Long Live The King

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO – A BEGINNING

As we wind down to our final days here, I make sure that Thorin continues to get plenty of rest. I keep him well fed; cooking meals for him in my cottage when we wish to be alone and making sure he eats healthfully when we dine with his Company. He continues to take regular exercise with Dwalin to shape the pounds he has regained.

And he teaches me his marvelous language, slowly and thoughtfully, and I think he is surprised at my swift progress. I remind him that Elves have an affinity for language; after all, my people taught the Ents to speak. Thorin has never heard of Ents so I tell him the little I know. I’m not sure he believes me; he thinks rather that they sound like creatures suited for a child’s bedtime story.

We continue to learn about each other; the good and the not so good. For example, I have learned that Thorin cannot cook or bake to save his life. He burns everything, from eggs to meat to biscuits, but at least he is willing to eat what he has ruined. It’s perplexing to me that he seems to have no patience at all in the kitchen, since he has such a surfeit of it in the bedroom. But I do not complain.

Today I receive a message from my Lady. She and her father have invited us to dinner. It is a great honor and it tickles me to no end. She writes that her brothers will also join us.

Thorin and I arrive at the western dining room and for the first time in a year, I am without his silver bead about my neck. Instead I wear his betrothal gift, though it far outshines my simple silk gown. I lowered the dress’ neckline in order to give prominence to the jewels. Arwen makes quite a fuss over my necklace and compliments Thorin on his taste.

My beloved Dwarf wears his kingly circlet, a dark metal band with a small crystal stone on his brow, which he tells me is meant to represent the Arkenstone. It’s more modest than his real crown (which he has described to me, making me very eager to see him in it). I think he is right to want to display his status on this occasion. He wears his black leather mantel, cut in a deep “v” at the throat, under which can be glimpsed a fine silk tunic I made for him. Each shoulder of his mantel is embossed with the raven insignia of Erebor. He looks wonderful.

Elrond greets me with a kiss on each cheek, making me feel very welcome. I am so glad that our past unpleasantness is finally behind us, and can see now that he was only thinking of my welfare. We sip a crisp white wine served in delicate glass goblets, almost too delicate for Thorin’s large hands. But I smile at his natural poise and regal bearing. He does seem so much taller than he actually is.

I show him the painting of Celebrimbor and he immediately recognizes Narvi in the background. He and Lord Elrond are quickly engaged in an animated conversation about the once-prosperous trade of those times.

When her brothers arrive, Arwen makes the introductions. Elladan and Elrohir are genuinely interested in Thorin and ask many questions of the lands near Erebor and of the events of the Battle. They are particularly curious about the tall Orc captains, including the one Thorin defeated after an exhausting duel. 

As I listen to their conversation, I hear Thorin acknowledge Thranduil’s son, who saved his life during the Battle by a timely return of Orcrist, which had been taken from him in Mirkwood. It was with that legendary sword that Thorin vanquished his enemy. The brothers name Legolas the most skilled fighter they’ve ever known and consider him a friend. Thorin is full of praise for the Elf, but names Dwalin and Dain as ultimately more valuable on the battlefield. For my part, I hope to meet Legolas one day, to thank him.

When we are seated for dinner Thorin and the brothers begin a lively discussion among fellow warriors, comparing ideas on the finer points of killing Orcs, how best to track them, and how to capitalize on the blunders their commanders often make. Arwen, Elrond and I are amused, but have our own more genteel conversation.

The evening is like a dream for me, seeing Thorin treated with the honor he deserves by members of a race he once considered his enemy. And he proves completely up to the challenge. His manners are as elegant as any Elf’s, save in one way only; when food is placed in front of him, he eats with a warrior’s relish. But I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

The next morning Thorin surprises me with some news. Undetected by me last night, he quietly arranged for Elrond to receive our vows tomorrow on the library terrace. Although our official wedding will still take place in Erebor, Thorin wants there to be no doubt among my people of his honorable intentions towards me. He would not want it said that the King of Erebor had kidnapped his Elven bride.

The next afternoon, with my Lady Arwen and Oin as witnesses, Thorin and I solemnly pledge our love and our lives to each other before Lord Elrond Peredhel of Imladris. It is very likely the first ceremony of its kind in all of Middle Earth. I know my Lord has not changed his opinion of our union, so I am especially touched that he put his personal beliefs aside to do this for me. I have always admired and loved him as my Lord, but I now see what a truly exceptional person he is; one of the finest I have ever known.

Elvish tradition requires some sort of physical token be given by the bride and groom to each other as a symbol of their bond. With little time to make such an important choice, Thorin and I chose gifts we already had; I give him my silver clasp and he gives me his silver bead. These two objects have become so precious to us that nothing else made sense nor contained as much meaning. 

It is a quiet ceremony, but afterwards we celebrate with a special bottle of miruvor and listen to musicians that Arwen has arranged to play for us. One of them has a harp and when the song is over, Thorin asks the harpist to allow him to hold the instrument. “Do you play?” I ask, incredulous. His affinity for the harp is evident in the way he handles it. “I used to” he answers. I see him cradle it with reverence, but before he plucks a string, he changes his mind and returns it to the musician. He gives me a sad smile and says “I’ve had too much wine.”

As we walk home afterwards, I call Thorin “husband” for the first time. In response, he lifts me off my feet and carries me the rest of the way.

Now only two days remain before we set off. I have finished my packing; Niri and Gembol have taken the bulk of it to Gloin so that he can add it to the rest of the baggage for transport. Everything must be balanced and weighed ahead of time.

On our very last day I convince Thorin to go riding with me into the hills southwest of Rivendell. We bring a blanket and pack a lunch and spend a glorious summer morning together, just the two of us, near a little stream, a tributary of the Bruinen that we call Lalaith, the laughing brook.

We make love in the open meadow, surrounded by birdsong and water music, and then go swimming in a deep, sunlit pool below a little waterfall. Thorin loves it, and relaxes so much that he tells me several stories of his early life, including one I didn’t expect to hear, about the Dwarf woman, Aubra, who broke his heart so long ago.

She was the daughter of a prosperous goldsmith, promised to him in marriage when they were very young. Before they officially came of age, they met clandestinely in Erebor several times, and his heart was lost to her. It was soon after this that the dragon came. In the confusion of the attack they were separated, and afterwards both their families wandered homeless.

He sought for her for years without success, until he finally found her in a village in Dunland. But his joy turned bitter as Aubra spurned him, claiming he was now unlikely to ever wear a crown. So, he traveled west and eventually settled with his people in the Ered Luin. Some years later she came there to marry a well-to-do wool merchant. She then flaunted her wealth in front of him as he came and went from the blacksmith’s forge where he was forced to take work. When I hear this story, I understand why he has always felt so alone.

“I thought she was beautiful” he says, with some remaining wistfulness in his voice. I tell him she may still be beautiful but he is lucky he did not marry her. I say “It takes a cold heart to be so unkind to another, especially when she knew you loved her.”

I tell him I would love him whether he is a king or not, and if he should lose his kingdom, that I would live in a cave with him, anywhere, as long as we could be together. He chuckles and says he can’t wait for me to see the “cave” where he lives now.

We lie on the blanket together, under the warm sun, my head on his shoulder. I finger his chest hair as I love to do, then my hand begins to drift down his chest, then his belly, until I reach his groin. He’s already swollen by the time I begin to caress him. I stroke him and feel him harden in my hand.

He tugs my head to his, kissing me softly and repeatedly. I have an urge to please him in a special way today. I smile and slip away from his face, kissing my way down his body until I am right where I want to be. I begin kissing his manhood up one side and down the other, and he hardens even more. I watch his bearded chin lift skyward as he lets out sighs of pleasure. He reaches for me but I avoid his grasp because I don’t want him to stop me. I sit on my heels next to him and turn his hips gently towards me and take him in my mouth.  

I draw him in and out several times, then hold and stroke his shaft, dragging my tongue repeatedly over his very plump head, tracing his sensitive ridges, sucking the tip. I tease him with more wet kisses up and down his length. I cup his twin orbs, kissing and licking them, too, tasting his pleasant saltiness. I mouth him again and again, making him moan and murmur his Khuzdul words.

I am pleased that my efforts can make him feel such sweet agony, which is exactly how he makes me feel when his mouth is on me. Having him react to me this way makes me wet, too, and once I have him worked up nicely, my body starts to clench, wanting him inside me.

I glance up at him. He looks as though he is about to burst. He caresses my head, and I say “let me finish you”. He looks back at me full of yearning; he is always the generous one and I think he feels it’s somehow too selfish of him to desire this. But I don’t see it that way.

I repeat “let me finish you”, this time as a statement, not a request. I re-position myself between his legs and focus my attention on his swollen head. I pleasure him more urgently than before, teasing just the tip over and over, while adding some friction on his shaft with my hand. I hollow my cheeks around his virile organ and his groans increase. I fondle his orbs again and I hear him call my name.

I am steady and relentless and he knows this time I am not stopping. I know he’s close so I look at him, teasing and tantalizing him, driving him steadily towards his climax. And finally he lets go, bucking into me as he reaches release. I keep my mouth on him, swallowing again and again as he gushes forth.  

I feel him clench and release and I swallow again, hearing him moan with enormous relief. It’s a euphoric feeling for me, too, finally having indulged him as he so generously indulges me. I reach around to his cheeks and hold him close, keeping him in my mouth until his spasms gradually slow and finally cease. He sighs again as I continue to massage him tenderly and lovingly with my lips and tongue.

Finally, he seems fully spent, so I slowly draw back, making sure to tidy him up as best I can. I kiss his spent shaft over and over until he sits up and pulls me to him. He looks at me with grateful eyes and I slip contentedly into his outstretched arms. He holds me close, pressing my head to his chest.

“A mahizlif, banmûna” * he murmurs, still breathing heavily, holding me close.

*Ah mah HEEZ leef bahn MOON nah (loosely: “Oh, you wonderful creature”)

I burrow into his neck. He smells so sexy and his beard tickles in a delightful way. “You taste salty and sweet” I murmur. He exhales heavily.

“Now, you’ve spoiled me.”

“Mmm”

“Give me a chance to recover” he pants “…and I will return the favor.”

“No” I whisper back “It’s my treat for you.”

He squeezes me and kisses my hair. We hold each other a while as a soft breeze lifts the leafy branches above us, dappling the sunlight on our naked bodies. I hear Thorin take another deep breath and sigh again in great contentment.

Then, just as I’m drifting off, he slips out from under me, sits back on his heels and rolls me on my back, scooting down at the same time.

“What are y…?” I start to exclaim. He grins a response, pushing my legs apart, lifting and draping them over his shoulders. He lowers his face and drags his tongue firmly against my trigger, back and forth, very slowly.

Oh!

“Thorin! Stop!” I whimper in protest. I hear him chuckle as he kisses the tender skin of my inner thighs. He’s not going to stop. He takes my hands, entwining his fingers in mine, taking control. “Th…o…r…i.…n!” I sigh in weak protest, as he begins to massage my intimate region as only he can do. “S…t…o….p…” Then he does stop, in order to kiss his way up my body until he has reached my neck. But he’s left one hand between my legs, with which he continues to tease me. He purrs seductively in my ear “Do you really want me to stop, my sanalinh?

“Oh, I…”

“Don’t you want me to make you come?” he whispers “Don’t you know I love to make you come?”

Oh, Yavanna! How can he be resisted? He smiles as he feels my body answer “yes”. He kisses his way back down and repositions my legs, diving back into his task with fresh enthusiasm. The fingers of one hand spread my nether lips apart while his other hand keeps my legs open, and he presses his mouth to my trigger, lapping and licking. I raise my arms outward, tugging at the soft grass beyond the blanket. I wrap one leg around him and my heel massages his muscled back.

He pleasures every inch of my tender flesh, returning over and over to my throbbing trigger. I squirm and squeal and arch into him with abandon. He leads me quickly and steadily to the brink of impatient, irrational need. He pauses for a tantalizing moment, catching his breath and wiping his beard, then pushes me over the edge with ever more determined swipes of his tongue. I sail into space, spinning wildly, sighing, whimpering, proclaiming his name.

And still he doesn’t stop. He keeps his mouth on me while I flail and gasp and rip up tufts of grass. Only when he senses I’m finally sliding down the other side does he let me rest, laying his bearded chin sideways across my abdomen, slowly lowering my legs again to either side of him.

He then ascends my body, kissing his way to my breasts, sucking tenderly on each hard nipple in turn, then snuggling into my neck. All the while I continue to pant and whimper.

He collapses against me and I rally my strength to embrace him. We are two limp forms on our blanket, bodies pressed together, fingers entwined, our breathing labored but sated. I murmur my love to him and he responds in kind.

Slowly, sweetly, we drift into sleep.

A little while later, we gradually awaken. I lift my head to kiss him and tell him how much I love being under the open sky with him like this. He says he does, too.

We know we have to get back, so reluctantly we begin to gather our things and dress. I ask him if there are places like this near Erebor and he says he’s sure we can find a pocket or two of outdoor beauty to suit our needs. Perhaps, he says, we’ll find someplace we like even better.

As we retrieve our grazing horses, I marvel to see Thorin Oakenshield so content. Where is the over-burdened leader, roiled with inner turmoil that I met last summer? To be sure, he is the same battle-hardened warrior, proud to a fault of his heritage with whom I fell in love, but he now fully believes in his future, and could truly be a great king.

Personally, I believe his struggle with the gold sickness and his ultimate triumph over it has changed him. I know he thinks I played some part in his return to health, and I’m glad he does, but truthfully, it is he who deserves the credit. I am simply grateful every day that we found each other.

We walk alongside our horses for a while, still a little reluctant to get back, talking of small things. I suddenly see two mail-clad riders at the edge of the forest. I stop and point at them. Thorin nods and says “It’s Damon and Grum.”

I stand still, eyes wide. “They just saw us naked! Thorin! While I was…!” He hugs me, chuckling. “Yes, they probably did” he says. “They wouldn’t be much good as guards if they weren’t watching us, would they?”

My mouth drops open.

He goes on to explain “This is something you will have to get used to. You are to be my Queen, and you will have guards with you all the time. They have sworn their loyalty to me and their job is to protect us. They will not gossip about us – well, not too much anyway” he grins.

“Will they be in our bedchamber?”

“Not inside, but just beyond the door.”

I am still shocked but he just grins, eyes twinkling as he teases me. “They will have to get used to your noises, Miriel. They need to learn that sometimes when you scream and wail, it means you are very happy.”

“You don’t mind them seeing me naked?”

“You look so good naked” he teases

“But…” I just don’t know what more to say.

Thorin slides his arm about my waist, becoming more serious. “I must keep you safe. No harm must ever befall you. Miriel, we are going into wilderness. You will be glad of them. I promise.”

The next day, at dawn, our full company assembles in the main courtyard.

I bid a tearful farewell to my Lady Arwen, my Lord Elrond, my friends Galadwen and Anoriel and my dear brother Mardil.

Thorin stands by my horse and presents his interlaced fingers. I step into his hands and swing my leg over Asfaleth’s saddle, finding my stirrup. He waits until I am balanced, then moves to Sheen which Damon helps him mount. He sits proudly in his saddle, looking every inch the King he is, wearing his beautiful mithril mail and his cloak. On his brow is the dark metal circlet with its single crystal.

He extends his hand to me and I move Asfaleth alongside him. I take his rough fingers in mine and smile back at him.

Gloin sounds a horn and our bannermen clatter across the High Bridge, bearing the gold and black raven insignia of Erebor. Thorin and I follow, and behind us rides the rest of our company, climbing the trail along the cliffs to the south.

I look at the beautiful dwellings and balconies and the endless cascades of Rivendell, the home of my childhood, where I married and raised my children and where I fell in love with Thorin Oakenshield. I wonder when I will look upon it again?

I see my Lady Arwen, one hand dabbing her eyes as she weeps, the other waving goodbye.

My new life with Thorin has begun.

THE END

THIS IS THE END OF A SILVER BEAD

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE – A SECRET

My eyes flutter open, blinking in the early morning light. I find my lover’s handsome face well below my chin, inching the coverlet down, murmuring Khuzdul words to himself as he exposes my body to his gaze.

I raise my arms over my head and stretch rapturously. My movement draws his face upwards, and he bestows feather-soft kisses on my throat and neck. As nice as this is, and it is very nice, a small part of me regrets having interrupted his downward voyage. 

I smile and reach to caress him. He takes possession of my arm, dotting it with many kisses, moving slowly from my shoulder down to my wrist. Once there, he turns my arm over and journeys back up the inside, kiss by kiss by kiss.

Oh, how he spoils me!

When he reaches my shoulder again he moves to my ear, delicately tugging on it with his teeth. He purrs in that voice of his “Shall I make love to you…or do you wish to go about your day?”

I hesitate only to savor the sound of his delectable question. “Make love to me” I whisper and turn to kiss him hungrily. I give him my tongue and seek his. He responds eagerly and we continue kissing over and over, teasing and tantalizing each other, making me very wet and him very hard. When I pause for breath, he lowers his head and begins to devour my breasts. I arch my back to signal my approval and he opens his mouth wider, teeth softly rasping against my skin, tongue swirling.

He rises to one knee, lifting me, draping my torso over his bent leg so that my head falls backwards, throat stretched and exposed. He lowers his head to my breast and sucks the nipple tenderly. Oh, what he does to me!

He moves from one to the other and back again, driving me mad with desire. Then he eases me back against the bed, and sits back on his heels, leaving me panting. He keeps one hand behind my neck, his fingers splayed against the back of my head and bends over to kiss me. His other hand travels down my body below the covers, past my waist and across my belly, swiftly reaching the warmth between my legs. While he kisses me, his fingers gently palpitate and massage my nether lips, exploring my intimate region.

I reach my arms around him, caressing his neck and shoulders. When we break our kiss, I gasp loudly. He flings off the coverlet and crawls to the end of the bed, positioning himself between my legs. I squirm with anticipation, hoping that I’ve guessed where his tongue will go next. He lifts his eyes to mine and I see them gleam, cat-like, beneath his dark brows. The lustful look in those eyes confirms his intent. I whimper pitifully but I absolutely do want him there.

He slips his tongue into my folds and pleasures me with unerring skill, purring and lapping at my swollen trigger as I writhe and moan, wantonly begging him for more.

I assist him as he lifts my legs up and over his broad shoulders, and I point my toes down his back, rubbing his muscles with my heels and calves while he hums and presses his bearded face into me. His hands slide under my cheeks, trapping me against the whims of his insatiable tongue.

“Thorin!” I cry out, gripping the linens.

He growls and comes back up, attacking my breasts again with renewed enthusiasm. I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him closer, asking him wordlessly to take me. I can feel him lingering just outside my entrance, teasing both of us, as he continues his welcome attentions to my breasts. I pet his head and caress his face. He looks up at me and I tell him with my eyes how very much I love him.

He slides his hand from my breast to my hip, running it along the back of my thigh to the underside of my knee, lifting and bending my leg towards my chest, opening me up. He allows just the tip of himself inside me for a moment, then pulls back, looking up at me to gauge my reaction. My enjoyment is etched on my face so he does this again and again, alternating his gaze between my nether regions and my face, deliberately teasing me and himself with increasing fervor.

My moans grow more intense as he continues this exquisite playfulness. Then he suddenly plunges himself inside me, gasping in his own pleasure as he does so, holding my leg in place. I press my head back in ecstasy as he groans and plunges in again.

He begins a rocking rhythm and I strain with him and against him, squirming and squeezing him as best I can, trying to increase the obvious pleasure he feels. His eyes close and I hear him say the Khuzdul word again, the one with the trilled “r”. What is it about the sound of that word? We drive each other to the very brink, rocking and thrusting while we run our hands over each other’s skin, clinging and grasping.

And we come together, in a sudden rush that catches us both by surprise. Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhhhhhhh! It feels so wonderful and so thoroughly satisfying.

Afterwards, we lie relaxed, still in our carnal embrace, our sweat mingling, our ragged breath finally calming. His massive mane tickles my face and I breathe in his rich, male scent. I kiss his firmly muscled shoulder.

That Khuzdul word, the trilled “r” sound he made, keeps repeating in my head. I’ve heard him murmur it many times yet I’ve never asked him about it. This time I simply must know. I ask softly “What is that word?” 

“Hmm?” he responds, still caught in the after-bliss.

“That word you say sometimes. The one with ‘ooo’ and ‘rrrrock’” I say, trying to mimic the sound.

He chuckles softly. “Can’t tell you.”  

“Why not?”

“Our language is secret”

“I won’t tell anyone”

He chuckles softly again.

“Who would I tell?” I repeat

“I should be more careful” he says

“No!” I beg. “No, Thorin, don’t be careful. I love it. The sound is…it stirs me”

He flips back some of his tousled hair so he can see me better. “I know” he confirms. “It’s one of the many things I love about you.”

I smooth his hair behind his ear and smile at him, thinking of the countless things I love about him.

“I don’t even know I’m saying it” he adds “It just slips out”

I run my finger across his eyebrows, first the left one, then the scarred one. “I don’t believe you” I say, grinning. “You know what you said. Say it again.”

He smiles but moves his head in gentle refusal. “Mm mm…can’t.”

I softly bite his bearded chin, which I know he likes. “Please?” I cajole. “Just that one word. I love hearing it.”

He thoroughly enjoys my brazen attempt to seduce him. Encouraged by his look, I deliberately pull his forefinger into my mouth, sucking on it, which I also know he likes. His expression changes and I know I’m making it difficult for him to resist. My anticipation builds. He removes his finger from my mouth but offers me his thumb, which I take, happily. I suck on his thumb a while and I can tell by the way he sighs that he’s going to give in.

He takes a breath and purrs “U’rakhimê”. (ooo RAH kee may - with a trilled ‘r’) *

I shiver from head to toe and slide his thumb out again. “Yes” I sigh, closing my eyes and smiling. He curls his fingers around the nape of my neck and pulls my head to his, kissing my lips, oh, so gently. When my lips are freed again I ask “What does it mean?”

He smiles and hesitates, but I can tell he’s going to reveal it. “Just this one” he says in his most velvety register, looking at me with love. “It means ‘I desire you.’”

Oh, it’s wonderful!

Without thinking, I repeat the word ‘U’rakhimê’ to him. His eyes grow fierce and he pulls me close, kissing me deeply with sudden passion. I feel him grow hard within me. I’ve never felt that happen before, especially so soon after his release, but I know I shouldn’t be surprised at anything Thorin Oakenshield does in bed.

“You see?” he says, well aware of what just happened. “It is a powerful language.”

“Very powerful” I respond. He continues to kiss me softly over and over and over.

I can feel his girth tight against my interior walls, causing profound shivers of pleasure in a whole new way. I can’t help myself; I begin a slight undulation against him and he responds, delicately thrusting back and forth, creating the most exquisite sensations. I close my eyes and savor it.

“Mmm” he murmurs “You feel so good to me”

“Mm hm” I nicker back “You, too”

He keeps up this gentle rhythm for a lovely long while, keeping us both on the edge of this delicate new pleasure. It feels somewhat like the plateau of a prolonged climax, but lighter, more ethereal. Our kisses continue as well, each action prolonging the other. We remain in a warm embrace the whole time, enjoying this extraordinary intimacy.

Eventually, inevitably, we begin to lose the friction, and pause longer between kisses. And we slowly lose our carnal connection, which makes me sadder than usual this time. But when it happens, Thorin turns me gently on my side and draws me close to him, my back to his front, the way he likes to sleep. He snuggles into me quite tenderly, kissing my shoulder and cupping my breast in his hand. 

I love it when he holds me this way, but I don’t feel sleepy. I bring his hand to my mouth and kiss his palm. He murmurs softly and pulls me closer, re-cupping my breast.

“What about that other word?” I ask. “The one you said was a version of my name.”

He squeezes me and chuckles “You said just one…”

“I know, but I’ll be more careful this time. I won’t repeat it.”

He chuckles again, but remains silent. I whisper “please?” and he gives in quite quickly. “‘Mizimel’” (MEE zee mel)** he says in my ear, kissing me there. “It means ‘Jewel Eyes’” he adds, before I even ask.

I close my eyes again, smiling to myself. “Mmm, I like that one, too”.

“I called you that every day to myself” he says “all the way over the mountains…I even said it out loud one day in Thranduil’s dungeon.”

I think of him there, shut away from his comrades, being treated so unfairly by my own people. We are silent again for a while, just listening to each other’s breathing.

“You say other Khuzdul words, sometimes, too” I press.

“Yes” he replies “but the rest will remain secret.”

“Couldn’t you teach me?”

“I could” comes the delayed response. “But it’s very difficult to learn if you have not spoken it as a child.”

“But I’m to be a queen of Dwarves. I think I should try.”

Thorin remains silent. I know his Dwarvish pride is still an enormously personal topic with him, and I don’t want to seem flippant. But I sense it pleases him that his language interests me.

“Wouldn’t it be better if I knew just a little?” I ask.

He still does not answer. With my back to him, it’s hard to gauge his reaction. All I know is that he hesitates. Now I begin to worry that I have pushed him too far. Or he might just be sleepy. But then he moves and rolls me over to face him. Now I see he has simply been considering his answer. He props himself up on his elbow and strokes my face, holding my chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Yes. I will teach you some new words every day.” He smiles as he sees my grin, but retains a serious tone. “But they cannot just be the words I say to you here, in bed.”

“I would learn what a queen should know” I reply

“Good” he says. “But this morning, Lady Persistence, you may choose one more.”

I lean forward and kiss him, flushed with my double victory. I study his face a while, playing with his hair, while I think of which word I want most to hear. When I settle upon the right one, he sees it in my face and grins in amusement.

“Which one?” he asks.

I grin back at him. “You’ve said it several times. It starts with an ‘S’; several syllables, maybe “Sah-lah-nee?”

He smiles in recognition and nods. “‘Sanalinh’” he intones (Sah nah LEEN) ***. I know immediately that it’s the right one because of the thrill that courses through me when he says it.

“Yes” I shiver. “What does that one mean?”

“It is a word made for you” he says, stroking my face and shoulder tenderly. He slowly skims his magic hand down my side following the dip of my waist and up over the curve of my hip. “It means ‘womanly perfection’”.

No wonder I love hearing him say it!

But I protest “Oh, no, you can’t call me that. I’m quite imperfect! I’m forgetful and I cry at nothing and…and…my breasts are small and my hips are heavy.”

Thorin shakes his head in loving disagreement. “Your breasts are not small; they are the most perfectly made breasts I’ve ever touched. And I will touch no others for as long as I live. And your hips! Mahal! Miriel, your hips are…sensuous and powerful and oh, so womanly. You are ‘sanalinh’ to me” he says. He illustrates his point by sitting up so that he can kiss my hips on both sides. He then turns to kiss my breasts, first one, then, the other.

I shake my head at him, still in disbelief at my tremendous good fortune, and oh, so grateful for everything he is. When he settles back against the pillow I ask “How do I say you are ‘male perfection’ to me?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “No, a Dwarf cannot be perfect to an Elf”.

“One can” I insist.

“No, no” he repeats.

“Yes. Yes.” I insist. “There must be a masculine form of that word? ‘Sah nah…khazad?’ or ‘Khazad a leen?’” I propose, trying to guess. He smiles deliciously at my woeful attempts to construct Khuzdul on my own. He kisses me again. Then he whispers the correct word in my ear.

I smile, pleased at its sound, but also because my stubborn Dwarf has given in to me once again. I hold his perfect face in my hands and pronounce him “‘Sanakhûn’”. ****

  *U’rakhimê (ooo RAH kee may - with a trilled ‘r’) = I desire you

**Mizimel (MEE zee mel) = jewel eyes

***Sanalinh (sah nah LEEN) = perfect woman

****Sanakhûn (sah nah KHOON) = perfect man