They kissed some more, her small strong hands tangling in his hair, and then he took her beautiful round shoulders in his hands and moved her away from him slightly. Her face was dazed, lips swollen, and she blinked trying to gather her bearing.

"Well, Werna, daughter of Lyr, I am afraid I am now to court you." Her eyebrows hiked up, and her red lips parted slightly. She looked very surprised but not displeased. "We will have to wait for some time to pass since the annulment of your betrothal, but I am prepared to send emissaries to your father."

"I have no father, there are only three aunts and a sigin'amad.* The aunts are all unmarried, the grandmother is a widow." Her nose twitched, and he assumed there was a story attached to it. And then he assumed with her one wouldn't need to ask, she was clearly fond of asserting her point of view on everything. And he was right. "Despite of our noble blood and generous dowries, no one dares to marry them. Women of my clan have temper. One of them propelled a suitor down a coal chute." The King guffawed and lifted her chin with his index finger.

"Have you ever propelled a suitor down a coal chute, Werna, daughter of Lyr?"

"No," she answered and added in a stubborn voice, "But there were… altercations." He chuckled and shook his head, his eyes on the freckles peppering her elegant nose. She stepped back from him and took a deep breath in, calming herself, and consequently agitating some long forgotten sensations in him. She had a glorious opulent bosom, alluringly peaking from the lace of the tunic in the collar of her velvet doublet, her skin radiant and even, ivory and milk opal, and he smirked, internally mocking himself. He was two hundred years old and suddenly found himself incapable of steering his thoughts away from her enticing curves. And just this morning he had thought he knew everything about his life and it lay in front of him, simple and understandable. To be the King, to restore Erebor, to pass his throne to his nephew.

"Will I have to give up my brewery if I accept your courtship, my King?" Her tone was all business, and he felt his brows crawl up. Surely, she was not weighing her family craft against being his Queen! He gave her a disbelieving look over. Apparently she was.

"You will, my lady." She pressed her lips, lost in her thoughts.

"I am the head of my family enterprise, my aunts have little interest in mead making, I have no one to pass my craft and recipes to," her voice was distressed and opinionated, and he didn't know if he should laugh or be angry with her.

"You will have at least two moons before my official courtship starts to decide what you want more, Werna, daughter of Lyr. To be my Queen or make your mead," he felt some sort of merry irritation. On one hand, he was frustrated that she did not seem to acknowledge the honour that marrying him would be, on the other hand, he suddenly felt invigorated by the potential chase and quest that courting her seemed to involve. Perhaps, had she agreed readily he'd almost have been disappointed.

She straightened up her doublet and hid the key to her mead barrel back in the lace of her tunic.

"Send the emissaries to my sigin'amad in two moons, my King. I will have my answer by then," she gave him a little curtsey, he was staring at her in sheer disbelief, and she turned around and marched away through his passages. Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, felt utterly and irrevocably like a blithering idiot. He shook his head again, he expected to do much of that in his future, and went back to his throne room.

Three moons later a pompous procession of matchmakers and marriage emissaries arrived to an opulent house in Iron Hills. Four severe looking red haired Dwarven dames met the guests in a splendid family room, full of extravagant furniture, carpets and tapestries, and the chief matchmaker stood up and read the official proposal of betrothal from Thorin II, called Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, to Werna, daughter of Lyr. According to the traditions, a maid was sent to the inner rooms, and a potential bride came out. She was asked whether she was willing to enter the six moon betrothal with the suitor, and after an appropriate moment of consideration she nodded.

After that the now betrothed maiden returned to her rooms, and before the contract was to be signed, the discussion of terms and conditions started. The emissaries and matchmakers later agreed that these particular negotiations were one of the hardest they had ever had to conduct. The four ladies in the room, three middle aged, astringent and ruthless, and the fourth, deaf but no less opinionated, were adamant to fight over every little detail of the agreement. The discussion lasted for hours, food and drinks were served, one of emissaries had to leave the rooms as he was feeling he was approaching an apoplexy, and finally the quills screeched on the parchment, and Werna, daughter of Lyr became the betrothed of Thorin Oakenshield.

Werna, her aunts, the deaf grandmother and numerous help and servants packed their belongings and travelled to Erebor, to stay with their kin, and to allow the betrothal to pass according to the traditions of the Khazad.

The groom-to-be and the bride-to-be were to meet once each moon and exchange their gifts as well as spend a day in each other's company. The customs were strict and stated precisely what gifts were to be exchanged between the betrothed. Each moon, both of them were to present the other with two items.

Another three moons passed, and on an early morning of a brisk Spring day Thorin Oakenshield stepped into the parlour of the chambers occupied by Werna and her large household in the Northern Halls of Erebor. In his hands he held two parcels, wrapped into lavish silk. His bride-to-be sat on a luxurious settee, her small hands folded on her lap. Near her, on a low stone table encrusted with mother-of-pearls and onyx plates, there were two mahogany boxes, intricately carved and decorated with runes of her clan.

Thorin's eyes merrily ran over his betrothed. Her marvelous hair, his most treasured memory of her appearance, the colour of coppered gold, were in an exquisite do, braids heavy and silky, decorated with gems and silver pins, a few flirtatious curls near her ears, their ends brushing at her long elegant neck. A heavy diamond and pearl necklace lay in the low cut of her sumptuous dress, of dark blue velvet and golden silk, with opulent brocade, best Gondor lace of the undertunic peeking around the cut and openings of her wide bell sleeves, and Thorin met her eyes. The corners of her curved lips were tense, and he realised she was studying him no less attentively than he was scrutinising her.

Six moons had passed since their kiss behind the closed doors to his throne room. Marriage was indeed a rather business like enterprise for the Khazad, but Thorin was two hundred years old and had not been planning to even seek a wife until she stormed into his halls. If he were to marry now, he surely was not intending to do it out of duty. Neither did he want the same from her. He marched through the room, bestowing a chaperone seemingly absorbed into her book in the corner with a short bow, and then he stood in front of his intended and placing his parcels on her table he stretched his hands to her. The delicate turn up nose twitched, she gave him a tense look, and then she tentatively put her small strong hands, they were warm and pleasantly dry, into his palms. And he pulled her up and to his lips.

He heard a small squeak somewhere deep inside her, her lips under his twitched, and he deepened the kiss. She was rigid and wasn't reciprocating, he wrapped his arms around her waist, and he knew that the only reason that he had not yet heard a warning cough from the chaperone was that he was indeed the King. He sampled the taste of the red intoxicating lips of his bride-to-be for another instant and then slightly moved away. Her first line didn't disappoint him.

"You are behaving inappropriately, my lord," her voice was choked, he saw giant black pupils flooding amber coloured irises, and feverish red spots burning on the cheekbones. He thought he rather liked them, and he placed a quick light kiss on the right one.

"I am indeed. But I am afraid there is no one here to stop me," he whispered to her conspiratorially, and she blushed even more furiously. She studied his face some more, he was giving her a small smile, and then she narrowed her eyes.

"I can." Her tone was firm, and he pressed her even closer to him. Her hands were splayed on his chest, and he leaned in and kissed the other cheekbone.

"You can. But will you?" They were whispering to each other, he regretted subjecting the respectable Dwarven dame in the corner to this inappropriate spectacle, but he needed to be sure he was not wrong in his choice.

He wasn't. Werna, daughter of Lyr threw a cautious look at her chaperone, who was industriously staring at the same very page she was supposedly reading since the moment the King came into the room, and then the red haired Dwarven maiden in the arms of the King Under the Mountain took a deep breath in, closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his.

*sigin'amad = (Khuzdul) grandmother

A/N: So, me duckies, since Faire and Square is coming to its end, I came up with another entertainment for us!

PROMPTS! :D

After the fun we had with them in Stealing Thorin's Thunder I think that might also develop into something equally ridiculous :)

So, here is what we are going to do:

Leave an object you think could serve as a good traditional gift between betrothed Dwarves and see Thorin and 'Werna' exchange them. I came up with a brush so far :) Have fun with it :)

Also, you can suggest an activity the betrothed could partake. Please, do not suggest something of the 'parasailing' sorts, poor Dwarves are not good with heights, but don't hold back ;)

Remember we have six days and twelve objects. You can suggest one at a time, but first come, first serve :)

Feel free to leave all sorts of ridiculous ideas as well, maybe a location of a kiss ;) or a specific topic of conversation :D Anything goes!