Chapter 1

He was ready to die, as ready as a man ever got. The Battle of the Five Armies was fought and won, the goblins defeated. Thorin had said his thanks and farewells to his allies and companions, and now he was looking forward to joining his forefathers in the halls of waiting. His many wounds were giving him less pain than he'd expected, but he could feel the cold spreading through his limbs and knew his life was at an end.

But when the tent-flap had closed behind the last of his visitors, Gandalf turned to face him, a sly smile on his lips. "Thorin Oakenshield. There is more we need to talk of."

"What is it, wizard?" He smiled sleepily. "I know well that I must leave this world now."

"Indeed you must." Gandalf sat down and lit his pipe. "But maybe not in the way you think you will. You are still in the prime of your life, Thorin, and there is a lot of good you can do. Not here, for I cannot heal your wounds nor can I prolong your time on Middle-earth. But I shall send you to another place, where you are needed. You won't be King Under the Mountain there, just Thorin, but I believe you can still be a force for good."

He shook his head in confusion. "Another place? What do you mean, old man?"

But Gandalf just smiled and raised his staff. "Close your eyes."

There was a flash of light and he lost consciousness. When he next woke, he was no longer in his tent, but on a grassy hillside, the summer sun shining brightly down upon him.

A tall blond man with a scruffy beard was bending over him with a worried frown on his face. "This looks bad, Commander. I need to heal him straight away, or he won't survive the journey back to the Keep."

"What are you waiting for, then, Anders? Go ahead." A woman's voice, clear and light.

Thorin's shirt was pushed up and he felt warm, dry hands on his skin. Then a blissfully cool wave washed over him and the coldness in his hands and feet receded. He wasn't prepared for the sudden onslaught of pain, though, and he nearly cried out, biting down hard on his lip.

"Shhhh." The man held him down and took a deep breath, then touched him again. This time the cool wave took away most of the pain. His head felt a lot clearer and he carefully tried to sit up.

"Well, well, what have we here?" Another man, this one dark-haired and dressed like a ranger, in well-worn leathers.

"Have you gone blind, Nate? A dwarf, I'd say." Another female voice, this one belonging to a tiny, dark-haired woman with a tattooed face and a bright smile. "And as fine a specimen as I have ever seen, I may add."

"Well, you're the expert on that, Sigrun." The man called Nate lowered his bow and smiled at him. "How are you feeling, stranger? Well enough to talk?"

Thorin nodded. The wizard - for such the young blond man had to be - helped him to sit up straight and he looked around for a moment, trying to get his bearings. He seemed to have landed smack in the middle of the strangers' camp. There was a small fire, with a skinned rabbit sizzling on a spit above it, and a number of bedrolls and packs scattered around him. Judging from the position of the sun, it had to be early morning. It had been early afternoon when Gandalf had sent him off. Curious.

He took a grateful sip from the water skin the wizard held up to his lips.

"Careful." The man's voice was full of laughter, and there were tiny wrinkles around his eyes. "You were badly hurt. I'm Anders, by the way."

"You're a wizard." His own voice sounded unfamiliar to him.

"I prefer mage, but essentially you're right." Anders grinned happily. "I've healed most of your wounds, but I need to have another go once we're back to the Keep and I have rested. That was a close call, my friend."

"You must be very powerful. Even though you have no beard." Thorin closed his eyes and ran his hands experimentally over his stomach. The wounds had all but disappeared. Only a few bruises and scratches still bore witness to the spears that had nearly torn him apart.

Anders laughed out loud. "Not so very powerful, no. But I'm okay. And I believe you have enough of a beard for the both of us. Commander!" He turned to face a slim woman who had been cleaning her daggers on the other side of the fire. "I think he's well enough to tell you where he came from now."

"Thank you, Anders." The woman got up and walked over to them.

She was human, very pretty with reddish blond hair and blue-green eyes. She too was wearing what looked to be hunting leathers. Thorin wrinkled his nose in confusion. A shield-maiden, like the Rohirrim were rumoured to have? A fighter in any case - the way she handled her daggers left no doubt that she knew how to use them.

Now she knelt down in front of him and looked at him searchingly. "Who are you, stranger? And why did you suddenly turn up in our camp?"

He sighed. "I am Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under-" He broke off, remembering Gandalf's parting words. "I am Thorin. A wizard sent me here."

"A wizard?" The woman raised an expressive eyebrow. "Of course. A wizard did it." She sighed. "I am Megan Cousland, Commander of the Grey and Arlessa of Amaranthine. Whoever you are, we will take you to the Keep with us. You need further healing."

Thorin nodded. "I will come in peace and follow your lead. You have my word of honour."

The tiny woman - Sigrun - rolled her eyes. "Oh my. You're a noble, aren't you? All honourable and haughty. Ah well. You should get along great with Nate and the Commander."

"Shut up, Sigrun." The man called Nate boxed her lightly on the upper arm. "We're all Wardens here. And who knows, maybe Thorin here will join us. He doesn't seem to have another place where he needs to be right now."


They gathered their belongings and set off toward Vigil's Keep. Sigrun eyed the stranger from the side. She hadn't been kidding when she had pronounced him to be one of the finest men of her kind she'd ever seen. He was tall for a dwarf, and powerfully built. An axe-fighter, if I'm not mistaken. His hair and beard were long, dark and silky, with a few strands of grey that only served to make him look more interesting. His eyes were a bright blue, clear and expressive under dark brows.

He had no armour or weapons and was wearing only leather leggings and a torn shirt. Through the gaps in the fabric she could make out glimpses of tattoos on his strong forearms and dark curls covering his chest. Very fine indeed. It had been a long time since she had thought of any man or dwarf in those terms. Oghren's drunken advances had never appealed to her, and most of the human men in the Keep kept their attention firmly focussed on the Commander. Well, that was hardly surprising. Megan was lovely, and Sigrun was well aware that her own charms couldn't compete.

Anyway, she had said goodbye to all this romantic foolishness when she'd joined the Legion of the Dead. Besides, this Thorin might be stunningly handsome, but he also seemed a little stern for her taste, and confident to the point of arrogance. What had he said, something about being "king under somewhere"? She shook her head. Bhelen Aeducan was king in Orzammar, and there were no other dwarven kingdoms she was aware of.

Fortunately, they had been on their way back from their patrol of the Deep Roads when he turned up, and not even a full day's march from Vigil's Keep. They arrived at the fortress in the afternoon, just in time for a scrumptious meal in the large, airy kitchen. Thorin joined them at the table, tucking in with as good an appetite as any of them. Which was impressive, considering that they were all Wardens.

After the meal, Nathaniel and Anders took him off to the communal baths. Sigrun couldn't quite suppress a gasp when she saw him emerge from the steaming bath chamber, his skin well-scrubbed and rosy, wearing only a towel around his hips. A pity he had to get dressed, really.


Thorin kept his eyes open while he was led around the keep. Despite himself, he was impressed. The massive walls looked to be dwarven stonework, built from good, solid granite. Most of the fortress was ancient, yet the room he was shown to was surprisingly comfortable, with a large four poster bed, a fire burning merrily in the hearth and a woolly rug on the stone floor.

Anders followed him into the room and bid him lay down on the bed. "One last round of healing, then you should rest a little. You can join us later in the Great Hall. Do you think you can find your way there by yourself?"

Thorin nodded his assent, while the wizard - no, mage - performed another healing on him. This time, the last vestiges of pain disappeared. The remaining bruises were almost too faint to make out. He shook his head in wonder.

Anders smiled. "There. You're as good as new. See you later. There'll be ale and music, I promise."

The mage left and Thorin lay back on the bed, staring at the canopy. The strangers had been incredibly kind and generous to him so far. Here he was, clean, hale and well-fed, with an evening of song and cheer to look forward to. It seemed like a dream. Why had Gandalf sent him here? Why him? With a pang, he remembered Fili and Kili, his nephews, slain on the battlefield while trying to protect him with their shields. They had been young and merry. They should have lived, not him. But who could understand the affairs of wizards?

Thorin rested for a while, content to have some time to think and recover. When he decided that enough time had passed, he rose and got dressed.

Nathaniel had handed him a shirt and leather pants from a large chest. "Tomorrow we will see if we have any armour that fits you. And you'll need a weapon too."

Thorin made his way down the stairs, following the noise of laughter and music until he reached the Great Hall. All his new acquaintances were assembled around the large fireplace, and there were some others he hadn't met yet. Another dwarf, he noticed, with fiery red hair and already well into his cups. And a tall blond woman with pointed ears. An elf!

Anders spotted him and waved him over to their table, putting a large tankard of ale into his hand. "Thorin! Come here. We're trying to persuade Velanna here to play the harp for us, but she refuses. A pity, really."

"I can play." He almost bit his lip, when he realized that he had said it aloud, but it was too late.

With a huge grin, Anders handed him the instrument. It was a tad unfamiliar, the strings tuned differently than he was used to, but with a little tweaking it soon responded to his hands. The others listened attentively, their faces flushed from the ale and the warmth of the fire.

"Play us a song." That was Sigrun, the dwarven woman. "A tune from home. Where you come from."

He hesitated, but then his fingers found the strings and he launched into a merry drinking song. By the time he was finished, most of them had joined in the chorus.

Nathaniel gave him a friendly slap on the back. "That was a good song. And you have a fine voice, my friend. You should be a bard."

The others chimed in, congratulating him on his singing and demanding more, all except for Sigrun who kept to the back, watching him all the time with those beautiful, bright blue eyes. He wondered why her face was so heavily tattooed. It wasn't unattractive, far from that, but it was unlike any pattern he had ever seen. She had a lovely body, too, trim and taut, with wide hips and...

Thorin checked himself, surprised at his own thoughts. The last time he had felt such a rush of interest when looking at a woman had been ages ago, back before the Lonely Mountain fell. He still remembered her, the pretty maiden his father had wanted him to wed. She'd been nothing like Sigrun, of course. Since then, he had found the occasional wench willing to warm his bed, but none of them had ever touched his heart. There had always been other things on his mind, important things, great deeds to be done, vengeance to be sought. Little time for pleasure, no time at all for love.

As if she had heard his thoughts, Sigrun raised her head and met his gaze. Thorin swallowed hard. Those cool blue eyes carried enough heat to light a fire deep in his groin. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to get rid of all the others, to have her to himself, up in his room with the large, comfortable bed. A small smile played around her lips and he blushed, wondering how much of this had shown on his face. When he raised his voice again, he intoned an old love song he had learned in the Blue Mountains.

"My love is so fair, the loveliest rose,
She stole my heart from right under my nose
Far softer than silk, far sweeter than honey,
I would not part with her for land or for money..."

The Wardens listened in rapt attention to the ballad. Nathaniel's arm had found its way around Megan's shoulders and she whispered something in his ear, her hand drawing tiny circles on his leather-clad thigh. Thorin kept his gaze on Sigrun, though. Was that a hint of a blush on her face? He took a deep breath as the last verse started.

"All through the night we made love in the field
Our passionate kisses by darkness concealed.
I'm hers now forever, my heart bound in chains
yet such a sweet bondage, I'll never complain."

When the song ended, the Commander jumped to her feet with a grin, reaching out to take Nathaniel's hand. "That was lovely, Thorin. Quite... inspiring. I think we will retire now."

She left the room, her hips swinging seductively and Nathaniel followed her, a sly smile on his face. So that's the way it is. Thorin took a deep swig of ale. It seemed that in this world no one cared much for betrothals or promises. It seemed indeed a merrier place than the one he had left behind.

Slowly he rose as well, putting aside the harp and stretching to work the kinks out of his back. "I think I'll go back to my room as well. Thank you all for your kind welcome."

He gave a small nod in Sigrun's direction, and this time there was no mistaking the smile on her face. Thorin set out for his room, but his heart beat faster. He definitely wouldn't lock his door tonight.


Sigrun watched him go, enjoying the tingling feeling in her stomach. Maker, that voice! So deep and silky, warm and full, yet rough at the edges. It made her shiver, made her press her thighs together to contain the heat blossoming between them. And the way he'd looked at her just then... He wanted her. And he was used to getting what he wanted, she could tell. But was she ready to give it to him?

She rose with a sigh, suppressing a shudder when her shirt brushed against her hard nipples. Who are you kidding, salroka? She hadn't been so worked-up in a very long time, and he hadn't done more than look at her. Why shouldn't she join him in his room? True, he was a stranger, but she didn't doubt he was as honourable as they got. Probably a lot more than she was. A grin spread over her face as she imagined him in Dust Town, among her old gang. They'd fleece him within moments and probably leave him naked on the Shaperate's doorsteps.

A few steps took her right outside his door. The tingling in her stomach intensified and she took a deep breath. Time to take the leap. She raised her chin in determination and pushed down the handle.

Thorin was leaning against the mantelpiece, staring into the flames. He was shirtless again, and Sigrun almost moaned aloud at the sheer sight of him. Maker, those arms! And the wide expanse of his chest, covered in fine black curls, his trim, taut stomach, the fine trail of hair leading deeper, disappearing into the waistline of his pants... Closing the door behind her, she leant back against the rough wood, devouring him with her eyes.

He looked up and a small smile spread over his face. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

He straightened up to his full height and came toward her, his eyes taking in her whole body, making her blush self-consciously.

"Neither was I, to be honest." Her voice was a little shaky.

Thorin stopped right in front of her, trailing a calloused finger down her cheek and jaw, taking hold of her chin and raising her mouth to his.

"I'm glad you did." It was a mere whisper before his lips brushed against hers.

Sigrun closed her eyes and gave herself up to the feel of his mouth on hers, his tongue parting her lips, his hands on her hips, pulling her closer to him, so close she could feel how affected he already was by her touch. She moaned into his mouth, her arms snaking around his neck, drawing him in deeper, drowning in his kiss. Again and again he kissed her, pausing only briefly for breath, his hands wandering up her back, under her tunic, caressing her soft skin with feather light touches.

When he finally let go, his eyes were dark with desire. "Are you sure?"

Thorin was so tense with expectation that she wondered briefly if he would be able to stop if she said no. But then she didn't want to. All she wanted was for him to continue touching her.

"I'm sure. Please don't stop." She put a trembling finger to his lips and he caught it, sucking hard on it, his eyes gleaming in the firelight.

His strong hands closed firmly around her waist, and then he was picking her up, and taking her over to the bed in two long, sure strides. He put her down on the sheets with a low growl, stepping back to unlace his pants, groaning with relief when they came off. She had felt his hardness against her belly, but her eyes widened when she saw him exposed, so eager for her, so ready to take her.

Sigrun reached for the hem of her tunic and slowly pulled it up. His eyes were so hot she could almost feel them on her skin, alighting on each exposed patch with a furious greed. When the garment came off and her hands moved down to the laces of her pants, he was done with watching. Suddenly he was on top of her, his mouth hot against her breasts, latching onto a nipple with abandonment, while his hands made short work of the laces, pushing the fabric down, lingering lovingly on her full hips.

She almost forgot how to breathe when one of his hands found its way between her thighs, tearing off her smalls, brushing against her heated core with a gentle, yet assured touch.

"Oh Maker, more." Sigrun pushed herself against his hand, and he opened her up, sliding a long, deft finger deep inside her, making her keen with delight.

She was wet for him, wet and ready to beg, and she wondered how much longer he could keep this up. Her nimble fingers danced between them, taking hold of his length, gripping him firmly. He gasped at this, thrusting involuntarily into her hand before taking hold of her wrist and pushing her down into the sheets, spreading her legs wide.

"Please." She wanted him so badly, wanted him inside her, now.

Thorin was careful at first, letting her guide him where she wanted him, propped up above her on those muscular arms to keep his weight off her. But as soon as he had slid all the way home, his head flew back, his face scrunched up in intense concentration. For a few breaths, he held still, and she was thankful for the chance to get used to his size. She almost didn't want him to move, wanted to enjoy the amazing feeling of fullness a little longer, yet when he finally pulled back, she met his thrusts eagerly.

Sigrun kept her eyes wide open, unable to get enough of the sight of him moving on top of her, firm muscles playing under smooth skin, the long locks of his hair tickling against her breasts. His movements were so graceful, so controlled. She dug her heels deep into his lower back, arching against him, revelling in his long, sure strokes. And yet she wanted to break that control, she wanted him to give in to the rush she could feel building inside him.

"Thorin." She touched his cheek and he stopped moving, a question in his eyes. "Wait."

She pushed him back a little further, then wriggled gracefully around until she had her back to him and pushed herself up on her knees, holding on to the headboard for balance. His hands were on her hips again before she knew it and he was pushing inside her from behind, moaning deep in his throat. His thrusts were sharper and jerkier now, no longer as smooth and restrained. She could feel his grip tighten on her, feel his large hands grabbing her buttocks and squeezing them hard. He was close now, she was sure of it, and so was she.

He stopped, pulling her up into his arms so her body was pressed tightly against his, while his fingers reached between her legs, finding the right spot with unerring certitude. She came with a single hoarse shout, shuddering against him. He let go of her again and finished with a few brief strokes, deep inside her. Slowly she slid downwards until she lay face down on the bed, shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure.

"Give me a moment," she panted. "I don't think I can get up just yet."

"Then don't." He flipped her over easily and pulled her close to his chest, humming appreciatively when she wove her fingers into the dark curls there. "Stay with me for a while. The night is warmer when you're not alone."

"Very true." She yawned contentedly and snuggled up against him.

Together they drifted off to sleep.


This story is a gift for my wonderful friend guylty who was complaining about the lack of Thorin smut... And as she is such an accomplished flatterer, there'll be more of this soon.
Hugs and thanks to heretherebdragons who agreed to beta it for me and whose suggestions are so very helpful!