents share when I was young.

When we are done, Richard reaches for my arm and squeezes it gently.

”I need to change into breeches. If you haven't changed your mind about riding him again.”

Fifteen minutes later we walk down the hill towards the stables. Richard is wearing a tight black t-shirt that accentuates his toned chest and his dark grey breeches look like they were painted on his muscular legs. The sight of his behind makes my mouth go dry.

It’s already warm outside, the sky is clear and every flower in the grass next to the narrow road has a busy winged visitor, trying hard to collect the very essence of the blooms.

The stable feels chilly thanks to its thick stone walls. This time I find my way to Naughty Thoughts’ stall without help. A small neigh greets me when I enter and I can hear Richard chuckle behind me.

”He remembers you. And likes you. He doesn't greet everybody like that.” I turn my head and smile at Richard. He walks up so he is standing right behind me. So close I can feel his breath on my neck when he speaks.

”You must be special,” he murmurs and gently strokes the small of my back. Suddenly he turns and leaves me alone with Naughty Thoughts.

”To him as well,” he whispers softly as he strides over to the stall on the opposite side.

I look at the handsome grey in front of me. Heavens, he too is a sight for the gods. Just like his owner.

I pet him on the neck. So much has happened since I buried my nose in his coat yesterday. I smile and try to collect my thoughts and feelings. On the other side of the aisle I can hear Richard humming a tune. I can’t make out what it is, but it enchants me. His dark and smooth voice wraps around my soul like a comforting blanket, making me calm and unable to do anything except listening to him.

”How are things going?”

Richard pulls me abruptly from my own world. That voice. It makes my heart melt like ice in a cocktail on a hot summer day.

”Oh. Great I think.”

I giggle softly. Naughty Thoughts looks at me with his big dark eyes and I give him a thankful stroke on his shoulder. He will never give my secrets away.

Richard leads a long legged chestnut out to the yard. Her tall white socks are perfectly even and a matching blaze graces her slightly concave head. She shakes her head impatiently as Richard puts his foot in the stirrup and with the grace of a panther he swings his leg over her back. In awe I see them mold into the same form, their years of careful bonding evident. Her ears flip back and forth, awaiting his discrete aids.

”Yours?” I simply nod at them.

He grins back at me and pets her affectionately on the neck.

”This is Ember. My little red devil.”

We follow the trail along the steam leading away from the stables, over green fields covered in meadow flowers. A gust of wind caresses my chin, like the breath of a heated lover. It plays with my hair and cools the skin of my body, and makes Naughty Thoughts’ tail wave at it’s will. He is such an amazing creature. Steady, but lively. Temperamental, intelligent and kind. He listens to every word and every cue I give him.

I can feel Richard’s eyes on me, and when I look at him he has a mischievous smile on his face.

”You know, he looks really good under you.”

I laugh at our little internal joke and that deceitful heart of mine picks up speed by the thought alone. We have a joke.

The ride ends way too fast and even if the sun is high in the sky when we come back, I don’t want this to be over. Not right now. But it’s inevitable. Richard told me that he has to prepare for another set of potential customers coming the same afternoon. And I told him that I needed to go home. A lie, but I just couldn’t tell him the truth. You want to stay! My heart scolds me.

I take my time getting Naughty Thoughts groomed. I’m in no rush whatsoever. Time is precious and nothing I have a lot of left right now. His coat is sweaty after almost two hours in the sun and I tend to him in all the ways I know. When I fill a sponge with cold water and press against his chest I can almost hear him sigh.

”I could use a sponge as well.”

”Christ, Richard! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

”Sorry, it was not my intention to startle you.”

His smile reaches his eyes and I have to steady myself on Naughty Thoughts, preventing myself from falling to the ground as my knees decide to give in.

He closes the gap between us, and it’s like the air is charged with electricity. His warm hand strokes my chin, and then rests on my slightly sweaty neck.

”Y/N,” he says hesitantly. ”I’ve wanted to say this all morning. But I think I was just…afraid…to say it. Afraid to make you uncomfortable.”

My heart feels like a drum and I can hear every beat echoing in my head. Richard holds my gaze, steadily. Then he takes a deep breath, and speaks again.

”I like you, Y/N. And I really want to see you again. Very soon. If you feel the same, that is?”

His eyes. Azure blue with a hint of starlight. Warm and kind. I fall helplessly into the depths of them. Longingly I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. A surprised moan falls over his lips, but then he quickly folds his arms around my waist in the sweetest embrace.

When I break the kiss he looks at me expectantly and I realise he wants me to say something also.

”I definitely want to see you again. Soon.”

His lips meet mine once more and to the sound of our soft giggles, we confirm our feelings.

Just like that he turned the hourglass around. The time that was running out, now replaced with a promise for more. This will not be the day we say ”goodbye”, but instead ”see you soon”.

My heart flutters and this time I don’t ignore it.

See, I was right. He feels it too.

~~~THE END~~~

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Khuzdul: Harsûna - flame-lady Kakhf - shit abnâmul - beautiful Kaminzabdûna - Yavanna Amrâlimê - my love

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Blame It on Cider, part 7

It was not a dream, but Thorin could not believe it. Yrsa was in his arms, and, for once, she was not escaping, her brow was not furrowed, and there were no sharp words leaving her lips. Instead, she was sleeping soundly on her side, her shapely body hidden under layers and layers of clothing, her cheeks rosy, the breathtaking mane of her fiery locks flowing in every possible direction. It all made him want to sink his face into those soft waves, breathing in her intoxicating flowery scent. With her face pressed into the folds of his tunic, she was snoring delicately. It was the sweetest sound he heard in his entire life. Yes, Yrsa was truly in his arms; his heart rejoiced and he did not want this moment to end.

Thorin had plenty of time to ponder over his feelings towards her. Almost a year and half passed since he met this quick-witted, flame-haired, extremely stubborn, and exceedingly beautiful herbalist. He knew very well what that fuzzy feeling in his chest was and what his ridiculously maudlin thoughts meant. He was irrationally, inexplicably, and desperately in love with Yrsa. He loved her cute, turned-up nose peppered with golden freckles, her long copper lashes, her smiles and her pouts. He adored her herb-stained fingers and nimble hands, and he had to admit that he relished being the focus of her attention, even if it happened only when she took care of his wounds. His eyes would closely follow her movements and he admired her skill, her knowledge, and the way she firmly spoke, scolding him slightly. Dís would probably laugh for a week if she was privy to his thoughts. The temperamental descendant of Durin, the king of Longbeards, enjoyed being scolded like a schoolboy by some Firebeard herbalist. To make matters worse, he had met her barely three times and yet he felt as if he loved her with every fiber of his being. He barely knew her. He knew nothing of her family. The emotions he experienced were silly, irrational and – he had to say it – pathetic. And yet he loved her.

The problem was, she did not seem to love him back. In his experience, women would often do everything they could to be as close to him, or rather, to the king of Longbeards, as they could. He didn't complain about lack of interest from the fair sex. Unfortunately, Yrsa was the only one who ran in the opposite direction whenever they met. And yet… there was that kiss.

She kissed him last evening, as soon as she knew who he was, and a veil of emotion softened her gaze. Whatever that emotion was, it kindled a little flame of hope deep inside him and until now, he had shielded this fragile fire from the sudden gusts of doubt. Perhaps there was still a chance. He had to act carefully. Dwalin had a saying, Love is a battlefield, but Thorin never agreed with him until he met Yrsa. Perhaps this was a battle indeed. If so, Thorin needed to send out his scouts as soon as possible, find the most advantageous battleground, and launch his attack. He was not a beardless youth, he knew this and that about dalliances, but he had never found himself in such a peculiar situation before he met this fiery woman who muddled his mind and stirred his blood. In the past, he approached the subject with a cool head, never losing himself, but also never suffering rejection. It was different with Yrsa. Instead of retaining his usual calm, his heart would prance like a pony when Yrsa looked at him with her sparkling emerald eyes, just like she did when they met for the first time. Thorin remembered very well how he tried hard to feign disinterest to the point of rudeness. Liquid lava would run through his veins every time she touched him, leaving him barely able to think in a coherent manner.

And then, there were those dreams. Thorin had quite a few vivid memories from the night he spent together with Yrsa. His body still recalled how right she felt in his arms when they danced, light on her feet, lively like quicksilver, radiating pure joy, and he couldn't help himself from smiling back at her widely. His heart still remembered the sudden light-heartedness that washed over him, taking away all of his burdens for that one night, when she kissed him and chose him to be hers until the morning. His mind showed him the blurry images of how they ran into the forest, snatching a jug of sweet cider along the way. They sat under a tree and talked about everything and nothing, without rhyme or reason, teasing each other and laughing, and yet it felt to him like the most meaningful conversation of his life. Thorin finally could be himself, not the ruler everyone expected him to be, not the revered title with all its burdens, but simply a Dwarf with his dreams and hopes, and it felt liberating. Yrsa, his Harsûna, felt liberating.

He remembered the all-consuming passion that exploded between them, leaving him satiated and breathless, but in his dreams they would do more, much more, and he would wake up in the morning with almost unbearable tension between his legs. To make matters worse, releasing that tension each time brought him only a shadow of relief.

And now that familiar tension was back. Thorin cursed himself inwardly. He did not need his overactive libido to raise its ugly head. Or rather, to raise… nevermind. He gritted his teeth, trying to think of boring, unpleasant chores, like washing his footwraps in an ice-cold stream. It didn't work, not when she was so close to him, her hot breath fanning his chest, her alluring body trustingly pressed against his. It happened over one year ago, but he still remembered the roundness of her breasts, the taste of her skin on his tongue, her full, pink lips wrapping around his thumb, the little mewling sounds she made when he… No. Ice-cold water. A thick sheet of ice covering a mountain lake. Dirty footwraps. A dozen of them. The last thing he needed was for her to wake up and find the visible reason for his embarrassment. Before they fell asleep, Yrsa stated clearly that she shared the bed with him only to preserve warmth. Even though her cheeks darkened as she said it, Thorin was not a feral beast and understood what a "no" meant. He could imagine the disgusted look that would appear on her face as soon as she noticed his state. It would quickly turn into anger, and then she would run from him once more, but this time she would never want to see him again.

Ice-cold water. Her nipples stiffening under his touch. Mountains covered with snow. The peaks of her breasts, deliciously heavy in his palms. The sounds of blizzard on the other side of the door. The flurry of freckles adorning her bare skin like precious flakes of gold. Freezing wind, chilling to the bone. The impossibly tight, all-consuming heat of her womanhood as he delved into her, again and again.

Damn it all.

***

Yrsa was cold and she didn't like it at all. Grasping blindly around the bed, she searched for her very large and very pleasant source of warmth, but it disappeared. She opened her eyes and blinked a few times as they quickly adjusted to the darkness around her. His side of the bed was empty. Thorin was gone.

“Thorin?” she sat up quickly, a small misty cloud coming out of her mouth. A groggy glance around the shepherd’s hut made her heart skip a beat. He was not there. He left her all alone. He preferred to march out into the blizzard than…

“That kakhf piece of wood,” a low grunt reached her ears along with a thud.

She turned towards the source of the noise and had to stretch to the side to see Thorin sitting on the floor and fighting the contents of the hearth.

“You’re here!” Yrsa sighed in relief and suddenly it seemed as if the cavern became brighter and she wanted to hug him tight and not let go. “Where else should I be? It is freezing cold and the fire has gone out.” He rumbled, not even turning towards her, his hands busy. “There, that should work for now.”

When he stood up, she noticed the first flames timidly licking a fresh log.

“Is it morning already?” she wondered, stifling a yawn and wrapping herself in a blanket, trying to regain some warmth. Thorin was here, and he would soon warm her up. All was well.

“I took a look outside. It is close to dawn, but the blizzard is still there. Now move aside,” Thorin spoke roughly, a deep frown settling in his features, as he approached the bed.

Apparently, the grumpy blacksmith returned and Yrsa had no idea what caused this change in him. What a shame they didn’t have any cider with them. It worked so well last time… No! Bad Yrsa! It worked so very, very badly last time! How could she forget it?! Cursing wordlessly, she moved back to her part of the bed and lay down on her side, facing the grump.

“Do you want a blanket?” She asked hopefully. Thorin rested on his back and covered himself with the wool bedspread she offered, emitting another unpleasant grunt, and maintaining a proper distance between them. Bye-bye Yrsa’s hopes of warming up properly.

In the sharp silence softened only by the sounds of the tireless blizzard roaring outside, she regarded Thorin carefully, taking in the regal outline of his profile while his eyes studied the ceiling, muscles dancing on Thorin’s bearded jaw. Yrsa’s fingers tingled with need to plunge into the thicket of his beard once again. She longed to kiss his foul mood away and to be enveloped in his tight embrace, just like before. She froze. Yes, she was slightly freezing, but she also froze. As in, stopped moving, and even breathing for a moment, when a realization struck her. At this very moment she wanted to feel his strong arms around her and it didn’t have anything to do with the temperature in the cavern. Great, Yrsa. Go ahead, she told herself, tell this grump of a king that you need him, that you want to be close to him, that you were terrified that he abandoned you, and that you felt happy like a drunk squirrel (preferably not on cider) when you noticed that he actually never left. Show him how pathetically clingy you are.

Yrsa kept her mouth shut. The last thing she needed was to make him even grumpier. Silence. Silence was good and safe. Silence didn’t hurt. Not at all. At least she could ogle him in peace. Yeah, why not? She deserved a consolation prize after everything that had happened.

An eternity passed, or maybe it was just a few moments, and Yrsa’s eyelids started drooping. She was drifting off to sleep when a movement of the bedtick brought her back to reality. A pair of blue eyes stared straight at her, she could see their azure tint in the near-darkness. It felt as if they glowed with a light of their own, and she would bask in its intensity. Ugh! She needed to stop with those maudlin statements. Yrsa wanted to pinch herself. She was a practical Dwarf-woman, a herbalist and not a silly, amorous maid. If she was not careful, she would soon start drawing red hearts on the margins of her herb journal with the runes “Th + Y” inside. She would also sigh, daydream, and exchange remarks with her girlfriends about all the (endless) titillating details of his physique. And about his indisputable prowess in, um, certain fields.

Sleepy Thorin by Mr.Kida

She could already imagine herself drawing a sketch of sleeping Thorin, preferably half-naked, his well-honed body of a warrior stretched on the bed, tattoos, his lush mane, the whole package; his forearm resting on his forehead, yearning etched in his handsome face, as his mind drifted off into the land of racy canal reveries. Yrsa knew herself well. She would share this picture with the aforementioned girlfriends (who were, of course, by a sheer fluke, desperately in love with a muscular, long-haired blacksmith of royal descent as well) and they would all draw red hearts and green arrows around this alluring image, share it with all the other connaisseurs, and speak of the things they would do if they were left alone with him in that bed.

Well, now Yrsa was alone with him. And in a bed, too. And she was not doing anything at all. The shame! Her girlfriends would be very much disappointed with her. Only to add to her despair, the model specimen of a Dwarf next to her was not asleep, on the contrary: he was very much awake and he kept on staring at her. Very intently. While she seemed unable to act. Yrsa swallowed.

“Awake?” His whispered words hung in the air. Words were good. Better than grunts.

“Yes,” Yrsa croaked and quickly cleared her throat.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Y-yes?” oh, Mahal, she was hopeless. And now he would ask her something very significant and she would panic, because he was a king, a great warrior, and a beautiful Dwarf and she was this average Firebeard girl with a sprained ankle, no great connections, no treasure hoards, and no legendary feats to speak of (if one didn’t count that time when she chased away a gaggle of very angry geese that tried to descend upon a group of pebbles playing in the dirt).

Unaware of her inner turmoil, Thorin moved slightly towards her, his hand resting between them, his fingers moving slightly as if they wanted to catch something she couldn’t see. His throat bobbed and he opened his mouth.

Mahal, it was happening. Where were Yrsa’s smelling salts when she needed them? Oh, wait, she was not a fancy lady. She would be fine after a mouthful of cider. Darn, she had no cider either. She just had to breathe.

“Do you know where the babe is from?”

“What?!” Yrsa asked, showing how bright and intelligent she was. Yay. Ugh. That was not how this was supposed to go!

“Ursarusê, how did she end up in your care?” Thorin asked slowly, patiently, probably pitying her limited brain capacity. Yeah. Slow clap for Yrsa, she surely made an impression…

“I found her in the wilderness without anything that would give away her lineage. I don’t even know what clan she belongs to. She could be a Broadbeam or even a Longbeard with those bright blue eyes, especially if they don’t change colour later on,” Yrsa finally spoke, her voice almost a whisper. “Why are you asking?”

“I wish to know more about Ursarusê. Perhaps it is because I spent two months accustoming myself to the idea of being a father,” he paused, his words disappearing in the intimacy of the darkness that surrounded them, “You must think me a fool.”

A sad smile appeared on his face for a heartbeat only to hide in his beard.

Mahal, have mercy on her. A pang of shame washed over Yrsa.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say all those things before. How were you supposed to know that I was taking herbs so I couldn’t…” she bit her lip and in that moment a strange thought crossed her mind. She imagined herself lying in Thorin’s arms, in their own bed, with a sweet little babe wrapped in a dark blue blanket sleeping soundly beside them. A sudden warmth budded in her core, painting her cheeks red.

“I only knew that a beautiful maiden graced me with her attention and then vanished into thin air only to appear with a babe in her arms a year later.”

Yrsa gawked at him. A beautiful… No, he didn’t mean, did he…?

He continued, “At least now I can stop tormenting myself with the thought that you found me repulsive and unworthy of being the father of your child.”

Yrsa whipped her head up, meeting his gaze, the cogwheels in her brain turning with the speed of the legendary Rhosgobel rabbits, “No, that’s not true! I’m sure you will be a great father! I mean, you would… And… and you’re not repulsive at all. I don’t have a habit of kissing repulsive men, you know.”

How did her hand materialize itself on the top of his hand? And why was his skin so pleasantly warm? And when did his fingers intertwine with hers?

A grin appeared on his very kissable face, a soft rumble echoing in his words, “So my male pride may yet be restored.”

Yrsa smiled slightly. “I kept your ring, you know,” she rose on her elbow and showed him her other hand, his wide ring glinting in the faint firelight, a piece of cord wrapped around the silver band to keep it from sliding from her finger. “I wanted to give it back, I truly did! I’m not a thief, I swear! I just…”

He sat up and took her hand in his, not saying a word, his eyes set on the ring.

“I’m sorry, I should have sent it to your sister weeks ago. Please, take it, it’s yours,” she started taking off the ring as quickly as she could, when his broad hand covered her trembling hands.

“What if I asked you to keep it?” his words seeped into her ears like thieves in the night, filling her astonished mind with their dangerous presence.

“But… but… It’s your ring… That would mean… and surely, you can’t mean…” There was an ending to each of those sentences, but it wasn’t to be found in Yrsa’s head any more. Damn those thieves.

“And what if I do?” Thorin gently squeezed her hands and moved closer to her.

“But you don’t know me at all!” she exclaimed. Just when she thought she was safe from noblemen and their ill-conceived honourable proposals...

“I know you well enough, Yrsa. You have your heart in the right place and I would trust you with my life, as I already have before,” she stared blankly at their clasped hands as he spoke. Surely, there was something wrong with her hearing. Or maybe he had a fever again.

“But you are a king! I’m honored by your words, but… but... you can’t mean it! I’m a lowly commoner! I wouldn’t make a good match for a king! I have no idea about all that fancy stuff and I barely know how to use a knife and fork!”

“I saw how you eat, Yrsa. You handled these utensils better than my cousin Dwalin, but what does it have to do with allowing me to court you?”

“I’m a nobody! And you need a somebody for a wife! Some grand, rich lady, a descendant of an ancient house, a diplomat or someone like that!”

“Grand and rich ladies do not wish to ally themselves with a family that lost their kingdom and riches, and I refuse to marry for political reasons. The only crown I can give my future wife is going to be a flower crown, and my private halls consist of two meager rooms, a bed, a table and a wobbly chair.”

Yrsa chose to ignore the remark about ‘his future wife’. She didn’t feel like fainting at the moment.

“I understand why you are asking, it is your honor speaking, and that's admirable. The thing is, you don’t have to feel obliged, truly!” she blinked away a stupid tear that had no business to appear in her eye. “We were simply drunk that night and neither of us knew what we were doing. It was fun, but you don’t need to offer to marry me just because--”

Thorin closed the distance between them and cradled her face in his hands, his voice softening, “Yrsa, you are the only woman I have met who doesn't hint at the possibility of marriage in my presence, on the contrary. Yet I see the looks you give me, and when you kissed me last night, I thought... It is obvious that I am doing something wrong. Please, tell me how to do it right.”

He gently brushed her cheek with his calloused thumb while Yrsa was trying with all her might not to drown in his gaze, in the azure pools of his eyes contrasting with his long, dark eyelashes, and to ignore the alarmingly small distance between their lips.

“I don’t think there is a right way,” she heard her own words and covered his hand with hers. She was wrong. There was a right way, a proper way: she should take his pleasantly warm hands away from her face, curl up in her corner of the bed and pretend that the world didn’t exist. She hated the right way. Where was cider when she needed it?

“Are you sure, Yrsa?” Thorin murmured with that glint in his eyes she remembered so well, while his voice reached that very dangerous, deliciously low register.

“No. I mean yes.”

Yrsa’s heart hammered in her chest. She swallowed and her lips parted slightly. With her mind in a haze, she needed... air. Yes, some air, that was it. She pressed her palm against the back of his hand a bit more, her face leaning into his palm. He was so warm, and he smelled like a pine forest on a crisp spring morning.

“Would you not prefer to think about it?” his nose brushed against hers, leaving her skin tingling.

“N-no...” of course she didn’t. She knew the truth. Her whole body begged for a kiss, just one, a very small one. Unfortunately, she had to be strong for them both. It was clear that Thorin had no idea what he was doing. Perhaps it was the side effect of the herbs, or the exhaustion of the previous day, or lack of sleep, or hunger, or… Oh. His forehead pressed against hers. Please, yes. No. Maybe just a bit. Some of his stray strands tickled her skin. He was intoxicating, stronger than cider. And Yrsa wanted to have him even closer. Please.

“Not even a bit?” he asked once more, his voice rumbling in his chest, his breath fanning against her lips.

That was it. The last drop. Yrsa had enough of that torment.

“Stop talking and kiss me already!”

“At your service,” he purred with a chuckle and claimed her lips.

It was the best kiss Yrsa had in a long while, again, especially since the last one before also involved Thorin and, obviously, her. But she was unable to compare anything more, her mind refusing to work when, oh, Mahal, his kiss left her breathless. She expected him to devour her mouth with abandon. Instead, Yrsa found herself whining at the sensation of his lips slowly melting into hers, lightly pressing against them, gently grazing, brushing, tasting, moving in a sensual dance that needed only two of them.

His hand speared into her hair, his fingertips moving against her scalp, making her whimper when a shudder of pleasure ran through her.

“My sweet Harsûna,” he murmured, covering her forehead, her closed eyelids, her cheeks and lips with a myriad of light yet eager kisses, his other hand supporting her back, his hard body pressing against her. This felt very right. And she wanted more.

Her hands moved from his shoulders to the front of his tunic, fumbling with the straps that held it together, feeling the heat of his body beneath it. Yrsa had no time to lose, she had to be quick before she would start overthinking things again and...

His fingers wrapped around her wrist. Their lips parted. Thorin searched her face, his chest heaving as if after a long run. “Do you truly want this, Yrsa?”

Somehow she managed to process his words and quickly pressed her lips to his. Words felt too clumsy. Touching felt much better. She tugged at his unlaced tunic.

Thorin’s lips moved away again, making her growl in frustration. He took off his tunic and his undershirt in one swift motion. Clearly, she was not the only one in a hurry here. Yrsa stopped unlacing her own clothes, unable to tear off her eyes of his powerfully built chest. Those pectorals. She recalled how it felt to rake her nails across the expanse of his skin, feeling the coarseness of his hair under her fingertips.

Yrsa lunged at him as if she was a mountain lion and he was her prey, but he didn’t budge, steady as a rock, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“Mahal, Yrsa,” he breathed into her neck.

With her arms around his neck, her body flush against his torso, she arched her head back as his mouth began staking out the trail along the delicate skin beneath her ear, moving lower, his tongue finding the hollow between her clavicles, and lower, his nose digging curiously into the opening of her clothes. His hot breath feathered her skin, kindling countless new fires inside her.

“My tunic…” she gasped, her arms retreating, frantically trying to get rid of the offending garment. She needed to feel his skin against hers. Now. Quickly. No thinking.

“Let me,” Thorin pulled her arms aside and finally freed her of the restraints. His eyes roamed her uncovered body, darkening with lust. She felt her nipples stiffening. Was it his gaze? The cold air? She didn’t know. It was not important.

Now he was the one to close the distance between them. He pulled her on his lap, his lips continuing the journey down her exposed chest, climbing up the steep slope of one of her breasts and closing over its pink summit. She moaned and swayed back.

“Do you still take those herbs?” he muttered, his large hand splayed firmly across her back to steady her.

“Herbs…?” Yrsa repeated mindlessly, her mind clouded with yearning.

He looked up, his bearded cheeks darkened, “Your feminine herbs. If not, I will make sure that I don’t…”

He had the sweetest expression on his face, so thoughtful, his lips curved in that sensual way. Her Thorin.

“Yes, I am taking them,” she gave him a reassuring smile. “You just do your magic.” “You are the witch here, not me,” he protested, nuzzling her neck, his intensely warm hand closing over the cool skin of her breast.

“And you are the blacksmith. I may have been drunk last time, but I clearly remember the skill you showed with your hammer,” she giggled, running her fingers along the edge of his earlobe.

“Then I will try not to disappoint you this time as well, my lady,” he hummed into her skin. “But first, allow me to dispose of the obstacles.”

With these words, he lay her on the bed and started untying the laces of her trousers, placing moist kisses on her abdomen and then moving down, along the newly uncovered curve of her lower belly, his lips burning her skin. This was when Yrsa realized that she was supposed to feel cold, but she forgot about it, and it didn’t have anything to do with the fire burning bright in the hearth. There was another fire burning deep down inside her and she knew how she wanted to have it quenched.

Yrsa helped him undress her as much as she could, hurriedly wiggling out from all the layers of winter clothing. Thorin hovered over her, devouring her whole uncovered body with hungry eyes while his fingers worshipped her skin, tracing mysterious patterns across her neck, her cleavage, and lower, outlining the curves of her breasts, sliding down, and finally resting on her hips.

“You look even more ravishing than I remembered,” Thorin took her nipple in his mouth, as if it was a strawberry, letting his tongue dance over it, eliciting from her a gasp of pleasure. His hand returned to drawing arcane patterns on the skin of her belly, and his lips followed, covering those trails with soft kisses, the delicate caresses contrasting with the enticing prickling of his beard against her sensitive skin, sending delicious shivers down her spine. That was the most important reason (according to Yrsa) as to why Dwarves had beards.

And then his hand lunged between her slightly parted thighs, already coated with her arousal. Yrsa gave out a moan when his fingers found their way between her folds.

“You’re cheating!” “Am I?” he lifted his head, his heavy-lidded gaze resting on her face. And he smirked! And did that trick with his thumb she remembered so well.

“You’re still…” a moan escaped her. “Dressed.”

His hand disappeared. Damn.

“We are in a hurry, I see.”

“Yes, we are!” She confirmed.

“Are you planning to do something about it?” there was that smirk again and Yrsa simply wouldn’t have it. “I’m planning to do quite a lot to you now,” she rose and quickly approached him, in case he changed his mind.

Thorin kneeled in front of her, his dark hair cascading down his broad shoulders, his eyes giving her a challenging look, his chiseled chest begging for her touch. Yrsa had no choice, he had to feel it, her fingers following the dark trail of her down to his trousers.

“And what about later?” His voice turned raspy as Yrsa worked on releasing some of his very crucial parts out of their scandalously tight prison. She was amazed that his trousers hadn’t burst at the seams yet. “Shh, I’m busy here!” Those words earned her a chuckle. She ignored it and finally freed the firm length of his impressive hammer from its confines, gulping at its elegantly curved shape and sizeable girth. More sizeable than she had thought. Apparently, there were some things she didn’t remember that well from their night together. Familiar heat pooled at the juncture of her thighs. Was it even possible for her to take all of him? Yes, it had to be. They did it before, at least two times if her memory served her well (or maybe… was it three?), and she didn’t remember having any problems with it, on the contrary, she... Shut up, Yrsa’s brain, it was not the time for a trip down the memory lane, what would your girlfriends say?! It was time to act! And touch! And feel! And enjoy herself!

Thorin groaned when she wrapped her hand around his length, its velvety hardness pulsing under her touch.

“Have I passed the inspection?” Thorin rumbled in amusement, lifting one of his eyebrows. Right. There was a very alluring body attached to this glorious piece of male anatomy, how could she forget.

“Let me see,” she sing-songed and lowered her head, her hair spilling around her when she closed her lips over his ruby red tip. So smooth. Searing hot. A groan left his lips and she felt him shudder. A hand raked through her hair, gathering her unruly locks at the back of her head.

“Abnâmul...” he rasped out.

Yrsa hummed in agreement. His hammer was indeed beautiful, brimming with his virile power. Sucking on it gently, she moved her hand along his shaft. Back and forth. There it was, another groan. She swirled her tongue around the tip, tasting the first drops of his arousal. He groaned again. Pressing her thighs together, she could feel how ready she was for him and that thought spurred her, making her take more of his length into her mouth.

“Stop!” He gnarred, pulling out and leaning backwards. Thorin was panting, his jaw set and eyes almost as dark as the night, his member glistening proudly before her eyes.

“Was it not to your liking?”

“I am afraid it was too much to my liking,” a small chuckle left his throat. “It has been a while since I have spent a night with someone. Around one and a half year, if I am not mistaken.”

Yrsa’s heart made a very silly and a very happy dance.

“In that case, let’s…” she finished the sentence with an eager kiss. “Let’s indeed,” he returned the kiss, “before I embarrass myself in front of you like a youngling. Those lips of yours are delectably wicked.”

She muttered some incoherent words, feeling her cheeks burn, and helped him out of his trousers, handling his bandaged thigh with care.

“No straining your leg, do you hear me?”

“Aye, I hear you. Are there any other body parts you wish to examine in the meantime?” he sat down, inviting her closer. She paused for a blink of an eye, “Later, I’m in a hurry now.” “So, there will be a later,” he grinned as Yrsa straddled him carefully, his hands resting on her waist. A small hiss left her lips when she tilted her right leg at the wrong angle. “What was it about not straining one’s legs?” he chuckled, stealing a kiss as she tried to rest her weight on her knees, mindful of his injured thigh. She placed her hands on his stone hard shoulders, trying to position herself above the purple tip of his impatient shaft, while he pulled her face close to his and stole another kiss off her lips. Her breasts brushed against his chest. She could already feel his scorching heat between her legs. Impatiently, Thorin attempted to move himself upwards, pressing his bandaged thigh into her right leg in the process. This time, both of them hissed.

Thorin groaned, shaking his head.

“What a mess,” she sighed, brushing her cheek against his, enjoying the prickling of his beard. “We have only two working legs.” “Thank Mahal, our other body parts are working,” he grinned.

“Lay down?” she asked uncertainly.

“And let you do all the work with that ankle of yours?”

“I can manage, I just need to…” she moaned when his lips brushed against her earlobe. “Do you know that you bite on those sweet little lips of yours when you don’t tell the truth?”

“It’s because I’m thinking! Oh!”

His hips rose slightly and something very hard pressed against her wetness.

“And how is that going?” He let out a low murmur, kissing a sensitive spot on her neck.

“I… um… Oh, Mahal… I… Thorin, please… What if I lay down on my back and…” Yrsa’s brain stopped working at the exact same moment when Thorin started using his tongue. Sweet Mahal, where did they teach blacksmiths to do that? “You were saying?”

“Wait, I need a moment,” unwillingly she moved away from him, plopping down on her bottom, minding her leg. How was she supposed to think straight when he was so… so big, so handsome, so strong and so very close to her?

Thorin ran his hand through his magnificent mane of hair and gave her a look brimming with lust. She was toast.

“I am waiting… You were about you spread your delicious body under me,” in a blink of an eye, she found herself facing him. He hovered over her, gazing at her kiss-swollen lips, his arms resting on both sides of her bare body.

“And make you strain your muscles again?” She gave him a light kiss in the corner of his mouth. “How about you sit on that chair?” “It is barely standing as it is. It won’t hold, not if I have my way with you,” he nuzzled her cheek. She groaned in desperation, slamming her fist against the bed, “Can you please do it now? I don’t care how, just do it. How about I turn around and you... No, wait, it won’t work. Damn it! Thorin, I want you, preferably before the world ends!”

“That can be arranged. Come, lay with me,” he smirked and lay on his side, pulling her hand towards him. Yrsa shifted on her knees, unsure of what he had in mind, and lowered herself on the bed. “Turn towards me, Yrsa. That’s it. I want to see your face when I am making love to you.”

“Thorin?” she swallowed. Surely, it had to be just a figure of speech, nothing more.

“Yes, like this, perfect,” he whispered huskily, pulling her closer and laying his hand on her thigh. She could feel the heat of his hammer brushing against her thighs. “What do you think?”

“Let’s try?” Yrsa whispered hopefully, resting her hand at the nape of his neck. Her professional brain kicked in for a moment, making sure that neither Thorin's leg nor her ankle would be exposed to too much strain. It could actually work.

“Sweet Yrsa,” Thorin placed another light kiss on her lips gently lifting her injured leg and resting her thigh above his hip, opening her up for his velvety hardness.

Suddenly, she recalled how big he was and how passionate, and how she was completely sober, and all the courage deserted her.

“Slowly, please?”

“We have all the time in the world, Harsûna,” he slid his arm under her neck, allowing her to rest her head on the crook of his elbow. “Good?”

Yrsa gave him a small nod and a faint smile, swallowing nervously. That is when Thorin’s hand rested on her buttock and squeezed it, eliciting a playful yelp out of her.

“Thorin! Last night you promised to behave!”

“Aye. But I did not specify what behaviour I had in mind,” he grinned, and then he started lazily moving his hips back and forth, coating his swollen member with her juices. Yrsa may or may not have moaned, she was not sure. She was only sure that now she had molten lava in her veins and was on her way to erupt.

“Should I stop?” he purred. “Don’t you dare,” she gasped and slid her hand between them, guiding him to the place that demanded to be filled with pleasure.

“Let me show you what I dare,” he slowly thrust forward, delving between her folds and into her core, making her gasp at the exquisite sensation. Her blacksmith, her Thorin, so close to her, joining with her, stretching her so deliciously, and she welcomed him gladly, passionately, meeting him halfway with an impatient roll of her hips.

“My impatient Harsûna,” he hissed, unhurriedly easing into her inch by inch, his fingers pressing into her hip. And then he pulled almost all the way out only to return after a heartbeat. “I need more,” she admitted, lifting her leg, inviting him deeper.

His next thrust was equally slow, painfully slow, and blissfully slow. She hated the exquisite torment. She loved the agony of pleasure. She ached for him when he retreated and moaned with delight when he returned, each thrust sending him deeper inside her. A yelp left her lips when he finally buried himself in her up to his hilt, accompanied by his groan when she made her walls clench around him.

“Yrsa,” he took a deep breath, closing his eyes and stopping his movements. “Have mercy on me, my little witch.”

My little witch. She could get used to it. Especially when she was so deliciously full.

“Oh!” she felt him twitch inside her. He chuckled.

“Fight fire with fire, isn’t that what you Firebeards say?” Thorin covered her lips with his before she had the chance to reply and then he thrust into her, rolling his hips against her and making her cry out in pleasure. His movements were slow and deep, kindling an insatiable fire inside her. Yrsa felt so open, so vulnerable, and yet so good, and with each of his strokes she allowed herself to drown in bliss. Thorin held her close to his chest as he unhurriedly delved into her, eliciting a moan out of her every single time as he murmured sweet nothings into her ear.

“Let me take care of you, sweet Yrsa,” a hot kiss landed in the sensitive hollow of her neck. “Oh…” “Do you like this?”

“Mahal, yes…” she whined in pleasure, so incredibly full of him with each new movement of his hips.

“And this?” “Thorin…” she arched her back with a moan, her head spinning.

“Let me pleasure you like this every night.” “Don’t stop…”

“You drive me wild with your beauty,” he whispered into her ear, filling her with steady, sensual thrusts that gradually grew in strength.

“Oh, Kaminzabdûna…” “Let me worship your bewitching body every day, fiery Harsûna. Your soft lips, your delicate wrists, your firm breasts and your pert behind,” his words were accompanied by kisses and caresses of each of her body parts, sending her dangerously close towards the edge.

Thorin was everywhere, his intoxicating scent permeated the air she breathed, she tasted him on her tongue, she felt him against her skin and so deep inside her; his groans intertwined with her moans; she rocked against him, losing herself in him, not knowing where she ended and he began; there was only him in the world, and nothing else, and he held her close, and she clung to him, braving the ever-growing waves of their joined passion.

“Please, Thorin…” she whimpered.

“What is it, Amrâlimê?” the sound of his dark, luscious voice sent a thrill down her spine.

“I’m so close… Please...” Yrsa barely registered anything else than the growing wave of ecstasy that would wash over her soon.

Thorin doubled his efforts, picking up his pace, grinding into her with every stroke. “Hold on, Harsûna, can you do that for me?” he locked his gaze with hers, his words turning into animalistic grunts. “Let us come together, like... this…, right... now…” His voice became raspy, his movements erratic; her nails dug into the skin on his back, a wave of shivers washed over her body, heralding the inevitable; he sank his teeth into the delicate skin of her neck, and this was her undoing. One more powerful thrust; she tensed; then the whole word exploded beneath her eyelids as she felt the heat of his release. “Thorin…!” a lengthy moan escaped her lips, echoing against the walls of the cavern.

She-- They soared in ecstasy. Together. For a few heartbeats. For eternity.

***

As soon as her senses returned to Yrsa, she relished in the sweet weight of Thorin’s powerful body over hers, his forehead resting against her shoulder, his silky soft hair scattered across her breasts, the dark waves contrasting with her pale skin. Absentmindedly she ran her fingers through his strands, overwhelmed by the sudden tenderness that welled in her heart. It didn’t matter what would happen afterwards; she had this very moment with him and it was more than she ever hoped for.

“Gold-kissed Harsûna,” he whispered into her skin, placing a soft kiss on her freckled shoulder.

She hummed questioningly, still sifting through his hair.

“In Erebor… My people believe that those are flakes of gold under your skin, a sign of Mahal's grace. Very rare among the Longbeards. Very beautiful.”

His lips covered her shoulder again. His moustache and beard tickled her skin, making her smile at the emotion blooming in his azure eyes.

“One day I will kiss every single one of them,” one more kiss and he lifted himself on her elbow. “If you agree to court me.”

Yrsa bit her lip, ignoring the ball of ice that formed in her stomach.

“I can’t be your wife,” she looked away. “You are a king.”

“You can. Forget about that cursed title, Yrsa. I am a blacksmith.”

“I won’t.” “Why?” “I… I have no fancy dresses.” “Neither do I,” he nuzzled her neck, making her chuckle, while his hand wandered away from her hip. “I’m serious, Thorin. I don’t know how… Oh, Mahal,” she gasped as he gently cupped her mound with his palm.

“Mmmm?” He purred with a sly grin, scattering lazy kisses just above her breasts, his hand resting on her hip as if it never left the place.

“I don’t even know what a queen is supposed to do,” she whispered, the familiar flames of rekindled lust licking at her underbelly.

“She is expected to do the same as a blacksmith’s wife,” he lifted his head, one radiant eye resting on her face, the other hidden behind the dark curtain of his hair. “Simply be with me at the end of the day.”

His lips met hers, coaxing her into another sweet, lingering kiss. “But… there has to be more,” she finally protested.

“Aye,” she tasted his lips again as Thorin continued. “Let me braid your fiery hair every morning.”

“Oh, Thorin,” she chuckled and wrapped her arms around his neck, noticing a playful glint in his eye. “Are you saying that I would have no duties whatsoever?”

“As my wife you will be entrusted with the most important duty of them all,” he pecked the tip of her nose.

“And that is?” “Kissing me good morning, of course!”

“Like this?” she demonstrated with unrestrained eagerness that left them both panting.

“Aye… exactly like this,” Thorin confirmed.

“This I can do without being your wife and ruining your chances of an important alliance with another clan,” her throat constricted and she forbade her eyes to well with tears. If that was how love was supposed to feel, she hated it at that very moment with all her heart. Thorin’s judgment may have been clouded by his passion, it was not unheard among her race, but he would soon realize that it was nothing more than passion and lust, and when it fizzled out, he would be stuck with a useless wife and no perspectives for the future. She refused to be a burden to him.

“Yrsa, for the love of Mahal, I told you...” A menacing frown appeared on his handsome face.

She quickly sealed his lips with a kiss, “Let us not talk about it now. Please? I’m too tired to have this discussion. Can we catch some sleep first?” A noncommittal grunt reached her ears.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he eyed her suspiciously.

“I hope not,” she waited until he rested on his back and pulled her tight against him. “I’m even hoping for another round before breakfast.” “That could be arranged,” he rumbled, slightly appeased by her words.

“Perfect,” she pecked his cheek and lay her head on his chest as Thorin pulled the blanket up to cover her shoulders and put his arm around her. “Just don’t run away from me this time,” he grumbled. “I won’t,” her fingers intertwined with his, his ring still glinting on her finger. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

***

Yrsa didn’t know how long she slept, but when she opened her eyes, impossibly light-leaded, she and Thorin reduced to nothing more than a chaotic tangle of limbs under the blankets, one word rang in her ears.

“Amrâlimê.”

To be continued...

* * *

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

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The horns blared with the cry of a thousand souls on this cold morning, but I was unafraid.

“I wish you would stay inside; you can tend to the wounded without being on the battlefield,” Ori muttered, shoving the pendant I had chiselled into the likeness of a sparrow in long hours of dedicated work under his tunic before turning to the armour. It comforted me to know that he would take the moonstone with him, in hopes that my love would keep him safe against all odds.

“Why? Are you not out there as well, husband?” I asked, a steely note in my voice. I knew he wanted to protect me, but he was being a hypocrite; he was no more a fighter than I was, after all.

“Amrâlimê…” he sighed in a low tone, “love of loves, why can you not be careful? Do you not know that you are the most precious being in the world to me and that losing you would turn the sun to ash and the sea to dust?”

Closing my cold hands around his sweet face – matured and filled by long years of happiness –I pressed my lips upon his in the same way and with the same intensity as every other morning in Erebor.

“The darkness has come and the dwarrows of Erebor will fight, Ori, all of us. Come now!” I took his hand, that hand that had been settled in mine for so long that I was almost convinced that the lines of his skin had left echoes in my palms, and – together – we walked to the great hall.

Our king was there, imperious, smiling grimly at his wife.

“That we see another day like that, I am heart-broken to admit it, I am loath to ask for your allegiance and the sacrifice of your blood once again,” he intoned facing the dwarrows assembled to hear him speak.

The queen was by his side, straight as an arrow, her beautiful face lined with worry that she held in check with iron self-control; for decades now, she had been a constant, benevolent presence under the Mountain, and we loved her just as much as we venerated him.

As a healer and the wife of a scribe, I could only describe her as healing – mental and physical – in the shape of a living, breathing being; if Smaug had been death, then surely, our queen was life.

Heavy with child, she would not go out and fight at her king’s side but organise the efforts inside the mountain which served as a basecamp for the forces about to be deployed. Level-headed and wickedly smart, the queen had long since proven that she could not only deal with the stubborn sons of Durin, but with every other dwarrow who dared confront her, and we were ready to follow her unconditionally.

Some called her “Amad” besides calling her queen for her soft heart and her generous spirit. Quick to laugh and slow to really anger, the queen had brought her ailing husband back from the abyss; under her tender care he had not only regained the confident stride of his step, but she had given his soul both roots and wings.

“My women, Mahal keep you safe,” the king breathed, kissing both his wife and his sister upon their pale brows.

Thorin II was a notoriously stubborn man, but he accepted the rule of necessity, the will of his creator, and the word of his women. He was certainly smart enough to be aware that he was less smart than them; it might have hurt his pride if it didn’t make his life easier, happier, and more comfortable every single day.

In that heart-wrenching honesty that made the queen so endearing to us, she slung her arms around her husband and lifted the crown off his head. “One of them,” she breathed.

“One of us,” he completed, resting his forehead against hers. In the years since the reclaiming of Erebor, Thorin had rebuilt more than just walls and monuments; he had forged new alliances, infusing the broken bonds with the iron of his will and the invincible strength of his heart. The world he had shaped with his very own hands was worth the fight and he would be down there to do his part and pull his weight.

“For our home,” he went on and – this time – his sister finished the sentence: “For our people.”

I lifted my hand to my heart; those were the dwarrows I would follow into the Halls of Waiting without hesitation, for I knew that they’d never sacrifice a single one of their subjects before themselves. It was an honour to serve them, it would be a privilege to die in defence of their vision of happiness.

“The darkness is at our door. Will you stand and fight?” Thorin roared and we yelled our determination back at him immediately.

Steps, heavy steps, resounded and the princes walked up, bowing to their elders in deference.

Thorin II had lost both his father and his grandfather quite surprisingly, his own becoming king haunted by their absence and too heavy a burden to fall out of the sky onto a young dwarf prince, so he had decided that Fíli would get to prove himself – unhindered by the grief that had once weighed down his predecessor – and learn at his side how to be a good king. He was decided to do everything like it was supposed to work – for a better tomorrow.

“Mother, Auntie,” the still fairly young dwarrows greeted, kissing both women, “uncle. We are ready.”

Oh, how luminous they looked, how chivalrous, how fragile!

Fíli’s fiancée stood in the first row of the onlookers, tall and beautiful, her dark hair braided closely to her head and her delicate body encased in solid armour. “These are my knives,” the prince often said, showing off the many blades he carried on his person, “and this is my sword.” And then he pointed at her with a smile imbued with pride and love.

Where our queen was wise and gentle, this princess – because Fíli’s declaration of love made her royalty more than any blood or crown ever could – was fierce and incandescent. Like the heroines of old, she would follow her man into battle, guarding his flank in tandem with his brother, willing to die in order to protect him.

“It is time,” Thorin spoke and – as one – we turned to the gates.

“I love you. Be safe!” Ori whispered, kissing me with urgency and tenderness, as if it was the first time, as if it was the last time.

“You too,” I smiled, patting his head gently. He was made of sunshine and soft things in peacetimes, but Mahal knew, Ori was a man who took his allegiances seriously and who would not walk away from doing the right thing. Was I frightened for him and those I had come to love and respect as blood of my blood? More than anything, but fear was a damp, suffocating veil drawn upon the fire of my heart and I refused to let it slow my steps or stay my hand.