"Write my name in the sand,
It's easier that way,
Where no waves or winds wander,
There, I shall dwell.
Write our bodies in the sand,
Tales of blood and longing,
Tangles, tangles,
Tangles in the sand."

He sat and waited for her.

There was nothing else he could do; the consequences of the too fast healing were catching up with him. His bones were mended, as well as the tissue surrounding it, but both were very tender and fragile. He needed to rest a week or so, strain his body as little as he possibly could, and wait for the marrow and the tissue to build up in strength.

During the day, he sat under an ancient oak tree and read, rested, or watched the company as they played or sang to entertain him. When the evening came, bringing with it cold, dark winds from the mountains, he was ushered inside a large room where he lounged on a mattress stuffed with feathers and luxurious, thick hides for blankets. The room was often too stuffy and warm, as Oin had insisted on having the fireplace nearly always lit to burn many medical herbs from Beorn's garden and thus ensure he would not catch a cold, or something, and strain his lungs. While he did appreciate the care, it meant that he could move very little, had to wear that annoying corset, and spend hours at a time lying on his back and letting Oin smear whatever he felt necessary to smear on his chest.

Which often smelled absolutely awful, as his two boys felt was essential to mention whenever they came to visit him.

He was given a large coat from their bear-sized host – it had a wild, rugged appearance and had still retained the skull and the upper jaw of the bear from which it was made, but he was slowly learning to appreciate its savage appearance.

And it's not like he was going to get his old coat back.

Balin came to reprimand him for his actions and once again reminded him that he was soon to be a person of great importance who would have to marry a woman of equal importance, or at least as equally important relatives. A woman not from the Dwarven Bond was out of the question.

A woman with suspicious origins should not be considered at all.

Oin, on the other hand, apparently came to the conclusion that the best way to help Thorin endure the hour spent applying pure stench to his chest was by telling him how Lily spent her time. Usually, it seemed she was performing some tasks for Gandalf or talking to Beorn. Oin must have thought he was doing a good job explaining her absence to Thorin.

Thorin wondered if, at some point, he would manage to gather the courage to ask for her presence, or simply make Oin shut up. But as it was, bored and restless and often babysat by two gruff, pedantic old men, Thorin waited.

Counting the hours, dreading the passing of the days, tense and anxious, he waited.

And then she came.

He was reading a tome about medical herbs, which was written in tiny letters and was utterly boring, when light knuckles rapped at his door. Balin and Oin did not knock while the rest of his company rarely troubled him in his chamber. He had not spoken to Gandalf for days, though he was not too sure he minded that, and the silent staff that did not utter a single word and made him feel distinctly uncomfortable never entered when he was present.

"Come in!"

The door opened painfully slowly, and there she stood.

Still clad in his coat.

Which was far too big for her, he noted absentmindedly, and made her look that much smaller. He felt the anxiety leaving him in a rush as well as his breath when new, unexpected nervousness settled in his stomach. She stood by the door and looked at him, her eyes large and uncertain, and he could see the same hesitation he felt himself stiffening her posture.

"Come," he ordered, lifting his hand, and managed to feel a slightly bit better when the woman entered the room, closing the door behind her.

She walked slowly toward him and sat on the floor by his mattress, close enough to reach but not intimately so. Oin had not yet come to change his bandages, and since he was inside, he did not have to wear the corset, and, all in all felt slightly better about the shape she found him in. His chest was unclothed but was also covered in herb-stained bandages, though from the way she blushed and looked away he could tell that this was still inappropriate by her standards.

She shifted and lowered the coat – even she thought the room was warm! – so it rested around her elbows, and he had to take a deep, calming breath; she had no idea how enticing she looked like that, half dressed in his coat.

She looked away again, uncomfortable due to the stretching silence. "How are you feeling?" she asked uncertainly, cringing when her voice shattered the silence.

"Better." He managed not to add now that you came. No doubt she would have bolted had he said it. "In three days' time I will be allowed to return to my duties as usual."

"Oh," she muttered, noticeably unsure what she was supposed to say. "And then we will leave?"

"Oin wants to stay for another week, just to make sure I healed properly." He grimaced. "This medicine is far more trouble than it's worth." Gods, what nonsense he is saying!

She looked stricken. "Of course not! We-we are all grateful that you made such a speedy recovery. Such injuries may take months to heal." She looked at her hands again.

Thorin cleared his throat. "I had yet to thank you," he said carefully. "For saving my life."

She blinked, clearly fighting for control over her features. He hated that, the perfectly appropriate expression, and dared to place his hand on hers. "Thank you," he said hoarsely.

Her hand was so small in his palm. He did not dare to actually hold it, should she pull away. He was terrified of that – what would happen had she pulled away, if she had rejected his touch? How is he to look her in the eye? Perhaps he misread her actions again, perhaps she came to reject him…

But all such notions lost their meaning when Lily blushed, looked away, and held his hand. Her fingers twitched shyly and closed around his palm, and he could feel her pulse racing when he returned the gesture. From her face, he could tell so little – pinkish, perhaps, but closed off and guarded. The blush was an achievement all of its own, he sensed, holding her hand gingerly. When his thumb brushed on her knuckles, he could clearly see her chest rise in surprise and her lips part momentarily. When he intertwined his fingers with hers, he could hear her breath deserting her, but while her eyes snapped to look at their hands and she swallowed nervously (he hoped it was nervousness and not unease), she still managed a small, tight-lipped smile.

"You saved my life at least three times already, I figured I owed you at least that much."

That was not what he expected and the opposite from what he hoped to hear. "You risked your life as an attempt to pay a debt?" he growled, "My duty to my people is to keep you safe, and that is what I do! You have no such responsibility, nor do you need to pay me back." He narrowed his eyes at her, and while he did not let go of her hand, he also did not allow the shock in her eyes to mellow his tone.

"Then were your actions spurred by duty?" She pulled her hand away and sat ramrod straight. "The blankets and the coat as well?" She was hurt; that, he could see.

Thorin clenched his hand and cursed his temper. "That is my duty," he replied carefully, "but duty is not what spurred them, nor was it the motive behind them." He licked his lips. "Was yours?"

She blinked and looked away. Her fingers stroked the fur of his blanket. "I had the debt, and a duke's life is worth more than that of a peasant, but those were… those are not strong enough arguments. They were not the reason."

They both must look like such great fools, he sensed. He regretted his outburst, and now her hand seemed beyond his reach. He tried to think of something else, anything else, and uttered, "I must also thank you for tending to my hair and beard." When she looked up in confusion, he added, feeling foolish again, "I was given to understand you saw to them?" he asked, hesitanting.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and nodded. "I did," she admitted. "It must have been inadequate, for I have little experience, but I felt…."

"No, it was –" He scratched his beard nervously. "Beards and hair matter a great deal in our alliance. You could learn much about a person from the type of braids he uses, the beads he wears…." He felt foolish then, even though the woman blinked at him in interest. "Servants may brush our hair, but the rest of the care we do ourselves, for it is an intimate gesture, to –"

Lily turned red and placed a hand on her mouth, looking utterly horrified. "Oh! Do forgive me! I had no idea! I did wonder why no one cleaned – oh –"

"I don't mind," he hurried to say. She still looked at him, wide-eyed and shocked, and he added, feeling like a silly boy in his teens, "I… appreciated your care."

How imprudent she must think him!

Thorin looked away, allowed his eyes to leave her and look at the fire dancing before him. For two persons whose very profession meant they had to banter words rather often, they were fairly terrible at holding a conversation.

Suddenly, he felt her hand on his, and he turned his gaze to meet hers – her eyes had the most intense look he ever saw the icy pools hold. "Thorin –"

"Lily? Lily? Where has that troublesome girl gone off to?"

The woman looked frightened, as if caught in the deed, and attempted to withdraw her hand. He grasped her wrist before he could think twice, and whatever it is he wanted to say died on his lips when they heard Gandalf call her name again.

"I must go," she whispered. She did not withdraw her hand but she resisted his pull, and her face was devoid of whatever warmth or color it held before.

"Visit me again," he asked. Commanded. He should have worded it better, no doubt, make it an offer or a question, but the woman's fingers caressed his – was it a promise? And she was gone.

Thorin's hand twitched. Curse that Istar.

Ningalor darted away – away from Thorin, away from Gandalf, out of the house and into the garden.

She had to clear her head, her thoughts.

It took her so very long to gather the courage to knock. She memorized the schedule of Balin and Oin, waited for a moment when Dwalin wasn't watching, tried to escape Gandalf's very obvious attempts to keep her busy, and waited.

It was all so obvious, in fact, that two days prior Beorn took her to see the ranch. She did not ask way he wanted her company, nor was it her place to ask.

They watched the boys and the girls ride and play. They were speaking a language she did not understand, but they were too busy and childishly excited by the game and the ride to notice her presence and cease talking.

"I see you walking around my house like a shadow," Beorn grumbled. "The men look at you but do not speak. The old man tasks you but his worry never eases. My girls say you stare at Oakenshield or Oakenshield's door, but never open it. Never talk to him." He did not look at her, and she did not look at him. "Always silent."

Too personal, too quickly. "Why do you ask?"

The lord shook his messy mane. "I care for many. I know their faces, I know their sadness. Weakness in the wild means death, and I do not raise them to be weak. Whatever it is that burdens you, it weakens you."

"Every man capable of thought is a man burdened. Every man charged with a responsibility is a man worried."

"A pampered parrot raised in court?" he asked and shook his head. "Men lock themselves up in stone and metal. They forget what it means to be men. They create traditions and titles to remind the weak that they are weak. Are they weak?" he questioned her. When she blinked at him in confusion, he explained, "This is the wild! The world is the wild! Do you think I care for the Duke of Mirkwood's arrogance, or for the Serpent of Erebor's threats? I can fight, I can guard, and I can take care of myself. Why should I pay to this or that? My women aren't worth less of my men. I do not obey the Brotherhood of Men nor any other self-titled alliance." He spat. "If you do, that is the source of your weakness."

She looked down. "I left my alliance long ago."

"Not long enough. You still follow their rules, wait to be commanded, do as you are told." Beorn shook his head. He pointed to the playing children. "Some of them are mine. Some belong to others. Do I know? Does it matter? Love is a promise, and such a promise cannot be taken as lightly as some think."

She did look at him then, utterly shocked.

"Some prefer gold, or comfort, or praise. Fools, I think them." He pushed his hand into his sleeve and gave her a leather bag. Inside it were crushed herbs, almost taunting her with their simplicity.

Her eyes darted from the bag to the rugged lord and back to the herbs it contained.

The lord cocked a bushy brow and smiled. "No consequences. No court to hold you down. You are a free bird! Why are you so afraid to live?" He began to walk away. "A teaspoon would do, at least an hour before!" he hollered as he left.

Ningalor looked at the bag, looked up at the man, and huffed.

This was improper, this was wrong, this was – oh, all the rules she had to live by!

Wrong, wrong, wrong… this choice was wrong. But the bag gave her the option to choose, and she could choose to be free.

Perhaps not for long, possibly only for a week. She was not such a fool, to believe she could escape her father's claws so very easily, or at all. But for one, one sweet, gods given week, perhaps, she could be allowed to choose, and she could choose him.

When she finally dared to knock on Thorin's door, she had no idea what to expect.

The Duke looked at her with such intensity she sometimes felt too inadequate to return his gaze. He was too passionate for her, and the words he spoke, though uttered gruffly, were the last thing she expected. His hand, callous and warm, his chest, so very muscular and refined… he looked like a statue, sitting there, looking at her, waiting for her… he had not taken back his words, and if his touch meant anything… Gandalf's eyes held nothing but a warning, Balin and Dwalin – mistrust.

Thorin's eyes were torrid, like fire, but there were gentleness and tenderness in them, too.

He laid his intentions bare before her and waited for her to decide.

What could she possibly decide?

If they decide to go through Mirkwood, it may be the end of her. If that was the case, then this was possibly the last week of freedom she was given.

And Beorn offered her a choice.

In the last days of his confinement, the entire company came to his room and stayed for a never-ending visit.

It was the very last day he had to be in a bed, covered in bandages and salves. Balin thought it was utterly necessary to have someone with him the whole time so he would not attempt any further foolishness, it would seem.

"Don't do anything extreme, though!" Oin waggled his finger at him and added, "You were fine three days ago, but I kept that from you so you wouldn't… jump into action." The old healer looked mighty pleased with himself and ignored Thorin's thunderous scowl cheerfully. "I told her that, too."

"Oin…" Thorin threatened, bristling, "do not dare to smear her name like that!"

The old healer looked at him, confused. "Smear? Of course not! I… I assumed you were already intimate?" he asked slowly.

"Of course not!"

"But that day, in the river, you had given her your coat –"

"She was cold!"

"Cold!" Dwalin huffed and rolled his eyes. "Who'd have thought you could be wooed just by being demurely shivered at?"

Thorin threw a wooden bowl at him which the gruff warrior ducked with ease.

"– Fall so completely for shaking damsels –"

The second bowl he threw hit the warrior straight in the face. The man cursed, but thankfully said nothing more. Kili and Fili looked utterly serious when he fixed his glare on them, but the second his eyes left them he could hear them giggling.

The healer looked confused, then sighed. "Well, that would explain why the lass had such a confused look on her face. Might also explain why she never came, eh? Didn't want us thinking things we shouldn't?"

Thorin scowled but said nothing. She did come. For a short and fleeting moment, he even held her hand.

She did not visit since.

It was late, very late, when even Fili and Kili tumbled out of their Uncle's room, tipsy by the look of it. The men celebrated and drank for their leader's recovery while Ningalor waited and counted the hours.

She considered everything. She weighed the consequences. They already thought they bedded, even Oin suggested so! And next week she might be captured and never see him again. Did it matter? No. No, it didn't. She was twenty-five years old, an old spinster.

But the way Thorin looked at her when she stepped out of the river, the way his eyes, scorching, followed the trail of the drop of water from her head to her breasts…

She did not shiver from the cold. She was never looked at like that, and she found that she wanted more – more of that feeling, foreign and forbidden to her.

She brewed the tea, drank it slowly. It was bitter, but the silent woman who helped her brew it allowed her no sugar, though she did give her a bowl of strawberries with cream, and based on her playful wink, Ningalor assumed it meant something in their culture. But the woman did not explain and Ningalor had no intention of asking either Gandalf or Beorn, so she ate her strawberries, felt her stomach tighten in nervousness (or was it the tea?) and waited.

The hour was indeed very late; she almost aborted the plan. She almost gave up.

But then the door to his room opened and Thorin stepped out. He stretched – the muscles of his chest and stomach weaved and danced – and pulled his hand to the side, then moved it in a circular motion. He did not seem to mind the cool night's air, and she let out a shuddered breath when he lifted his arms in a stretch and the muscles of his stomach rippled in response.

The man froze. "Who's there?" he demanded. His hand immediately flew to his waist, though he did not wear his sword.

Feeling utterly foolish for getting caught like that, she stepped out of the shadows and walked toward him. When he saw her, the tension left his shoulders almost immediately and the infuriating man smiled at her. It was a small gesture and tight-lipped at that, but the very notion that he smiled because he saw her took her breath away.

"Lily," he greeted. "Why are you awake at this hour?"

She was too much of a coward to press her point, wasn't she? She did not dare to stand close enough for intimacy; couldn't will herself to take that one more step, even though the heat Thorin produced seduced her quite effectively.

"I heard you are well," she managed lamely.

The man nodded. "We had a party," he replied, voice slow and measured. "Removed the bandages."

She hmmed in response. She could not help but glance into the hall, as if expecting Gandalf to appear and stop whatever folly she was about to commit. Was it a folly? She glanced up at Thorin, worrying her lip. Would he reject her? Think her lewd or ill-bred? Was it really such a good idea?

How did he do it, making her feel feverish and nervous, reckless and hopeful?

Thorin frowned at her when she said nothing, then he glanced as well into the hall. "Do you… do you want to come in?" he offered, unsure how to approach her.

It was her chance to turn back, to say no. Not that she doubted his honor, but… she swallowed her uncertainties and her fears. She was running out of time, and she wanted to feel this promise, this love that Beorn spoke of.

She wanted Thorin to look at her like he did before, that day near the river.

"Yes," she whispered.

Thorin's face was unreadable to her as he led her inside, though his eyes did snap to meet hers when she blurred, "Close the door."

The man frowned at her.

"Please."

It was improper for her to be in the same room with a man, this late at night. Thorin was trying to act honorably by her, and she –

"Are you ashamed of being seen with me?" the man asked, voice harsh.

She jolted. "No!" She opened and closed her mouth, not sure how to explain. "Please," she breathed again.

Thorin closed the door.

He crossed his hands over his chest, then sighed, for some unknown reason, and crossed the distance to her. Close, but not too close. "Forgive me. I…." He raked his hand through his hair. Why was he nervous? Was he nervous? Why should he be? Was she seeing things? "I judge you too harshly."

She shook her head. "You allowed me in."

"I would not deny you anything I can grant you," the man declared passionately.

They were both taken aback by the statement, but Thorin did not back down, nor did he close himself to her. Without breaking eye contact, though her hands did shake, she removed his coat and placed it on one of the chairs next to her.

His eyes widened, then hardened. "Are you rejecting me?"

"No," she whispered.

Judged too harshly. Perhaps they both did not really believe the other could possibly want them.

She started undoing the ties of her corset. Thorin's eyes widened, but she still did not dare to look away. The hard lines softened with each tug she gave and the harsh glare was replaced by heat; by want. So that's desire…

"What are you doing?" he breathed, and the raw edge to his usually smooth voice made her shudder.

"You said it must be given," she murmured.

He inhaled sharply and placed his hands on her arms, stopping her progress. "I said – I didn't mean –" He looked torn suddenly, but resolve hardened his face. "I have no intention of demanding anything that you are unwilling, or under… improper circumstances…."

"This is the wild, does it matter?" she whispered. "We have nearly faced death so many times, I…." She blushed, but her resolve too was not to be shaken. "I want to, but I simply do not know how… how to give," she admitted.

Thorin's eyes pierced her, held her, and for a long moment he did not speak. Slowly, his hold of her arms became less restrictive and the scorching heat returned. "Are you sure?" His voice dropped an octave.

She managed to cock her brow at him. "I do not make my decisions hastily, nor do I take my choices lightly." She gave the corset a final tug and removed it.

Thorin's eyes followed its fall, then returned to follow the movement of her digits as she started to undo the ties of her tunic. Her fingers shook.

"Allow me," Thorin whispered, his voice raspy, and she nodded and turned around. His fingers were thicker than hers but snaked under the string expertly. Her tunic sat loosely against her skin faster than she could handle. Her breath deserted her in a panicked rush.

His fingers traced the exposed spine of her upper back all the way up to her neck. She shivered.

"You don't have to," his voice whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

The very touch of his fingers burned and tingled and felt so hot… she felt hot. Scared and nervous as she was, she wanted… more.

"I want to," she breathed back and gasped when his fingers tightened their grasp on her neck and jaw, tilting her head up, while his lips kissed her ear, her cheek, tracing a trail on her jaw.

"Trust me," he breathed, and when she turned her head to look at him, he bowed his head slowly and claimed her lips.

She gasped, unsure – the touch was short, and light, and it sent her heart racing.

Thorin looked at her, the blue of his eyes penetrating and burning. "Trust me," he asked again.

She nodded shakily and dared to place her hand on his cheek, caress the rough hair of his beard, and kiss him.

She had never kissed or been kissed before, and the soft lips, warm and wet and intoxicating, made her mind go blank in a way she did not believe was possible. His hand held her jaw still, caressing her cheek, while his other hand rested on her lower belly and pulled her to him. With her back pressed against his chest, skin against skin, and his lips caressing hers and his teeth biting ever gently, she felt her belly tightening with pleasure. Feeling weak and dizzy all of a sudden, she placed her hand on his for support and moaned unevenly when his hand pulled on her hair gently to reveal her neck while his lips placed short, feather-light kisses on her burning skin.

"Thorin…" she whispered, not sure whatever for, but the man smiled at her and then, without a proper warning, lifted her.

She gasped when her feet suddenly left the ground and strong hands carried her to the soft mattress, fingers digging into her flesh. He lowered her carefully, gently, cupped her face with one hand and resumed kissing her. The kiss that started gently demanded more and more of her senses, and soon the only thing she wanted was to feel closer. She buried her hands in his hair and beard, the scratchy and the silken sensations staggering, and she moaned in surprise when Thorin responded in a growl and entered his tongue into her mouth.

She allowed his tongue to explore her mouth, confused and intoxicated by the touch, and when Thorin murmured against her lips, "Trust me, Lily," all she could do was moan in response.

He kissed her again, his lips demanding but slow in their progress, and once again planted a trail of kisses on her jaw and her neck. Slowly and ever so gently, his finger pushed down the fabric of her tunic to reveal her collarbones, enticing Thorin to growl yet again. He kissed and sucked on them, driving her breath shaky and erratic. She was still unsure and scared, but Thorin worked her slowly and gently, always returning to her lips, and Ningalor felt heat pulsing through her when his beard scratched her cheeks. She whispered his name again, not even noticing she did so.

But Thorin did, and his eyes were ablaze with desire. His hands grabbed her tunic, their touch sure on her thighs as they ascended, and began to pull the cloth up. She blushed when the fabric that protected her chastity was removed and thrown aside and her hands immediately rose to cover her breasts. Thorin kissed her again, his lips conquering hers, and she, the willing conquest, parted her gated mouth to him and once again allowed him entry. The pleasure that the mere touch of his lips shot through her made her tremble and gasp for air. His left hand supported him while the other trailed burning trails on her arms and her stomach. Her muscles tightened with each thoughtful touch, and when his hand held hers and gently moved it, she obeyed, nervous yet again.

His fingers slowly moved up, his hand cupped her breast and his thumb grazed her nipple and she bit her lip to hold in her breaths. Thorin used his other hand to caress her cheek, leaning on his elbow.

"Shh… trust me," he muttered again and pinched her nipple gently, making her whine. He resumed kissing her lips, sucking and nibbling, then kissed her neck and sucked on her collarbone. He kissed her burning skin until his lips reached her breast and he took her nipple in his mouth.

The air deserted her lungs with an audible sigh. She squeezed his forearm and buried her other hand in his hair, pulling him closer – once again Thorin growled and bit her nipple carefully while his other hand trailed to her other breast, rubbing and pinching gently.

"Thorin…." She let out a choked sigh and arched her back, feeling his hands and his lips kissing and roaming over her breasts, her neck, her stomach and her lower belly. His fingers began to snake under the fabric of her pants, and his hands massaged her hips, up and down, until he sat by her side and tugged off her boots. Since his body no longer hovered over her, Ningalor suddenly noticed that she was half naked, the fire was nearly out, and she was cold. She shivered and tried to cover herself with Thorin's blanket.

She felt his hands on her side, traveling up, and then, "Lily, are you cold?" Thorin's voice, low and deep, made her shiver again.

"Just a bit," she whispered, her voice breathy and raw. His blue eyes burned her, but this time, she did not attempt to avoid them. She felt hot just from having him look at her, like that.

Thorin smiled and bowed down to kiss her forehead. "Silly girl," he said, covered her in the blanket, and rose so he could tend to the fire.

He threw two logs in and knelt by the fireplace, poking and awakening the almost dead flames. Ningalor stared at him, blushing, and she could not help but notice his obvious arousal. "I am not a girl," she protested, feeling all the more childish for it.

The man glanced at her and smirked. "After tonight, you will most certainly not be," he said casually.

She blushed red and Thorin rose and crossed the distance towards her again. He lowered her to the covers and kissed her lips gently. "It will hurt, but I will be as gentle as I can," he murmured against her lips. Feeling her tense, he pulled away slightly and added, "We don't have to…."

"No," she refused flatly. "No, Thorin."

The man nodded, kissed her and once again made her forget what it meant to think coherently. His hands traveled down, roamed over her body gently but confidently, and his lips joined them, caressing every inch of skin with a tender touch. His fingers sneaked under the fabric of her pants and pulled the material down with them. Ningalor whined but did not resist, and then Thorin removed his pants and both of them were naked before the other. He bent over her, his fingers traveling up her legs and digging into the flesh of her thighs. First he touched her outer thighs, then his fingers moved and caressed her hot skin until they parted her legs and stroked her inner flesh. Ningalor blinked at Thorin, nervous, but Thorin's eyes did not leave her, even when he stretched her legs further and touched the spot hidden by golden curls.

Ningalor whined, and her hands instinctively fisted the blanket as her lower lip was caught between her teeth. "I'm right here. I'm here with you," Thorin mumbled, kissing her lips tenderly, seductively, as his fingers rubbed and electrified, causing her insides to twitch, of all things, and then one of his fingers entered her.

She exclaimed at the foreign feeling, which, unlike the rest of the things Thorin did to her, did not feel good. "Shh… relax. Lily, relax. It's all right." He kissed her neck and her collarbones, making her gasp, and began to move the finger slowly within her. It felt weird, it felt uncomfortable, and she closed her eyes in fear when she imagined what his manhood would feel like.

"Lily, Lily, relax. Focus on my lips, on my voice. Lily," he whispered her name, his voice husky and deep, and she tried. She buried her hands in his hair and pulled him to her, wishing it were her real name that he whispered.

He entered a second finger.

The feeling of discomfort increased with the stretch, but once again he kissed her and muttered sweet nothings in a foreign tongue against her lips. He increased the pressure on the fingers touching and rubbing and she moaned in response, holding on to him almost desperately.

Slowly, he entered a third finger, and Ningalor cried out. She did not believe she could stretch so, but she drowned her fears by kissing the man on top of her and moaned again when he increased his rhythm of the movement of his thumb, even if the fingers penetrating her still moved slowly.

Her muscles tightened suddenly and twitched and she threw her head back in shock, body full of sweet, aching pleasure. "Thorin…" she whispered.

The man removed his fingers, took one of her hands in his and parted her legs with his other hand, "Trust me," he whispered again, and very slowly, he entered her.

She did not moan, or cry, or sigh. She could not breathe.

The stretch was painful, but not unbearable, even if when she opened her eyes to look she whimpered at the size of him and her muscles tightened painfully.

Thorin groaned and kissed her gently, demandingly, intensely, passionately. "Lily, Lily… you are doing great. Shh… slowly, that's it. You are doing great, ibin abnâmul. My madtubirzul."

She blinked and opened her eyes. Thorin stopped moving. He rested inside her, taking over all of her, but suddenly Thorin's deep, hoarse voice, his lips, his hands, his manhood were not the only things on her mind. "What does that mean?" she moaned, her voice barely above a whisper, "What you-oh!"

Thorin slowly began to pull out and gently entered her again. The movement and the friction were so strange to her, her muscles tightened and pain shot through her. One of her hands grabbed the blankets, the other squeezed Thorin's hand as a soft whimper escaped her lips.

Thorin breathed ruggedly and bent to kiss her again. "Shh… agyâdê, relax. Don't be so afraid," he said gently, kissing her lips, her jaw, her eyes. "My bunmel…."

She sensed that he was teasing her with his words. "What does it mean?" she whispered.

She could feel Thorin's grin against her lips. "One day I'll tell you."

"Thorin! –" she gasped again when Thorin began to move inside of her. This time, the notion was not so unsettling to her and her muscles did not tighten so much in protest about being penetrated in this manner. His hand caressed her cheek and her hair while his lips continued to murmur things in a foreign tongue and kiss her anxieties and worries away.

"Thorin…" she whimpered, her hand buried in his hair, and the man caressed her cheek and simply looked at her – the crystal-clear eyes, shining with desire and warmth – his eyes engulfed the whole of her existence, delved into her and encompassed the whole of her. She lifted her hand to cup his cheek, stroking the beard and the harsh planes of his face. The man blinked at her, took her hand and kissed her palm gently as he once again moved and filled the whole of her.

Ningalor pulled him down and kissed him, weak with tension and uncertainty and want, and Thorin answered all of those, increasing his pace.

His hand left her face and once again trailed and touched her lower region, rubbing with demanding, experienced fingers, and the electrifying touch coupled with the softly murmured foreign words made her twitch once again, her body an echo of pleasure and pain.

Suddenly Thorin whispered, his voice thick and raw, "I… I need to –"

She did not release him, and the very notion of him exiting her was unimaginable to her. "I took care of the consequences," she murmured.

He looked at her with a frown. "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to, I mean…."

She kissed him, the touch of their lips sloppy and unrefined but still managed to unravel her completely – and apparently Thorin as well, for he groaned as he became undone and filled her with hot, burning seed.

They both stared at each other for a moment, Thorin wiping the tears she did not know she shed, Ningalor simply trying to breathe.

He did exit her, slowly, and left behind emptiness and pain. He lay next to her and covered them both with the thick blanket and pulled her to him. She was too weak to resist or attempt to move on her own, and so being cradled between those muscular, warm arms and being pressed against that hard, warm chest was nothing short of utterly reassuring.

He guided her head to rest in the crook of his shoulder while his hand stroked the length of her hair and gently massaged her scalp. His other hand rested on her waist, drawing circles on her side and back, and their legs were effectively tangled. She placed her hand on his chest, stroking the short, coarse curls and admiring the hard, sculpted lines in the fickle light of the fire.

"Good night, Lily, my umral," he whispered and bent and kissed her forehead, again and again, until she surrendered to the darkness that took over her, closed her eyes and fell asleep.

Footsteps rushing toward the door made him snap awake and search for his sword – the one that rested against the opposite wall and was farther away than he thought necessary. Whose stupid idea was to put it there?

The door opened dramatically, making him grab the next best thing – a boot, apparently –

"Uncle! Beorn said we –"

Kili's words died on his lips and he gasped when said boot hit him square in the chest.

"Out," he commanded, drowsy from sleep, and instinctively grabbed the hide and pulled it up to cover the woman resting on top of him.

Kili's red cheeks informed him that the boy saw more than he should have, but he complied quickly and shut the door with a loud thud. Thorin groaned.

Lily blinked awake slowly, drowsily, and Thorin gazed at her tenderly and watched as yesterday's events caught up with her gradually. She lay right on top of him, one of her hands hugged his side while the other rested on his chest. Her hair, golden and so very soft, fanned on his shoulder in waves which he stroked gently. Her eyes, dark and dazed from sleep, suddenly widened as she twisted her body so she could look at him.

Even after yesterday's night, she still looked up at him uncertainly, as if unsure how she ended up naked in his lap but did not want to question it.

He smiled at her lazily and caressed her cheek. "Good morning, Lily."

The woman blushed and bit her lower lip. "Morning," she mumbled, and where had the daring of yesterday gone off to?

Thorin's fingers traveled to the nape of her neck – must she look so terrified when I touch her? Why does she hesitate so? – and pulled her down for her kiss.

At first, the odd angle made for a rather sloppy kiss, but then his fingers guided her head, tilting carefully, and his lips caressed hers confidently. He felt her breath shatter against his mouth, a whispered moan when he took one lip between his teeth and sucked.

Such a confounding creature, he thought dazedly. So very controlled, yet his lightest touch unraveled her entirely.

He released her, and when her eyes looked at him with hesitant wonder, he guided her gently to rest her head against his neck. He could feel her heart racing but saw only her blush.

He stroked her hair and her cheek. "How are you feeling?" he asked, voice still thick from sleep.

She stirred slightly and did not answer immediately. "I am well." She cuddled against him, shifted and rested her hand against his chest. "You?" Her fingers began to trace the line of muscle and froze when she realized what she was doing.

She was about to pull away, he sensed, so he placed his hand on hers and pressed it against his chest. Was yesterday not enough to prove her that he wanted her touch? "I am very well, I should think." He chuckled, stroking her knuckles.

She lifted her head. "Are you sure? I mean, your ribs and shoulder…."

"Perfectly fine, though I appreciate your concern." He smiled lazily and cupped her cheek. The woman blushed, but this time she leaned gracefully into his palm and closed her eyes. He looked on, taking in the sight of her, her lips slightly parted, and wondered if one day he would be able to master her body language and read between the lines all the nuances only she could see.

She was so small, he noted. Thin and lithe of figure, almost child-like, in fact, and with her small breasts and perky nipples, she had few womanly curves. Did she lose weight during their trip? Her skin was soft, creamy and unblemished, though her hands were no longer smooth and she had a small, still somewhat red cut on her arm. All signs of his failings.

The intensity of her words and bearing never made him consider – she acted like his equal, but perhaps… "Lily, how old are you?" Gods be damned if she were younger than his nephews!

Her eyes snapped open and she scowled. "Impertinence," she chastised.

Thorin cocked a brow. "I will not be told off by a naked woman," he countered. She blushed, perhaps due to what he told her yesterday? and gasped when he lowered her to the covers and bent over her. She did look very small and young, like that. "I will have you answer."

"Whatever for?" She resisted, her eyes following the path of his hand that roamed over her side. He did not dare do anything more, however, and her refusal to answer worried him.

"I…." How should he explain this to her? He frowned. "I require your answer."

Was he glowering? The woman pursed her lips, looking away, but his hand, gentle and tender as he cupped her cheek and caressed her mouth made her glance up at him in hesitation. "Twenty-five," she eventually replied.

He felt relief washing over him. "Truly?"

She muttered, "Of course," and pouted slightly. It made him huff in amusement, still stroking her bottom lip.

"Good," he managed. "I was terrified for a moment that you are as old as my nephews."

"Aren't they still in their teens?" she wondered.

"Yes. Though Fili is soon to be celebrating his twentieth."

"Surely I do not look that young." She glanced at him carefully, and he bent down and kissed her. So soft, she complied so very easily, so responsive in his arms.

"No, hulwulê, but I wanted to be sure." He continued to kiss her, frowned when she resisted.

"What does that mean? What'd you say?" She pushed at his shoulders, and the uncertainty made her eyes look wide and guarded again. "Why are you saying things I can't understand?"

The secrecy of Khuzdul meant he should not be telling her, but the fear that blinked at him – what was she so afraid of? convinced him he could be allowed to break the rules this one time, for her. "It means, 'my sweet,'" he mumbled against her temple, "it… comes more naturally to me, the words are more meaningful."

She blushed and looked away. Her hand played absentmindedly with his braid. "Not to me," she whispered. "I don't understand. What if… how am I to know what you say?"

"Peace, Lily." He nuzzled at her hair, kissing her cheek. "Nothing but words of admiration."

She still looked mildly unsatisfied, but he remembered the power his words had on her, how the foreign endearments opened her up to him like a blooming flower. She knew not what he said, perhaps, but still could tell he whispered phrases of tenderness.

They lay in silence like that for a while; Ningalor played with his hair, cuddling comfortably against him, while he traced lines on her skin and kissed her forehead or her cheek, just to see her blush prettily.

She glanced at him, looking up at him with uncharacteristic shyness. "You never stated your age," she said carefully.

Thorin hmmed, "You haven't asked." He kept his lips from twitching, daring her to inquire. She opened her mouth and closed it, scowling slightly before her face, once again, cleared of expression. She was not going to, it would seem. Why? Did she feel it was not her place to ask? He gave up trying to understand what made her think she could appear at his bedroom and offer herself to him but not ask how old he was. "Thirty-five," he sighed against her ear.

The woman perked up, looking appeased, and swallowed slightly. "And our age difference does not bother you?"

"It is not unheard of." He shrugged and added with a crooked smile, "Our situation is, of course, but once I reclaim Erebor, I will court you properly."

She looked – was it sorrow? Grief? But the moment was gone before he could decipher it. She smiled and reclined against him, and if her smile were slightly watery, he did not comment. "And what would that entail?" she asked in a small voice.

"Well, I will give you seven gifts," he explained softly, "made of the Seven Holy Metals. First, I will make you gift of lead, to show I will share all your burdens. Should it be accepted, I will give you a gift of tin, a promise I will always tend to you, in sickness or in health. Should this one be accepted also, I will make you a gift of iron, to show I will always protect you. An item of copper, to show I will love you till the end of my days." Was her breath slightly uneven? Surely not. "A gift of silver, to show I will always listen to your advice and wisdom. A gift of gold, to show I will provide for you will the end of my days. A gift of Mithril, a vow that you will always be my light and my treasure." She said nothing in response, but when he took her hand in his, he could feel her pulse beating wildly against his fingers. Perhaps this reaction was enough. He cleared his throat. "Which would also be a proposal of marriage."

This was everything Balin had advised against. This was an unveiled promise he should not be making. This was an offer even Gandalf seemed opposed to.

But yesterday she came to him, and with eyes wide and unsure and fingers trembling, she undressed before him. He could not repay such act by leaving her deflowered and without a husband.

The woman seemed to sense his thoughts and detached herself from him. "I did not come to you yesterday to secure your hand," she said, shards of ice laced in her voice.

"Nor am I offering it to you, not yet," he said carefully. She stiffened, but did not resist when once again he pulled her against him. It was far too early, he knew, to tell her how he felt in her presence, but that did not mean he was willing to let her go. "Why did you come?" he asked suddenly.

She bit her lip and looked down at his hand that pressed her against his chest, and for a long moment said nothing. "A precaution," she said slowly, eventually. "Before… if time and consequences came to tear us apart, I wanted no regret, no rules of court to stain my memories, make me wonder what could have happened if… if I dared to…." She did not finish the sentence.

"I am not going to let anything happen to you, Lily." He tilted her head up, making her look at him. "I will protect you, laslel."

She frowned at him, but when he smirked, she did not protest – she twisted free of his grasp and cupped his face and kissed him.

It surprised him enough to exhale sharply. He hugged her to him, answering the kiss tinged with want and need desperate enough to make him want to…-

"Thorin!" A knock on the door made them break apart, gasping. "Breakfast is almost over!" That was Dwalin, sounding incredibly gruff. "Wake up your lass and come before Beorn's staff takes the plates away!"

"Ten minutes!" he cried, annoyed that Dwalin had to show up just then. When he looked down he saw Lily looking at him, eyes wide and face white. The woman could talk about daring all she wanted, but it was clear that there were many things she still wasn't ready to face. Not like he was going to let her get away with that. "Kili saw us, about an hour ago," he said carefully. She looked slightly less frightened – why? What did she think? That they heard them? "Join me," he said, asked, ordered.

The woman nodded and wrapped the blanket around her undressed form, suddenly shy and discomfited by her nudity. Thorin understood and released her, getting up and dressing in silence. He noticed that the boot he threw earlier belonged to her, so he retrieved it as well as the corset and the coat. The last item marked her as his, and now it mattered to him all the more.

She donned her clothes with remarkable ease, but he still could easily read the nervousness that stiffened her movements. Once again, she closed herself off to him and to the world, and that… was it too much to have her simply smile at him?

She stood up when she finished dressing, engulfed in his coat, but she dropped her eyes and did not look at him. He crossed the distance to her and cupped her face with his hand. "Lily, what's the matter?"

The woman blinked at him, then looked down again. She took his other hand, held it gently in her hands, and when he squeezed hers back in reassurance, she lifted his hand and kissed the knuckles tenderly.

It was such a sweet, careful moment and when she looked up at him her eyes were trusting again, even if not exactly happy… he did not understand it, what she did nor what it meant, but decided to reply by kissing her forehead and taking her out with him, still holding her hand.

They followed the noise, but when they finally reached the dining room, his men had gone quiet and stared at them.

Every single eye in the room focused on them – even Gandalf peered at them from underneath great, bushy eyebrows. One pointed look from him, though, and Fili emptied the seat next to the head of the table while Bofur picked up the clean plate and silver that were placed next to him and laid it in place of Fili's dirty dishes. Only then did Thorin lead her to the table – she sat next to him gracefully, even if he could read her discomfort as easily as the rest of them, probably.

The staff came and offered them trays full of food – mostly honey cakes and fruits and eggs, as they served no meat of any sort. One of them placed a boiling cup of tea next to Lily, who accepted it with a small nod of her head, as well as a bowl of syrupy cherries and berries, mashed into a red, thick liquid, and floating in it was one white lily.

The odd dish – was it edible? It looked more like a preserve – smelled incredibly sweet, but Lily had made no attempt to touch the bowl.

The serving woman smiled at her, let out a small giggle and left the room without a word uttered. Thorin scowled at her and then at Lily, but the woman kept her features appropriately empty and revealed nothing.

Gandalf, however, got up from his seat, took in the sight of the plate and closed his book with an angry snap. "Lily, after you had finished your breakfast, do come and find me," he commanded.

His voice was grave and cold with ire, but not a notch louder than the usual.

Thorin glowered and opened his mouth, but both the thunderous fury that burned in Gandalf's eyes as well as Lily's hand on his knee and the plea in her own eyes silenced him. The incensed man left and Lily ate slowly, carelessly, and very little.

She did not touch the cherries though she finished the oddly smelling tea. She rose, eyes downcast, left the table and joined the Istar. Thorin's eyes followed her, but she did not glance at his direction.

Ningalor took a deep breath, comforted herself with a memory of Thorin, eyes soft and groggy from sleep glancing at her with warmth as he pulled her down for a kiss, and walked to stand next to her mentor and guardian.

Gandalf leaned next to an ancient looking oak tree and smoked furiously. She knew it was not his 'thinking' smoking or 'calm, happy' smoking because he made no smoke rings and instead blew out clouds of smoke like an enraged dragon.

She did not cross into his line of vision but nor did she need to. She knew he was aware of her presence and waited for him to acknowledge her; she wasn't sure she wanted to be acknowledged.

Eventually, the puffing of smoke slowed down, even if slightly, and the words uttered were so rich with wrath and disappointment they made her cheeks color in shame and her stomach twist uneasily.

"You offered yourself to him."

Her hands twitched uncontrollably. "Yes. I came to him." She looked down, blinking away unwanted moisture. It felt so perfect, lying there in his arms. Why did everything else regarding their relationship had to be so awful, making her wish she had never been born?

Gandalf exhaled angrily. "Had I not known him to be a most honorable man, I'd have had him pay the price for defiling you." She winced. "I must ask what on earth crossed your mind when you decided to commit such an atrocious folly."

"Mirkwood, actually." She smiled bitterly. No act of foolishness of hers was ever committed without the influence of her father, it seemed.

"That is hardly –"

"No, Gandalf, no, it isn't!" she cried. The man turned to look at her, shocked, no doubt, that she dared to raise her voice in a conversation with him, but she failed to tame her reaction. "I have no chance, you said, no shot at happiness! I must hide who I am at all costs, but even then I cannot live freely! Next week, or in the weeks to come – every moment, I may be caught, exposed. If I haven't a chance, at all, then why… why can't I at least have one week's worth of happiness?" she cried openly. "Why can't I be selfish, just this once, and know what it means to be loved?" she whispered. "I'd rather… I'd rather suffer from a broken heart for the rest of my life than spend my days wondering what could have happened."

Gandalf looked at her sobbing silently into her hands and mercy and pity replaced the burning anger. "Ningalor, my dear…" he sighed and hugged her to him until she managed to swallow the last of her tears. "I am sorry, child." He exhaled and placed his hands on her shoulders as he peered into her eyes. "When our last week at Beorn's ends, I must leave."

She finally looked up at him, confused and scared.

"I have another matter to attend to, and Beorn's words worry me a great deal. This task is far too dangerous for you, but I could take you to a safe place, so you need not go into the forest."

Her throat tightened again. "But… then I will have to leave them." Leave him.

"Yes," Gandalf said gravely, "and I cannot help but think that a break from his company will only do you good. But worry not, after I have finished my task, I will rejoin their quest and take you back with me, should you still want to."

"Do you know how long your task will take?" she asked with a tinge of desperate hope, even though she knew the answer.

Gandalf's kindness had a stern edge to it, as he knew as well. "No, my dear. Nor do I know if I will return; but it is something I must do. You need not go into Mirkwood. Not for him."

Ningalor looked down and said nothing.

Gandalf sighed. "I will give you time to decide, and now I must go and have a stern talk with Beorn. Do not make this decision lightly, and keep drinking Beorn's tea!"

Ningalor followed his departure, then stubbornly wiped her face. It did not help much – only made her feel more miserable. She has never been the weepy type, but Thorin and the thunderstorm of emotions he had awoken in her weakened her, it would seem.

A memory of Thorin pressing her against his chest, warm and protective, his hold sure and secure against her waist, his long hair silken and ticklish… his breath, hot in her ear… she did not mind being weak, she smiled feebly, desperately, if he were the root of her undoing.

Notes:

Translation:
-Ibin abnâmul- beautiful gem
-Madtubirzul - golden heart
-Agyâdê- my happiness
-Bunmel- beauty of all beauty
-Umral- lover
-Laslel- rose of all roses

So Beorn is the head of a small, feudal settlement. They do things their own way, and they don't really like strangers. The dishes Ningalor is given are symbolic of a loss of virginity (I think the strawberries and cream one was pretty obvious). The second dish was a bit trickier but expressed the same notion (kind of pre and post ceremony)- white lily is a very common symbol for virginity and purity, and so drowning it in the red syrup and staining the flower, as Ningalor should have done but did not, symbolizes the loss of virginity.

What'd you think?