The first wave of the deep slumber ebbed, and Thorin was swimming in the pleasant half-sleep, his mind still resting, the heavy darkness of his exhaustion having stepped back. He knew not where he was, but the sheets under his were silky and cool…

… and he brushed his hand along the bare back, down into the dip of her waist, and then his hand covered a round pert buttock, which fit into his palm so very perfectly.

He leaned ahead, and brushed his lips to the shoulder tasting her skin. She was cool and delicate - and it thrilled him. He let his mouth slide lower, between the shoulder blades, which were like folded wings of a dove. He'd laugh at his own uncharacteric mawkishness- what a poetic comparison! - but he felt safe and giddy. It felt simply… right.

She was supporting herself on her elbows, and he tread the kisses to the left, onto the ribs. The tip of his nose bumped into the side of her soft, small, mouth-watering…

His eyes flew open, and he jerked sitting upright.

Thorin Oakenshield was no idiot. Obviously, the dream was a memory - and obviously, it was a glorified one. It was a feverish adolescent fantasy, and it was as far from reality as it could be. As inexperienced as he was - had been eighteen years ago, to be precise - he knew where children came from. And since he'd managed to father four, he could conclude that he had had… experiences. And as a warm-blooded Khuzd he had urges of course. So, he could logically postulate right now that being in a bed he had been sharing with a woman awoke - in his temporarily disorganized mind - the said urges; and since he didn't remember what it had been in reality, the aforementioned mind had conjured some sort of a heady illusion.

Best not to linger in it, he commanded himself. He rose off the bed and went to the bathchamber.

While he was washing his hands and face, he heard the door bang in the bedchambers. Thorin tensed.

"Thorin?"

There was the cursed frog again. Thorin suppressed a groan.

"Thorin!"

He quickly wiped his face with a towel and came out. She was standing near the bathchamber door.

"I didn't want to intrude, but you had me worried." Her voice rang with emotion. "How are you feeling?"

"Alright," he grumbled and walked past her.

He had no destination in mind, but neither did he want to have a conversation with her. He'd like to blame his dark mood and his avoidance of her on how much she irked him… but that would be a lie. Those were the lingering images and sensations from the dream that made him put as much distance between them as possible.

"Brori said you did well," she said softly.

He whipped his head and glared at her, all the sudden warming up towards her immediately gone. He 'did well?!" Who was she to have some lousy secretary report Thorin's behaviour to her?!

"Have you had rest afterwards?" she continued her preposterous questioning. "I'm sure it had been overwhelming…"

"I am sure it is up to the healers to decide what is overwhelming and what is not for me."

She suddenly gave out a quiet laugh.

"Well you see, my heart, that's the thing. I am the Chief Healer in the Erebor Infirmary. I have allowed you these hours of work, mostly because I wanted to pacify you. You needed to see that Erebor is safe and prosperous. But now you need rest."

She smiled to him, and he saw red.

"You. Will. Know. Your. Place," he gritted through his clenched teeth. "You are not 'allowing' me anything."

She blinked, and suddenly her face dropped. He saw the corners of her mouth curl downwards. Thorin grimaced. He hoped she wouldn't cry. He couldn't stand feminine tears.

She took a deep breath in, gathering her bearings.

"Perhaps, I should rephrase," she said with difficulty. "From the medical point of view, for you to have the peace of mind and to have a taste of your everyday activities was the right way to proceed. And from the medical point of view you should have rest to let your mind recuperate and absorb the new experiences."

Thorin gave it a thought and nodded curtly to her.

She studied his face and chewed her bottom lip. He once again noticed how wide her mouth was - but then suddenly the plump bottom lip caught his attention. Her white teeth were worrying it.

"Have you slept?" she asked; and he gave her another nod, distracted by his own strange sensations.

"Well, alright then. I'll send for dinner."

She came up to the wall and pulled a long velvet ribbon. A bell rang somewhere in the passages below them.

And then she start opening the lacing on the side of her green surcoat. Thorin froze, staring at her long fingers.

"What are… you… doing?" he rasped out, when she started on the second row of the loops and knots.

She lifted her eyes at him.

"I'm undressing."

Even the irritation at her sarcastic tone didn't help his unease. The apron-like garment fell on the floor; and she stepped out of it. And then it seemed she'd finally noticed his face.

"Mahal help me, I forgot..." she breathed out; and some odd expression ran her features.

"Forgot what?" he gritted through his teeth.

"That you are not used to being in the company of a woman in the state of undress, my lord," she said. "Or rather you had not been used to before we met."

"I am not," he said, squeezing words out of his throat. "But surely even between a husband and his wife… This wouldn't be appropriate… You should go to… your chambers..." He remembered she resided with him - for some inconceivable reason! - and he offered, "Or bathchambers?"

Their eyes met; and he saw her eyes shine with some sort of a dangerous light.

"It has never seemed to bother you before. Not since the very first night. And you were the one who undressed me then." She then narrowed her eyes, and he almost winced away from her. "And almost every night since then."

She lied! Surely, she lied, Thorin thought. What she was describing - suggesting - couldn't be true. No Dwarf would behave this way! Well, perhaps some would… but not him! And not in the marriage with… her! Not a scrap of a girl from Men!

Her fingers lay on the buttons of her dress bodice, and Thorin swallowed a knot in his throat.

She stopped, and then sighed. Thorin was trying to look only at her neck - nowhere below it.

"I will go to the bathchambers," she said quietly, and dropped her hands.

He exhaled the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

She started walking by him - he kept his eyes fixed on the floor - but then she paused near him.

"Thorin..."

For the first time since he'd opened his eyes in that cursed bed, she sounded uncertain - softer, and warmer.

He looked up and met her strange slanted eyes.

"I have been married to you for many years, and I know you well," she said. "You're looking at me… well, in disgust, I can't describe it any better. And it… angers me. I'm afraid I'm not being patient or understanding."

If again, just as before, this was an apology - she could have done better, he thought grumpily.

"It is just that… you haven't been behaving in such manner for years," she said.

"What manner?" He immediately bristled.

"Haughty. Cantankerous. Bigoted. Chauvinistic."

Surely, all these synonyms were excessive! He glared at her.

"You have been like that with me, you know?" she continued, and some impish glimmer shone in her eyes. "In the beginning. You were wounded, and I was tending to your injuries. I have to admit I wasn't… reverent then either."

She laughed softly.

"What did you do?" He didn't know why he was asking - it's not as if he cared for the yarn she was spinning.

"I told you off, for travelling wounded. You were returning from the South with a small company, and were attacked near the Lake. You were reckless; and I was… irritated that you would endanger yourself. I saw it as an unnecessary risk. And I could see how worried your men were. I thought then you should have been taking better care of yourself, considering how much your people loved you. You weren't quite as brutish with me then, though. You were clearly taken aback by my manner, but not as… infuriated as you are right now. I assume the Quest and the two years of peace for Erebor had mellowed your temper by then."

Thorin listened. Her calling him 'brutish' hadn't escaped his attention - but neither had the light in her eyes and the meaning of her words.

Perhaps, she was right. Perhaps, that was what it was.

Clearly, he had been changed by the return of Erebor, softened by it, muddled; and that was what had made him marry this unsuitable woman. Something had happened then, when he had been wounded. Perhaps, some sort of a mental affliction had befallen him. He wasn't young either, he suddenly thought. Perhaps, it was mental deterioration.

He sighed and shook his head. Nothing could be done now, could it? Such was his present life - and he was to live it the best he could.

He needed to meet his children. Perhaps, not everything was lost: perhaps, they weren't a complete disappointment. He doubted, considering their mother's… qualities - but he wasn't a rash person. He needed to see for himself.

She waited; but since he gave her no answer, she turned around and headed to the bathchamber.

He decided he'd conclude the dinner as soon as possible, and demand she took him to the children's halls.