Two moons later you are swirling, faster and faster, on the floor of a small inn. Local men are sitting and talking, while girls and women dance, and you get pulled into a circle. You catch a glimpse of Amrod, he is sipping his ale and smiles to you. You return the smile and twirl faster.
Travelling with him is dizzying, like being dragged into a rapid whirlpool, as if dancing all the time. Settlements rush by your eyes, you change boats, you lose count, and sometimes you would suddenly make a detour, spend two days in some village, dance in the evening, make love through nights and buy trinkets. He constantly pulls small gifts for you out of his pockets, beads crawl into your braids, a bracelet of gentle silver chain and small pearls, ribbons and figurines. They get soon lost, forgotten in inns, at the campsites, nothing valued, nothing kept. He disappears late at night and returns with a pouch of silver. You do not ask, and he is just smiling. Sometimes you leave villages in haste, and you do not ask again. You let him lead in this dance, and it feels just right.
Every night feels like a battle. You get together, each one prepared to fight to the last breath, fight for dominance, for the right to choose positions, for the victory of unraveling and destroying the other. He wins almost every night, but slowly you are building your craft and your skill. He finally takes you from behind but makes you talk while he is bedding you, as he cannot see your eyes. You are sobbing out his name and tell how much you desired him the first night you danced together. He still does not allow you pleasure him with your mouth, he claims it is a right to be deserved. In retaliation you are determinedly breathing through the waves of pleasure overcoming you and do not reach your release for three hours, his mouth and fingers working you relentlessly. His finger slips in your other hole, and you climax with a scream. You suspect all inn heard it, but you do not care. The smirk on his lips tells you this knowledge will also be stored to be utilized later.
You are twirling, the wide skirts of your new blue dress flail, and you feel free and brave. With Amrod you feel beautiful, confident, powerful. Every day he is peeling another layer of the shell you built around your heart, the scars of your unrequited, desperate love for the King fading, every day he helps you grow a new armor for yourself, flexible and light. You feel like every day your step is swifter, your body stronger, your eye more precise.
The man is short and stocky, he grabs your upper arm and pulls you into him. "Hey, birdie, would you like to dance with a man for a change?" You pull your arm and search Amrod with your eyes. His chair is empty, and you shift your gaze back on the man. You feel panic rising, Amrod is gone and your misadventure seems to entertain the people around you, no one will try to help. He is obviously drunk, and his eyes are unfocused. "Oh, I have a better idea, birdie! Let us have a walk..." He is dragging you to the door, and you try to scamper from his hands. You hear dancers around you wolf whistle. You push him away, and when he does not yield, you knee him, at the same time twisting his ear with your free hand. He wails in pain and falls on the floor. The crowd cheers, and you step back. Amrod's arm lies around your waist, and he kisses your cheek. You lift your eyes at him, and suddenly you are livid.
"You saw everything that was happening! Why did you not interfere?!" He is giving you one of his careless smiles, and you feel like punching him. "You were obviously managing it, my flower. Why would I?" You twist out of his arms and stomp out of the door. You are so furious that you cannot even see his face.
He is sauntering after you. "Why are you angry, Alfirin? Do you prefer me coddling you like a possessive Dwarf? Not allowing you make a single independent step?" You spin on your heels. "I was scared there!" "Good, you should be, it is not safe in this world, especially for a woman!" You snarl at him, "That is what you were there for. To keep me safe." He is smiling smugly, and you clench your fists. "I will not always be there, Alfirin. One day you will have to protect yourself and possibly our children. You are to be a ranger's wife, you need to be able to defend your family."
"You are not even a ranger anymore, Amrod!" It is a low blow but you are unreasonably angry. You did get very frightened. You have forgotten what it is like to be treated like many other women are treated every day. You forgot that for many you are just a piece of meat. You have been the azyungal of the King Under the Mountain for too long.
"When we are back to Ithilien, it might change. I can return to service, they pay generously, and we can have the house we wanted." Something snaps in you, and you are yelling, "No! Absolutely not! Are you mad? This is not what I want at all!" He is staring at you, for the first time you see doubt in his eyes. "You have not even asked me, you just assumed! I do not want to settle down in Ithilien. Do you know what they say about rangers' wives?" "It is just a saying, Alfirin..." "A wife in a week, a widow in a year! You lot fall for a woman quickly and die even quicker. You promised me a road and careless living, I did not agree on being locked in another cage and worrying about another man every night. I have had enough of that!"
Suddenly he is furious, and it is terrifying. His eyes are narrowed, and he takes a step back, as if putting distance between you two. You have never seen his anger, and you shrink away. "Is that why you are here, Filegethiel?" Your old name is like a slap across your face. "Are you here for a careless life, for running away from any responsibilities, for being with a man you do not care about enough to worry about him?"
You slap him across the face. It is hard to do, he is so much taller, but you are that enraged. "I am here because I love you! Do not dare..." He does not let your finish, he grabs you, and his kiss is bruising. You claw at his shoulders, and he sobs into your mouth.
That night you are making love, slowly and sensually, open eyes, caressing hands, offering and giving, not asking for anything for oneself. He is murmuring words of love, and you promise your heart is his.
He is kissing your shoulder blades, and you stretch off the edge of the bed to reach for the pouch on your belt on the floor. "No, please..." His voice is quiet, and you look at him over your shoulder. You have the vial in your hand, the tonic needs to be taken right after the seed is spilled. You have already forgotten to take it twice this month, but those were safe days.
"If I do not take it," you show him the vial, "I will most certainly bear your child. My womb is ready tonight. And we still have half a moon of travel to Ithilien. And you do not know what there is there waiting for you. And you are still not my husband. So," you look him in the eyes and see the fire in them eb, "Should I take it?" He licks his lips and then nods. The taste is bitter and familiar. You find your usual spot on his chest, your head under his collarbone, and you close your eyes.
He is tenderly stroking your shoulders, his fingers drawing meaningless swirls on your skin. Something has been bothering you for a while, and you ask, "Are your brothers not alive? You said your aunt is your only living relative. What happened to them?" He is silent, and you lift your face. "They live," is voice is just slightly less lively than usual, but you have learnt his tones well, "They have ostracized me when I left the service. One cannot just choose to leave the service of a ranger," his eyes are distant, "They still serve in Ithilien."
That explains a lot. "Are you hoping to return their affection by going back to service?" He sighs, but the time of games has passed. You cup his cheek with your palm, "Amrod, I think it is time we start speaking openly." His eyes are cautious but then a small smile blooms on his lips, and his gaze warms up. "I am hoping to return their friendship. But you are right, Alfirin, the service is dangerous. And perhaps you do not wish to be a ranger's wife..." He trails off, a question in his tone. You search your mind and shake your head, "I do not. I do not wish to be tied to one spot again, I want to continue travelling." He sighs, "What does your augury tell you about our house then? When will we have to settle down?" You chuckle, "Do you not think you are taking our dreams too much to the letter? Perhaps it was just a sign for us to be together." He is shaking his head now, "No, Alfirin. I have seen the children, and my dreams are rather precise. We are to find that house and stay in it."
"Well, perhaps," you slide your palm down his stomach, "that is how it is to happen. We will not be careful, and a child will be conceived, and then we will have no other choice but to settle." He takes a long breath in, you fingers wrapping around his member, swelling in your palm. "Perhaps… Sounds rather plausible… With your constant dalliances…" He has trouble gathering his thoughts, you have learnt a lot in the past months. "My dalliances?" You feign indignation, "I am an innocent flower." He groans at your especially intricate movement and rolls you underneath him. "Take your tonic, Alfirin, I am going to show you a new trick." You guffaw, "Do you still have any in your arsenal, ranger?" His eyes are laughing, "You have not seen anything yet, my flower."
That night you dream of Erebor. Piercing cold is making your shudder, the winter wind blowing through an open window. You shortly wonder who would leave it open, and then you hear voices ringing behind you. You turn around, and a pair of blue eyes is staring at you. "Who are you?" The boy's voice is haughty, and he lifts his chin in a painfully familiar gesture. "I am Alfirin, and who you are?" He is viewing you suspiciously, "Everyone knows me, I am the Miracle of Erebor, prince Thror, son of Thorin." Your heart freezes from unbearable pain. He is Dwarven in his appearance, so much alike his father, and you understand the King found himself a yasith. The jealousy is so violent that you feel your nails dig into your palm.
"Thror!" The King's voice booms in the passage, and you are panicked. He cannot see you. The boy turns to the door, "I am here, adad." You jump and press your palm to his mouth. "No, no," you are shushing him, and over your palm his father's eyes are glaring at you, "Please, be quiet, he cannot know I am here." Somehow you know it is important to conceal yourself. You let him go, and he gives you a lookover. "Why are you wearing such strange attire?" You look at yourself, there is a white velvet dress with diamonds and white fur on collar and sleeves. It is obviously Dwarven and very beautiful. "What do you mean, strange? It is a dress." You feel rather offended, and he lifts his brow. You clench your jaw, he looks so much like his father. "Of course it is a dress," he sighs in exasperation, "It is my mother's wedding dress. You are not allowed to touch it. Unna tried to take it out of the cupboard the other day, amad was not happy." He stretches his wide hand and strokes the white fur on your sleeve. "Is Unna your nursery maid?" He gives you a disbelieving look. "Unna is my sister. Are you not from around here?" You shake your head, and then the door opens. You panic and step back. The King is standing in the doorframe. His eyes widen, and his mouth falls open. "Zhundushin..."
You wake up with a scream and cannot reign your tears for a long time. Amrod is stroking your back, but you cannot seem to return to your senses. "You were talking in Dwarven language in your sleep again, Alfirin… Were you dreaming of the mountain?" You press your face into him, and he lets you cry. You do not wish to speak of the pain that resides in your heart.