"I think I deflowered the wrong Dwarf," you are drunk, and that makes you feel very, very sorry for yourself. You are sitting with your elbows on the tavern table, one hand supporting your rather heavy head, another one touching your neck. You cannot stop. The spot on your throat is sensitive, bearing the teeth marks of the King Under the Mountain. Thea flops in front of you with a plate and a mug and inspects you attentively. She is a winegirl, meaning she travels with merchants, works in the canteen, keeps track of supplies and occasionally does laundry. Thea hates laundry and cannot sew a button, but she is vivacious, always cheerful and dotes on the merchants, so she is one of the most popular winegirls. She also has no morality. She chooses a new lover every night and forgets about him in the morning. Thea loves her life. You love Thorin Oakenshield.
"You deflowered the wrong Dwarf," she repeats slowly, and you nod lamentingly. "Did you also walk into the wrong room at night?" You shake you head and then pause, "Also?" "Happens to me a lot," she is thoughtfully chewing a piece of cheese. "All doors in these inns are the same, that nasty brown colour. Sometimes it is a gain though." She scrutinizes your face and notices the mark on the neck. "Oh my, you are not joking. You have actually spent a night with a man." "He is not a Man, he is a glorious, magnificent, voluptuous, ambrosial Dwarf." You haughtily take another sip from your mug and start coughing. Thea shakes her head, "I do not know half of these words, but I reckon it means he was a great shag?" You huff in indignation, "He is so much more than this. Was, was more than this," you drop your head on your arms on the table. "Is he dead?" Now you remember why you are good friends with Thea. For her sensitivity. "No, Maiar forbid. He is in perfect health. I examined him myself," you giggle at your own joke.
"How much ale have you had?" "Three mugs. And no remarks on my size, thank you very much, I can drink you under the table!" The fact that you cannot put your mug on the table without spilling a third of it does not quite substantiate your previous statement. "Aha," Thea moves it away from you and pushes the plate with bread and cheese towards you. "Eat, you need something in your stomach. For when you get sick later." She is so caring. You take a piece of bread and start chewing, eyes pooling with large drunken tears, corners of your mouth mournfully lowered.
"So what was it like?" Genuine curiosity is playing on her face. Many times Thea would mention that she would "go Dwarf" but so far no luck has befallen her. Other women upon hearing that gasp and leave full of resentment. That is how you became friends. When this conversation happened in front of you, you froze and started listening attentively. You were already harbouring a desperate yearning for a certain Dwarf, obviously keeping it to yourself. Thea did not ask, but you understood each other on the nonverbal level. Yes, it was never done, and yes, races just do not mix, but in Thea's words have you seen those arms and shoulders!
Last night you have seen those and so much more. Saw, touched, kissed, licked, sucked… "Oh Maiar, I'm going to be sick!" You grab your head. "Told you you can't drink." "It's not the ale, it's him! I'm ruined!" She stops chewing and look at you with a sincere concern. "Oh girl, don't tell me you were saving yourself!" "What? No! I'm not a maiden." "Oh," she shrugs. "You sure behave like one most of the time. So ruined as in hurt? Tell me, is it the width or length? Or both?" She is really trying to sympathize but her eyes are burning with excited inquisitive light. "No! As in heartbroken! And yes, I'm very sore," you also experience mixed emotions. You want to cry over the impossibility of being with your beloved, and at the same time you want to shout to everyone who would listen that you have fornicated with the Dwarven King ten times in the last twenty four hours.
Two things catch your attention. Firstly, ten? You count again, this time on your fingers. Thea is following your movements with her eyes that are full of keen interest. Yep, ten. You feel impressed and terrified. That will surely hurt tomorrow. Secondly, did you just thought "the impossibility of being with your beloved" regarding a grumpy, arrogant, stubborn, cantankerous Heir of Durin? You snort but then feel even sadder. Yes, you did. Why did you have to sleep with him?
"Why did I have to sleep with him?" You lift your mournful eyes at Thea. "Because the chance was there?" "No, not sleep sleep, but sleep sleep," you pause and consider what you just said. "I slept with him, in the same bed, after..." You make vague gestures. Thea lifts a brow. "And he is so warm, and affectionate, and his chest was so… And he was tender, and then in the morning we… Again… and then again two more times… And I love him and we can never have babies and he probably thinks I'm a trollop..." You drop your head on the table with a dull thud.
"You love him?" Interestingly enough, Thea did not go after the piece of information regarding "and then two more times." You keep your head down, too embarrassed to lift your face, and whimper. "Does he love you back?" You whimper again, this time you feel the real tears coming. You sniff and let them roll. "Of course not, he is a Dwarf. They don't love Atani." "They also do not bed them, and this one did. And isn't it an equivalent of a betrothal for them?" You jerk your head up. "What?" "You didn't know? That's why I still haven't gotten any of the Dwarven swording," she wiggles her brows suggestively. "They only do it with their wives. They bond for life."
You are violently vomiting in the back alley, with Thea holding your braids and soothingly rubbing your back. "It's alright, girl, let it out." You shakily straighten up and rinse your mouth with the water from the mug she is considerately holding out to you. "I'm in trouble, Thea." "Oh Maiar, you didn't take the tonic." You momentarily panic, but then remember that you did. "Of course I did. I am a midwife! But then again, noone has ever heard of a half-Dwarven, half-Atan baby." "Noone has ever heard of Dwarf in love with a girl from Men, and here you are." You lean back at the wall and close your eyes. How did you end up in this mess?
"Where is he now?" "I don't know. I sneaked out when he fell asleep." "Last night?" "Around noon," you avoid her stare. "Wren, you harlot, did you actually bed a man during daylight? Not in the dark, all solemn and demure, but actually with the sun shining when everything is right there to see." She is laughing. A week ago one of the winegirls was complaining that her husband "forgets" to blow a candle before performing his marital duties. "Everything is right there to see," she cried out in indignation. Thea couldn't stop laughing for half an hour.
You remember thinking if you ever get a chance, if ever the impossible happens and the stars grant you one time with him, you want to see everything. To touch, to kiss and to stroke, so that every little detail is etched in your memory.
"We started last night around sunset," you are allowed to feel a little proud of yourself. "You are a trollop, Wren! And I mean it as a compliment!" She hugs your shoulders and you walk side by side to an old bench under an oak tree. You sit down and lift you face up, looking at the leaves trembling in the twilight. The trunk of the tree is thick and rough, and your heart clenches. You start crying, silently and desperately.
Thea wraps her arm around your shoulders tighter and murmurs, "It's all right, girl. Even if it isn't now, it will be." But you shake your head. The pleasant haze of inebriation is gone, and the hopelessness of your situation crushes you. "What did you mean when you said you bedded the wrong Dwarf by the way?" You sigh, "Some other Dwarf, there still might have been hope. If he desired me the way I desire him, we would leave and just live the way we wanted. But not him. He has his duty and his responsibilities." "Well," Thea smiles to you, and you feel grateful to your friend, she is really trying to comfort you, "May be he can go to his King and beg for the permission to be with you, you know?" You sob violently and hide your face into her shoulder. She lets you cry, silently stroking your hair. What else is there to do?