You are staring at the ceiling. The morning sunlight is slowly overtaking your room. You are lying on the very edge of your bed and are busy executing mental self-flogging.
Stupid, stupid Wren. In the last few days you performed so many acts that deserve only one reaction to them. And that reaction is a big fat "why in the name of all Maiar?!". Why did you run without talking to him? Why did you drink? This one is especially irrational since a few sips of wine make you ridiculously affectionate and chatty, and two goblets give you a splitting headache and a deep sense of misery. As if you needed any encouragement in this area. Why did you hide in Thea's room and haven't returned to the inn? Why after finding his room vacated you went back to the infirmary and spend the day attending to his wounded soldiers? There are only a few Dwarves left in the infirmary, most either healed, or well enough to return to Erebor. Why did you spend the day talking to them about the wonderful, rigidly honoured traditions of the Dwarven marriage and the respect and loyalty they feel towards their beloved King? You really could have found a different person to discuss. You especially enjoyed when some would end their praise for their magnificent leader with the words "May Mahal give him strong sons and heirs to the throne of Durin".
Why, when in the evening you came back to your inn, did you not listen to what you considered your maudlin side and went to the same bed where you spent all these glorious hours in the arms of the King Under the Mountain instead of renting another room? Why didn't you at least ask for your sheets to be changed, you brainless clot?!
You spent the night hiding from the omnipresent, maddening smell of his skin, fresh and spicy, on your sheets and pillows. In the middle of the night you gave up and sat by the window, hunched on a hard chair, staring in the dark sky, but it did not help much. You felt like his flavour had soaked into your skin, lungs, the pulps of your fingers, your lips.
Couple hours later you gave up and returned to bed. You were lying on the very edge and imagining how much better you would have felt now if instead of cowering you stayed and talked to him. Given, you would still be lying in this very bed alone, but at least you would not feel like a large piece was ripped out of your chest. You could have been breathing easier now, sharp pain not clawing behind your ribs. You would have kept your honour and dignity. You would have thanked him and explained that by acting so licentiously you only wanted to express your admiration for him. You snort when you image that, but in your fantasy you keep a straight face and tell him that you are not a loose woman and that you will treasure the memory of this night. And lastly, you assure the King that you understand that his duty now is to come back to Erebor and take his place on the throne. Then you would have bid him a gracious farewell and left.
And then you would have drunk a barrel of ale and possibly died from that, but you would not feel right now as if there was some impossible scenario in which your heart was not quashed like an apple under a wheel of a cart. Because there is none. But you want to hear it from him. One last time you want to look in the impossible blue eyes and hear him say it. Yes, he enjoyed every moment of it, you bet he did, gorgeous libidinous creature, and he will harbour this secret in his proud Dwarven heart til the day he dies. Maybe, you want him to look sad and even tears could pool in his eyes. He would press his hand to his frantically beating heart and whisper, if only you were a Dwarf, he would ignore your common birth and… Then he would choke on his own words and clench his strong, well-defined jaw. You would bite your lip, but will your tears from rolling down your cheeks. You both would be devastated but feel that you are acting dutifully.
Your door flies open obviously from a fist being smashed in it, and he storms into your bedroom. He grabs your arms and drags you out of your bed. "You will never do that again," he is yelling into your face, his features contorted in anger, black brows drawn together, nostrils flaring. "Never again, do you hear me?"
The sudden change in the surroundings as well as the stark contrast between the Thorin in your head and the yelling enraged Dwarf in your bedroom turn your brain into a plateful of scrambled eggs. Your mouth ungracefully falls open and you stare in his blazing eyes. "You are not to make such decisions on your own, am I making myself clear?" You finally master some will in your muscles and blink. He pushes you away with what looks suspiciously like disgust on his face and steps away.
"Why aren't you in Erebor?" you are so stunned that you forget "my Lord". "I was," he is still panting and his chest is heaving. Oh, the delectable chest… Really? Now? Thea is right, you are a harlot. "I was on my way but half way there I turned around. You owe me an explanation, honourable healer," his smirk is venomous. Right, this is the opportune moment for your well-prepared speech about duty, honour, treasuring memories, and cherishing this night in your heart till the day you die. A pitiful "Um..." escapes your lips and then you halt, avoiding his relentless stare.
"Was my behaviour insulting in any way, honourable healer?" "No!" Great, that is indisputably a squeak. "Were my advances not welcome?" What now? You distinctly remember doing all advancing. "They were," you mumble, momentarily distracted by the memories of the delicious surprise on his face when you placed your hand on the silver buckle on his waist. "Was my lovemaking not to your liking, honourable healer?" His tone is increasingly sarcastic. Oh, enough with the respectable monikers! If he thinks that you did not understand the appellations for you he came up with between the sheets, he is cruelly mistaken. When your obsession with him had reached a certain level, you actually made an effort and learnt enough Khuzdul to understand when your breasts are called treasures of all treasures. Also knowing that Dwarves call the Falgeirr's Cave Ghar-bayur, which means "the hidden alcove" you can assumed what exactly he was murmuring sinking his fingers in your dripping folds. It might be a secret language, but with enough determination one can achieve astonishing results.
You are getting increasingly irritated. Not speaking your mind and forcing proper behaviour out of yourself is not quite in your character. Nonetheless, you demurely cast your eyes to the floor, "You know it was, my Lord". Internally you are grinding your teeth. Is that what you came back for, you pompous, arrogant, self-absorbed, supercilious ass? For praise of your prowess between the sheets?!
"Then why did you run, my haban?" His voice is suddenly soft, he lifts your chin with his index finger. Your eyes widen. Can he be any more changeable? Smashing doors, yelling, snarky questions, and all of a sudden tender murmurs! What is going on in this big head of his? You are confused, and even more so because his sensational cerulean eyes are boring into your. And then again, his lips are so close too, and Maiar, he smells nice! All forest air, smoke, leather and the intoxicating smell of his skin that has been torturing you through last night! All you want is to purr and curl into him, wide, warm and hard. You are hopeless!
Shivers of hunger for him run through your body. Just one more time, one kiss, one taste, your craving is whispering, every muscle in your body strained, yearning for him. You have to press your arms into your sides not to leap and wrap them around his strong neck. Your skin is tingling, you can almost feel what it will feel like. The fur adorning his cloak, the leather of the vest, the velvet of the collar sticking out under the chainmail. You can so easily slide your hands under that collar and press your fingers into the scorching skin of his clavicles. Before that night your touches were scarce and accidental, but the heat radiating from his skin has been driving you to sensual frenzy for months now.
And then the sudden realization of who is standing in front of you runs over you, and you remember that day when your brothers thought it would be fun to throw you into the still icy waters of the harbour. They picked you up by legs and arms and, after swinging you couple times, they flung you into the terrifying blackness under the docks. The blinding pain, white and overwhelming, your sudden inability to move your limbs, and the shattering cold that pierced and paralyzed you, and you sank, eyes wide open and a silent scream bursting out of your lungs in bubbles of air…
You feel the same cold in all your bones and step back from him. "Forgive me, my Lord, it was indecorous," he tilts his head in disbelief, taken aback by your sudden distant tone. "I behaved unbecomingly and I beg your forgiveness. But perhaps it was for the best," you step back a little more and lift your chin. His pupils dilate in front of your eyes and the jaw clenches. You meet his stare directly.
There is no resolution, there is no closure. You got what you craved, you got him for a night, you knew his body, his passion, his tenderness. You have no right to ask for or expect more. He is a Dwarf and the Heir of Durin. Nothing will ever transpire out of it. It is unheard of, and what if he is actually here to ensure your silence?
The thought hurts. But then again that would explain a lot. You were so absorbed in your own anguish that you have not even tried to perceive the events from his point of view. He probably sees your night together as a horrible transgression. As secretive and prejudiced Dwarves are against other nations, he is probably embarrassed by his moment of weakness. Sickly, pale, no beard, you probably only managed to seduce him because of his innocence.
Oh Maiar, you are a vile creature! You need to atone for your crimes. You need to let him know you do not ask anything from him and noone will ever know about it. Well, except Thea. But you did not give her the name and she was mostly interested in the lecherous details. She shook them all out of you, it took several hours. The longest bath in your life.
His eyes fixed on you, he snarls, "For the best?! Are you mad, woman?"