Disclaimer: All characters belong to JRR Tolkein. I won't apologize for the debauchery that might ensue regarding Thorin, but I will do my best to uphold the merit of the character, as well as all of the others. This fic will float back and forth between book and movie facts, for the sake of the plot. Enjoy!
When I wake up, my first thought is of the crazy dream I'd had last night. My second is that I need to skip the late night snacks. Apparently mini corndogs caused super realistic dreams of bearded wizards from movies bursting into my bedroom and waking me up with demands to get dressed and go with him. I roll over and breathe deeply. I can't smell the lavender and orange oil I diffused through the night, and instead my nose is filled with an old, musty smell. I wrinkle it, and groan.
"I don't want to wash the sheets," I whine, finally open my eyes… to a ceiling that isn't mine.
I bolt up, the scratchy blanket covering my chest falling to pool in my lap. I look around the room, taking in the modest, rickety furnishings. They're sparse, just the bed I'm on, a wardrobe against the far wall and a small table and chair shoved in the corner. I recognize the bag my sister bought me in India last summer. I vaguely remember stuffing it full of random things in my dream-that-may-not-have-been-a-dream.
Just as I'm beginning to panic, the door opens. I shoot out of the bed and into the corner of the room. I barely register that I'm only in my ratty old NYPD shirt as the wizard from my dream-that-may-not-have-been-a-dream walks into the room, his hat off but head bowed low. He has a plate with bread and cheese in one hand and a mug of something in the other.
He spots me in the corner and smiles as he kicks the door closed.
"Oh, good. You're awake," he says. I watch with wide eyes as he walks over to the table and sets down the plate and flagon.
"I thought you might prefer mead over ale, but I can get you something else if you'd like," he says, looking back up at me. I can't move, and he seems to know because he takes a seat at the foot of the bed and looks at me kindly.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he says, and his voice is incredibly reassuring. A sort of warmth flows over me, and my heart stops pounding. I take a deep breath, realizing it's the first one I've taken in a while. He speaks again as I sink onto the bed text to him.
"My name is-" he starts, but I interrupt him.
"Gandalf."
He smiles warmly at me. "I'm glad you remember. What else do you remember?"
I look away, closing my eyes tight. With a little concentration, it all comes back fairly easily.
"I was asleep and you came into my room. I didn't think it was real, because you're not real. You're just a character in a book. But you are real, and you told me to pack a bag and come with you, that I was needed, because I'm a…"
My eyes snap open at the thought of the word he used, and I realize that's why I came with him.
"You called me a seer…" I whisper, and his face hardens.
"Yes, Cassandra. You're a seer," he says, and puts a hand on my knee. I want so badly to ask him what he means, but my stomach growls and I realize I'm starving.
"Eat," Gandalf instructs, motioning to the small table. "I need to go run an errand. I'll be back shortly."
I nod and he leaves. As soon as the door closes, I move to the table and eat. The bread is fresh and still slightly warm, and the cheese is mild and creamy. I don't even mind the mead, which I've never had. It's sweet, and has a beer-like taste. I decide I like it. Gandalf still hasn't returned by the time I've finished, so I pick up the bag. It's blue and gold, with an ornate design on it. A line of elephants marches around the center of it.
Inside I find an odd assortment of feminine products, a few bras and underwear, money (which I'm sure wouldn't be of much value here), jewelry (all costume, save for the gold diamond ring from my great-grandmother), and, most happily, my MP3 player and speaker. In my excitement I decide I really need to straighten out my priorities. I decide that I shouldn't waste the battery on my MP3 player, so I carefully tuck everything back inside.
I look around, realizing that I'm bored, and spot the window. I walk over to it and peek out behind the curtain. People watching has always been entertaining to me, and I'm not disappointed this morning. I have a good view of the road, and it's busy.
There's a line of ponies tied up in front of the Inn, which I can see is the Prancing Pony. People walk up and down the street, and I realize that "people" is a relative term here; from my untrained eye, I guess that most of them are, in fact, human. It's hard to distinguish men from dwarves at this angle, but I spot someone who I know is a dwarf.
Thorin Oakensheild is in front of the Inn, talking heatedly with a man. He uses his arms, motioning wildly. I can hear him yelling, though I can't make out what he's saying. I almost wonder if he's not speaking English. The argument ends, and the man leaves in a huff. I watch as Thorin shakes his head and glares at his back. Suddenly he looks up, as if he knows I'm watching. He catches my eye and, unlike Gandalf, his glare only hardens. I want so badly to look away, but I can't.
I recognize Gandalf, and see that he has several packages in his arms. He exchanges words with Thorin, just as heated as the first conversation. Thorin gestures towards me several times. In the end, Gandalf shakes his head and walks away from the dwarf, making his way into the inn. Thorin sends me one last smoldering glare and I step back, letting the curtain fall.
I sit on the edge of the bed, wondering why Thorin is so angry at me, especially when I've never even met him. I don't have long to worry, though, as there's a light knock on the door. I assume it's Gandalf, so I call for him to come in.
I watch as he drops the packages he's holding at the foot of the bed. "I've gotten you some clothes," he says. "I wasn't sure of what you'd prefer, but trousers are always the best bet for riding. There are riding boots and a cloak, and a belt. I'll leave you to look through them."
Before I can thank him, he walks out. I attribute his shortness to the argument outside, and go about unwrapping the packages. Inside I find five shirts, three pairs of trousers, a belt, several pairs of socks, and one heavy fur-lined cloak.
I lay them all out, noticing that Gandalf chose tops in the same colors I probably would have: white, cranberry, evergreen, black, and a deep sandy beige. I hold one up and guess it will look like a peasant top when I'm wearing it. I change quickly, thankful that I wore waist trainers at home since the belt was thick enough to be more of a corset. I was right about the top, and liked the loose sleeves and wide open collar. I wasn't exactly flat chested, and tended to get hot if my chest was covered. I finished the ensemble with the boots (which fit perfectly), and opened the wardrobe to see if there was a mirror. There wasn't, so I made do with what I could see.
My hair, which had a wicked wild side, was in a mess on my head. I fluffed the curls with my fingers, and decide that I can pull off a rat's nest look here. I turn, rifling through the clothes and paper on the bed. I find a bag that Gandalf had also gotten for me, and I carefully fold and put everything in it. There's another knock on the door.
Gandalf enters a third time, staff in one hand and hat in the other. "Good, you're packed. We must take our leave now," he says. He still sounds annoyed, though not as much now. I nod, grabbing both bags and taking a look around the room. I know I'm not leaving anything since I don't have much to begin with. I nod to no one and follow Gandalf out of the small room and into the world.
I'd always loved horses, so I was in all my glory as Gandalf and I travelled to the Shire. He'd gotten me a horse back in Bree, a pinto with kind eyes and a mild temperament. And an affinity for the bushes along the path. As she walks, she occasionally grabs at branches that stick out, stripping the leaves from them. It makes Gandalf and I chuckle.
We talk during the ride, me telling him stories of my world, him telling me stories of his. I still hardly believe I'm here and part of me thinks I'm still dreaming. Another part of me knows this is real. The way the air smells, the sounds as we travel along the path, the feeling of the breeze- I know they're all real.
"Cassandra?"
I look over at Gandalf and raise my eyebrows. "I'm sorry?" I say, and Gandalf sighs.
"I asked if you would like to accompany me to our burglar's home, or if you would rather stay at the Green Dragon Inn until I come to get you," he says. I ponder it for a moment, and decide on the Inn. I'd like to see it.
"I'll stay at the Inn," I answer, and Gandalf nods. "Right. We'll be there in a few minutes."
I spend what feels like hours in the Green Dragon. I sip at a cool, crisp ale and watch the Hobbits scattered throughout the room from a table in the corner. They're rather fun to watch, and their laughs are incredibly contagious. I have to hold my own in several times.
Gandalf told me that I would know when it was time to meet him, and paid the barkeep enough to cover my dinner and drink until then. It's just after dark when I feel it, a gentle nudge. To be completely honest, I'm mostly relieved. I'd spent the last few hours wondering what would happen if I didn't know, and I just sat here all night. I'm also starting to get stir-crazy and it felt good to stand and stretch.
I shrug on my cloak and walk to the door. The barkeep calls goodnight and I turn and smile, wishing him a goodnight, too. When I walk outside its cool, and I breath in the clean air. I can feel it fill my lungs and I visualize all of the impurities I'd ever breathed in leaving them as I exhale.
"I should have figured as much."
I turn at the words, recognizing the voice instantly. Thorin stands a few yards from me, leaning against a fence post. I don't need any more light than that from the windows to see his look of annoyance. I try not to take it personally (though I know I probably should). I watch him turn and take a few steps, then stop and look at me again.
"Well? Are you coming, or would you like to stay there all night?" he barks, and I try not to glare. I walk to him, and he resumes his path. He walks quickly, and his gait is heavy. I can't see him as well now, just the light from the stars and moon lighting our path. It's a cloudy night, so the light is muted. No words are exchanged until he takes a right when I somehow know it's a left.
"It's this way," I say, and he turns and glares.
"What?"
I stop and look at him, pointing. "It's this way."
His glare sharpens. "Should have guessed as much, for a witch," he mutters, but brushes past me. The words knock the wind out of me.
"Excuse me?" I say, coming up behind him. He doesn't stop, so I grab at his cloak. He turns quickly, and I'm surprised to see he's several inches taller than me.
"I said 'should have guessed as much, for a witch'," he says slowly, as if I'm a toddler. My cheeks flush at his patronizing tone.
"I'm not a witch," I say, my voice low. I curse myself for the sting in my eyes. I cry when I'm angry, and it infuriates me. He scoffs, and I almost want to hit him.
"Witches, seers, soothsayers… you're all the same. Making your wares on the stupidity of those who believe in your words. You will not trick me into believing you have seen my fate, and the attempts of Gandalf the Grey will never change my mind," he growls, and I clench my fists. So, Thorin Oakensheild really doesn't trust anyone. He's also an infuriating douchewad. Part of me is surprised by my anger towards him; when I'd seen him on screen I'd always understood why he was the way he was. It helped me to forgive him. I guess that changed the moment I became the target of his anger and mistrust.
"Fine," I say, then curse myself at being horrible with words. A look of vague triumph flicks across his face before he turns away and returns to his quick, heavy gait. I follow him, by face and neck burning. I try to come up with things to say to him, ways to change his mind, but it all sounds stupid in my head.
How could I tell him that I know because I've seen it, not in my mind's eye, but on a screen, along with millions of people worldwide? How can I tell him that legions of people know his story because he's a character in a book? How can I tell him that I know he'll die because I've wept in my bed watching someone who isn't him act it out?
My thoughts are interrupted by the slamming of a gate, and I look up to see that we've made it to Bag End. I push the gate open and follow Thorin up the steps. I glance to the window and see light inside, and then movement as Thorin bangs on the door. I stand a step behind him and he looks at me, his glare strong enough to burn holes. I find myself glaring right back, glad for once that it was a talent I possessed. Resting bitch face might finally come in handy.
The door opens and we both turn our attention towards it, and the tall wizard who is standing in its path.
"Gandalf," Thorin says, then starts to walk inside. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice."
I follow Thorin in, making eye contact with the dwarves crowding the doorway. I recognize Dwalin immediately. I unfasten my cloak as Thorin continues.
"I wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door."
I pause, glaring at his back as he pulls off his own cloak. "And the help of a witch," I say sarcastically. He ignores me, but Gandalf glances between us, concern creasing his brow.
"Mark? There's no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago!"
Bilbo Baggins enters the room, and I'm once again to see that the height difference is not at all what I expected. Bilbo's head comes to my shoulders. I can feel my anger starting to give way to nerves when Gandalf closes the door.
"There is a mark," he says, looking at Bilbo. "I put it there myself."
He pauses, taking a breath before holding his hands out. "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company: Thorin Oakensheild." I resist the urge to roll my eyes when Thorin's chest puffs. Typical entitled alpha-male, I think.
"So…" he says, taking a step towards Bilbo and looking down his nose at him. "This is the Hobbit. Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?" Thorin circles Bilbo like a shark, and I know he only does it to assert his authority.
"Pardon me?" Bilbo asks, worried.
"Ax or sword? What's your weapon of choice?" Thorin presses. I can tell he knows the answer and is just playing with Bilbo. It makes me want to hit him even more.
Bilbo nods his head and says with a hint of pride, "Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know…" Thorin stops when he's in front of him and crosses his arms over his chest. I see Bilbo stand a little taller. "But I fail to see why that's relevant."
Thorin smirks. "Thought as much." He looks back at the crowd of dwarves behind him. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar," he says, and I hear the dwarves laugh. He looks briefly at me and I glare. I'm relieved when he walks away, and I realize my hands are shaking. Gandalf looks at his back and gives me an exasperated look.
"Bilbo Baggins, this is Cassandra," he finally says. The Hobbit looks at me warily, as if I might offer him insults as well. Instead, I smile at him. He gives a half bow, and asks if I'm Thorin's wife. I snort.
"God, no," I say. At the moment, I'm surprised that less than 24 hours ago I would have considered ever speaking to him civilly, let alone do all the things to his body I'd wanted to. I feel a fresh blush come to my cheeks.
Gandalf gently guides us into the kitchen. The dwarves are seated and I look around the table, but find no empty chairs. Dwalin presumably sees my search because he stands, offering me his chair with a wave of his hand. I can see the rest of the Dwarves eyeing me with various expressions. Some match Thorin's. Some, like Ori, show fear. Fili and Kili stare at me like I'm some exotic animal. The rest look at me with indifference. Dwalin nods when I thank him, and I'm glad to see that they don't all hate me.
A bowl of stew is set down in front of me and my stomach turns- all of the anger has left it sour. Instead, I turn my attention to Balin.
"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?"
Thorin nods and looks around the table. "Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms," he answers. All of the dwarves exchange happy replies. Dwalin leans closer to me to see Thorin clearly. "And what did the Dwarves of the Iron Hills say?" he asks. Thorin takes another swallow of stew as Dwalin watches him expectantly. "Is Dain with us?"
Thorin's face changes, and his eyes fall on mine. The look in them pierces through the anger for a moment, and I almost reach out to touch his hand. I don't.
"They will not come," he answers quietly, looking at the table. My anger ebbs a little more. This is my first glimpse at the real Thorin, the one who wants nothing more than to take his brothers home.
The Dwarves murmur as he continues, and I glance around. They all have varying emotions playing on their faces, but the overwhelming one is sadness.
"They say this quest is ours and ours alone."
Thorin meets my gaze one more time as he picks up his tankard of ale. I realize I don't have one, and wish I did. Somehow I'd become a borderline alcoholic in 12 hours. I guess that's what happens when you have mead for breakfast. Suddenly, Bilbo appears on Gandalf's other side.
"You're going on a quest?" he asks. I nearly laugh. I almost answer with "Yeah, genius, we all are" but I hold my tongue. Instead, Gandalf speaks for me.
"Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light."
Bilbo ducks out of the room as Gandalf stands, pulling a folded piece of parchment from his robes and continues as he unfolds it. "Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single, solitary peak."
Bilbo returns with a lit candle and leans between Gandalf and Thorin.
"The Lonely Mountain," he reads slowly, and I remember his affinity for maps.
"Aye, Oin has read the portents. And the portents say it is time," Gloin says.
"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold," Oin elaborates. "When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."
An odd tingle flows through the room, and I wonder if Gandalf has anything to do with it. I glance at him as he puffs at his pipe. Again, my eye catches Thorin's and we watch each other. I drown out the conversation around me, focusing on him. The tingle starts again, at the back of my neck this time, and I realize its Thorin, though I don't know how.
It breaks as soon as the argument starts up and Thorin looks away, standing and shouting something in Dwarvish.
"If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them, too?" he asks, his fists clenched on the table top. "Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon, Smaug, has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing… wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others take what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?"
They all cheer, some of them chanting something in Dwarvish. Balin speaks up. "You forget, the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain." The Dwarves all look around at each other, the rallied excitement fading.
"Yes, there is," I say quietly. Everyone looks at me, and even Gandalf seems surprised that I've taken this moment to speak up. Thorin scoffs, and it's my turn to ignore him.
"There's a hidden passage on the side of the mountain," I continue, and Thorin interrupts me.
"A hidden passage that requires a key, one which we don't have," he says, and I'm relieved only to see that there's no smirk playing across his mouth.
"That is not entirely true," Gandalf says suddenly, and I look at him to see he's holding a large key on a leather cord. I hear a few gasps and Thorin looks at it as though he thought it was lost forever. "How came you by this?" he asks softly, his eyes not leaving the key.
"It was given to me by your father. By Thrain, for safekeeping," Gandalf explains. "It is your now." He passes it to Thorin, and I hear the rustle of fabric as the Dwarves watch the exchange closely. Fili is the first to speak.
"If there is a key… there must be a door," he ponders out loud. I can feel eyes on me. Balin stares across the table at me, and I swear I can see fondness in his eyes. Gandalf glances at me before pointing at what I recognize as Dwarvish runes written along the edge of the map.
"These runes speak of a hidden passage to the Lower Halls," he says. I hear Kili say softly but happily "There's another way in." Everyone glances at him and Gandalf answers.
"Well, if we can find it, but Dwarf doors are invisible when closed." He sighs, looking around. "The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map… and I do not have the skills to find it."
I feel eyes turn to me and I look up. "What about the lass? She's a seer, is she not? She can tell us where it's hidden!" Dwalin says. Gandalf shakes his head, saving me.
"That is not why she is here, Dwalin. It is not yet time for her to play her part." I look at Gandalf, and suddenly wonder what exactly he means by that. "But," he says, his tone picking up. "There are others in Middle Earth who can find it. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage." He looks pointedly at Bilbo.
"But if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."
"That's why we need a burglar," Ori says. Bilbo agrees with a hum. "And a good one, too. An expert, I'd imagine." Gloin looks at him. "And are you?"
Bilbo looks around, his thumbs hooked in his suspenders. Poor Hobbit. He really has no chance at all. "Am I what?" he asks.
Oin, who's hearing is rubbish, says "He said he's an expert, hey!" rather excitedly and the rest of the Dwarves chime in with equal excitement. Suddenly Bilbo realizes what's going on.
"Me? No. No, no, no. I'm not a burglar. I've never stolen a thing in my life."
"Well, I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins," Balin says, looking between Gandalf and I. "He's hardly burglar material." Bilbo agrees with a quick "Nope".
I feel Dwalin lean in behind me. "Aye, the Wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves," he says. The words sting a little, especially since Thorin looks at me when they're said. It's rather obvious that Gandalf told him where I'm from and that I am no warrior. I've never held a sword in my life.
The arguing starts up again, some of them saying Bilbo will be fine, others disagreeing loudly. I feel the cold first, and then Gandalf rises behind me. I find myself wanting to cower. "Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, than a burglar he is. Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most, if they choose. And, while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of Dwarf, the scent of a Hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage."
Gandalf sinks into his seat again and looks at Thorin. "You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company and I have chosen Mr. Baggins. There's a lot more to him that appearances suggest. And he's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know… including himself."
He looks at Bilbo at these last words, and I can see that, through the terror in his eyes, the Hobbit is touched slightly by his words. Gandalf leans closer to Thorin.
"You must trust me on this."
The Dwarven king looks at him for a moment, his mouth opening. "Very well," he finally says. "We will do it your way."
Bilbo is disagreeing, but Thorin ignores him. "Give him the contract."
"We're in. We're off!" exclaims Bofur as Balin leans forward to hand Bilbo the contract. He takes it, even as the words "funeral arrangements" leaves Balin's mouth, and begins reading.
Thorin rises and leans close to Gandalf. "I cannot guarantee his safety," he says, his voice low. He glances at me. "Nor hers," he adds. I can hear the distaste in his tone. I narrow my gaze at him, my famous stank-eye returning.
"Understood," Gandalf says simply.
"Nor will I be responsible for their fates," Thorin presses. I want nothing more than to hit him in his stupidly attractive face. "Agreed," Gandalf mutters, then he looks at me. His pat on my knee is hardly reassuring.
I can hear Bilbo reading aloud, but I don't pay any attention. Everything has just started to feel truly real and I realized that this is it. I was actually going to The Lonely Mountain, and I would face everything in between here and there. It was terrifying. And, if I made it out alive, where would I go? Would I stay in Erebor, maybe make a home in Dale? Thorin clearly hates me, so I assume that isn't really an option. Would I have to go find somewhere else to live? I start to panic a little.
I'm brought back to the present when I hear Bofur talking of the dragon.
"Aye. He'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye," he says, looking at Bilbo. Bilbo whimpers softly, looking as though he might pass out. Balin asks if he's alright and Bilbo lets out a weak "yeah, feel a bit faint". I know how he feels.
"Think furnace with wings," Bofur continues. "Flash of light, searing pain, the poof. You're nothing more than a pile of ash."
I look at Bilbo, whose face is pale, and lean forward a bit. "Someone might want to catch him," I say, and Thorin looks at me. There's a thud, and Bilbo is lying on the floor, contract still in his hand. Thorin's gaze hardens and I raise an eyebrow at him. Fine. If the Dwarf wants me to prove myself, I will. Starting with proving that I know what the hell I'm talking about.
I fully intend to wait patiently for Bilbo to find the Dwarves places to sleep, mainly because I'm hoping when he gets to me he'll say there's no more room and I'll have to go back to the Green Dragon. The tension is almost unbearable.
This doesn't happen, though. Thorin stands and announces I'll be staying in the same room as him.
"I want to keep an eye on the witch," he explains, and I'm too shocked to glare. I figured he would want to be as far away from him as possible. I start to protest, the anger from earlier seeping back into my veins and waking me up faster than any cup of coffee. Gandalf puts a hand on my knee and I look at him.
"Let him have his way for this one night. It might make him more comfortable with heeding your council," he says softly, then nods to Bilbo. I stand and send Gandalf one last reproachful look before following Thorin, feeling like cattle being led to slaughter.
The room Bilbo shows us is comfortable, and if not for the grouchy Dwarf who would be sharing it with me, I would find its homey furnishings warm and relaxing. Right now it feels like a prison cell.
I thank Bilbo and bid him goodnight (Thorin says nothing) and he closes the door softly. It feels as though he took all of the air in the room with him.
"So who gets the bed?" I finally ask, looking between Thorin and the piece of furniture in question. It looks like it would fit both of us, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to share a bed with him. I can almost guarantee he doesn't want to share one with me.
Thorin looks at me as if I'd asked if the sky is blue. "Is there even a question?" he grumbles. I'm only sure of what he means when he pulls off his belt and tosses it on the bed, turning his back to me. I stare at him in shock.
"Seriously?" I say in complete disbelief. He pulls off his coat, then looks at me again, an eyebrow raised.
"Surely you saw this, witch. Or have you been playing games with my brothers and I?"
"I'm not a witch!" I snap. I wouldn't be so offended at the word if he didn't spit it, like it was something vile, synonymous with whore. It makes my insides burn.
He doesn't reply, only turns away from me. He pulls off his shirt and my eyes can't help but be drawn to the scars peppered across his back. He must feel my stare because he turns. My eyes snap to his, but not fast enough. I see his smirk and I want to smack it off his face. Instead I roll my eyes and walk around the other side of the bed. I grab a pillow and the blanket at the foot of it before stomping over to the corner where a chair waits.
It's silent as we both remove our boots and I my bra. I find I don't care that he watches me. If he wants to see, fine. He climbs into the bed and I glare at him as I sit and pull the blanket up over myself, propping the pillow between my shoulder and the wall. He blows out the lone candle in the corner of the room and rolls over without a word.
I only last about two minutes. The pillow keeps slipping, and when I get it situated the blanket slips, and I'm starting to get a cramp in my neck. Throw in the light snores coming from the bed where Thorin is sleeping comfortably and I snap.
"This is ridiculous," I mutter. I stand, tossing the blanket aside as I shimmy out of my trousers. I grab the pillow and quickly pad over to the bed. There's a snort and a grunt as I yank back the covers.
"Move," I demand. I can see Thorin blinking at me and I feel his anger rising. My own flares and I'm sick of it. "I'm not sleeping in a fucking chair. Move over or I'll make you," I hiss. Whether because of his exhaustion or being in shock from being bossed around, he slides over just enough for me to slide in next to him.
The heat emanating off of him shocks me, but I hold my tongue. He's a living furnace. I stuff the pillow under my head and close my eyes. I can feel him beside me, muscles still tense. Finally he settles, rolling so his back is to mine. I can feel a foot bump mine under the covers. It draws back quickly and that's the last thing I remember before I fall asleep.
When I wake up I'm insanely comfortable. It's warm and soft and there's a solid weight pressed up against my back. It takes me a moment to realize that it's Thorin, and I start to tense.
His face is buried in my curls and I can feel his hot breath at the back of my neck. I slowly become more aware of where he's touching me. One arm is under the pillow beneath my head, and the other is wrapped around my waist. I can feel his hand on my ribs under my shirt, his fingers curled around me. His thumb is tucked in the crease under my breast.
His chest is pressed firmly against my back and I can feel every muscle. His nipples are pebbled against my shoulder blades. The rest of his body follows the curve of mine; I can feel his length against my lower back, soft but still quite large. He has one knee shoves between mine. I can feel his thigh, thick and strong, pressed against me. The twitch I feel is both unwanted and delicious, and I pray to whatever god exists here that he's a deep sleeper.
Suddenly Thorin moans low in his sleep, and I feel him start to stiffen against my back. I close my eyes tightly and swallow my own moan as my body betrays me. I start to moisten and I can feel my muscles flexing in anticipation of sex that isn't coming. Damn, I wish I had been laid recently. Maybe my body wouldn't be so sensitive to the slightest hint of intimacy.
I gasp when Thorin rocks his hips against my back, his thigh pressing sinfully into my folds. I moan as he continues to move against me, burying my face in the pillow. I can feel him thick and pulsing against my back. I'm half way to an orgasm when the hand on my ribs tightens, and I hear Thorin growl into my hair.
"What have you done to me, witch?" he grinds out before rolling onto me. He pins me on my stomach, using the leg between my own to pry my thighs apart. He takes the hand that was under my head and slips it under my hips, tilting them up so he can slot his hot length against me.
"Is this what you want, witch? For me to ravage you, to make you beg for me to be inside you?" He thrusts roughly against me and I cry out, fisting the sheets. "You want me to make you scream as I drive you to completion? To bruise your womb as I spill my seed inside you?"
I find myself letting out a strangled "Yes!" and nearly sobbing when he pulls his hips away from mine. I can feel him freeing himself from his breeches, then his fingers shoving my panties out of the way. His fingers slip between my folds and against my clit and I cry out, pressing back against him.
"I'll teach you to tease me like this, witch," he growls, then slams into me and…
The pillow is pulled out from under my head and the blankets yanked back. I yelp, opening my eyes and blinking against the sunlight.
"It's time to leave. Dress, now. We will not wait for long," Thorin says, dropping the blanket on the floor and walking out of the room.
I sit up slowly, my heart still racing. It all felt so real, and the wet spot between my legs proves it. I curse myself, hoping that I hadn't been talking in my sleep. If he didn't already hate me, he would if he'd known what debauchery I had been dreaming about. I sigh and run a hand over my face, resisting the urge to lower it between my thighs.
"I don't have time," I quietly tell myself. As I grab my clothes I vow to try to sneak off alone later that night, as long as I can keep my mind off of Thorin and his manly male muscles (including the specific one I longed for) for the remainder of the morning.
I laugh, then mutter "Who am I kidding?"